It's February winter in LA -- the air is thick and holds a person's spirit in anticipatiopn before giving way to a heavy, cold rain with no wind. It's the physical embodiment of grey
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Miniver turns red as an overripe tomato at that. Giving up anything related to coherent argument, he latches onto Pickles and CLINGS. He embraces him as tightly as his arms can manage, trying to show him just how much he's loved.
"Even if you know nothing, you managed. Sean... Sean... Sean... I love saying your name, so much. I love you, so much. I feel like it's gonna get boring the more we say it to each other. I feel like... like... like I dunno. I just... I dunno. I want... more."
He was used to Axl's squeezing the breath out of him, so this was no different, just more fluffy and amazingly heartfelt. He pet through Miniver's hair and laughed, though it was a little breathless just at the moment. "Fuckin' a' baby, that's what makin' love's fer." He chuckled, "But I love you too, Miniver, there ain't a star in the sky or a flame bright enough to even compete with you."
Pickles smiled softly against the neck of the poet. "Maybe," he whispered, "I'll just stop talkin' an' get you outta this funk."
That said, he started tickling, all teeth as usual, "Cheer up an' get happy, I'm not gunna let you mope around 'til whenever!" He was in a good mood, after all.
Miniver squeaks and jump-flails, making Katie give a yelp and go sailing off the couch. The tickling reduces him almost instantly to a lump of giggling Irish poet, pawing at Pickles and grinning up at him.
"Are you happy?" he manages to ask between gasps for breath.
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"Even if you know nothing, you managed. Sean... Sean... Sean... I love saying your name, so much. I love you, so much. I feel like it's gonna get boring the more we say it to each other. I feel like... like... like I dunno. I just... I dunno. I want... more."
He somehow manages to squeeze tighter.
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See what he did there? Pretty smooth? Yes? No?
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But still... he's in a place, or a mood, or a SOMETHING, and he pulls Pickles down to him and he kisses the drummer long and soft and loving.
"You know me, baby, you gotta know you're gonna make me cry if you keep talkin' like that," he whispers into Pickles' ear.
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That said, he started tickling, all teeth as usual, "Cheer up an' get happy, I'm not gunna let you mope around 'til whenever!" He was in a good mood, after all.
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"Are you happy?" he manages to ask between gasps for breath.
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