(Untitled)

[dingdongdoodily]

 The room was rather like the interior of Mordhaus, considering that the elder Pickles made sure to specify exactly how he wanted the room, instead of getting a blank slate. However, it wasn't vast in proportion, and was actually something near comfortable. On the desk were scribbled lines of songs that Pickles hadn't yet written, so he ignored

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[cheevy]

Miniver kisses back, leaning against him a bit.

"Man," he mumbles at some point, "this place is cool."

At least, the little he had seen of it.

Mmmmm cherry lipgloss.

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles finally looked around, "Whoa. Okay, Old-Me, tune down the Bauhaus a little." He snickered, and tossed his hat over the papers on the desk so he wouldn't be tempted to read them.

Somehow, he'd never imagined this very moment, and just took it in, running a thumb over Miniver's jaw. "Y'know, I've been sorta.. kinda waitin' for you to show a sign, anything that'd say you... Well, hell. I'm no good with expressing myself like this." He said, shaking his head, and pressed another quick kiss to Miniver's lips before slipping his hand in the other man's, leading him towards the bed.

[cheevy]

Miniver laughs, leaning his head against Pickles' shoulder for a moment.

"Draco was the first and last person to ever seem to really like me. I think he got tired of me a long time before he let me go. I kinda hoped after that there might be someone... Then people convinced me to stop looking for anyone to give a damn, so I finally did, and here you are. Ain't that the way of it?" He slips his arm around Pickles' waist and gives a tight squeeze. "You're like me, aren't you? Better when it rhymes and gets written down." A tighter squeeze, a lingering kiss.

[dingdongdoodily]

"Dude, just fuckin' forget Draco , that guy's nothin' but a dumb douchebag. And fuck what others say, yer worth it." His words, though scathing in actuality, were said in a comforting, soft voice.

He exhaled lightly at the kiss, eyes fluttering momentarily. "Yeah, at least you can erase or rewrite what you say then, make sure it counts."

He slipped his fingers away from Miniver's to trail them up his wrist and sleeve, into the poet's hair, leaning in for another, longer, more passionate kiss.

Body language, however, was a hell of a lot easier than writing or talking.