“Yes, but you and I both know that you have no fear of balls raining from the sky. The only kind of balls I like are the ones I can fit in my mouth.” They both knew what he meant, and Filmore’s red cheeks showed it. Still, he readied himself to throw, form perfect, one leg back and arm poised, and Firkle’s first instinct was to flinch. “I’m not going to hit you.” The jock cooed sweetly. “You’re going to hit me because I can’t catch.” The goth replied with a cautious frown. “Just try for me? Please?” The pout that got Filmore out of more trouble than he knew slipped onto his face and that was the end of it. “Okay, fine, but if you hit me in the face, I’m going to make you sleep by yourself.” Firkle responded finally, sighing with defeat. Trying to get into a position to catch the football, he couldn’t deny he was embarrassed when his lover barked a genuine, enthusiastic laugh.  “I am definitely going to hit you in the face if you hunker down like that. Here,” Jogging over and showing off his muscles beneath the barely-there t-shirt he’d cut most of the side out of, the jock set the ball at their feet. Gently moving his hands over the other’s body, he turned his light caresses into easy angling, until he had Firkle positioned just right. “There. Now, I’m going to throw it, and you’re going to catch it perfectly because you don’t do anything in any way that isn’t totally flawless.” He winked, and Firkle’s eyes shone with adoration and acceptance. “Alright. Like I said, don’t hit me in the face.” “I won’t.” He promised, patting the ball Firkle hardly remembered watching him pick up again before getting into his best throwing stance. With that, he let it rip and the goth found himself trying his best not to flinch. Years of gym class where he’d been the target of rogue balls of all types left him fearful, even if he trusted his lover thoroughly. Sure, they had had their differences, there was that Month Of Swirlies bullshit from middle school… But Filmore had really grown since they had started this thing they had. He’d even told Quaid to fuck off when he’d been less than enthused to hear of their relationship. Still, a few months of trust did nothing to keep the goth from ducking and giving the world’s most Un-Goth Yelp ever as it finally hit the downward spiral that would lead it to his waiting arms. Instead, it bounced off of his ass as he cowered in the elder teen’s backyard. Filmore’s laugh was soft, this time, and he jogged right back over, picking Firkle up with his arms around his waist. Holding the slighter male against his chest in an almost crushing hug, he nuzzled his back gently.  “I told you I wouldn’t hit you in the face, didn’t I?” He chuckled, kissing the other’s spine. “You hit me in the ass, though!” But there was a laugh on Firkle’s lips, regardless. “I wouldn’t have if you would have tried to catch it.” He offered, grinning as the little goth began to wiggle in his arms. “Put me down, you meathead.” There was no bite to his words, and he yelped as the other fell back onto his ass, taking him down with him. Pinning Firkle down to the grass on his back, he nestled his face in the other’s neck. “Look, babe. I know you’ve had a lot of people that hurt you. Especially in gym, with footballs and--” “Quaid threw a medicine ball at my face once. It’s why my nose is a little off kilter.” Filmore made sure to press a gentle kiss into the bridge of it. “Your nose is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” And he’d say it a thousand times, in a million languages, until Firkle believed it just as much as he did. As much as all of his Instagram followers did. They had been pushing for Firkle to join in on videos and photos and things, and the goth just didn’t think he had a good side for the camera. It didn’t stop Filmore from making his favorite picture of them, the first one they took together, all snuggled up on his bed, as his lock screen on his phone.  “And you are known for false complements to get something you want out of someone.” Firkle’s smile didn’t falter, and he leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. Kissing him softly, the goth sighed, rather happy when his lipstick stuck and they both were smeared purple. “So, what do you want?” “All of your love is enough for me,” Answered the jock, before tapping his lip for a second like he was thinking, “Though if you didn’t chicken out when I threw a football for you, that would be a close second.” “I didn’t chicken out!” Though he knew he had, the goth wasn’t ready to admit to it. The look he earned was enough to have him looking away, decently shamed, “Okay, okay. I totally pussed out. If I try and catch it, now, will you stop pouting at me? Seriously, that look could make a tiger leave you alone.” “I always thought of myself as the tiger, not the prey.” Baring down and wiggling his ass playfully like a cat would, Filmore pretended to pounce on his lover, biting his bare shoulder gently and making him moan. