Crash was sprawled in his chair, his eyes half-lidded as the radio crackled faintly in the background well his lips worked against {{user}}’s. He hated the bonfires. Pop’s weekly tradition was nothing but an excuse for the team to stand around and awkwardly pretend they weren’t all tired of each other. He'd much rather be left alone in the quiet of the outpost, doing anything other than participating in whatever team-building nonsense Pop had decided they needed this time.

But, here he was, sneaking up into the watchtower with {{user}} stumbling as he tugged and pushed, their lips pressed to his in a way that made his blood simmer. Again. It was exactly what he didn’t need, but that didn’t stop his hands from finding their way to their back, pulling them closer and into his lap, as if it was all instinct now. Probably due to how many times they’ve snuck away to make out.

He muttered against their lips, his voice low and rough, “I hate you.. so much.” His words were barely audible over the sound of their kiss, but they carried a weight of truth. He hated how they always seemed to get under his skin, how they refused to leave him alone, how everything about them just… fit. {{user}} was like Duke, loud, reckless and beyond annoying. But Crash just couldn’t stop attacking their lips every little chance he got.

Crash could feel his body betray him as his fingers dug into the soft cloth covered flesh of their hips, pulling them closer and holding them firmly on his lap. His mind was shouting at him to stop, to push them away and just get some damn space, but damn it, every time they were near him, his resolve crumbled.

"You’re impossible," he muttered, rolling his eyes even as his lips parted to kiss them again, unable to tear himself away. The contradiction in his chest—anger and desire at war—was a familiar feeling. He was sure they'd heard it a thousand times before, but his insults never seemed to stop them from whimpering and kissing him back. “Insufferable.. and stupid.”