#spooktastic!

"This is a terrible idea," Daniel declares, and he has to use every last ounce of willpower not to break his steely exterior the second Lando pauses eating his fistful of popcorn to beam at him.

"I think you're being dramatic," he says, tipping an unholy amount of kernels into his open mouth. Around them, he adds: "It's just Scream. Really not scary."

Huffing, Daniel thwumps down into Lando's side on the sofa. "It's totally scary," he argues, tucking himself as much as he can against Lando's half-pretzeled body that it must look like they're some strange jumble of parts instead of two different people. "You ever thought of there being a killer loose in your house? Mate, it's horrific."

"Okay?" With a teasing, horrendously fond chortle, Lando half-glares at him. "But it's fake."

“But I hate horror movies,” Daniel whines, flopping back into the sofa like a dejected puppy. Unceremoniously, he jams his fist into the popcorn bucket and shoves a handful down his throat. “Can’t we watch something else?”

Carefully, so as not to knock popcorn everywhere, Lando stretches himself half-on-top of Daniel's twisted figure. He's smiling, Daniel knows; he can feel the sweet, pretty tug of it brushing against his stubble. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

Pulling a face, Daniel smacks Lando's thigh. “You don’t like them either!”

“But I’m not a pussy," Lando retorts, which is—god, he's stupid, he's perfect. "And Skeet Ulrich is so fucking..."

Alright. Maybe not perfect. Daniel blinks once, twice. "You did not just purr at me."