booshslashhaven | Sweet/Barrett - So Much More Than Everything

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Series: This Is What Living Like This Does
Chapter: 5 – So Much More Than Everything
Pairing: Sweet/Barrett
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Part five of my Mint Royale ‘verse. Sweet gets serious, and Barrett has some fun.
Word count: 4,826
Warnings: Misplaced fluff. Too much talking. Mention of rape. Oh, also bondage, rimming and FILTHY DIRTY PORN.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Mint Royale or any of the people the characters are based on. I make no profit from this.

A/N: Partly written on holiday, hence the huge amount of talking. This is also the kinkiest thing I’ve yet written – hurrah!

Dedicated to

drop_the_phone for being my porny muse and doing lots of “research” for this chapter.

Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four

It’s funny how some places seem to get bigger the longer you stay in them, and others get smaller. Holiday homes get bigger as you adjust to them, seeming gigantic in the morning after the miniscule cave they appeared to be when you arrived the night before. However, as Barrett first discovered on their fourth day, motel rooms go the other way.

It doesn’t help that Sweet seems to take up a ridiculous amount of room, for someone so skinny. Or maybe it’s just that he’s hell-bent on taking up the space immediately around Barrett; he can’t be sure. Either way, he’s always there when Barrett looks around, hanging off his neck or playing with the buttons on his shirt. He’s always doing something and it’s always irritating, though Barrett is savvy enough to realise that this because whatever he’s doing invariably leads to them ending up in bed. And the more that happens, the harder it is for Barrett to pretend that it means nothing.

One morning Barrett wakes to see Sweet looking at him, head as close to the end of his pillow as he can get it without moving onto Barrett’s. This is in itself unusual. Normally the kid insists on sleeping cuddled up tight, and Barrett has to disentangle himself from his wiry limbs before he can get up. The distance, small as it may be, between them now gives him the uncomfortable feeling that he’s not being ‘looked-at’ so much as ‘surveyed’.

‘What?’ is the first word on his lips.

Sweet’s eyes are unblinking, ‘D’you realise that today’s our one-week anniversary?’

Barrett runs his mind back through the days – the kid’s right. Eight days since the job, eight days since they came to the motel, seven days since he last spoke to Tyres, seven days since he first stuck his dick up another man’s arse. He wouldn’t have guessed that Sweet could count that high. But that doesn’t really seem to be an appropriate reply, so instead he just say, ‘No it’s not. ‘Anniversary’ refers to a year.’

Sweet rolls his eyes at Barrett’s pedanticness, ‘Yeah, but they ain’t got a word like that for one week so it’ll have to do.’

Barrett tries to shrug, exasperated, but because he’s lying down it ends up more as a sort of bounce. Why can’t he ever win with this kid? ‘What difference does it make?’ he asks, ‘Why do you care that we’ve been here a week?’

‘’Cause I don’t know anything about you.’ Sweet’s eyes look the most genuinely serious that Barrett has yet seen them. It’s unnerving. But not half as unnerving as the subject of the conversation.

‘What is this,’ he snorts, ‘a ‘relationship’ talk? You can fuck of if you’re about to ask me if I think we’ll still be together in five years. Or did you just want to ask me home for dinner to meet your mum?’

The kid giggles, high and almost nervous, before wriggling closer and putting his head properly on Barrett’s pillow. ‘Course not, I ain’t that stupid.’ It takes ever inch of Barrett’s self-restraint not to contradict him by correcting his grammar. ‘Besides,’ Sweet continues, apparently oblivious to Barrett’s smirk, ‘Ain’t no point in a relationship talk while you’re still tryin’ to pretend that there ain’t nothing real between us. You’re still sayin’ I’m jus’ ‘convenient’, am I right?’

Barrett elects not to answer, wondering just how much the kid’s worked out about him. He could agree with him that yeah, he means nothing, but the kid’s got that knowing look in his eye that means Barrett would actually be agreeing that yeah, I’m trying to fool myself. So he keeps quiet and hopes that Sweet will take his silence as a mark of distain for his theory. Even though he’s now so close that his hair’s tickling Barrett’s face, and it’s rather difficult to look detached.

Sweet waits, giving Barrett time to respond. When he doesn’t, he raises his hand to stroke the soft bit at the hairline above Barrett’s ear with his thumb. ‘It’s okay that you fancy the pants off me,’ he says consolingly, ‘It doesn’t make you any less of a man.’ Barrett swipes his hand away hard enough to hurt, but Sweet just laughs and resumes stroking. Then after a brief pause he asks, ‘What’s your real name?’

