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Just Another Bunch of Stories

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Webgott

Who said I love you first?

Liebgott said I love you first. It was by accident, when they were both in the middle of a heated argument about dirty socks and a wet jacket of all things. Liebgott once again threw his clothes onto the coffee table when he came through the door, a habit he had whenever he came over to visit. Webster hates it. He hates mess, he hates things hanging about the place, and hates things in places they shouldn’t be. So he’d come home to find socks and a wet coat flung across the coffee table like it were a laundry basket. He knew immediately who it was (for one thing his roommates Nixon and Speirs never did it, and another, the socks had Spiderman on them).

Webster flipped out this time. It was the fourth time that week and he’d had it. So he began shouting at his boyfriend as soon as he’d opened the door to his room, said man laying across his bed flipping through a book.

“What is with you and leaving your shit all over the coffee table?!” he’d yelled.

And it just got louder from there. Liebgott arguing that Webster needed to chill out, it’s only a god damn coffee table, Webster hitting back with how lazy and slobby the other man was. For some reason it turned into how much Liebgott didn’t respect Webster, and how Webster was going off the rails.

“How is throwing my socks on the damn table disrespecting you, you idiot?” Liebgott bellowed.

“It shows you don’t care!” Webster yelled back. “You don’t give a shit what I think! You never do!”

“Oh for fuck sake! Web, you’re such a fucking diva!”

“I am not! I just wish you would start acting like you give a damn about my feelings!”

Liebgott rolled his eyes, feeling his temper rise. “I do give a shit about your feelings!”

“No you don’t! You never show how you feel, you’re like a… a robot!”

“A robot? Oh for... Webster you’re losing it you know that?” Liebgott shouted even louder.

Webster beating him by practically screaming, “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SHOW ME HOW YOU FEEL?!”

“I ALWAYS SHOW YOU HOW I FEEL!”

“HOW? YOU HARDLY EVER HOLD MY HAND OR KISS ME IN PUBLIC!”

“WHY SHOULD I DO THAT? I DON’T NEED TO DO THAT SHIT TO PROVE I LOVE YOU!”

The room had gone silent then. Liebgott had shocked himself by his own words, Webster staring at him like he’d slapped hard in the face.

“You… you love me?” Webster practically whispered.

Liebgott ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. “Yes, Web, I fucking love you okay? I love you, and I’m sorry I don’t ever show it enough, I’ll do better. Fuck, I’ll even pick up my socks and-,”

That’s when Webster had cut across, closing the gap between them and kissing his boyfriend senseless.

“I love you too.”

Liebgott and Webster just stood there grinning at each other, the socks and coat forgotten for the time being.

 

Who would have the others picture as phone background?

Webster has a picture of both of them as his background, but Liebgott, he just has a picture of Webster on his own. One day when they were on a date, out sailing on Webster’s boat, months after they’d gotten together, Liebgott was sitting near the side watching his other half lean over the edge and trace his fingers through the water. He just sat there and stared, taking in every detail of his boyfriend.

He loved the way his wavy hair blew in the wind, his white skin that was slowly turning a light shade of pink in the sun, the tiny freckle that dotted his neck, the long eyelashes that curled up, his soft, rosy lips that Liebgott loved to run his thumb across. Then Webster had looked over at him, his striking, blue eyes gazing at his own.

“What?” he’d asked, a smile ghosting his lips.

“Nothing,” Liebgott had smirked, sneakily taking out his phone from his back pocket. “You just look fucking beautiful.”

That had made Webster blush, and turn away. “Shut up.” He mumbled around his laugh.

“I’m serious,” Liebgott grinned, holding up his phone. “Now look at me.”

Webster had looked up then, his bright smile still on his lips, as Liebgott snapped the picture on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Webster had said in surprise, trying to snatch the phone from him. “Joe!” he’d groaned.

“Shut it, Web,” Liebgott looked down at the photo and smiled. “You look amazing, I promise.”

He’d put it as his background that very second.

 

Who leaves notes written in fog on bathroom mirrors?

Webster, he does it every time. Whenever Liebgott gets up in the morning to have a quick shower, or when he takes a long bath, or when he’s just cleaning his teeth for too long and the waters hot enough to steam the glass, he always finds something written across the mirror.

Sometimes its notes telling him to not forget something, or to have a good day at work, other times they’re parts taken from poems or stories Webster had read recently. Liebgott smiles every time. He doesn’t tell Webster he loves reading them of course, he doesn’t want to make him think he actually likes poetry or some weird novels he’s never heard of.

