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“DO YOU W4NT TO SUNB4TH W1TH ME?”
Player paused, hands stilling on their controller and –out of the corner of his eye– turning to stare at him, curiously. Griefer, of course, not one to waste such an opportunity, easily secured the point in their moment of distraction.
When they turned back to the TV, even if it was only a few seconds, it was more than enough for Griefer to secure a victory. A moment later, his character hitting their signature pose as victory written in bold flashed behind them.
They set down their controller, calmly. Breathed in. Breathed out. Then turned to look at him with a neutral expression that, somehow despite the neutrality, managed to convey an overwhelming sense of betrayal.
“SHOULD’V3 B33N P4YING ATTENT1ON.” Griefer shrugged, reaching for a can of Witches Brew on the coffee table in front of them and taking a swig as he leaned back against the couch. He chuckled, lowly, when a light weight hit against the side of his arm and tilted his head to the side to stare at them. “WH4T? NOT MY F4ULT YOU G4V3 M3 AN EASY W1N.”
Player huffed, arm falling back to their side and head dropping down to look at their lap. They didn’t grab hold of their controller –hands still beside their legs– nor did they seem to even be looking at it despite looking down at it. Griefer nursed his drink, eyeing them out of the corner of his sight as he did, watching, waiting.
“SO, DO YOU W4NT TO?” He asked, after a few minutes of silence and the familiar taste of Brew on his tongue. They blinked, jolting slightly before turning to stare at him. He looked back. “SUNB4TH. WITH M3. MY D4D HAS 4 GOOD SPOT.” He said, taking a lighter sip before swishing around the can lightly.
He let out an annoyed huff.
Nearly empty.
Player hummed, the sound low, quiet, in their throat as they thought over his offer. They picked the controller out of their lap, placing it down beside them and threading their fingers through each other as they gently kicked their feet back and forth. Griefer, honestly, didn’t think his offer needed as much thought as they seemed to be putting into it, either they said no and the both of them could continue playing games, sit in silence or just, anything really.
They say yes and…
Well.
It was a few moments –not long, not short, just in the middle– before they unthreaded their fingers and raised one hand into a thumbs up. Griefer hummed, taking the last sip of his drink as he pushed himself up. He placed the empty can down on the table, vowing to take it up later –because as messy as he was, this was his dad’s house– before turning and beckoning them with a curl of his fingers and a tilt of his head. “C’MON.”
He walked out of the room, hands in his pockets with Player joining him in a few moments. He hummed, quietly, not a true nod towards anything really, but it was easy to get lost in the gentleness of his dad’s home. A warmth –low, buzzing– settled in his chest as his feet treaded a familiar path.
Before he knew it, he was already in front of his dad’s study.
He pushed open the door, the light smell of books hitting his nose before he even stepped inside. A soft rug laid beneath his feet on the other side, and he dragged his feet over it just a little. Two bookshelves laid in the corner of the room, filled with titles that Griefer never bothered to remember, by the door was a desk with a computer that Griefer had more than a few fond memories with. But that wasn’t what he was here for.
There, in the corner, opposite to the bookshelves and behind the desk was a small couch with a picture frame that held a photo of his dad and him when he was younger. A small side desk rested to its side, holding up a lamp and Griefer spied a familiar blanket on the couch, one his dad used near constantly whenever he spent his time in here, but, still, that wasn’t what he wanted. He walked over to it, stopping in front of the window beside that let in a large amount of sunlight. He stretched, idly, and heard the soft click of a door shutting behind him.
He lowered himself down to the ground, whatever tension he had in his body instantly evaporated as he took in the sun, eyes slipping closed and letting out a small sigh. If there was at least one thing that Griefer would say he enjoyed about stabbing himself with the Venomshank and becoming part plant, it would be moments like these.
That, and the fact that Player thought he looked cool.
It was only a few moments before he felt a body gently rest against his, peeking out an eye before chuckling softly. “WH4T? YOU TH1NK W3’R3 GONNA KNE3L HER3 ALL DAY?” He asked, and maybe they did based on the confused look they gave him. He pulled his arm up, wrapping it around their shoulders as he put his weight on them and they barely resisted as they fell to the ground. His tail curled around their leg as they shifted on the ground, them on their back and he on top of them holding himself up by his arms.
Perhaps it was because of the sun that made his head start to feel all floaty, or because they were beneath him, maybe both, but he stared at them for a moment. Eyes half-lidded and head tilted slightly. They stared back and something about them just seemed so…
Beautiful.
