Work Text:
"Franky, there is no fucking way we're going to sleep with that," T:mo spat.
"What?" Franky asked, looking startled.
T:mo watched Franky pick at the crocheted blanket, wrapping his long fingers in the myriad loops of absolutely hideous yarn.
"I'll get cold, otherwise," he pouted, his big blue eyes doe-like and sad.
"No," T:mo snarled, though he felt his resolve slipping.
T:mo glared at the garishly orange and pink, sunburst patterned blanket, his lip curling in violent disgust. It was awful, worse than anything even David could come up with. Orange, pink, with bits of yellow and white that only seemed to add to its offensiveness.
"Please," Franky said, pushing his bottom lip out farther.
"Can't you pick another one?" T:mo grumbled, joining Franky on their bed.
"My other blankets are getting dry-cleaned," Franky said as T:mo pulled Franky's slight form onto his chest. T:mo looked at Frank as though he were insane, which, considering what T:mo knew about the singer's taste in, well, anything, might very well be true. Besides, why would anyone take the time or waste the money to get the things professionally washed? To make the colors brighter?
Franky grinned down at the rapper's confusion.
"You had your blankets dry-cleaned?" T:mo asked skeptically as he rubbed Franky's back.
Franky nodded happily, resting his elbows on T:mo's chest.
"You can't wash crocheted blankets without risking the yarn unraveling or the stitching becoming snarled and stretching out. And, if the blankets aren't dried properly, the fibers can rot and then the blanket smells bad so, yeah, I get them dry-cleaned."
"And you left this one out because…?"
"It's my favorite," Franky said and beamed at him.
"I hate it," T:mo told him bluntly.
Franky's smile broadened.
"I know."
T:mo huffed.
"You're ridiculous," he said as he rearranged the pillows around them. They at least were not of the same shade of orange as Frank's blanket, even if they were the same color. T:mo would have to see about convincing Frank to find a new favorite color or, barring that, get Jan to help him destroy all the orange fabrics Frank had now and then go buy him new ones in a different color, like black.
"That's what makes me so much fun."
T:mo rolled his eyes.
"Fun, right." Franky's smile grew so wide it seemed to split his face just about in two, reaching almost from one ear to the other.
Franky continued to smile as he slid off T:mo's chest. Franky wrapped the nefarious blanket around them both, his cold hands making T:mo shiver where they touched him. Franky hadn't been joking about keeping warm: he had a terrible time keeping his body temperature at a reasonable level and his feet and hands more often resembled sticks of ice than living skin.
"You're lucky I love you," T:mo muttered as Franky spooned up behind him. "No one else would sleep with this thing."
"Love you, too," Franky giggled, kissing T:mo's cheek.
"Night," T:mo grumbled, flipping the nightstand lamp off.
"Good night, T:mo," Franky whispered into the darkness, the widest grin on his pretty face.