Gay oneshots

Kyle and Gretal fight but then remember how gay they are

A/N: this contains descriptive scenes of rendezvous, bonks, the sinner's jig...sex, basically.
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It was late when Gretal got back.

Fumbling with her house keys in the dark, thoughts of what- or who -could be waiting behind the door whirred in her mind.

Perhaps Kyle was standing there, more pissed off than ever, waiting until Gretal came tearfully crawling back to immediately send her off again, like some disobedient puppy. Cold and remorseless. Gretal swallowed.

Or worse, perhaps there was nobody there. Perhaps Kyle had left, too. It wouldn't have been unlike her. God. That'd definitely hurt more than being kicked out again.

Gretal's fumbling turned into uncertain trembling, her mind racing at full speed. But, pushing her fear down into the pit of her stomach, she creaked open the door to find things completely untouched. It was as if no time had passed between the fight and now. Maybe Kyle had just been too exhausted to clean things up. All that could be heard was the dishwasher's low rumbling and Kyle's soft, distant breathing.

Gretal started to slowly creep her way over to her partner's room, but not before glancing down at the dining table. It was still spattered with blood, one of the chairs still slanted from Kyle stumbling over it. And then Gretal heard it again.

"Get out." It was just as thick with pain the twentieth time it ran through her mind as it was when Kyle first said it. But Gretal needed to stop thinking about it. She needed to stop. She needed to stop. All that mattered now was that she was going to try to fix things, right?

She was at the entrance of Kyle's room now, who was sound asleep. Her eyes wandered around the walls. It was a very colour coordinated room, consisting entirely of black and white. Gretal always hated it, admittedly. It was always pristine, too pristine, and uninviting. The only positive thing about it, Gretal thought, was that it smelt like Kyle. That oddly distinct smell of the earth after rainfall.

Gently lowering herself onto the bed, Gretal realised she'd never seen Kyle in such a peaceful state. The muscles in her face were relaxed, as were her shoulders. Her dreads framed her face in a way that Gretal had never seen before, the singular white dread she had curled over her face like a halo. Something was so tranquil about seeing her this way. Her anger, frustration, stress, it all seemed to melt away at night. Gretal sighed, resting her cheek in her hand. It must have been exhausting keeping up an attitude like hers all the time. Maybe if she-

"Gretal."

Oh fuck. Fuck. Gretal casually looked to the side, pretending she didn't hear Kyle, couldn't feel her tired eyes begin to burn the side of her face. Kyle slowly propped herself up and Gretal shrank back a little, instinctively. There was a brief silence.

"What are you doing here?" It sounded more like a statement than a question. Gretal's eyes darted from side to side, looking for a place to start.

"Come back to have another slash at my shoulder, have you?" Kyle bared her teeth, illuminating the dark room.

"Well," Gretal coughed. "I--uh, I was-"

"I thought I told you to leave." That familiar, cold stare settled on her face again, which made Gretal's heart sink.

"You did." She blurted out quickly before she could be interrupted again. Her voice had turned surprisingly firm. She gripped the bedsheets and watched Kyle furrow her eyebrows.

"I came back to apologise."

Kyle looked Gretal up and down very, very slowly.

"Why?"