Barrett’s eyes, which had begun to droop at the relaxing motion of Sweet’s fingers through his hair, snap open. ‘What?’

‘Your name. Your first name.’ Sweet twists one of Barrett’s curls around his finger. He’s got a few split ends, but it’s in remarkable condition for someone who washes his hair with shower gel. ‘Don’t seem right, not knowin’. Like you don’t trust me.’

‘I don’t.’

Sweet frowns, ‘It’s not like I’m goin’ to turn you in though, is it?’ He wriggles closer still, until his nose is touching Barrett’s. ‘Come on. Just whisper it. I won’t tell no one.’

They’re so close that Barrett’s face has gone a bit blurry, but Sweet can still see his eyes narrow. ‘What’s yours, then?’ Barrett pulls away, propping his head up with one hand so he can look down at Sweet. His brow is slightly crinkled, but he doesn’t look annoyed. Sweet reaches up to his face again, his fingernails rasping slightly on his stubbled cheek. Barrett’s expression doesn’t change, ‘If you’re so keep to know mine then it’s only fair I know yours.’

‘Vincent,’ says Sweet without hesitating. ‘Or Vince, if you like. I saw this film once, only it was all in French an’ I couldn’t keep up with the subtitles, but there was a guy in that called himself ‘Vinz’. Always thought that was quite cool.’

‘It’s called ‘La Haine’. It means ‘The Hate’’ Barrett cuts in.

‘Oh, right. Anyway, I reckon ‘Vinz’ might be a bit too skin’ead though.’ He ruffles his own auburn hair, ‘What do you think?’

Barrett has one eyebrow raised, ‘So you’re ‘Vince’?’

It seems a bit of a weird question, after what Sweet’s just told him. Sweet wonders if he’s a bit thick. ‘Yeah, Vince.’

‘Vincent Sweet?’

The amused look on Barrett’s face is annoying Sweet. Partly because he doesn’t understand what’s so funny about his name, but mostly because the look that Barrett’s wearing is his look, saved ‘specially for when he’s just found someone out. ‘What of it?’

‘Come off it. You couldn’t have made a faker-sounding name if you’d called yourself…’ he looks around the room, apparently searching for inspiration, ‘’Noir’ or something.’

Sweet glares at him, ‘Vincent Sweet is my real name.’

Barrett’s face falls, ‘Oh.’

‘Cunt.’

‘Sorry.’

As compensation, Sweet hooks his hand round the back of Barrett’s head and pulls him down for a kiss. He only resists slightly.

‘So, then,’ Sweet says, breaking off from sucking on Barrett’s tongue, ‘You’ve heard an’ made fun of my name. Your turn.’

Barrett’s still looking mostly composed, but his eyes flicker almost imperceptibly. ‘I didn’t make fun of it, I just said it didn’t sound very real.’

‘Unlike…?’ Sweet asks, perfectly aware that Barrett’s trying to change the subject. ‘You ain’t getting out of this one.’

‘Fine.’ Barrett finally meet’s Sweet’s eyes. ‘It’s Harry.’

‘Liar.’ Barrett looks crestfallen. He obviously thought he was being completely undetectable. It’s all a bit rich, Sweet thinks, after he had the nerve to accuse him of using a fake name. Still, it’s almost cute, how hard he’s tried with it. He bets that Barrett even chose a name that sounded similar to his own, just to make it that bit easier to lie.

Sweet’s arm is draped over Barrett’s side, and Barrett pushes it off, looking annoyed. Unperturbed, Sweet puts it straight back again. ‘How did you know?’ Barrett asks, and Sweet notices with amusement the faintest hint of a whine in his voice.

‘You were too calm, too focussed. You were trying to look like someone who’s tellin’ the truth.’ He taps his nose, ‘Nothin’ gets past me.’

Barrett just stares at him incredulously, ‘I think your true calling is to be a con-artist. Or maybe a lawyer. You could pick a good target no trouble with skills like that.’

Sweet mulls it over, ‘Maybe when I get bored of drivin’. Not a lawyer though; too many books. The con thing could be good.’ Then he remembers himself and prods Barrett in the chest. ‘I ain’t forgotten. Name?’

