Work Text:
“Ah, fuck!”
Carl was sprawled out on the couch, frowning when his boyfriend’s vice drowned out his favorite part of the movie. “Shut the fuck up!” He yelled. “I’m trying to watch TV.”
Iggy came out of the kitchen, glaring. “I just fuckin’ burned myself, Shithead. It hurts.”
“Okay?” Carl said in between a mouthful of chips. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Iggy raised his middle finger briefly, a hiss escaping through his teeth as the top of his hand throbbed. Jesus Christ, this hurt.
“How’d you do it, anyway?” Carl asked, his eyes never straying from the movie.
“I was putting the pizza in the damn oven," Iggy grumbled.
“You didn’t drop the pizza, did you?”
Iggy scowled, taking one of Carl’s heavy boots and chucking it at him. His boyfriend yowled in pain when it smacked him straight in the face. “Fuck you. I coulda burned myself worse.”
Carl threw his legs over, getting up, rubbing the side of his head. “Jesus, just show me, then.” He yanked Iggy’s arm forward to examine it, lifting his eyes back up to roll them. “That doesn’t hurt.”
“The fuck do you mean it doesn’t hurt?”
“You barely burned yourself,” Carl said, annoyed from being taken away from what he was watching. But there was slight amusement in his eyes, as though Iggy was just being dramatic over the whole thing.
“Did not,” Iggy snapped.
“Uh huh.”
“Go put your hand in there if you think so!”
“I don’t need to.” Just to piss Iggy off, Carl flicked the spot. Iggy let out a yelp. He didn’t stand for it, though. And most definitely didn’t stand for Carl snickering at him.
“That’s it.” Iggy charged at him. They were so close to the arm of the couch that Carl fell over it. Iggy grabbed ahold of one of his legs, pushing it up, further than it typically went - comfort wise.
Carl screeched. “Stop doing that!”
“Can’t hurt that bad,” Iggy said mockingly. He made it worse by repeatedly pushing the leg back and forth.
“Quit it!”
“Not so nice, huh?” Iggy sneered.
Carl tried to stop him, but Iggy’s elbow jamming down on his gut stopped him from doing much of anything. “You wanna tell me it doesn't hurt now?”
If he was expecting an apology, he'd never get it.
Carl stared up at him defiantly, voice coming out strained. “Eat...my...dick...”
Iggy narrowed his eyes.
Had anyone came over that evening, they would have seen the couch flipped over, the smoke alarm chirping due to the burnt pizza and a couple of disheveled and bruised boys making out on the floor near their bedroom.