Tease oneshots

Petty Theft

Let it be known that Davey didn't steal Spot's hoodie.

What happened is that Spot forgot it at Davey's apartment, had left it draped across the back of the couch, actually, and it's not Davey's fault he never came back for it. Spot should really keep better track of his belongings.

Then, a few days later Davey finds the hoodie while cleaning up and, not thinking anything of it, throws it in the wash with his own things. It's not until later that he plucks it off the top of a freshly folded stack of laundry and shrugs it on. He realizes his mistake immediately—none of Davey's things are this big or cozy or perfectly worn-soft, but it's late and he's tired and what's the harm, really? He'll wear it now, then return it to Spot the next time he sees him.

He'd had the best of intentions.

But then he'd been running late one morning because his alarm hadn't gone off, and he'd been in such a rush that he'd just thrown on the nearest thing before heading out into the rain. And the hoodie was warm and comfortable and maybe if he closed his eyes it still smelled a little like Spot. And then maybe days had turned into weeks and Davey still hadn't gotten around to giving the hoodie back. He keeps telling himself that he'll return it, that Spot will eventually figure out that it's missing and start looking for it, so he may as well hand it over.

But then he kinda, sorta, does the opposite of that.

So, it's not that Davey steals Spot's hoodie. He just... doesn't give it back.

00000

Davey doesn't really wear the hoodie outside of his apartment, partially because he feels bad about stealing borrowing it, but mostly because every time he imagines someone finding out what he's done he dies a little on the inside. Because he's far past the point of being able to just casually hand it over with a simple, "hey you left this at mine," sort of comment. It's been weeks. Months.

(It looks bad, is what he's trying to say.)

Plus there's the fact that all of his friends are nosy assholes that couldn't keep a secret if their lives depended on it: if anyone caught him sneaking around in Spot's clothes like a teenager with their first boyfriend, he'd literally never hear the end of it, and word would probably get back to Spot within the hour.

And Davey knows he's overthinking this—he and Spot have known each other long enough that Spot wouldn't be upset with him for a bit of clothes stealing / sharing, not even counting the fact that they've been dating for a while now—he knows, objectively, that it'd be fine if Spot were to find out. There's even a chance that he might let Davey keep it.

And yet...

So that's how Davey ends up not just stealing / borrowing Spot's hoodie, but also hoarding it away like a criminal. You know, the totally reasonable course of action to take in this sort of situation.

00000

"Dave, hurry up, we're gonna miss the previews!" Spot calls from the living room.

"Well maybe if you hadn't told me about these plans literally five minutes ago,"  Davey snarks back, haphazardly combing his hair into some semblance of neatness, "I would've already been dressed."

He tugs the bottom of his shirt into place and pulls on a pair of shoes, detouring just long enough to shrug on whatever jacket-type thing is nearest—a grey hoodie, since the local movie theater is always frigidly cold—then starts heading toward the door. Spot is waiting for him on the couch, and he rises to his feet as he sees Davey approaching.

"This okay?" Davey asks him, doing a quick spin as he works at the zipper.

"Yes, Dave, you'd look good in whatever, now can we please just—wait a sec." Spot's eyes narrow, head tilting to the side as he inspects Davey's clothing more thoroughly. Too late, Davey realizes his mistake.

"Davey," Spot says evenly, "is that my hoodie."

Davey can feel himself turning red as he looks down at the hoodie he's absent-mindedly thrown on, and of course it's Spot's hoodie, the one he's been secretly wearing for months now. He wishes he had an excuse ready, but he's always been a horrible liar and Spot would see right through him anyway, so he squeaks out an, "Um... maybe?"

He chances a look at Spot's face, takes in his darkened eyes and the set of his shoulders, and immediately begins working his arms back out of the sleeves.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Davey stammers out, mortified. "You left it here a while ago, and I was gonna give it back, really, I was, but then I just— I understand if you're mad, I absolutely should have returned it ages ago and, here, you can have it now. Or, I can wash it first, I'm sure you don't want it back dirty, sorry I kept it so long—"

Spot closes the space between them in a single stride and crowds Davey against the nearest wall, an arm around either side of him. Davey's ramblings peter out.

"You stole my hoodie."

It isn't a question.

"Well, stole might be too strong of a description—"

"David."

Davey shivers. Spot really shouldn't be allowed to say his name like that, all low and husky. "Would you believe me if I said I thought it was mine?" he offers weakly.

Spot considers him for a moment, then his hands move to close around Davey's wrists. Davey's breath hitches in his throat.

"You've been wearing this when I'm not around?" Spot asks, still in that same, gravelly tone.

Davey's throat works, but his voice has left him. He swallows, then nods. There's a tremor of anticipation building in Davey's stomach, though he couldn't explain what, exactly, he thinks is coming. All he knows is that Spot is staring at him, and the expression on his face is completely indecipherable.

Then Spot presses him back, lifting his wrists to pin them next to his head, and brings their lips together in a bruising kiss. Spot's mouth is absolutely scorching against his own, licking his way past the seam of Davey's lips like he's starving for a taste of him, and then it's all Davey can do to stay tethered in the rush. There's a hint of teeth—a stinging nip along his lower lip that's quickly soothed by a swipe of tongue—that sends a rush of want down his spine. Davey rears up against Spot's weight pinning him down, tugs at the iron grip around his wrists, but he doesn't have the right leverage and Spot feels so impossibly strong.

And fuck if it isn't incredibly arousing.

Spot slants his mouth across Davey's in one last demanding kiss, then finally pulls away. His mouth is shiny and swollen and though his pupils are blown wide, his eyes glint with smug satisfaction. Davey's chest is heaving, his breathes coming out in short, raspy pants, and he realizes he finally has a name for Spot's expression: possessive.

Spot lets go of Davey's wrists and takes the slightest step away. He tugs at where the hoodie is still hanging low on Davey's arms, half on him and half off, and pulls it back into place. He adjusts the shoulders, smooths out the wrinkles, then carefully and deliberately does up the zipper, holding Davey's gaze the entire time.

"We're late for the movie," Spot says, like they're not both half-hard in their jeans. "We should go." Then he ushers Davey out of the apartment, a large hand nestled in the small of Davey's back.

...Right.