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. And it was working, too. “So you’re going to eat me?” Squeaked the goth, writhing after those teeth only tightened on his flesh and his entire body seized after the grip grew vice-like. The choked moan that left him was enough to have Filmore giving an answering groan, and he knew suddenly that this was going in a bad direction to be so public. “I could.” He whispered, kissing the other’s ear, then the teeth marks he’d left behind, “But you have a ball to catch. I’ll tackle you and protect the sack once you’ve caught it. ‘Kay?” “Uh… Y-yeah, okay. You should have scrambled my brains after I caught the damn thing.” While he tried to sound grumpy, Firkle sounded more like he was pouting.  “Maybe with your brains scrambled, you won’t be so afraid.” Getting into a pushup position and then lifting off to a standing position, Filmore winked and ran to the ball, picking it up. “Come on, babe, I promise you I’ll toss it gently.”  Pushing up onto his hands, he brought his feet in slowly before finally getting them under him, he jumped a couple times and shook his head out. Trying to remember how Filmore had positioned him the first time, Firkle closed his eyes for a second, imagining the other’s hands on him, opening his eyes again when he was ready. “Throw it.” This time, instead of his All Star Throw, Filmore gave the football a gentle pass that landed against Firkle’s chest. He gasped as his arms instinctively shot up to grab it, and with wide-eyed wonder, he stared at the ball in his embrace. Excited, he looked up at the other with a blooming smile on his face, leaping for joy and throwing the ball down, watching it bounce off down the slight slope of the yard they were in. “And there he is, Firkle Ablah, number one, winning it for the Cows! And the crowd goes wild!” Filmore laughed, jogging over and picking the smaller male up around his waist again, facing him this time. Spinning them, he made loud hissing noises to imitate the crowd, .kissing the other’s stomach and up his chest a little bit. “Oh my Gods, Filmore Fucking Anderson put me down!” If Filmore made him laugh one more time today, Firkle was going to kill him. Maybe with love, however, before he cupped the other’s cheeks and leaned down, kissing him a la The Notebook’s DVD cover, minus the rain.  “I’m starting to think you actually believe my middle name is ‘Fucking’.” Filmore mumbled against the other’s lips, kissing him back softly and nuzzling their noses together slowly.  “Maybe it is. I sure call you it enough.” Firkle muttered, kissing the other’s cheek and rocking forward, pushing the other over towards the grass again. “Hey!” But that was all he got out before Firkle continued to kiss him. Tongues slipped wet and hot against one another, and the pair stayed like that for far too long. Possessively biting at Filmore’s lips, the goth made sure that his mouth would be very obviously claimed, much like his shoulder. Soon, their kisses turned to soft chuckles and giggles, hands wandering beneath the shade of the large tree in the back yard. Firkle eventually rolled off of his lover, snuggling up against him. “I’m never doing this sports thing again. You should have taken a video.” He informed, only half-joking. “Who says I didn’t? I’ve been streaming this whole thing, even if the angle might have messed up. My phone fell over.” “You what?” Shooting up, Firkle glared immediately at the other’s phone, frowning, “You ass, you didn’t even--”  Another kiss distracted him, and Filmore brought him into his lap, petting over his sides. “Shh, it’s okay, babe. Everyone wanted to see you. See us. I just wanted to prove that I’m with you, not Quaid. Since I only take pictures with him, they started to wonder.” “You are so lucky that your lips taste good and I love you.” That hadn’t been what he’d thought he was going to say. He had yet to say that out loud, and here he was, saying it for the internet to enjoy. “I mean-- I--” “You already said it, babycakes.” Filmore cooed, kissing his cheek gently, nuzzling him, “I love you, too.” He added, quickly, seeing the distress in the slightly younger male’s eyes. This didn’t, admittedly, help his fear, at least, not visually. “Quaid’s going to kill me, and Michael’s going to kill you.” He whispered softly into the other’s ear, pressing their cheeks together. “Let me think about them. You just relax in the knowledge that you’re mine, and I’ll protect you.” It was a comforting thought, but Michael wasn’t going to be an easy, open-and-shut case. “Alright.” He mumbled, kissing at Filmore’s cheek. “So, can we go back inside? I’m going to be on fire if I stay in all this sunshine much longer.” “I guess so.” Filmore pouted again, and Firkle wasn’t having it, leaning in and kissing him on the mouth.  “You mean ‘yes, Firkle, let’s go inside before you turn into a permanent tomato’, don’t you?” “Of course, babe.” Picking the smaller male up, he swung him over his shoulder and made sure to grab his phone and turn off the stream before carting the other up to his room to reward him for all he’d done this morning.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: This was supposed to be a lot shorter. xD But who cares? I’m rather proud of this! I hope you guys like it. Happy Birthday to me!

