If you were church, I'd get on my knees [closed]

[murderpotato]

Who: The Couple Voted Least Likely to Get Their Shit Together (Gren murderpotato and Wade Wilson ishotyouuu)
What: One day these two assholes will get their shit together, but it's not today
Where: The Former Telltale Swag Pad, now Gren's House of L-Word
When: Backdated to like sometime earlier this month
Warnings: Gren's potty mouth. Otherwise, this is pure fluffy bullshit, man.

Sometimes, Gren has to marvel at how absolutely polar opposite his life has turned out here in Hadriel than it ever was back in New York. Back home, he'd been this asshole drifter getting kicked out of a train of shitty apartments and jobs, racking up a tab for cheap whiskey at his only friend's bar. And now...

He's standing in his kitchen, watching Wade finish up dinner. He'd helped as much as he could, since he's not all that handy with cooking, and he's kind of hungry and whatever Wade's making smells pretty good, and the only thing that would make this better is if he could hear whatever shitty 80's song Wade's singing right now. It's all domestic and shit, and it's nice. He has a Nice Thing, and he hasn't fucked it up or lost it yet, which is a fucking first.

Gren really only half lives at this place anymore, too. Half the time he's at Wade's, since they just sort of go back to whoever's place is closest, and their stuff sort of migrates between the two houses depending on how much they forget to keep track of their clothes. There's something at the back of Gren's mind that whispers why even bother with two places, but he tries not to think about that too much. Don't push it. He can't have too much happiness, or else the universe'll notice and have to cut that shit out.

But, ultimately, Gren's... content. In a way that he hasn't been for centuries. It's both amazing and also terrifying as shit. It almost feels like he's cheating somehow, like he's gamed the system accidentally and eventually this'll get taken away. Like happiness is his ill-gotten gains.

"Almost done, babe?"

Whatever he's making, it smells great and Wade's the best damn cook. (Sorry, Texmex twins, you two are good but he's sleeping with this chef. He's biased.)

Comments

[ishotyouuu]

Rude, Gren. You live in the 80s. Don't diss Men at Work like that.

Regardless of Gren's denouncement of Wade's taste in music, there's definitely a certain domesticity between the two of them that hadn't been there before. Everything just became sort of routine between the two of them as their habit of sleeping together became more frequent-- somewhere along the line it had progressed to sharing meals together just as often as they shared a bed. It was... nice, all things considered, bringing Wade back to a time when he'd had three other roommates and finding a way to cool a meal for all of them with the meager amount of food that could be scavenged every day.

Now that the food has increased and Wade's number of friends had decreased, he found himself looking forward to that sort of domesticity even as he regularly denies its existence. This is fine. It's all fine. Two fuck-buddies just sometimes eat dinner together out of convenience, that's all.

Still, there's no accounting for that grin that crosses Wade's face at Gren's little term of endearment; the way his heart skips a little beat as he watches the other man set the table for the two of them. He tosses a rakish wink in Gren's direction.

"Just gotta put the finishing touches on this one, dude. You can't rush perfection, y'know?"

[murderpotato]

It had started slowly, this domestic shit. They'd gone from just sleeping together, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, to spending the whole night and the inevitable offer of breakfast the morning after. And when that became comfortable, because Gren doesn't function in the morning until he's had at least a few cups of coffee and Wade makes killer pancakes, it hadn't been so weird to show up a little earlier in the evening and maybe have a few drinks. And then a little earlier still, because if you're going to be here around dinnertime, might as well stop by half an hour sooner have something to eat, right?

It's like boiling a frog; gradual changes, little by little, so small that they're barely noticeable. They slipped into domesticity almost on accident. Maybe that says something about them as people, that they tend towards this kind of relationship unconsciously. Or maybe they're just shit at friends with benefits, that's all.

Gren turns his head in time to catch that wink and the tail end of his sentence; the whole deafness thing is still kind of difficult, but he's adapting. He's okay at reading lips so long as Wade keeps his mouth uncovered, and he's learned a little sign language. With any luck, Hope will get his shit together enough that it won't be a problem for much longer, but still.

"Is that what this is?" he finishes setting up the table, a simple, routine task that he's done plenty of times. "If I wanted somethin' perfect in my mouth, I'd just go down on you."

Because that dick is the closest to perfection that Gren'll ever be.

[ishotyouuu]

Wade chuckles and shakes his head at Gren's comment-- he's long since gotten used to the man's attempts to be smooth, but sometimes it's a little much. Gren's not much for rhetoric, he's found. Most of his praise has been centered around Wade's general appearance or his prowess in the bedroom, and never in a way that resembles anything approaching subtle. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing-- when you look like barbecued roadkill on a good day, any compliment is welcome. Besides, actions speak louder than words, and Gren has proven himself time and time again to back up what he can't properly articulate. In his own rough and unsocialized way.

Still, there's a time and a place for everything, and Wade spares a moment to turn around so that Gren can read his message plainly on his lips.

"Easy there, tiger. We'll get to dessert eventually. For now, why don't you focus on feeding yourself before pampering Gren Jr., okay?"

[murderpotato]

There's a lot about Wade that Gren likes, and some of it definitely deals with the stuff he has below the waist and what he can do with it. There's also the stuff that's... harder to articulate, especially for him, since he's got like fifteen hundred years of emotional constipation to sort out. It's easier to tell Wade that he's the hottest piece of ass in this murdercave than to say that he likes that his hands are rough but he uses them gently, or that he always hated it when people chattered but doesn't mind if it's Wade.

Maybe one day he'll be able to actually put words to all the shit that mixes around in his chest whenever he looks at Wade.

"Who says I'm in a rush?"

They've got all night for dessert. And they usually make pretty damn good use of all that time, too.

Gren comes back into the kitchen, his table-setting task complete, and wanders over to where Wade is doing his cooking thing. His hand moves, signs out a brief phrase-- kiss me.