Sometimes you couldn't tell what you felt for the sunglassed douche. Half the time you wanted to press him against a wall and kiss him senseless, and the other half of the time you wanted to punch his light out and beat him black and blue. Sometimes even in that order.
But at the moment, you were leaning towards the first option. The douche was currently walking around your shared room in the tightest black pants, and body fitting red shirt, broken record symbol splayed prominently across his broad, beautiful chest. He looked slim, and beautiful. All you wanted to do was pull him down to the bed and stick your yellow claws up his shirt, and your gray tongue into his pink mouth, kissing him senselessly, making him moan for more. You wanted Dave Strider more than anything else in the world.
You licked you lips, and he caught you staring.
'You okay over there angry pants?' he asked, nonchalant, prevalent cool kid tone sticking out like a sore thumb in the warm room.
You blushed, red blood seeming to rush all to your cheeks at once. 'Fine Dave. Absolutely cool'
And then you pounced, pulling him down to the floor. Damn him for being so hot. And damn that smirk of his.