It had started simply enough. Under Filmore’s nose, he’d gone and invited Firkle out for drinks, mostly to intimidate the other out of dating his best friend. What he’d done, though, while he’d waited for the little goth to appear, was drink his anger down to a slow burn in his gut. When the other finally took the time to arrive, Quaid was too far gone not to want to leap on the first chance to test out Firkle’s slutty reputation. The skinny goth traipsed over, taking his seat at the bar beside Quaid, not managing eye contact with his long-time bully. Instead, he ordered himself his own shot of liquid courage, downing the whipped cream vodka quickly. He knew, somehow, that he’d need it. When his hand moved to call for another, Quaid’s shot out and grabbed his wrist, and for a second, Firkle’s heart skipped a beat. For a long moment that stretched into a thousand eternities, Firkle’s stormy blue eyes met Quaid’s grassy green ones, and then the jock shot off like lightning. What the goth expected to be a punch, or maybe his head cracking against the bar, was, instead, a crushing kiss that left his lips bruised and breath caught in his throat. One of Quaid’s big hands held the back of his head in a death grip, as if pulling away would, once and for all, announce his sexuality to the world and he wasn’t ready for that step out of the closet. Everything about the kiss was rough and sloppy, but it certainly wasn’t the first time that Firkle had ever dealt with a man so homophobic he couldn’t be himself. Many of the guys he’d slept with before Filmore had been the same, too afraid of what other people thought to let their freak flag fly. Some of them still were, convinced Firkle would keep their secret. And he did. When Quaid finally broke the kiss, panting like he’d just run a marathon and glaring as though this was all Firkle’s doing, the goth prepared himself for a punch. But it didn’t come. Peeling open his eyes again, not quite sure when he’d scrunched them shut, he stared up at the other, watching his face carefully. There was a flicker of disgust, followed by a sneer he could have placed anywhere, and the hand still forcing pressure on the back of his head pushed him closer again. This time, the larger man was going to have the goth at his mercy, if only because he wanted to kill him for making these stupid kisses good. He’d remembered the stories of Wendy Testaburger and Eric Cartman, how their sexual tension had been easily disbanded by a kiss. Why wasn’t it working with Firkle? It wasn’t like he liked the kid in his lap. He was scrawny, he wasn’t good at anything, all he ever did was talk down on everyone. Why did Filmore like him so damn much? Another kiss, and he hoped to find out the reason. Tongue, maybe? His alcohol addled brain sure seemed to think that that was a crackerjack idea, and he took Firkle’s chin in his hand helping to keep the other focused as he sunk his tongue into the other’s mouth. He tasted like stale cigarettes and mint and cherry all at once, and it was straight up intoxicating. No wonder Filmore liked this little slut. “You’re a fucking whore.” It wasn’t the nicest thing that someone had ever said to him, but Firkle didn’t mind so much. Quaid would say that about him until he was blue in the face, and the fact of the matter was, he’d had no choice in either of these kisses. He’d done what came naturally, sucked his tongue, then tried to push it back out. He didn’t really kiss back either time, but Quaid was leaning in again, and he needed to think fast. “I stopped doing that. For him.” He spoke quickly, and Quaid paused; there was anger shining in his eyes, coupled with shame that the alcohol probably helped him feel. This whole thing was a disaster and a half. He had come here to try and beat Firkle out of Filmore’s life. Leave him dead in a ditch, maybe. But, instead, here he was, forcing a makeout session on his best friend’s boyfriend. Somehow, it sunk in that maybe this wasn’t the way to go about finding out just what the Korean saw in this kid. Letting Firkle go with a bit of a push, he growled a little and looked away. Another brandy on the rocks for him, and he downed