But one night he gets a message that surprises him. Webster is in the bedroom, reading another book, no surprises there. Liebgott is just about finished cleaning his teeth and washing his face when he looks into the foggy mirror, the neat words written across it:

Move in with me?

Liebgott turns off the tap and sticks his toothbrush back in his overnight bag, making his way to the door with a smirk on his lips. When he gets to the open door he leans on it, crossing his arms over his chest, looking over at Webster who was obviously hiding his face behind the book he was supposedly reading.

“Move in with you, huh?”

Webster slowly brings his book down, blushing slightly. “Nix and Speirs are moving in with their boyfriends and I thought… I don’t know… maybe you’d like to-,”

“I’d love to.” Liebgott cuts across, his smirk growing. “I practically live here anyway, right?”

Webster’s answering smile makes him practically dive onto the bed, grab a hold of the other man’s book and fling it to the side, and smother him with kisses. Webster would usually tell him off for damaging a precious book, but at that point he was too happy to care.

 

Who buys the other cheesy gifts?

Liebgott usually. Webster knows Liebgott hates cheesy presents. But Webster is a sucker for them. Webster will swoon like a damn Disney princess whenever Liebgott brings back a bouquet of flowers for him, or some box of chocolates in the shape of a heart, or one of those teddy bears that holds a heart saying I love you on it.

Liebgott mostly buys him the gifts if he’s done something wrong and upset the other man, other times is on a special anniversary. One time Liebgott was at work when he’d had a phone call from his boyfriend, who was almost crying down the phone, one of his favourite sharks at the aquarium he volunteered at had passed away. Liebgott knew how much Webster loved that stupid shark.

Knowing he’d go home to Webster laying on the sofa, blanket wrapped around himself, and tissues bunched in his hand, Liebgott had gone and bought a couple of gifts he thought might cheer him up. As soon as he walked through the door he was right, Webster was on the sofa sobbing into a load of tissues.

Liebgott put the bag he was holding on the floor so he could sit beside the other man, and took him into his arms.

“I got you a little something.”

Webster was confused at first, rubbing at his eyes as Liebgott awkwardly leant forward to retrieve the bag, and handing it over to the other man. Webster had opened it up and taken out what was inside. First he’d pulled out a mug, a cartoon shark on its side with the phrase ‘You are fin-tastic’, which got a laugh out of the younger man. He then pulled out a jar of gummy sweets in the shape of sharks, Liebgott telling him he had to share. Lastly, he’d taken out a little stuffed toy hammerhead, a heart sewn into its tail.

“Thanks, Joe.” Webster said, leaning back into the cabbie’s arms and kissing him on the cheek. “You always know how to cheer me up.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Liebgott had kissed him on top of his head, and smiled as the writer cuddled into his side, holding the shark teddy tightly against his chest.

 

Who initiated the first kiss?

Liebgott, because Webster was having a strop. They’d known each other for a while, through their friends, but never actually did anything about their feelings until Liebgott had snapped one time. They were at a party down Guarnere, Heffron and Toye’s place when Liebgott and Webster, once again, started bickering like an old married couple. This time it was over Liebgott’s comment on Webster’s obsession with sharks.

“Fuck, you’re so weird, Web,” Liebgott had said as they stood on the decking outside. “Sharks are just big ass fish!”

Webster had practically gasped in outrage. “They are not just big fish!”

Liebgott snorted. “They are! You need a hobby or something, being infatuated with sharks is so fucking stupid.”

Webster had walked away then, stomping down the garden path and plonking himself on the bench by the tall oak tree. Liebgott had just rolled his eyes, standing there and watching the still man moping like a child on the seat. It took Toye and Luz to convince him to swallow his pride and get his ass over there and apologise.

“And for fuck sake kiss him already!” Toye had added before Luz had pulled him back inside.

So Liebgott did. After he’d joined the younger man on the bench and apologised, Webster wasn’t having any of it of course, being the drama queen that he was. He’d started waving his arms around to make his point, listing off why sharks were awesome, and how Liebgott was so mean, and before he knew it Liebgott had grabbed his face in both hands and yanked him forward, crashing their lips together.

They didn’t return to the party for a while.

 

Who kisses the other awake in the morning?

It’s always Liebgott. He’s always the first up in the mornings, either because he has to get to work or his body has decided it’s time to rise at stupid o’clock on the weekend, and he always wakes up with Webster in his arms or with him laying on his stomach beside him. He’s constantly tempting, laying there bare, his pale skin uncovered. So Liebgott leans down and starts planting kisses up his back, all the way along his spine and between his shoulder blades. By this point Webster is slowly starting to stir.

