bakerstreet | THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

They both were playing dirty and Tifa didn't like it. She didn't like to see all the extra touches or prolong kisses Cloud was giving out because she was watching. She was watching every kiss and touch. She also didn't like how she felt watching him with the woman. She wasn't a mean or jealous woman and Cloud and her were only friends but wanted to hurt everyone that made soft noises of pleasure because Cloud shouldn't be causing them.

So even though she had a longer line than Cloud, Tifa closed up shop. She didn't like how there little battle of wills was causing her to feel. With her money in hand she moved to Cloud's booth and placed it in front of him.

"You win."

There was a certain undeniable hint of smug pride that flared up at her resignation. Hearing the sound of those who had been wrongfully slighted by her cutting in line only sparked it further. Sighs of frustration and annoyance at having waited, only to be thwarted at the last moment. Especially since they had spent the previous moments watching each women before them getting special treatment.

Honestly, it wasn't even entirely about who could earn the most money, even if it was eventually going to aid a rather good cause. It wasn't even entirely about who could make the other the most jealous.

It was almost who was going to crack first.

"Do I get to claim my prize now?"

"Prize? Do you mean the money?" Tifa asked looking at Cloud with a raised eyebrow. She pushed the cash box that was full of donations towards Cloud. "Sure. Here is your prize. I should go now so you can continued on with... this." Tifa really wasn't a jealous person but in that moment she was and if Cloud continued on with the kissing booth then she would have to be somewhere else.

[He can't see it. But he can feel a sharp little smile in the crook of his neck and-- well, remembers where they are with alarming clarity and how silly and stupid they're being in front of anyone crossing by. This is it. This is what does him in. Not the inherent dangerousness of Purple Haze or the rumors that he's betrayed the Boss that still float around-- but Giorno's dangerous smile, the breath of his exhale, and the possessive circle of his arm. There's absolutely no mistaking the way they're holding onto each other, if there ever was any confusion to outsiders about what sort of relationship they had.

If Trish comes out he's going to die. If Mista wakes up he's never going to live it down. If Sheila shows up she's going to-- he doesn't know, probably find some important documents to crumple up and throw at them.]

Giogio, careful, I'm going to fall. [His warning is a sort of feeble protest. Something to fill up the space while he tries to think of something a little more clever, a little more-- something. Anything. Even if he's not wrong in that his position on the stool already feels precarious and wobbly. Fugo rests his head on Giorno's curls and tries to clear his head. This is so stupid.] Well, I. You.

You're a bad influence. [There are so, so many things he never knew he wanted or needed until Giorno Giovanna came into his life. And now he has them and he doesn't think he can ever go back to living without. It's terrible and wonderful all at once.]

Edited 2016-09-23 00:10 (UTC)

You won't fall. And if you do, I'll catch you.

[He can't stop grinning. It probably seems terribly smug, because it is. He is in absolute awe at his own luck; his fingers toy with one of the buttons on Fugo's shirt, which is as possessive as the way he leans against him, which is as possessive as his smile, which is--and so on. Just because he's smug doesn't mean he doesn't mean it, though. Mine means lots of things, with him. One is that he keeps the people who are his safe.]

[He hums a little under his breath and sighs, a quick soft delighted little sigh, and blinks slowly, his lashes fluttering against Fugo's neck.]

If I'm a bad influence . . . I think you like that, too, Fugo. I think you like being mine and you like my bad influence and you like kissing me. You like kissing me a lot.

[Which is good. He thinks he might die a little if Fugo didn't want to kiss him, to be close to him like this. In that it goes both ways: he was fine going without, back before he knew what going with felt like.]

[Glancing up, he cups Fugo's cheek in his hand and regards him intently. Admittedly, he is mostly regarding Fugo's mouth, but still: everything is covered eventually. After a moment, he wipes the gloss off Fugo's lower lip with his thumb and very carefully ruins it immediately by kissing him again.]

You're lovely. So very. Sometimes it's hard to believe how lovely you are. I like you very much. So much. I don't have a number for how much. Bigger than numbers.

