[17. Your muse clutches their hand tightly around my muse’s mouth to silence them.]
Smiff was mid-sentence, hands thrown in the air in passionate conversation, when suddenly Sips’ hand was clasped tightly over his mouth, stopping him from throwing any more profanities at the man. “What the fuck?” He tried to say, but his voice was completely muffled. Instead, he glared at Sips’, trying to pry his hand away from his mouth. Unsuccessfully. God, how did he get so strong?
Even over Smiff’s loud talking, Sips could hear something moving about upstairs. The creak of the wood overhead along with what sounded like muffled footsteps were the reason he’d suddenly moved close enough to the other so he could clamp his hand over his mouth. “Shut up for a second,” he hissed at Smiff, dark eyes wide as they glanced above them at the ceiling. The sounds stopped and he slowly removed his hand, holding a finger in front of his own mouth to signal for him to be quiet. He waited until the wood above them squeaked again and he gestured wildly towards it. “What the fuck was that? Those other chuckleheads aren’t here to scare me or something, are they?”