Michael: Ok, so those fucking creepy weird things are our kids. I say "our" like there's two of us. Gavin, we're parents! Congratulations! How does it feel?
Gavin: Can you imagine if we were gay parents?
Michael: I don't want to.
Gavin: I think it would be top.
Michael: I think that kid would be severely fucked up in the head.
Fandom: Ragehappy
Title: Jealousy
Pairings: Mavin
Wordcount: 380
Summary: Michael has no right to be jealous. He is anwyay.
Rating: R for swearing and... stuff
Notes: Why am I doing this, I don't even know
“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t.”
Michael is heavy on top of Gavin, his fingers digging into Gavin’s wrist. Gavin’s arm is pinned between them, the side of his face against the floor.
“What, Michael?” He tries to feign indifference, even though he knows exactly what this is about.
“You can’t just say something like that!”
Gavin thinks he can hear Michael’s teeth grinding. He tries vainly to squirm out from underneath Michael, but it’s useless. He’s nowhere as strong as Michael - especially when he’s angry - and he’s got him properly pinned against the floor.
For a moment Gavin can’t decide if he’s feeling amused, or angry, or just really turned on. Probably a little of each.
“Let go of me, Michael.” Michael doesn't move, or answer. And suddenly Gavin is very, very annoyed. “What’s your problem, anyway?”
Michael starts to snap back at him, “You know what my fucking problem - ” but Gavin interrupts him. “Is exactly that. Your problem. I wasn't the one who, who went and bloody got engaged -”
The silence from Michael is telling. Gavin feels the steel grip around his wrist start to loosen, and some of the weight eases off his back.
“It was a joke, anyway.” Gavin mutters.
“What?”
“I don’t bang dudes, Michael, you know that.”
A sigh. Gavin can feel it, warm against the back of his neck. “Liar.”
“Oh shut up, I don’t…” Whatever he was going to say is lost the next moment when he feels a hand slowly trail down his side, fingers brushing against his skin where it’s exposed between his T-shirt and jeans.
“Michael.” He meant for it to sound like a warning, but it comes out needy instead. “Michael, we talked about this.”
The reply is soft against the shell of his ear. “I know, I just…”
Gavin manages to twist his free arm down to close his hand over Michael's. “Stop. I told you already. You sort this out with Lindsey first.”
Finally, Michael lets him go and gets up. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry.”
Gavin doesn't move a muscle until he hears Michael leave his apartment, the door shutting firmly behind him.
“Bloody idiot”, he mutters. Groaning, he bangs his head against the floorboards. “Great big sodding git.”
why is it that were always told not to get tattoos at a young age because we “will regret it later on” when we are basically told to choose a career path by age 18? i’d rather be 40 years old with a tattoo that meant something to me when i was young than be 40 years old not wanting to get out of bed to go to a job that i hate because i was forced to decide on a career in my teens
I'm getting closer to 30 and I'm starting to regret not getting tattoos at a younger age because if I get them now it'll seem weird like, I'm too old for that shit??