It takes a lot of sighing and rolling of eyes, but eventually Barrett forces out two syllables: ‘Howard.’

He’s embarrassed about it, it’s obvious. He turns his face away, but Sweet’s already seen the colour that’s flooded into his cheeks. To be honest though, Sweet can understand why he wanted to hide it. It’s not really a name that suggests bank robbing and fast cars. It’s more the sort of name you’d associate with someone who’s passions are… Sweet doesn’t know, stationery and a nice bit of gouda. ‘It’s kind of cute, though,’ he ventures. ‘Like it taps into your sensitive side. Barrett shoots him a look. Sweet decides not to say anything else.

It’s fucking typical of Sweet to draw something like that out of him, Barrett thinks. He hates his goddamn first name. It’s one of the reasons he likes being in a profession where no one knows it. And now that fucking annoying kid has forced it out of him. It’s a name that has haunted Barrett since childhood – he’s always hated it, and all the bigger, tougher kids at school could somehow sense it. It didn’t help that his mum insisted on calling him ‘Howie’ at the school gates, a nickname that he didn’t manage to shake off until university, where he purposefully moved across the country to escape it and even there lived in fear of someone finding out. No one, no one has called him by that name since then. Well, no one other than his mother. But Sweet (it feels wrong to call him Vince) has no chance of meeting his mother. Of course not. But he’d damn well better not think that he’s allowed to call him ‘Howard’ now.

Wanting to get Sweet off the subject, he says, ‘You’ve asked a question. It’s my turn.’

Sweet nods, ‘Fair enough. Go on, then.’

‘How do you know Tyres?’

The kid snorts, ‘Is that all? I thought you were gunna ask me something good, like ‘When did you first fuck a man off?’’ He pauses and looks thoughtful, ‘Come to think of it though, it’s pretty much the same story...’ It’s a line so blatantly intended to grab attention, but it works. Barrett’s all ears.

‘Seriously, how the hell did you get to know him?’

Sweet props himself up on one elbow, mirroring Barrett. ‘Want the long version or the short version?’

Seeing as he’s not sure quite how much of this talking with the kid he can take, Barrett plumps for the ‘Short version.’

‘My brother pimped me out to him.’

It takes a moment for this to register in Barrett’s mind. Sweet watches him coolly. Barrett takes a breath, ‘Okay then, long version now?’

The kid flops back onto the bed, and sticks his hands behind his head. ‘I weren’t always into crime and stuff. I was right innocent when I was little.’ He flashes a grin at Barrett, and Barrett almost believes him. But not quite. ‘But me older brother, he was well into it. Never done an honest day’s work in his life. He got t’ know Tyres through gamblin’ an’ stuff. Got well in debt to him an’ couldn’t afford to pay him back. An’ you know Tyres; he ain’t one to be messed about, and me bro – Thomas – knew that. So ‘e went to Tyres to say he din’t have the money, but he had this girly little brother – me – who’d make a right good fuck-toy. Me parents were both dead by then y’see, so he could do what he wanted with me really. So he brings me along to meet Tyres, an’ he tells me to get on my knees and give Tyres a blowjob to show ‘im how good I am.’ Barrett grimaces, thinking he’s beginning to see precisely why Sweet’s so fucked-up. He’s not sure he wants to hear the rest, but Sweet carries on regardless. ‘But Tyres is a right homophobe and don’t want anyone t’ think he’s gay – bit like you really, ‘cept you are gay and Tyres ain’t – so he says that he’ll take me on as a driver ‘til my brother’s debt’s clear. An’ then he kept giving me work after.’

Barrett breathes a sigh of relief, ‘So you’ve never blown Tyres?’

The kid shakes his head, ‘Nah, it were one of his men – cornered me on the way out ‘cause I left by meself when Tom stayed to gamble some more of me away. Said that if Tyres din’t want none of me then he’d had me, an’ if I refused or told Tyres then he’d fuckin’ shoot my head off. So I sucked him off – better than losing my head, yeah? Anyway, after that he got a taste for it an’ used to make me let ‘im bum me else he’d kill me.’

The story makes Barrett’s stomach squirms in an entirely unpleasant way. ‘’Make’ you?’

‘Well, I weren’t too keen on the idea. Bit his hand the first time, an’ he gave me this,’ he lifts the hair at the side of his neck to show a long white knife scar, ‘So I didn’t fight ‘im again.’