“Urrrrgh.” Webster will groan into the pillow, shivers creeping up his spine as he feels a feather light kiss along his neck. “Liebling, that tickles.”

Liebgott will smirk, using a hand to run along Webster’s leg and up his thigh as he kisses behind his ear. “Admit you love it, prinzessin.”

Liebgott can practically hear the smile in Webster’s voice as he says, “Never.”

And Webster will roll over onto his back, grinning up at the Jewish man who leans down and kisses him softly on the lips.

 

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch?

Webster’s the one who brings the grub, because Liebgott is skinny enough as it is, and Webster’s trying his damn hardest to get a bit more meat on his damn bones. He brings Liebgott lunch whenever he can, it’s not much of a surprise anymore once he starts doing it a few times a week, his own lunch time is pretty flexible so he can pop in and out of the office whenever he pleases, and he’ll either prepare a lunch before leaving home or pop into the nearest bakery to grab something.

The first time he does it, Liebgott is shocked. He’s leaning against his cab at the company building, chatting away to Guarnere, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers when his friend smiles at someone over his shoulder. Liebgott turns to see his boyfriend walking towards him, a brown bag in hand.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Liebgott says, as Webster leans over to kiss his cheek.

“What a wonderful way to greet your one and only, Joe.” Liebgott doesn’t say anything, as Webster hands him the brown bag. “Thought you could do with some lunch, I know you skip it and that’s not good for you.”

Liebgott snorts. “How do you know I skip?”

“I asked Guarnere.” Webster smiles, as said man avoids Liebgott’s death glare by looking anywhere but at him. “It’s a sandwich from that bakery across from my office, and those chocolate muffins you like, don’t worry their kosher I made sure. I gotta run back to work, Leckie needs help with his article.”

Webster had kissed him on the lips, and Liebgott was left standing there with the brown bag clutched in his hand, watching as Webster walked back to his car.

“He’s a keeper.” Guarnere had grinned, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Liebgott hid his own smile behind his hand.

 

Who kills/takes out the spiders?

Liebgott, because Webster is a scaredy cat and thinks they’re the grossest creatures on the planet. If Webster so much as sees a tiny, eight legged bug walk across the room he’ll dive for the highest piece of furniture, whether it’s a worktop or a chair, he ain’t going near the damn things. So Liebgott is left to play knight in shining armour.

It’s like the time Webster was typing away on his laptop on the dining room table, getting some work done for the next day. Liebgott was upstairs taking a shower after a long day at his own job, he’d just stepped out and stuck some pants on when he heard Webster scream. Liebgott had legged it down the stairs thinking the worse, only to find Webster standing on the chair, clutching the pillow he’d been sitting on.

“What’s wrong?” Liebgott had asked, just as Webster started pointing at the wall opposite him.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!”

Liebgott then looked over to where his boyfriend was indicating, seeing a black spider about the size of a penny crawling along the wall towards the ceiling. Liebgott just sighed, running a hand through his wet hair.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“KILL IT JOE!”

Liebgott had just rolled his eyes, grabbed a nearby book and simply smashed it against the bug. “You’d happily swim with sharks, yet you’re scared of a fucking spider.”

“They’re evil, little, furry things that need to stay the hell away from me!” Webster had pouted, getting down off the chair and taking the book that Liebgott handed him.

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” Liebgott smirked.

“Get the fuck out of here and burn the house down.” Webster had said in all seriousness, as Liebgott walked back upstairs and laughed.

It was only as Webster was putting his book down on the table that he noticed, a nice blob of squished spider was smothered across one of his favourite novels.

“Joe, there’s spider guts all over Gulliver!”

 

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk?

They both have their moments, but usually Webster, as he’s one hell of a light-weight. Give Webster a glass of wine and it’s like he’s drank a whole bottle. Whenever Webster’s had a bit too much to drink, he turns into an emotional wreck. The worst incident he’d had was at Lipton’s birthday party, the group had got together at his and Speirs’s house, a party full of drinks and music out in their huge back garden.

Nixon had only given Webster a glass of his favourite whiskey, and Heffron had passed him a couple of beers before the writer was as drunk as a skunk. Liebgott was sitting on a deck chair and chatting away to Roe, Toye and Luz when Webster had waddled over and hugged him from behind.

