Humbug

From Wrichacir

In retrospect, love is not at all like a poem.

It grew on him at some point, like a cobweb forms in a corner, left to grow only because it goes unnoticed. No, it wasn't even that pretty- one day, he woke up with chest hair tickling his nose and a desperate need to shower and realized that he would be perfectly happy to spend the rest of his life protecting the owner of said chest hair.

There was no burning desire (well, not of that kind), no invisible bells ringing, no flowers, no internal strife, no declarations of the intent to act like a mental case in case that might help get on someone's good side. They had been hanging around each other a lot more than before, but he'd blamed that on Peace. Some time between being newbies who kept getting paired up on missions and being allies who had a lot of sex, the red-haired little twit had taken a liking to him. He hadn't thought anything about it at the time- Peace was Venus's, of course he started crushing on anything that didn't try to kill him- but why had he tolerated it?

Love was sentimental bullshit. Loyalty and devotion... that he could accept, so that's what it must have been. (Did he even think about it that much? Probably not.)

He didn't even realize he'd been staring until he was looking into another pair of eyes.

"Mm. Morning." Peace's voice was still deep and rumbly, still too asleep to chirp.

Thrall held his gaze defiantly. The redhead stared back, a small smile growing on his face.

"Why do I keep you around again?"

"Because you love me." The smile expanded into an annoying smirk.

"Like hell," Thrall snorted.

"Do too. You know I can tell."

"What?"

He leaned over and nuzzled Thrall's hair back to whisper in his ear.

The next morning, nothing had changed.