‘Where’s he now?’ Barrett asks, imagining what he’d like to do to this man. ‘And your brother?’

Sweet yawns, ‘Brother’s dead, got in a car crash. Dunno about the other bloke, he stopped workin’ for Tyres a while back.’

There’s nothing else Barrett can say right now, so he lies down and pulls Sweet close.

Sweet is bored. And it’s driving Barrett crazy. They’re been at the motel for… what, two weeks now? Barrett’s lost track. He at least can go out occasionally to get supplies or go to the laundrette, but Sweet can’t set foot outside their room. The media hype over the robbery has started to die down – after all, as payloads go it’s not really that big – but the CCTV images of Sweet are still appearing at the backs of the papers. They can’t be too careful.

Sometimes he’ll spend hours staring out at the spot where his car used to be, before Barrett was forced to set fire to it. The parking space is now occupied by another equally cheap car that Barrett bought out of his own cut a few days after they lost the first, and which he plans to gift to Sweet but hasn’t quite told him about yet.

He’s starting to regret rescuing the music, too. He’d been just about to start the fire when he’d seen the CD player on the dashboard. The kid loves his music. He knows all of his albums off by heart, right down to how long each track is. He confided to Barrett once that he wanted to be a DJ when he was younger, before organised crime got in the way. Barrett thought that Sweet probably wouldn’t ever forgive him if he burned his music – now that’s looking like a plus side. He plays music morning, noon and night, only ever conceding to turn it down slightly when someone bangs on the wall. It’s crossed Barrett’s mind more that once to follow their example – and bash the wall with the CD player.

But still this constant noise doesn’t seem to be entertainment enough for the kid, who is constantly complaining that he doesn’t have anything to do. Barrett brings him things to try and keep him amused, but he doesn’t like books without pictures. He can sometimes be kept quiet for a while with a drawing pad and felt tips (with the consequence that their room is now covered in bizarre drawings) but it never lasts for long. And then he whines about it, which drive Barrett up the wall. Barrett decides that it’s about time he bought something that they can both enjoy.

It’s awful, this hiding out thing. Sweet doesn’t have a huge attention span at the best of times, and he’s going stir-crazy from being trapped inside all day. There’s never anything on the TV, though he sometimes watches Richard and Judy. Only really to see how many people they can offend that day, though. He likes to draw, but every time he finishes a picture Barrett just looks at him and tells him he must be insane, to come up with that sort of thing. And he’s been banned from drawing on the bed now, after he got red squiggles all over the sheet. He doesn’t think it should really be a problem though, because the bedclothes get changed every couple of days. And that’s a good thing too, really, with the amount of use they get.

Sweet has to hide, of course, every time the girl comes in to clean the room. He locks himself in the bathroom, so that hasn’t been cleaned properly for weeks. He heard Barrett apologise to the maid once, telling her that his girlfriend had a severe case of the runs and was practically living in the bathroom. It’s the closest he’s ever got to admitting their relationship, even though he didn’t know that Sweet could hear him and he changed his gender. It’s a start.

Still, Barrett’s hardly helping. He just reads all the time, or does crosswords – crosswords, for fuck’s sake! Quite often Sweet has to start sucking him off before he’ll pay him any attention. He does finally seem to be coming round to the idea that he’s sleeping with a man though. He’s even initiated the sex a few times, and he doesn’t try to pretend it’s not happening anymore. Well, not most of the time.

The worst part is having to watch Barrett come and go as he pleases. He’ll go out for hours on end to do things that Sweet’s sure must only take a half-hour at most. Today he’s been gone for longer than usual, and it’s making Sweet nervous. Not because he’s worried about him; he knows Barrett can handle himself, but because he hates being left alone. He turned his music right up to try and make the room feel less empty, but it didn’t work, so he turned it off again.

At last he hears the key in the lock, and Barrett comes in clutching a paper bag. Sweet sits facing him on the edge of the bed, arms folded. ‘Where’ve you been all this time? You’ve been fuckin’ ages!’

Barrett smiles in a way that makes Sweet’s insides go all squirmy. ‘I’ve been buying you a present.’ He waves the bag.

Sweet frowns at him, ‘It’s not another book, is it? ‘Cause you know I ain’t gonna read it if it is.’

‘It’s not,’ Barrett assures him, actually looking a bit amused. It’s aggravating.

‘Then what is it?’ Sweet demands, growing impatient. Barrett chucks him the bag.

