AN: I hate verb tenses. Seriously. Some things sound good in past tense, some things just don't, and well, don't judge me, because this is casual writing and goddamn it if I stopped to care about verb tenses then I would never get any of this shit done. Also, fanfiction's formatting is weird and I don't feel like playing with it, so random tabs'n'shit.
Also, yeah, some of the stuff Eragon has is ridiculous, but I have next to no fan-stuff, so I live vicariously in Eragon with geeky merchandise ;u; And in romance (because seriously, I wish I had the chance to do some of this cute shit).
But yeah, this is kind of pointless, but cute, and has some small significance that if you care and pay attention you'll see in chapter three. Which I'm working on, I swear ;o; So uh here. Thank my job for this.
we're feeling so good;; Dandelions
It was Eragon's favorite type of day out—sun just a little too hot, but perfectly offset by a cool breeze that kept you comfortable, while whispering through the trees. "Let's go outside!" He chirped, wrapping himself around Murtagh's arm, gazing up at him beseechingly as he rubbed his growing hair against the man's side.
Said main blinked down at him, play station controller held loosely in one hand. Shepherd idled on the screen, dialogue options sitting on the bottom, waiting for the distracted player to pick. "Um, why? What would we even do?" The vibration of his voice tickled Eragon's cheek.
The boy huffed, "I'unno. Stuff? Admire the beautiful day?"
Murtagh snorted, "No thanks, think I'll just sit here and play my games." He turned back and picked renegade. Eragon pouted and head-butted him gently in the stomach.
"Pleeaaaseee! I wanna go outside!' He whined, shaking the arm in his hold, tightening his grip when his prisoner tried to escape. After a few second struggle, Murtagh gave up on freedom, leaving his boyfriend to hum in happy victory.
There was a few minute pause as the gamer shot down husks with ease, finally he rumbled out, "Then go. I'll stay here."
With a scowl, Eragon untangled himself and got up, speeding towards the kitchenette. He needed something to lure his stubborn half brother out of the house, into the magnificent day…
Murtagh grunted at his leaving, his only acknowledgement of the sudden abandonment. Eragon ignored it and leaned against the kitchen counter, pondering.
Suddenly, his stomach gurgled at him, demanding sustenance. It was around two pm, and Eragon had had work that morning—hadn't had time to nick any breakfast, as he'd been running late, and hadn't thought to get lunch when he'd gotten home (too busy trying to rouse Tag), and his stomach was decidedly unhappy. 'That's it!' His mind screamed, 'Food! Food will get him outside! But…OHMIGOD. PICNIC. WE CAN HAVE A MOTHER FUCKING PICNIC.' Eragon cackled loudly, knowing Murtagh would simply ignore it, as he set to work.
Murtagh idly cocked an ear in his boyfriend's direction, hearing him thump around the kitchen. His stomach rumbled in needless reminder that it was empty and wanted food now. He sighed, hoping the boy would bring him something as he leaned forward to focus more fully on his game.
Eragon darted around the kitchen—they'd need chips; barbeque for him, sour cream and onion for Tag. What drinks?...Tag liked pop, but it was bad for his teeth, and Eragon didn't like kissing Pepsi-mouth…bottled water it was. Roast beef, ranch and lettuce for Tag, crunchy peanut butter and bologna for him (fuck yeah!). As he smeared the peanut butter on, he paused—what else should he bring? They didn't have any traditional picnic food—no potato salad, no (disgusting) Cole-slaw, deviled eggs would require work, nothing. Eragon chewed on his lip as he thought, then sighed. Whatever. Good enough. It was a meal. Now, what to put it in? Did they have have a basket? "Tag, do we have any baskets?" He shouted, leaning over the island.
"What?" He hollered back.
Eragon shook his head, 'Whatever, probably not.' Humming, Eragon darted to their bedroom and pulled out his home-made Star Trek messenger bag (black with a white paint-splatter Vulcan salute). He sniffed it, unsure of what he'd had it in it last, and it smelled fine, so he shrugged and made his way back to the kitchen—it'd do, they'd just have to be careful not to crush anything.
In a jiffy the food was in the bag, so with a devious smirk, Eragon vaulted over the back of the couch, right on top of Murtagh with a hearty battle cry. The body beneath him let loose a girlish shout then flailed. Laughing wildly all the while, the attacker was quickly shuffled off his boyfriends muscled back onto the couch beside him, legs splayed over the edge, head resting on his thigh. "What the fuck was that, Eragon?" Growled Murtagh, hazel eyes narrowed in annoyance. Eragon grinned up at him, face flushed and panting lightly from the brief battle.
"I, hah, made a picnic. Come outside with me! I made your fave sammich, got some chips and shit, and it's beautiful outside, so come outside with mee!" He pleaded, puppy dog eyes somewhat ruined by the shit-eating grin still pulling at his lips.
The older man's glare faltered, and he sighed, "You really want to go outside, don't you?" Eragon nodded quickly, eliciting another sigh, "Fine. Just, hold on a few."
The teen wiggled in glee, throwing his hands up (or down, as it were, since he as upside down), "Yay! Thank you Tagg!~" He rolled off the couch onto the floor where he quickly did a happy victory dance. Murtagh rolled his eyes with a fond smile and started shutting his game down. As they both stood, Eragon pulled the man in for a chaste kiss, taking a quick nibble at this lower lip before pulling back, "It'll be fun, promise!"
Hazel eyes rolled again, but the man chuckled, "Mmhm, sure."
