A/N: Ladies and gentlemen - something that is not Morby. o: I bring to you my latest OTP: Jerecai. Before you ask, you remember the episode 'Replaced' in Season 3, don't you? You remembering? Yeah, one with the red sweater and glasses is Jeremy. Instead of taking up my whole fanfiction with explanations though, go re-watch the episode and visit mookie's Tumblr. All character designs are based off of her!
Enjoy! Please review, feed-back is greatly appreciated. Flames are used to keep my energy levels high as I write more and ignore blatant hate. Reviews are rewarded with cookies, a reply, and undying love.
/It's cold./
For a second, Mordecai regrets his leaving of the cryptic warmth of that lavish, heated bath-tub. Water – heated and scented – wrapped around his flesh indulgently, caressing his body with its liquid form as he soaked and loved and fucked in that very spot.
Who has time to regret what was, though? Curing his problem, the artist surfs through the elaborate closet until he plucks from its expensive depths a single red hoodie. Without a thought, it goes over his lanky frame and finds that it's even baggier than his own "Live. Love" hoodie, enabling him to walk around in it, and nothing else.
"Comfortable enough?"
A smirk crosses Mordecai's lips. Without even bothering to turn around, he feels a pair of strong hands gently grasp his lithe torso, grip tightening up just enough to press his form against another.
"Pretty cozy, I'd say." He runs his fingers along the course of a white string before craning his neck to turn and gaze at his lover.
"I was going to wear that, you little brat." Though every word Jeremy utters is more of a teasing murmur than anything.
"You're rich." The cerulean-haired man croons, closing their distance for a few brief seconds. "Bet you've got twenty of these."
"I'm not a fashion diva like you are."
"Swag, dude. Swag."
"The difference?"
"Everything. I'm not a diva. I have swag, and you're just hatin'."
"Oh really?"
"Hmph. You know I am. " And their conversation is interrupted by a series of brief kisses. Daft fingers run their course along the artist's exposed thighs, moving on to his ear where he leaves a raspy whisper:
"You should wear it more often. It looks good on you."
Mordecai purrs in response to the platinum-haired male's words, turning so as to leave a few kisses along his neck.
"I'll have to be cold more often."