goopclaws
"Are ya' winnin', son?" Wilbur cooed, rushing over to the garden and plopping his bag down onto their outside chairs in a dash, eyes ablaze in adoration for his newly found gardener boyfriend.
The tips of Schlatt's ears were sent into deep shades of scarlet, a grumble relapsing from his lips as he jerked back from his flowers, a pout now keenly melted into the line of his lips, "No. I'm not winning at all anymore, fuckin' ass." He murmured, smushing his boot into the soil far from his precious garden, eyes cast elsewhere, anywhere other than his flowers or his oh so smug boyfriend looming over him, "Ten shots did I say?"