[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.
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[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.