"You know, you're pretty cute when you're pretty cute when you're jealous." And while that definitely wasn't the original reason he'd agreed to any of this - or even the original reason for why he'd refused her - it was definitely an amusing and welcome side effect.

"I'm not jealous," Tifa said lying even as her cheeks flared up in a blush. She wanted to scowl and turn away but she stayed where she was looking at Cloud because she didn't want to prove him right.

"You have people waiting for you."

"So did you." Yet here she was, standing in front of him, trying not to blush or act like any of this actually bothered her.

And doing a pretty terrible job, given just how well they knew each other.

"Just say thank you for the money I helped raise," Tifa said, cheeks red, but she wasn't angry. Jealous? Yes. Angry? No. "You won't get as many tips if you leave them waiting, Cloud. Think of the cause. I'll see you at home, okay?" Tifa then gave him a bright smile and turned to move away.

"Thank you." Perhaps he was being a bit self serving - okay, entirely self serving in the way he was egging her on, as if trying to see exactly what it would take.

And apparently, the final straw was seeing him kiss someone else with any amount of feeling behind it. Especially when the kiss she'd been given had been purposefully less than stellar.

"What happened to that kiss you wanted?"

"The 'you get what you'd pay for' kiss?" Tifa asked pausing in her movement to look back at Cloud. A lot of time it was fairly easy for Tifa to read Cloud even when others couldn't because she knew him so well but with jealousy clouding her vision and thoughts she couldn't read him at all.

"I already got it and your prices are just to high for me now." Or she didn't want to make a bigger fool of herself. Her kiss had barely been a peck and she had seen wha he had given the women standing in his line.

"Maybe I want one from you." Sure, there were a number of people who's time he was essentially wasting by drawing out this exchange. Money that he was losing out on by continuing this conversation.

But he'd already brought in nearly triple what he'd set out to raise, not counting the contribution that Tifa had made. Whatever was lost wouldn't be missed, and if it was, he would gladly make it up himself.

"You want a kiss from me," Tifa repeated what she had just heard as she looked at Cloud. She could hear the women in Cloud's line start to become restless, well the ones that were further back at least. The ones that could see and hear what was going on wouldn't stop the show for anything.

"I guess I could give you one," Tifa said before she moved Cloud's tip jar closer to him. "If you pay."

Bright eyes glance downwards, taking in the sight of the tip jar and it's sudden proximity. It wasn't as if he could blame her for making some sort of stipulation, especially with everything he'd so far to push her to that point.

"Name your price."

Tifa raised an eyebrow at Cloud and his words. She was silent for a long moment, taking him in before speaking. "What's a kiss from me worth?" she asked forming multiple plans in her head depending on Cloud answered. It was almost a trick question that she had asked.

"I wouldn't put it past you. I wouldn't put anything past you." He's not stupid enough to underestimate you, Harry, give him a little more credit than that. "Uh huh. Mr. Maturity, that's definitely you."

Yeah this is definitely getting a little out of hand, but Peter can hardly bring himself to care. He's in too deep now, embracing Harry with barely a hint of caution, whole hand moving against Harry's neck, sliding underneath his collar to cradle his face and bring him as close as physically possible with the barrier of the booth between them.

Well, not that Peter had much of a chance to try it, but if you kept at it long enough, it's possible you might be able to get it to stick for longer. Make the healing time stretch and stretch - if you were diligent about it, that's the theory, anyway.

Peter is very much preoccupied with kissing every inch of Harry's jaw while he stands there deliberating, thumb hovering over Harry's pulse. The longer they keep it up, the more comfortable Peter feels - as if that isn't something he should stop and investigate, pronto. But Harry's warm, he's safe, he's important, and it's a feeling Peter hasn't had in such a long time. He wants that, and maybe -

But then, just as Peter can feel his own breathing get a little rougher, Harry pulls away, leaving Peter a little flustered himself. Cheeks red, hair wilder than before (it didn't seem possible, but yeah), heart beating away in his chest. He blinked at Harry, hands still cradling him intimately. "...only if you're sure you got your donation's worth." He's too afraid. He can't say it. That he doesn't want to stop. That...came out of left field, for him, and he's going to go freak out about it privately. And then not do anything about it, probably, because he's Peter and - Harry is too much. Too important. It's not worth risking, not even when Peter can feel the air in his lungs constricting because he - no.

