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“Morning, hellspawn.”
Adam came up behind Warlock as he was washing the dishes and grabbed and twisted one of the kitschy ‘Irish’ themed tea towels to snap him in the arse cheek, resulting in an angry yelp and a fast spin to face him. Warlock had nearly dropped the plate he was holding, one of the pile they’d left in the sink after dinner, and grasped it to his chest. He narrowed his eyes and groused at Adam, “It’s too early for you to be this annoying,” before turning back and settling the garish shamrock emblazoned plate in the rack next to the already cleaned wine glasses. “They’ll probably charge us extra if we break things, you know. Fucking twat. That hurt.”
“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. But the wine and the song, like the seasons, have all gone.” Adam sang to him as he wrapped his arms around his slim waist, gyrating and nipping at his ear whilst Warlock attempted to go back to washing up. He briefly rubbed at the spot where he’d sniped Warlock with the towel. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“You know that song is about death, right?” Warlock stopped his washing again, wetly pushing Adam’s hands down from where they’d been creeping up towards his chest and leaned back into him, holding Adam’s hands in place on his hips with a vice grip to keep them down.
“Death of my boner if you don’t come back to bed.” Adam nipped him again.
“May your boner rest in peace then. We’re going out today.” Warlock stated definitively, and unsuccessfully tried to push Adam off. “So get showered, get dressed, and get your cock off the back of me for fucks sake before I break something.” He pauses. “A dish. Not your dick.”
“Bet you’d be pretty regretful if you broke my dick off.” Adam sucked at the joint of his collarbone and neck lasciviously whilst snickering.
“Do you really think I couldn’t use your dick without you attached to it? I’ll cut it off with a rusty serrated knife for sport and keep it in a jar next to the bed.”
“Aren’t we salty this morning!” Adam laughed jovially and kissed his cheek before changing his grip so he could use one hand to tousle Warlock’s hair. The fact that he knew Warlock hated it when he did it was what made it so adorable every time. “Is it the brilliant sea air? Is it getting to you?”
“No.” Warlock shook his head to dislodge Adam’s hand. “That awful fucking song is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day, so if I’m a bit ‘salty’ consider it your fault.” He knew if he turned around and looked Adam in the eyes the day would be done for and it would be nothing but the bed again for hours. The brush of Adam’s blond curls tickled at his neck and he was still tempted, despite his agitation, so he braced himself firmly against the counter and managed to shrug him off with an impressively irritated growl and multilingual admonition. “Go. Vai. Weig sei. Casse toie.”
“Oh fine. You’re no fun.” Adam released him, unaffected by Warlock’s attempt at affecting a grumpy mood, and turned to leave. He made it as far as the kitchen door before pivoting back around.
“Would you pickle it?” He queried, deep blue eyes blinking in thought and tilting his head.
“Pickle what?” Warlock whirled around in exasperation, dropping the spatula he’d been rinsing to push his lanky dark hair out of his face and glare at him. The spatula clattered and came to rest and Warlock pushed two fingers to his temple.
“My cock. How else would you keep it ripe?”
Warlock covered his eyes with his free hand and hunched over. “Please, for the love of all that still exists in this world, never refer to your cock as ‘ripe’ ever again.”
“Actually, if you pickled it, would it instead maybe be fermented? Or is that something else?” Adam actually seemed to be considering the difference seriously, his face contemplative as he looked to the ceiling, biting his bottom lip.
“Get the fuck out of the kitchen. Go put your clothes on and be back here in fifteen minutes so we can go take some photos of us on the cliffs. That is if I don’t throw you off of one to improve the view; in which case, I’ll at least have a decent selfie and this cottage to myself for the rest of the week.”
Adam shimmied towards the door with a backward shuffle. “But then you’d always be left looking for Moher…”
Finally, Warlock broke and laughed. “You suck.” and threw the wet wash flannel at him where it came up short and landed at Adam’s feet with a soapy thwop on the tile.
“Damn right I do, and you like it.” Adam ran a single hand through his hair and posed suggestively, still only in his tight jockeys and leaning against the door frame. “Haven’t yet heard you complain about my technique.”
Warlock was dangerously close to chasing him, but Adam laughed and scampered away, presumably (hopefully) to actually get dressed. He hadn’t noticed that Warlock was already fully ready to go, more smartly put together than necessary for a short ramble let alone cleaning dishes, and only his shoes left to get on.
Just as Adam pushed off the corner, Warlock delivered a parting shot, belting out in a perfect high tenor, “there she goes, there she goes again…”
“I love you, you magnificent bastard!” Adam called out as Warlock listened to his feet pounding up the stairs. “But now we’ll both have that one stuck in our heads for days and you ~ can’t blame meeee ~…” His voice faded as he got farther away, having sung out the last three words in a warbling falsetto matching the tune of the song.
Warlock brought his hand to his chest and felt around at his pocket, making sure the ring he had there was still safe and Adam hadn’t found or even taken it. It was a short walk to the cliffs, and assuming neither of them pushed the other one off, he had a question to ask.