oh lord | blosner

i

The groan that left his lips was over-exaggerated and loud, and he threw his head back, shutting his eyes tightly. Mat was fucked, though for completely unreasonable reasons.

"What's the matter, Bear?" called Mike, popping his head through the door of Mat's closet (which wasn't even a closet- it was a converted guest room). Mat was sat on the floor, clothes sprawled over his lap and the floor around him. He wore a deep frown, to which Mike laughed.

"Don't fucking laugh at me." Mat furrowed his eyebrows and Mike put on a fake pout, walking into the room.

"Oh, come on. What's the problem?"

"I can't find anything to wear." Mat shook his head, rolling his eyes. He looked up to Mike with furrowed eyebrows. "Don't fucking laugh, Mike, I swear to God. I know I joke about it all the time, but I really don't know what to fucking wear."

Mike hummed, looking through the racks. "Okay. I'll pick something for you." He tossed Mat a shirt, a pair of white ripped jeans and a leather jacket with the phrase "stop having fun and start praying," on it. "There you go, babe. An outfit for the party."

Mat held up the shirt. "You only picked this because it's sheer." He examined the article of clothing, noting the chiffon black fabric and patterns embroidered on it.

"Well, obviously." Mike scoffed, humming before pulling out two more articles. "Or you could wear the thrasher sweatshirt with the fur coat." He shrugged, holding the pieces up together.

"Nah, I like the sheer."

Mike rolled his eyes as he put the other clothing away. "Of course you do." Mat stood up, grabbing the clothes he needed and kicking the others to the side, deciding that he could clean up later. Mike lazily followed Mat to his bedroom, flopping down on the bed as Mat stripped himself of his shirt and pants, slipping on the ones Mike picked. "In all fairness, you do look pretty hot."

"Mhmm. I know." Mat smiled slyly at him as he slipped on his jacket, running his fingers through his hair to rid it from his face. "What about you? What are you gon' wear?"

"I'm dressed already," Mike told him, motioning towards his body with a grin.

"Mike, you're wearing basketball shorts. That's a no." Mat shook his head, walking towards Mike's dresser. It was funny, really, how Mat had an entire room full of his clothes, and Mike merely had a dresser. 

"What's wrong with my shorts?" Mike asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"We're going to a party. Wear these." Mat tossed him a sweatshirt, a black one, reading 'blackbear' on the front, and a pair of jeans.
"Oh, you can't dress yourself, but you can dress me?" Mike picked up the sweatshirt, scoffing loudly. "Is this your own merch?"

"I'm easier to undress than to dress, Mike. You know that. And yes, it is. Put it on so we can go."                                                                                                     
---

The party was loud, music blaring through speakers and people talking over the already booming reggae beats. Mike and Mat sat together on a couch off to the side, Mat's legs swung over Mike's lap and his head buried in Mike's neck. Mat pressed soft kisses to Mike's jaw, nosing at the scruff that he'd grown out.

"Baby, you can't do this in public. People are recording everywhere." Mike ran his hands softly down Mat's back, though he made no real move to stop Mat from kissing him.

Mat whined. "C'mon, Mike. Can we just do something?" he complained. Mat continued to prod Mike and press gentle kisses to his neck and the edge of his jaw.