Even while rolling his eyes, Harry couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. "I'm not going to. Geez!" It doesn't stop you from underestimating him when you're taking bets! "Hey, what's with the sarcasm? I am!"

Goodness knows Harry would be enough of a persistent doofus to try. Probably at the most ridiculous time, too. They're just watching a movie when suddenly Harry bowls him over onto the couch and declares that he's not getting up until he's given him a proper hickey. 'Are you seriously still stuck on that?' Yes. Yes, he is.

It's a miracle Harry can even conjure up a coherent thought when Peter's got him drawn so close that he's nearly pulling him over the top of the counter, fervently trailing kisses along his jaw. If Harry weren't trying so damn hard not to get carried away, he would have climbed over by now. It's breath-taking and surprising. Either Peter's taking this challenge really seriously, or--

He's supposed to be refraining from humoring those thoughts.

But what surprises Harry most is the complete lack of smugness from Peter. No 'I told you so.' Not even a smirk, even though he did exactly what he said he was going to. It's so unlike him that it actually makes Harry pause. "--You're not bragging," he points out softly. Free of judgment or teasing, but he's straining to keep the hopefulness out, because... 'You're not pulling away.' He keeps his eyes locked with Peter's-- or maybe it's that he can't take them off of him. Regardless, Harry's not exactly moving any further away himself. One hand is still counting heartbeats, and the other's still settled against Peter's back, tangled in his shirt. Not even an attempt to pull Peter's hands away from his neck, or to put some distance between them.

Maybe he's looking too hard, seeing what he wants to see, but there's definitely something... off. Surely Harry's not imagining that. He knows Peter well enough by now to know this is unprecedented.

That was a mistake Peter didn't intend to make a second time, if he could help it. "You most certainly are not. That's a bold lie, you know." Harry was hardly what one would call mature, but perhaps that's why they got along so well. Not to say they weren't bith responsible, just...goofballs.

Of course, Peter could flip Harry over and turn the whole situation around on him with barely any effort, but he'd probably let him try. If only for the amusement of Harry's determination. Plus, ahem, having Harry's mouth on him, and his futile attempt at holding Peter to the couch, wasn't necessarily unpleasant.

Peter doesn't really know what to do. Breathing still a little harsh, still pretty intimately tangled with Harry, and he isn't sure he wants to move. Doesn't know how to qualify the emotions blooming in his chest, ones he hasn't had in quite some time. "I. I'm not." Peter manages, staring back at Harry. So many things he could say, but probably shouldn't. Except Harry isn't pulling away either, and Peter doesn't know what to do with that either. Wow, he never thought kissing Harry would become this confusing.

His thumb brushed against the underside of Harry's jaw, a quiet, soft gesture. Something tender, maybe a little unduly so. Everything Peter couldn't find the courage to say aloud, for fear of losing everything.

When you're the one who consistently starts food fights every time you're over at the Parker residence, "mature" probably isn't a good word to describe you, no. Not that it stops Harry from trying to argue his case anyway. "I'm more mature than you, the guy who still mows people down on his skateboard."

And that right there is what earns you extra snuggles and a more concerted effort to do things he knows you like, Peter: playing along when Harry decides to try and be assertive. They both know Peter could easily overpower him if he wanted. Not that taking advantage of Peter's strength isn't fun, too... Double ahem.

Time seemed to stand still the longer they stood there, eyes locked and their faintly ragged breaths mingling. Peter's not trying to make up for any absence of smug behavior, and Harry doesn't even begin to know what to do with that beyond hope. It took everything he had to pull away when he did-- to try and do the respectful thing and back off before he went too far. Only... it almost seems as if Peter hadn't wanted him to stop. He couldn't be imagining that, could he? It occurs to him that he should say something, but everything he thinks to say sticks to his throat. He can't quite find the strength to will the words out, to lay his feelings bare or to ask if Peter feels the same.

