content: fluff + heated kisses, playful banter, established relationship, getting ready for the emmys.
he was supposed to be buttoning his shirt.
instead, pedro’s leaning back on the hotel couch, shirt hanging open, necklace resting against his chest, hair still damp. you were only meant to glance at him on your way past — but how could you, when he looks like that?
“you’re staring,” he says, lips curving into a smirk, voice low and teasing.
“you’re asking for it,” you shoot back, straddling him before you can second-guess it. his hands land on your hips like it’s second nature, tugging you closer, and the next second his mouth is on yours.
the kiss is deep, messy, the kind that makes you forget the rest of the world exists. he groans softly into it, and you feel the rumble all through your chest.
you’re half laughing when his fingers sneak under the hem of your shirt. “pedro, you’re gonna ruin the suit.”
“worth it,” he murmurs against your lips, stealing another kiss.
that’s when the knock comes at the door, followed by a voice: “pascal, you better not be messing up that shirt!”
you both break into laughter, foreheads pressed together, but neither of you moves.
the door cracks open and his stylist steps in with the rest of the team, arms crossed but smiling. “i knew it. can’t leave you two alone for five minutes.”
pedro just grins, shameless, still holding you in his lap. “what can i say? she’s more important than the tux.”
“tell that to the wrinkled collar,” someone mutters, pretending to scowl as they set the garment bag down.
you finally slide off him with a flushed laugh, smoothing his shirt as best you can. “sorry,” you offer, though your grin betrays you.
pedro stands, tugging the fabric straight, still looking far too pleased with himself. “not sorry,” he corrects, dropping one more kiss to your cheek before turning to the waiting suit.
the team groans dramatically, but no one’s actually upset. they’re used to this by now — the way he can’t keep his hands off you when you’re near.
and as he finally slips into the tux, sharp lines and perfect tailoring replacing the lazy half-buttoned shirt, he still finds your eyes in the mirror, lips curving.
“worth it,” he mouths, just for you.
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