but no one had

anonymous asked:

Not sure if you're still taking sketch requests, but could you possibly draw (present day) Ford and Stan having a tickle fight?

Well…It started out as a hug…


“All the better, then! Just think of marrying me as your punishment!” 

“I’m not as big a fool as you! I… I wouldn’t… think of that as punishment.”

Arin nearly chokes on his drink when Dan shows up to the party wearing Arin’s shirt. They’re supposed to be keeping whatever’s between them hush hush for now, not exactly a secret but not exactly a non-secret, either. But that shirt obviously doesn’t belong to Dan. It’s long enough to nearly cover his ass and the sleeves come down over his knuckles. He’s left the top three buttons undone. The fabric slides indecently off his shoulders. And Dan knows exactly how much Arin likes it when he wears Arin’s clothes. The saucy wink he sends in Arin’s direction gives him away.

Arin rationalizes that there’s no way people could know, just by looking, that the shirt belongs to Arin. Just the possibility makes Arin a little hot under the collar, though. It’s like Dan is saying, publicly, I belong to Arin.

To Arin’s credit, he manages to wait nearly an hour before he drags Dan away from the party, to the nearest empty bedroom. “Take it off,” he says, pointing accusingly.

Dan sits primly on the edge of the bed, smirks up at Arin. “Sorry, what was that?” he asks, teasing.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Dan twirls a curl around his finger. He squints up at Arin with pursed lips. “I have a better idea,” he counters. “Why don’t you come over here and make me?”

Arin doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically growls as he closes the distance between them. Dan starts to giggle and lets himself be pushed backwards onto the bed. “Come on, big cat,” he says, hands sliding over Arin’s back, his hips. It’s all the encouragement Arin needs.