So, he doesn't. And maybe he doesn't need to. The affectionate touch to his jaw has his heart fluttering, his eyelids growing heavy against the desire to close his eyes and lean into the gesture. His resolve is quickly crumbling. The hand resting over Peter's heart slides up to cover one of his hands instead, and whether it's to keep it there or pull it away is up in the air for a moment. A glimpse of fleeting hesitation is all there is before Harry tips his head and takes Peter's mouth against his own again-- impulsive yet careful.

Instead of talking about out feelings, let's keep kissing.

Peter has toyed with getting May a 'No Osborn's Allowed' sign for the kitchen, but honestly, it was a little too real and Peter wasn't completely convinced she'd appreciate the joke (getting ketchup stains out of wallpaper was harder than it looked). "I do not. Over thirty days without incident!"

Harry pinning him to a couch and laughing, snuggling and such - it's a good mental image. They really should stop dancing around each other; they're so gone on each other and yet, still pining, not acting on their feelings. It borders on ridiculous, and maybe it's a little sappy, but they both just mean too much to each other. Ahem ahem ahem.

The entire fair could be looking at them and Peter wouldn't have noticed, too busy studying the colors in Harry's eyes. He can't find the words to be insufferably smug - not to turn it into a joke, anyway, although he did as promised, he delivered. Does he want to stop? Honestly? No? Does that scare him a little? Definitely. Harry still isn't pulling away, and Peter can't help but fill the silence with everything he could say. And nothing's happening. Peter can't break the trance he just...he can't.

For a second, Peter thinks oh, this is where it ends. This is where Harry pulls away, I crack a joke, and it's nothing. A moment they don't speak of, bragging rights for a few months and then...it fades out of their history, over time. But then Harry's kissing him again, not quite as fervently as before but - he didn't have to. They shouldn't be kissing again there's no reason other than...maybe Harry wants to kiss him. There's the briefest moment where Peter doesn't react, too shocked, frankly, before he's kissing Harry back. Soft, tentative movements between them, as though Harry might pull away again and he doesn't know what he'd do if he did. Peter's hands cup Harry's face, thumb moving up, to brush over Harry's cheekbone, almost in awe.

If it helps at all, Harry would think it was funny. After putting on a big show of being offended, of course. He knows fully well how disaster prone he is, and he'd be amazed they didn't put one up sooner. "Wow, Peter. Thirty days! It's almost like you don't zip through the streets like a hooligan." Did he just use the word 'hooligan'? Yes, yes, he did.

Pining is just as much a part of their personalities as grief is for Peter and conflict is for Harry. But when you've lost as much as they have, that friendship almost seems even more fragile, one might suppose. Besides, everyone knows they're a couple of saps.

Which is why, when Harry finally gathers that impulsive courage to kiss Peter, he almost immediately regrets it because Peter isn't doing anything. He's frozen, and Harry's not sure if that's worse than him pulling away or not. 'You idiot, you completely misjudged,' he thinks in that briefest of moments. He starts to panic, abort the plan, but then... just as quickly, Peter surprises him again.

He returns the gesture.

The rush of emotion that follows neglects to acknowledge that they're going to eventually have to address this. He'd rather relish in the relief and astonished joy of the moment instead. He doesn't want to question it or delve too much into the consequences. All that matters to him right now is that Peter kissed him back. His hands are warm against his face, and the small but affectionate brush against his cheek has him melting easily into Peter's touch all over again. The hand resting idly against one of Peter's forearms slides up more decisively, gently curling around his wrist-- in part to encourage Peter and partly to trace lines of his own across the back of Peter's hand with his thumb. His other hand wanders up from Peter's back to rest between his shoulder blades instead, content to hold him close as he takes his time, savoring the warmth of his friend's lips against his. Not nearly as hungry-- but the tenderness in his movements have just as much feeling behind it.

If he's even aware that they're still out in public, he's not showing it.

[Getting flustered at their first kiss really caught D.Va off guard and this opportunity is a perfect way to get revenge. At least that's how Hana sees it. The kisser before her got a peck and she just rolls her eyes; that's not even close to what she's got in mind.