“I love you, Joe!” Webster had said against his neck, he sounded like he was crying, so Liebgott had turned around to find out.

True enough, tears were in the younger man’s eyes and his bottom lip was quivering.

“Web, why are you crying?” Liebgott said, as Webster fell forward into his lap, wrapped his arms around his neck and sobbed into his shirt. “Jesus, how much have you had?”

“I love you so much! You know that right?” Webster had looked up at him, moving his hands up to grab each side of the other man’s face. “Do you love me? You never tell me you love me!”

Liebgott had looked over at his friends, who had smiles on their faces, knowing just how bad the writer got when he’d had just a tad too much alcohol.

“I always tell you I love you, dipshit.” Liebgott snorted, as Webster sniffled.

“No you don’t,” Webster whined, and squeezed him tight. “I tell you every day but you never do! I could shout it out to the world!”

“Don’t you dare.” Liebgott deadpanned.

“See, why don’t you like it when I say I love you?” Webster had pouted, his voice rising higher and gaining more of the party goers attention. “I love you, Joe!” he almost yelled.

“Alright, fuck!” Liebgott growled, sending a glare at his friends who were trying, but failing miserably, not to laugh. “I love you too, now will you just keep it down!”

“No!”

“What?”

“No, I can let everyone know I love you if I want to!” Webster had shouted this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Web!” Liebgott’s hand covered the writer’s mouth. “Come on, we’re going home! Before you yell any louder!”

Webster tried very hard to protest, but it was too late, Liebgott had pushed him out of his lap and tugged him along by the hand. He’d quickly said his goodbyes to his friends before Webster could say another word, although the writer was still whining like a child the entire way, asking why they were going home and why Liebgott had to be such a party pooper.

Liebgott swore that the next time they went to a party, there was no way Webster was even getting one drop of alcohol.

 

Who’s more likely to cry during a movie?

The cry baby is definitely Webster, as Liebgott thinks he’s too hard-core to cry at a film. Webster though, he’ll cry at anything, from poor animals dying, to cheesy romance scenes, once he’d cried when a little boy had lost his favourite teddy, and another time he’d cried watching some cartoon about an evil villain who was just trying to be good for once.

The worst was when the two had sat down to watch a movie about a shark, and boy did Liebgott regret even mentioning that it was on TV that night. It all started out well, the typical shark appearing on a beach and eating people, chasing them on their surfboards, and everyone in the film arguing about what it could be that’s making the people disappear in the water. They were over halfway through when Liebgott noticed Webster was crying in his arms.

“What’s gotten into you?” Liebgott asked, just as another victim was eaten alive. “You’re not upset so many people are getting eaten are you?”

Webster had shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Why do they always have to make the shark look like the bad guy?”

Liebgott had had to pause for a moment, taking in exactly what his boyfriend had just said. “I’m sorry?”

Webster had gone into full speech mode then, his tears still falling. “Every time there’s a damn shark movie, they always make the shark the bad guy! Sharks don’t eat people, okay? They just don’t! They only attack if… if they think they’re a seal or, if they’re wearing shiny stuff or-,”

“Web!” Liebgott had cut across, wiping away the tear trailing down the younger man’s cheek. “It’s a movie. This isn’t based on real life!”

“I don’t care,” Webster snivelled. “I don’t like this movie. Can we just watch Shark Tale?”

Liebgott had just sighed, and grabbed the Shark Tale DVD from Webster’s shark collection.

 

Who puts a blanket around the other/helps them to bed after staying up late to work/finish projects?

It’s always Liebgott. Webster is constantly up late trying to finish off his next article for the newspaper he works for, typing away at midnight on the couch, about five cups of coffee sitting on the coffee table. Usually, Webster will finish up once Liebgott shouts down to him that it’s getting late, and he’s got to get up in a few hours to work, but now and again Liebgott won’t get a response and he has to go downstairs to see why.

When he does, Webster still has his laptop seated in his lap, and he’s fallen a little on his side to rest against the arm of the chair, fast asleep. Liebgott will quietly take the laptop and put it on the table, making sure the work is saved and it’s turned off, before carefully and gently settling the younger man down into a lying position.

Then he’ll grab the blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it across him, making sure the pillow is positioned comfortably under his head. After getting up to turn off all the lights in the house, checking the front door is locked, and all the curtains are drawn, Liebgott will very carefully sneak onto the sofa and lay behind his boyfriend, pulling him against his chest.

“Mmm?” Webster will stir, still half asleep as Liebgott kisses the back of his neck. “Joe?”

