Work Text:
TG: no
TG: there is no fucking way youre getting me to watch your shitty man crush movies
TG: id rather shove a cactus up my asshole
EB: that's a bit extreme dave!
EB: besides, the movies aren't even bad, you just have a really terrible taste in movies.
TG: nah i really dont
TG: its like
TG: literally everyone knows nicholas cage is shit
EB: nicolas!!
TG: whatever
TG: my point is
TG: that douchebag is worse than spiderman 3 and you are the only one who doesnt see it
EB: spiderman 3 wasn't even bad!
TG: oh fuck me
You swear it's not your fault when you plop down ungracefully on John's couch, huge bowl of popcorn on your lap and 2 litres of apple juice at the ready, about to waste a whole lotta hours of your very valuable time on what you've dubbed "the worst movies of all time" marathon. You're not too sure how your boyfriend ended up with such a terrible taste in movies, but apparently you have to endure it as part of this whole relationship package. You didn't sign up for this; it must've been in the fine print somewhere. Fuck the fine print.
Excited as ever, John bounces over to you, practically throwing himself at the couch in his enthusiasm. "Are you ready for this?"
"If by ready you mean ready to gouge my eyeballs out, then yeah." John smacks you on the arm, electing to grab the remote rather than reply.
"Do you wanna start with Stolen or National Treasure?"
You groan internally, opening your mouth to reply, but he's apparently chosen on your behalf, clicking on National Treasure before you can say anything. You can feel John practically vibrating with excitement. You settle back into the couch as someone onscreen mentions the Declaration of Independence. You get the feeling that you've got a long night ahead of you.
***
Sometime during the third movie, you start regretting this even more than you did before. 5 hours of shitty angry acting is 5 hours too many, and you can't even enjoy this ironically. You ran out of popcorn in the first movie, and your bottle of drink is getting dangerously low. The only reason you haven't gotten up and left is because of the small bundle of dork tucked beneath your arm, occasionally informing you that his favourite scene is on and you'd better be paying attention. By occasionally you mean every second scene, but you don't mind. You stopped paying attention to the movies several hours ago, instead focusing on John as he stares, rapt, at the screen in front of you.
You love the way his eyes light up every time something exciting happens, how in every sad bit he ends up on the verge of tears. His lips are moving as he mouths the words to all of the movies. You can't help but remember how great his mouth is at other things as well, especially- no. Bad Dave. Now is not the time for boners, now is the time to watch movies with your nerd of a boyfriend. Unfortunately for you, your mind keeps travelling down that track until you reach the point of no return. Fuck it, you decide, shifting until you're at a much better angle.
"Dave, what are you- mmph," you cut him off by placing your lips on his, kissing him softly. You feel him smile beneath your lips, kissing you back just as gently. You raise your hand to his cheek, the kiss becoming more passionate. Just as you go to deepen it, however, he pulls back. God damn it.
"Nooo, Dave, you promised we could watch these!" He must be able to read your disappointment, because he leans up and whispers "later," before settling back against your chest to watch the rest of the movie.
You've never been so eager to watch your boyfriend's shitty movies.