‘Sweets for my Sweet.’

The kid’s eyes grow as big as saucers as he opens the bag and pulls out the pair of candy handcuffs. They’re just like those candy necklaces that kids eat; multicoloured sweets strung on elastic, but so much more interesting. Barrett found them in a sex shop a couple of miles away, and instantly knew that Sweet would like them. Now he sees him, sitting there in his girl’s t-shirt that reads ‘Boys are nice but I ♥ shopping more’, and looking at the handcuffs like they’re the Grail, and knows he was right.

Sweet looks up at him, beaming, ‘Can we use them now? Please?’ He doesn’t wait for the reply, ripping open the packet and drawing them out. He slips them on over his own wrists, at nibbling at one of the sweets. ‘Mmmm,’ he says appreciatively, stretching his arms out in front of him to admire them from all angles. ‘These are well genius. Only…’ He glances up at Barrett to see his reaction.

‘What?’

He pulls his wrists away from each other, demonstrating the stretchiness of the elastic. ‘They’re good for foreplay an’ stuff, but they ain’t much good for actually tying me up, are they?’ His expression is challenging Barrett to look shocked. Barrett doesn’t rise to the bait.

‘That’s what this is for.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of bondage tape. Sweet’s jaw drops.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Barrett merely nods in reply, chucking it onto the bed. He drops his voice to a low growl,

‘Now get your clothes off.’

Sweet obeys, shedding his clothes in record time. He sits, naked and panting slightly in the middle of the bed, watching Barrett undress. The kid’s already hard, and just to aggravate him Barrett undresses slowly. When he’s rid of his last scrap of clothing he walks over to the bed, but doesn’t sit down. ‘Roll over,’ he commands. ‘On your front.’ When Sweet doesn’t move fast enough he grabs his arms and drags him into the right position, brain clouded by how damn hard he is and what he’s about to do.

The kid’s kneeling on the bed now, arse in the air, and Barrett pulls his arms roughly forward, forcing him to lean forwards. He takes the bondage tape and starts wrapping it around Sweet’s wrists, strapping them together. There’s no bedstead, which is annoying, but Barrett improvises by chucking the pillows away and wrapping the tape around the metal bar where the bed’s base starts. He contemplates tying his ankles too, but decides it would make him too hard to manoeuvre – he can always tie them later if he gets in the mood to kick. Then he changes his mind and ties them anyway. He’s never been one to do things by halves.

‘What-‘ Sweet starts to say, but Barrett silences him with a sharp smack on the arse.

‘No talking,’ he tells him, marvelling quietly at the bright red mark that springs up immediately on Sweet’s pale skin. The kid’s really far too beautiful, straining to look over his shoulder to see what Barrett’s doing, hair falling over his face. Barrett smacks him again, just because, and the kid flinches but his panting increases. The skin flares again, and Barrett watches it with fascination. He’s almost dizzy with the feeling of being in charge and the sight spread out before him – just for him. Sweet’s all hunched over, knees tucked up by his chest and pulled forward by the ties at his wrists but unable to move into a more comfortable position.

Barrett picks up the lube and the pack of condoms from where they now live, on the desktop. He rips open a foil square and slides one on, before pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm, coating the fingers of his left hand. At last he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself exactly behind the kid so that he can’t see what he’s doing.

It’s a tantalising wait, just long enough to make Sweet nervous. Then eventually he feels first one then two of Barrett’s fingers ease inside of him, working in and out to loosen him up. The fingers crook, hitting his prostate, and Sweet can’t help letting out a whine of pleasure. He regrets it instantly; Barrett’s fingers are gone and he receives another smack, this time on his thigh. ‘I said no,’ comes Barrett’s voice from somewhere behind him, husky and dominant.

He’s fucking uncomfortable, that’s for sure, and he can hardly move, but this only makes it better. He wants to feel Barrett inside him, taking him over; he wants to plead for it but knows better than to open his mouth again. But it seems that Barrett can’t restrain himself enough to punish him for too long, as he feels him begin to push in with a grunt, hands clutching his hipbones that bit too hard. The angle isn’t perfect, and Sweet struggles to raise his hips, thigh-muscles aching with the effort. Barrett eases in and out slowly a few times, making sure that Sweet’s loosened up enough to take him properly. And then the gentle part’s over. Barrett’s pace quickens, thrusting hard and fast, almost hurting. Sweet has to bite his lip to stop himself crying out, and wishes that the pillows were still there for him to bury his face in. He compensates by gritting his teeth and pressing his forehead down into the mattress.