“Shh,” Liebgott will hum, running a hand gently through the writer’s soft curls. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

And Webster will drop straight back into dreamland, Liebgott following shortly after.

 

Who buys the other a pet as a surprise?

Liebgott’s never really wanted a pet growing up, but Webster, of course he’s always wanted a shark since he was three. He’s probably mentioned it about a billion times, even though he volunteers at the aquarium in the city, he still wants a small shark in their house that he can call his own, even pointing out the large space behind their sofa where they could fit the tank. Liebgott, well, he has no clue as to how that’s even possible. He’s pretty sure sharks can’t be pets. That’s until he asks the guys down at the aquarium for their help.

Webster’s twenty fifth birthday was slowly creeping up, and between having the worst and most stressful year of his life at work, his brother being in a bad car accident not long ago, and his favourite shark at the aquarium passing away, Liebgott had thought Webster deserved a bloody good birthday gift that year. And what better gift to get him than a shark.

So, when Webster comes home early from work on the day of his birthday, he’s greeted by Liebgott running up to him in panic.

“Joe, what-,”

“Don’t look!” Liebgott quickly covers his eyes with a blindfold, taking his laptop and bag from him, and leading him into the living room. “I’ve got that surprise I was telling you about this morning!”

“Oh,” Webster had smiled, he’d been anxious about the present since he’d left the house that morning. “What is it?”

“Gimme two seconds,” Liebgott had said from the distance, a clink and a bang coming from somewhere to the left. “Okay, you can take off the blindfold now.”

And Webster did. He was expecting something like a load of books, some tickets to the theatre, or a basket full of his favourite chocolates, but what he wasn’t expecting was the large tank sitting behind their sofa, all lit up and full of coral and colourful decorations. He’d stared in awe, too shocked to notice that a big fish was swimming around on the sand.

“Is that… is that a shark?” Webster had squealed, practically running to the tank and pressing his hands up against the glass. “Is that an epaulette shark?”

Liebgott just nodded, smiling at how excited Webster was. “Your buddies at the aquarium told me this was the best choice, it’ll be a lot of work but, I know wat you’re like with your sharks.” He grinned. “Happy Birthday, David.”

Webster didn’t give him an answer, he just dove straight into his arms and didn’t let go for a very long time. It was the best birthday Webster ever had.

 

 

Who embarrasses the other by making a scene at the grocery shop?

Webster’s the diva, so of course he’d be the one to make a scene. Whenever Webster can’t get his way, he tends to purposely embarrass Liebgott to the point that he’ll give up and give him what he wants. It’s no different one Saturday morning at their local grocery store, where they’re trying to pick up some food for that nights meal with Nixon and Winters.

“Joe, we are not making them burgers and fries!”

“Why the fuck not?” Liebgott was getting frustrated, he just wanted some damn fries for crying out loud. “It’s easy, and everybody loves burger and fries!”

“It’s too tacky!” Webster was arguing back. “Nix and Winters just got engaged, I am not cooking my best friend and his fiancé a stupid burger and fries!”

“It’s Nix! He won’t give a shit!” Liebgott sighed, watching as Webster walked towards the vegetables. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make a crappy, posh meal!”

“I’m going to make spaghetti!” Webster growled, picking up the tomatoes. “That’s easy but more elegant.”

“Elegant?” Liebgott snorted.

“We’re having spaghetti and that’s final!”

“Well, maybe I should just ring Nix and see what he says.”

Webster glared. “Maybe I should just drop these tomatoes and blame it on you?”

“You wouldn’t.” Liebgott almost laughed.

“Wouldn’t I?” Webster smiled not so innocently. And then, he dropped a couple of tomatoes hard on the floor, right in front of Liebgott’s feet. “Joe!” he shouted, gaining everyone’s attention who were nearby. “Be careful! You can’t test their ripeness by throwing them on the floor!”

Liebgott’s jaw had dropped. “You fucker.”

“Everything alright sir?” an employee had come over, seeing the mess on the floor and shrugged. “Oh dear, better get the mop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Webster said, putting on his best and fake as hell polite voice. “My boyfriend can be so clumsy, he’s always making a mess.”

“Oh it’s alright,” the employee had smiled, looking at Liebgott as if he felt sorry for him. “I’ll get it cleaned up in no time.”

“Thank you.” Webster smiled, turning to a wide eyed Liebgott who was dumbfounded.

“Fine!” The Jewish man growled. “We’ll cook fucking spaghetti!”