He grabbed onto the side of their face gently, softly running his thumb across their cheek until he could rub it over their bottom lip. It was unfair, really, how they managed to barge into his life and command so much of it now. He breathed out, slowly, before leaning down-
But he wouldn’t change that for the world.
-And brushed his lips against their own.
They squirmed, slightly, beneath him as he bit their lower lip, forcing it open just enough for him to push his tongue inside. Slowly, he ran over every inch of space inside of their mouth, from both sets of teeth to the sides of their cheeks to the roof and floor of their mouth before pushing against their tongue.
A hand gripped onto his side, softly, and Griefer ignored it in favor of sliding his tongue against their own. It was cold, just like the rest of them, but it was warming up now that his own was against it and at times he hated how cold they were. But there –probably– wasn’t anything he could do about it, other than try to warm them up.
He leaned down, pressed deeper into the kiss as his hand slid down their face, down their neck, across their shoulder, trailing down their arm and over their wrist until he could place his palm against their own, thread his fingers through theirs and squeeze, softly.
They squeezed back.
He pulled back from the kiss, briefly, just enough for the both of them to catch their breath and stare at their slightly flushed face as they did, before going back in. The brush of their lips against his was nice, he liked to think, nice, soft, and just asking to be bitten. Just like the rest of them, actually, and he felt the urge to do it, to bite down and leave a mark.
He pulled back, slight string of saliva breaking as he moved down. Planting his head in between their neck and shoulder. He breathed in slightly, then deeper as their scent filled his lungs, indescribable as always yet so just indistinctly them that he didn’t mind it. He kissed their skin, softly, gently, cold against his lips warming up before he peeled them open.
He felt them flinch, softly, against him as he sank his teeth into their skin. Not enough to pierce, but more than enough to leave an indent behind before he pulled back and licked his lips. He stared down at them, one moment turning to two then three and four turning to five and six then seven-
“YOU’R3 B3AUT1FUL…” He whispered, softly, softer than he had ever been before with anyone besides his dad. He breathed down, gently, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he watched their neutrality crack at the surface. Flush turning into a blush, eyes shifting subtly along his face, spit covered lips parted softly with words that never came.
The hand on his side gripped a bit tighter.
He leaned back down, kissing them again. Saliva mixed until it was indistinguishable, breaths exchanged into each other’s mouths as their tongues pushed and slid against each other, no side dominant or submissive, both on equal footing and equally lost within each other. His eyes slipped shut, and he thinks theirs did too, but he didn’t pay it any mind, allowing himself to fall into the moment, to drift.
Time was vaguely considered, yet ultimately discarded, each brief pause used only to catch their breath, each sliver of eyes open used to stare into each other’s eyes. Interlocked hands squeezing intermittently, softly, just enough to remind each other that they were present, physical in a way other than the slides of tongue and exchange of breaths but not much more than that.
It was an eternity, one that Griefer wanted to stay and lose himself in until he knew nothing else. But, eventually, even eternity has to end. He pulled back, fully this time, and licked his lips as he watched the string of saliva break. They were both panting, even with their brief pauses to catch their breaths, and Griefer stayed on top, for a moment, just to watch them.
Before he tilted down to fall beside them.
He pulled them onto their side with their interlocked hands, pushing his hand under them to wrap his arm around their waist and pulling them forwards against his chest. He pushed his leg between their own, and they raised one to rest it over his hip and pushed their other one between his legs too. The back of their knee slotted against the back of his.
They were cold, still cold.
He rested his chin against their head, and they pushed their face against his neck.
But they were warming up.
His eyes slipped closed, taking in the sun as he breathed in and out slowly. His tail was around one of their legs, said legs practically tangled in his, he could still taste them on his lips, on his tongue, in his mouth. Could feel them against his neck, each inhale and every exhale. Their hand holding onto his side, his arm around their waist, and when he squeezed –softly, gently, containing words unsaid– they squeezed back.
They were here, they were with him, in a way that was entirely undeniable.
The sun rested against his back, over his side, them against his chest, so intertwined.
His mind slowed, a fog sweeping in and threading through every thought, just as his breathing did. A warmth in his chest, not from the sun but something else that he hoped would stay long after it fell and the moon rose. He breathed in, softly, then exhaled, gently.
He felt it.
Warm.
Loved.
And he hoped they did too, even through the cold.