A Book Of Bullshit I Make Instead Of Sleeping Oops

Lancer Is Highly Effective At Washing Dishes

"Show a character is feeling jealous by the way he/she performs daily activities."

It's Lancer's turn to do the dishes.

The Lens take turns doing various chores around the house, but laundry seems to be the most difficult, considering how many times the Lens soil their clothes for...

...reasons.

Edge and Receiver are hanging out on the couch, (not Edge's precious FUCKINGCOUCH, that's in his room) playing Diablo.

Lancer can't help but notice, as the kitchen is visible to that particular game/living room and vice versa.

His fingers tighten around the plate he's soaping down, and he's forced to relax when the plate nearly slips out of his hand.

He watches as the two gamers take on Azmodan, a rather gruesome faced monster/demon with six(?) legs. He couldn't quite see, but the legs reminded him of a spider, though he can't tell if there's six or eight legs in the dark setting of the game.

Edge depletes Azmodan's remaining health, and Receiver gives a loud cheer, high-fiving the ginger.

A bowl crashes into the sink, shattering.

The two gamers whirl around at the noise, but Lancer duck behind the counter and out of their view.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be back," Receiver announces.

As soon as he gets up, Edge approaches the kitchen counter, peeking around to see Lancer curled up on the floor, back against the cabinet and face in his arms.

"Lancer...? What's wrong?"

The blond stands abruptly, causing Edge to stumble back in surprise.

Unable to contain himself, Lancer shoves Edge against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head.

His eyes convey love when he studies Edge up and down, but hurt spiked when he looked into the younger's eyes.

Helpless, Edge is scared, and it shows.

Lancer sighs, his body seeming to deflate before Edge's eyes. He rests his forehead against the one of the ginger he's fallen so hard for, his tears trickling out slowly and dripping onto Edge's cheeks.

Edge attempts to free one hand so he can act on his natural reaction, to dry Lancer's tears, but Lancer grips his wrists tighter.

"Hate me, Edge," Lancer whispers brokenly. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to hurt you. Tell me you hate me."

"Never."

"Hate me, dammit. Can't you see I'm a danger to you?" Lancer pushes, despising the words coming out of his mouth, but believing them. "I love you. I love you and I can't, you should hate me because you deserve only the best, and I'm nothing."

Frustrated, Edge acts impulsively, jerking forward to kiss the man before him.

Lancer's eyes snap open wide in shock, but he melts into the kiss, his grip loosening on Edge's bony wrists.

Free, Edge loops his arms around Lancer's neck, shivering against him as the blond's hand rests around his waist, other hand gently cupping his face.

A soft, sweet kiss, and they pull apart.

Edge is panting slightly, cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red.

Lancer kisses him once more, running his tongue along Edge's teeth until he finds an entrance, pushing through it to fill Edge's mouth.

Edge fights weakly for dominance, but Lancer ultimately wins without much trouble. The younger gives a disappointed whine when Lancer lightens up, kissing the side of his mouth and gently removing his jacket.

He's not ready to go further, but Lancer kisses up his jaw, then follows the graceful curve of his neck, sucking hickeys into otherwise unmarred skin.

The quietest moan slips out as Lancer grinds against him, rubbing their bulges together slowly.

Edge bites his lip, reaching up for another kiss to cope with the sensations.

Lancer kisses his nose, then finally his lips. At the same time he manages to get Edge's polo unbuttoned, and it slides down to reveal a velvety smooth shoulder.

he rubs slow circles in the small of Edge's back, relaxing him.

"I'm back!"

The two jump apart, Edge hastily fixing his jacket to hide the state of his clothes. Unfortunately, Lancer's hickeys glow above where the collar of his polo ends.

Receiver strains his smile and Edge bounds back over to him, chattering about Diablo.

Lancer can see Receiver physically relax.

Slyly, he tiptoes to them, crouching at the side of the couch and whispering only for Edge's ears, "My bed tonight. I'll carry you tomorrow."

Edge turns red and chokes a little on his own spit, glaring at Lancer but behind that, a look of lust and desire lies.

Lancer smirks, his mission accomplished, and continues washing dishes.