A very smug pro-gamer steps up to Shiro's booth and confidently slides a thick roll of cash to Shiro.]

That's for the cause. [Because he is doing something quite charitable when you break it down and she likes to help out.] And this is for last time.

[Both her hands have to be on the table to push her up a little, but they get her up there to do a surprise kiss. While technique's not as refined as Shiro's, her lips are soft and and she's not settling for just a peck either.]

Would it help if Peter fully committed to it and painted it himself? Maybe he will, the next time he's trolling Hobby Lobby for more cheap spandex to sew his next costume before it's completely destroyed in another city-wide disaster. "I don't! I try to stick to the sidewalk, thanks." The word gets an impressive side-eye from Peter, and an amused snort that conveys more friendly judgement than he could say with words.

Maybe so. And maybe it would never really happen. It just...seemed so unfair, in light of everything else the universe decided to throw at them.

You'll have to pardon him, Harry, but congrats, you managed to shock him for a second there. They really will have to talk about this now, instead of letting it sink in and burrow in the back of their minds, about what could have happened. It is happening, and yeah, they could pass it off as a weak moment in a dry spell - surely, the most logical of coverups - but something in Peter's chest tells him that he can't believe that, not on Harry's part and certainly not on his own. No, this is definitely not something they can just...pretend like it didn't happen. Peter's not entirely sure what to do with the quiet excitement he's experiencing about that particular conversation.

One of Peter's hands slides down Harry's neck, feeling his pulse just under his jaw. Steady, warm; Peter's so distracted by Harry's lips that he can't tell whether or not the heartbeat he's listening to is Harry's, or his own. Maybe they're beating in time. Peter's not sure it matters. He breathes through his nose and tilts his head just enough to part his lips, teeth scraping gently against Harry's lower lip. This kiss, though different, is equally as good, if not better.

Peter may just have to close up shop.

[He's falling, again. Past all of the cautious words he spends so much time deliberating over, head over heels over the careful way he presents himself around others. All it takes is looking at Giorno looking at him and, oh, there he goes. There's no holding back this thunderous feeling, or pretending it's anything but what it is: the only reason it doesn't bubble forth from his mouth is that as he starts to shape it Giorno kisses him again. I love you, he thinks, in the moment that can't have been more than an instant but stretches on and on, so much, too much, more every day.

He's not physically falling. But he feels dizzy after that kiss regardless, enough that this time he's the one to tip forward and try to hide away in the comfort of Giorno's collar. Giorno, who he's fallen hopelessly in love with; who he can't imagine not being a part of his life. Giorno, who's so certain about his rightness that it should be annoying except that he's entirely correct about all of those things.]

This was a mistake. [Normally, when Fugo's complaining his words sting. These are just an overwhelmed mumble into Giorno's shoulder and, even as he says them, he's holding more tightly onto him.] Coming out here when I still have work to do. When I like being yours so much. Because when I'm with you, I don't want to be anywhere else.

[When he likes being kissed so much. When he likes just being with Giorno, whether they're working or talking. Or even in the morning after Giorno has spent the night reading with him, before either of their alarms go off and one or both of them is still half-asleep. There is no way he'll be able to go back to his office. It just isn't happening.]

Mm . . .

[He's all soft comfort now, at least for the moment. Probably in another few he'll turn back around and be wicked again, but for the moment he can be sweet, his hand coming up to rub gentle circles between Fugo's shoulderblades. He leans his cheek against Fugo's temple, then buries his nose in his hair. It smells good, like dust and ink and the ocean. For all his spikiness, Fugo feels good in his arms.]

So don't go anywhere else. Stay with me. Your work can wait a little while. Long enough for you to kiss me another hundred times.

[Maybe two hundred. Or maybe they can just stay like this, with his eyes closed and his nose buried in Fugo's hair, so comfortable and so safe. He hums again, and it's nearly a purr. So happy.]

I want you here with me. So stay. This mistake is . . . approved. Rubber stamped. I'm your boss, so it's fine.

THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

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Wow self good job typing the same thing twice A+ proof reading

No worries! I understood what you were trying to say

Thank goodness someone did, honestly

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If the invite is still valid.

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