it like it didn’t scorch his insides. He should have known better than to start drinking. That was where this all went south. Firkle opened his mouth to speak but Quaid rose his hand to stop him. “Just go, Ablah. I don’t care to continue this. Go tell him for all I care. His decision is obvious.” It might not have been something he understood, but it was right there, staring at him like he had a moose growing out of the side of his head. Firkle hesitated, as if he didn’t know quite what to do, before simply nodding, rising, and flouncing his way out the door. Stupid slut. He’d find out somehow how to break them up. Tonight was just shaping up poorly, that was all. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Wowie Zowie, that ended up being more than I thought it would be. I had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you guys enjoyed!

The again, in the elaborate, elegant corset dress and leggings he wore with his favorite new boots, how could he not be noticed? Filmore saw him the second he started for the bleachers. Distracted by Firkle’s arrival, he was tackled, his face driven into the terf before he could finish his wave. Firkle’s entire body tensed, but his grinning would--e boyfriend rose, all smiles and waves, from his unfortunate attempted dirt nap. Quaid sent the goth a death glare he only just barely caught, too distracted by FIlmore’s blown kiss. Returning it shyly, he moved to the top of the bleachers, secluded, to write while he watched the football game play out. As he’d said, Filmore tried harder this game with his goth in the stands. Firkle even joined in on the ‘Let’s Go Cows’ chanting, clapping his hands with modest enthusiasm. Nobody had ever seen such spirit in the pair, and a few of the girls scooted to the top of the bleachers to help cheer Filmore on. For once in his life, Firkle didn’t mind being surrounded by his peers; Filmore really did do strange things to him and his image. The girls beckoned him down to the very bottom of the bleachers during the last quarter of the game, and he shouted even louder for his boy to help bring home the gold. According to a couple of his newfound cheer squad, this was the best their team had done this season. Filmore was a force to be reckoned with, and in the last seconds of the game, scored the touchdown that secured the Cows their win. With the game called in the favor of the Cows, even Firkle didn’t know what he was doing. Climbing the fence in a dress wasn’t easy, or very ladylike, but he managed to accomplish it with flying colors. Hitting the ground running, he leapt into good ol’ number seven’s arms, kissing him solidly on the mouth for everyone to see. Girls and parents alike erupted in whoops and hollers, and he could hear Quaid groan in disgust, but everything was drowned out by his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Filmore’s arms wrapped around his waist and he spun them a bit, excitement in his every movement. “So, is this a ‘yes’, then?” Filmore asked, breathless, their mouths barely an inch apart. “Yes.” Firkle nodded exuberantly, “I’ll go to homecoming with you.” The bear hug he was in tightened and he smiled slightly, kissing his winner on the cheek, leaving behind a purple kiss mark. “And what about being my boyfriend?” Filmore’s smile was uncertain, but hopeful, and Firkle kissed his teeth. “Of course.” They shared another long kiss, forgetting the world around them as more people flooded the field. There were taunts and jeers focused on Middle Park’s players and fans, but for the most part, people left the two lovers alone. It couldn’t have been a better night. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: So, I started writing this on paper and finally got a chance to finish and type it this morning. I’m trying to accomplish things, and I’m feeling pretty good about this. I actually really love this story. ; u;

Play With Me Series Masterlist ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Oh my gosh this was so much fun to write! And I’m finally putting forth some effort into the Firkmore ship! This ship will sail, even if I have to power the whole thing with my own air.