Eragon practically dragged his boyfriend out of their apartment, through the building, and out into the great wild world with bemused commentary ("Is that—really, a Star Trek messenger bag? When did you even get that?" Eragon squeezed his hand, hard. "Shut up.") Across the street from their building is a cozy little park, picturesque with towering trees and a well maintained lawn to make up for the shit selection of a playground (swing set, merry-go-round, and a few slides on tired, gray mulch).
They walked in silence for a moment, brown eyes searching hungrily for a good spot, then without warning Eragon jerked on Murtagh's arm and plopped heavily onto the sunlit grass. He sat the bag down before him with more care than he had himself as his companion settled down beside him. With little fanfare, he began pulling food out of the bag, divvying it up with practiced ease.
Just as Eragon began pulling the cling film from his sandwich, Murtagh cleared his throat, "…aren't picnics supposed to have blankets?"
The teen nearly threw his sandwich,"Shit! I forgot the blanket!" With a groan, he flopped backwards onto the ground, face scrunched up in a strange cross between a scowl and pout.
Murtagh decidedly doesn't mention how cute it is, and with restrained laughter pats the teen on his stomach, "It'll be fine. We're too cool for blankets anyway, right?"
Disbelieving brown eyes glare up at him for his efforts, "No one is too cool for blankets. In fact, that statement in itself is ironic in that fact that if one were 'cool' aka cold—"
With casual grace Murtagh snatched the boy's sandwich from his hand and dropped it on his face as he's talking. "Smart ass. Shut up and eat." Eragon's stomach gurgled in agreement. Pouting, the boy rubbed idly at the grass as he sat up, picking at the plastic film a bit until his lover flicked him on the nose, the man's serious tone belied by the food in his mouth, "It's fine. Seriously. Forget I mentioned it and eat."
So Eragon started to nibble on his sandwich, and then dived in wholeheartedly as he realized peanut butter and bologna fuck yeah. Murtagh chuckled at the teen, shaking his head as he tucked into his own food. They sat in companionable silence, each digging into their food, absorbing the sun's rays and just being for a few moments. A warm sense of accomplishment curled in Eragon's stomach along with the food as his eyes flickered to Murtagh, his chewing slows as he stared at the man in thought.
It's not often they have quiet moments like this. Most of the time they're either working, at school, doing something related to both of those, or fulfilling basic human necessities—eating, sleeping, fucking. Rare is the moment where they can just enjoy each others company. 'This was a fucking awesome idea.' To try and stretch the moment as far as it can go, Eragon stayed quiet and just observes his half brother.
He's growing his hair out, like Eragon has urged him for months to do, and the dark brown hair curled softly about his face, all fluffy and glowing in the sunlight. Pale, unblemished skin almost glowed beneath the sun's rays, and Eragon's fingers itched a bit to touch it and with a thrill of wonder he realized that he can, because no matter how long it has been it still astounds him that this has happened. As fucked up as it all is, he can't help but adore the man before him. With a wry smile, Eragon put his sandwich down on the bag, catching hazel eyes that sparked in question and followed his movements. Taking a swig of water to clear his mouth of food, the teen quickly swallowed then pushed forward, resting his hands on either side of his half brother's sides, face close and lips ghosting against each other as he murmured, "I love you."
One of them lets loose a small moan before their lips meet, the kiss starting chaste with sneaky swipes of the tongue before Murtagh caught the organ delicately between his teeth, and the game is on. The younger brunette pushed heavily into his elder, all teeth and tongue and panting breaths around keen whimpers. Suddenly fingers ghosted up his side, eliciting a flinch and a giggle, and their battle takes on a new edge as they began to wrestle, picnic forgotten.
They rolled this way and that in the warm grass, fingers poking and stroking, mouths caught between breathless laughter and quick, heated kisses. They spent countless minutes romping in the grass, until they both simply flopped against each other, struggling for breath from exertion and laughter. As they recover, Eragon slyly grabs a few dandelions nearby, and began tying them to chunks of Murtagh's hair, who just laid there, eyes closed, mouth open, and chest working furiously. After a few moments respite, a hazel eye cracked open to see what's happening, "Are you…putting flowers in my hair?"
Eragon smiled innocently, phone poised to take a picture—it made a clichéd clicking noise as it captured the sight below him (dark hair laced with sun-yellow flowers, a faint smile apparent in the open mouth, pale skin lightly flushed). "Of course I am!"
With a playful growl, Murtagh grabbed at the device, and the wrestling started up again. Neither last long, and despite his valiant effort, Eragon is soon pinned, squirming helplessly and shrieking with laughter as fingers flutter along his sides. "Fuck, mercy! Stop stop stop stop! I'm going to dieee!" He squeaked out around his guffaws, a few stray tears inching down his cheek.
The hands obediently went still, then wrapped around his back and warm lips met his temple, "I love you too…dumb ass." Murtagh chuckled against his skin, and Eragon just huffed.
They laid like that for a little while, soaking up the too-warm sunlight, letting the breeze tug gently on their clothes and hair, before one of their stomachs growled. With a groan, Murtagh got off the boy and moved towards the food, picking it up and shoving the leftovers into the bag. Eragon watched as the man stood, stretching his arms above his head with a few satisfying pops. A pale hand thrust itself into his line of vision, a smiling face behind it, "Come on, as much fun as this picnic was—which it was awesome, thank you for dragging me out here—it's getting a bit chilly, and I want something a bit more substantial than a sandwich."
With a sigh, Eragon accepted the hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. As they began the short trek back to their apartment, he couldn't help but quip, "…too cool for a blanket, huh?"
"Oh fuck you!" With a shove and a laugh, the two began to race back to the building.