#shmoop

For @steddiebingo Kissing booth prompt: love

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A/N: This one is stupid but I kinda love it. still in highschool Eddie. romantic eddie. horndog steve. masturbation.

Viktor can only sigh and fold his arms over his chest, waiting for Five to finish. "I know how to tie a tie, do you think I don't know how to tie a tie?" he mutters.

"Mine is better."

It's easier to let Five do what he wants, like when he spins Viktor, with his hands on Viktors waist to point toward the mirror. He puts his head on Viktor's shoulder and smirks over at their reflection.

"We'll be the best dressed at this shindig by a long shot." 

Viktor blushes in that stupid way Five can make him blush sometimes, and grabs Five's hands, pulling them away from his waist. He steps sideways out of the handsy embrace and stands beside his brother, looking them both up and down. He sighs in satisfaction.

"I feel like it's prom."

"I wouldn't know. I never went." Five's lips firm and he makes that stoic face he likes to make when he's letting everyone know that he's thinking about eternity and loneliness and the endless compromises he's made between then and now. Viktor rolls his eyes, but he takes his brother's hand back, squeezing it.

"I skipped mine too. Never too late though, right?" he asks quietly.

Shmoop (dog) with drinks and sweets and fur!

Well, Tommy visits Margate again, of course! Only his condition’s even worse than before. And he knows Alfie’s going to notice, but then again, Alfie’s gonna notice that he drove five and a half hours from Warwickshire when he could perfectly well’ve sent a message. Picked up the phone. And maybe Alfie noticing is kind of the point? Because at least he won’t flap and panic like Arthur, or stare at ‘im imperiously like Polly and Lizzie both do.

Only THIS time, when he arrives at the door it’s not the maid who answers. It’s some wispy bloke in a floaty shirt with buttons undone to his navel. Tommy’s a little perturbed, wonders if Alfie’s moved house, but then he hears a familiar voice from within. 

“Well, who is it then?”

“That fascist cunt from the papers,” the wispy bloke calls; his eyes remain firmly on Tommy. 

“Let ‘im in, Zack, let ‘im in.”

Zack pulls the door a little wider, deliberately draping himself across half the entrance so Tommy has to squeeze past.

“You need a moment to get decent, Alfie?” Zack calls.

“Just send ‘im in, ya difficult little sod.”

Zack bows low in mockery and gestures Tommy into the heart of the house with a billowy flourish. Tommy’s feet are already taking him to the drawing room. He stops at the threshold, watched by dozens of lifeless eyes that flash hot sparks at him, animated by the orange glow of dusk beyond the doors. There’s a gun trained at his head. 

One ... two ... three ... he counts and the weight slips from his shoulders.

“They’re really not that blue,” Zack mutters behind him, and the gun finds itself a new target.

“Don’t mind ‘im. Gets jealous, that’s all,” Alfie says. 

Tommy’s not sure which of them is being spoken to, till Alfie adds, “fuck off Zack, there’s a good lad.”

Zack doesn’t seem to move, but Alfie’s a little less patient in addressing him now.

“Last time I checked, Zacharias, you were flesh and blood and very much pulsing with life. And if it ain’t already obvious, petal, this” —he waves the gun between himself and Tommy—  “is a meeting of the damned.”