More than anything he wants to touch himself, but Barrett’s done a good job on his arms and there’s not chance of getting a hand free. Barrett seems to understand his slight struggling though, and reaches around him to grasp his cock, swirling his thumb over the head and smearing pre-cum.

But then the hand’s gone, and Barrett’s drawing out again. Sweet doesn’t understand what’s going on, but doesn’t dare ask. Hands glide in the sweat over his buttocks, and Sweet can feel Barrett’s hot breath at the best of his spine, can sense him moving down. He realises what’s happening a second before he feels the wet slide of Barrett’s tongue circling his arsehole, then probing tentatively inside. Two completely unconnected thoughts flutter around Sweet’s addled brain, the first surprised that Barrett could find it in himself to perform such an intimate act; the second wondering whether he used the flavoured lube ‘specially. It feels… weird, but good. Oh fuck, really good. Barrett’s fingertips trace patterns over his hips and thighs, eventually finding his cock again and stroking it lazily. Sweet thinks he might just melt with pleasure, only grounded by the aching muscles in his legs and arms. He hears a slight groan and realises that Barrett’s jerking himself off too.

He’s just on the edge of coming when Barrett pulls away again. There aren’t any more deprivation games now though, as Barrett’s cock is sliding back into him and picking up the rough pace of before, intent on finishing them both off. It’s more than he can take when Barrett grasps him again, and he comes over the sheet, still trying to hold in his cries. Barrett continues to thrust into him, but Sweet can hear his breathing growing ragged and before long he groans loudly and Sweet feels him stiffen, and finally roll off him.

He expects Barrett to untie him, but instead he feels his weight slide off the bed, and as he looks sideways sees him padding into the bathroom. ‘Oy!’ he calls, ‘Don’t just leave me!’ The only reply is the closing of the bathroom door.

Barrett takes as long in the bathroom as he can. From outside he can hear indignant yells from Sweet of ‘Come back, you fucking bastard! Barrett! Untie me, you cunt!’ It makes him smile to imagine what the people next door must think. It’ll serve the little tart a lesson; teach him that he can’t expect to take whatever he wants and not expect to pay the price. Barrett won’t put up with being messed around, not for long. Though that was fucking good. He can still taste the synthetic-strawberry flavour of the lube.

He thinks he’ll go out and set him free when he’s finished in the shower, but just as he’s about to turn on the water he hears the tentative call of ‘… Howard?’ and makes up his mind to double the time he was going to take. The noise of the shower drowns out the kid’s shouts, but as soon as he turns it off he can hear them again, though not quite as energetic as before.

When he finally emerges, slightly damp from the steam, Sweet’s glowering at him, still in his prone position on the bed. It looks like he’s been struggling for some time; the sheets are all rucked up and his wrists have been rubbed raw from where he’s been pulling against the tape. He looks completely undignified and not at all happy. Barrett pauses to take in the view, unable to repress a small smile.

‘Bastard.’ Sweet spits at him, face thunderous. Barrett relents and goes to untie him, fishing out a pair of scissors bought especially for the occasion to cut the tape. Sweet sits up, rubbing his wrists and pouting. ‘You ain’t doing that again.’

Barrett raises one eyebrow, ‘You seemed to enjoy it at the time.’ The expression on Sweet’s face is priceless.

Sweet pokes his tongue out in an incredibly childish way, and clambers onto Barrett’s lap. He’s still all sticky and sweaty, and Barrett realises he’s going to need another shower. Sweet kisses him, and leans closer to whisper in his ear, ‘Just wait ‘til I get you back.’

Current Mood: tired

Tags:

fandom: mint royale

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

drop-the-phone.livejournal.com

I love my story :D
Also, Sweet and Barrett. ♥

‘No it’s not. ‘Anniversary’ refers to a year.’

‘Sweets for my Sweet.’

Barrett raises one eyebrow, ‘You seemed to enjoy it at the time.’

I want a Barrett. So so much.

I LOVE YOU AND YOUR PORNY WRITINGS.

Don't stop.
You're not allowed.
I'll poke you if you do.
So there.

Lovelovelove

xx-xx

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Welcome to the Kingdom of Gheydom

Sweet/Barrett - So Much More Than Everything

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