#still pissed i lost what i originally wrote but i recreated it as best i could

[peaceoutofthepieces]

54 and 44 for sobbe😏

44. “Make me.”

54. “Just admit you’re wrong.”

“Sander, you are clearly not more attracted to older men.”

“Robbe, you can’t feel what I feel.”

Sander shifts his arm behind his head as he makes himself more comfortable on his bed, biting down a smirk as Robbe narrows his eyes at him. He’s sitting at the end of the bed, having slid away from Sander when the topic first came up. He looks tiny and cuddly, wrapped up in one of Sander’s dark hoodies. He’s got his arms crossed and a pout on his lips and it really shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

No wonder Sander loves to tease him.

He’s got that look on his face now, though, that small, regretful look that has Sander waiting to hear the small, earnest ‘sorry’. It has Sander wanting to backtrack, but it would be a pity, when he’s barely started.

Then Robbe steels himself under the softness and shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“Just...” Robbe licks his lips. “Don’t you think there’s evidence to suggest otherwise?”

He raises his brows, pointedly, and Sander bites back his amusement to raise his brows in return. He thinks that Robbe can likely see right through him, but that doesn’t change anything. Sander is more stubborn than he is, and he’ll keep playing the game until one of them wins. He’s not sure yet how anyone even can, but he assumes he’ll know when they get there.

“Like what?” he asks.

Robbe blinks, incredulous, but it’s clear he doesn’t have an actual answer. His arms uncross and his hands drop into his lap. His lips part, then his tongue darts out and licks over them, then he pulls the bottom one between his teeth. It’s distracting, but Sander is well enough used to it to ignore the feeling.

He is starting to feel a little bad, though. Robbe looks genuinely pouty. But Sander will make it up to him, and as he already decided, it would be a pity to end it so soon. He kind of wants to see where it will go—what Robbe will do.

“Sander,” Robbe protests. “I mean, it’s not your actual type.”

“Robbe,” Sander returns. “Just becomes you like older men with beards doesn’t mean I can’t, too. Hey, it’s a shared interest!”

Robbe huffs a—again, slightly incredulous—breath and shakes his head.

Sander pushes up onto his elbows and raises a hand, flicking up his pointer finger. “I mean, Bowie is a lot more than raw sex appeal, but you can’t deny that it’s there, and that’s only the obvious example.”

Robbe rolls his eyes. “Okay, but, don’t you think you have more of a thing for younger guys?” he emphasizes.

Sander drops back onto the pillows, tucking his hand behind his head again as he furrows his brow. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” Robbe grips the bottom of Sander’s sweats and tugs, pout growing deeper. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sander repeats, offering an exaggerated shrug.

“Sander,” Robbe whines.

Sander mimics the tone. “What?”

“Stop joking around.”

“I’m not joking about anything.”

Robbe gives another tiny huff, eyes flicking around now as he tugs on Sander’s sweats again. “Come on,” he repeats. “Just admit you’re wrong.”

For a moment, Sander wants to keep the argument going. Then he gets a better idea, and cocks a brow. “Make me.”

Robbe blinks, then raises his brows back, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Sander shrugs again in the same exaggerated, languid manner, letting his eyes droop slightly as he watches the other boy. He’s pretty sure Robbe will huff, and either play along and kiss him or simply admit defeat (and possibly resort to a method of punishment, such as his own teasing, which would come in a much more frustrating form like silence).

Instead, Robbe’s eyes take on that hint of steel again before he stands and strips off his—Sander’s—hoodie.

Sander’s jaw drops.

Before he has time to process this development, Robbe is climbing back onto the bed and over him, crawling his way up Sander’s body in such a cheesy move that really shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Once he’s in place, hovering over Sander on his hands and knees, he simply stares down at him, likely cataloguing the flush creeping up his neck and his parted lips and probably dilated pupils. Robbe raises a single smug, knowing brow.

Goddamn.

This was supposed to end up the other way around. He’s not supposed to be so damn easy.

But then again, it’s Robbe. Sander probably should’ve known how easily he’d be the one to lose and come undone.

“So,” Robbe says lowly, much too amused now. “You were saying.”

Sander shakes his head quickly, hands automatically finding their way to Robbe’s hips, then slip over his skin until they can settle against the small of his back and pull him closer.

“Hm?” Robbe prompts, starting to smile.

“Nothing?” Sander isn’t sure why it comes out as a question, but his voice has gone all high and reedy. He thinks he can feel Robbe shake with a silent laugh as he mimes zipping his lips.

Robbe tilts his head, and his earring dangles a little, and Sander wants to catch it between his teeth. “No? I thought you were saying how you prefer older guys. So you probably don’t want me to—“

“No, no,” Sander quickly protests, locking his ankles over the back of Robbe’s knees and tightening his arms when he feels him start to pull away. “I concede, you win.”

“What was that?” Robbe tilts his head towards him, bringing that earring so close, and Sander doesn’t even care that he’s just full on grinning now.

“You win,” he repeats, heartbeat stuttering. Robbe’s grin simply tilts into a pleased smirk and he leans back a little, and Sander whines, “Robbe.”

Robbe bumps their noses together. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, praising, before finally connecting their lips.

Sander’s pretty much still the winner, in that case.

Dialogue Prompts