#* flynn.

‘  hey babe, would you consider yourself a dom or a sub?  ’

‘  you ever think about clowns?  ’

‘  hey, man, i don’t know you but... i gotta tell you. those bangs look fuckin’ great on you. really. suit your face.  ’

ah, there’s a hint of a black eye - not fresh, but still healing. he’s good at hiding, physically speaking. he’s terrible at the emotional aspect.  ‘  what? ain’t got anything on my face, do i? ’

‘  when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie… macklemoré...  ’  slow dancing in the living room is going awry, flynn forgetting the words to all the classics. he relishes derrick’s giggles, burying his face in the crook of his neck as his face slowly turns red.  ‘  macklemoré…  ’  he pulls up, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. they keep dancing to no music.