SURPRISE SECOND LINK WITH THE ORIGINAL GIFT FIC THAT I REALIZED WAS A LITTLE TOO SEXY FOR THE EVENT 😳😳😳😳
"You're so fucking hot," Phil near hisses it into his lips, eyes in narrowed blue slits as Missa cracks a smile, the gall of him, "Fuckin- what the hell are you doing with all that hot? Who authorized this?" Taloned thumbs pushed and prodded at his face, stroking low, dragged down the curve of his lower lip. A snarl bubbled in Phil's throat. "Completely unnecessary."
Missa snickered, let him thumb his mouth open, biting gently over the trespassing fingers as the flush over Phil's shoulders darkened, felt the thighs in his lap tense.
"It's not funny," Phil huffed, hands moving to his hair, tangling in the teal underdye.
"It kind of is," Missa countered, hands settling in the curve of his husband's spine as Phil leant back against the headboard, tugging him down to close the distance. Fingers curled into the hairs at the base of his head, the crease of a brow only more apparent as his mouth slanted over parted lips, slow and burning.
Phil broke the kiss first, albeit incredibly reluctantly, watched the shine of his saliva against Missa's lip and swore.
"That's not fucking fair," Missa felt those hands pull him back in, eyes closing to the barrage of angry, hungry kisses inflicted upon his mouth, "That's- mmph- insane. How am I- meant to get- anything done."
Missa was giggling now, all squinty-eyed and prominent cheekbones, usually contagious if Phil wasn't physically struggling.
"Stop laughing. Put a bag over your head. Leave the country. How am I not kissing you right now."
"What's stopping you?" Missa said it innocently, deliberately, resting his chin in his chest. Phil squinted at him.
"You had no problem with that a second ago, querido."
Phil had no argument. Missa was very not-discreetly nudging into his cleavage.
"I hear what they say about you, you know," Missa cooed it at him, like he's not halfway buried in the canyon dip.
"Mira, que lindo, maravilloso, que hermoso, Philza, how wonderful, how beautiful."
Missa came nose to nose with him, unbelievably smug. "I just think it'd be funny if they find out all this time their angel's aching to jump his own husband."
"Says the one on a deep dive into my tits."
Phil nearly jumps, feeling skeletal hands cup around them, kneading gently. Big baby browns blink back at him from just-empty sockets, only the tiniest bit cocky.
"You don't like how I look here?"
Phil scoffs. "Look at this. I call him hot once and he thinks I'll do whatever he wants."
The smile dropped from Missa's face, looking up at him, wide-eyed and pleading. Phil's trying to say no. He really is.
Missa snuggled into a tit. "Won't you, cariño?"
"Right. You need to chill the fuck out."
Missa laughed as Phil let his head fall back, a soft thump against the headboard as he shut his eyes determinedly. He could feel the shadow looming over him, felt the weight ease off his chest and the curtain of soft hair brush against his winged ears.
"Nope. Not opening them."
"Don't want to see the view?"
"Mm-mm. Not getting these open, no sir."
"Ohh, you haven't called me 'sir' in a while."
Phil choked on his surprise. "My god-"
"That too," and Phil was laughing now, eyes still shut as the warmth crept up his neck, only barely turning away from the press of a mouth against his jaw, over the feathers along his cheek, the shaking corners of his mouth and he did open his eyes just as Missa leant back up, elbows on either side of his head as he grinned down triumphant, lashes low and dark, the lantern light reflecting off of them. Phil squinted at him.
"You'll kill me. You're going to actually kill me."
The corners of Missa's eyes crack into pleased lines, fingers knot into the short hair at the top of his head, making his chin tilt up as brown eyes flick back into full, yellow moons, reminiscent enough of sand and sea and glowing white to make his breath hitch.
A thumb pushes his lip down, traces over the stubbled skin of his jaw and he's back in his bed, his husband's weight on him, taking the brunt of watching Missa swallow at the sight of him. The hands smooth his hair back from his forehead, making his brows raise unevenly, and those (sexy, sexy) shoulders shake as he giggles.
"Don't worry. I'll bring you right back."
The curtains of dark hair lowered, and Phil shut his eyes to the chill against his mouth, sparking sensation up to the feathers of his ear, his own hands warm against the scarring skin of a bare waist. Legs, rustling under the blankets, tensing as his thighs squeeze around thin hips.
Well. The kids can wait a couple more hours.
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