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“You bought—what the fuck have you done,” Michael shook his head in disbelief at the sight of Gavin’s newest acquisition.
“What? I think it’s going to be top. C’mon, Michael, where’s your sense of adventure?” Gavin asked, stroking the sleek body fondly while grinning from ear to ear.
“You don’t even have a regular license! Why the fuck did you think buying a motorcycle was a good idea?”
Gavin turned an affronted pout on Michael, his arms coming up to cross defensively across his chest. “Motorcycle licenses are loads easier to get here, Geoff said so, and a motorcycle is cheaper! And anyway, I’ve driven mopeds before, it’s the same general idea—“
“—except for how it’s completely different—“
“—and I’ll spend a ton less on petrol.”
“Gas.”
“Same thing,” Gavin said, waving Michael off. The redhead stared hard at Gavin, clearly not amused, and the Brit gave a sharp sigh. “You’re supposed to be excited for me. Isn’t it like a spousal requirement?”
“We’re not married, dipshit,” Michael muttered, grinning despite himself. He hid it by turning to look the bike over. He had to admit, it was a pretty sweet ride, and there was something completely appropriate about the idea of Gavin riding around on it. It just… fit, way better than a sedan ever could.
Probably because he’s European. Prick, Michael thought with a roll of his eyes.
Gavin was still giving him that hopeful, doe-eyed look, and Michael shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not gonna come visit you in the hospital when you inevitably get your ass handed to you by a car,” Michael said, voice flat. Gavin took it for what it was—approval—and cheered.
It helped, Michael reflected as Gavin pulled up to the Rooster Teeth office on his bike for the first time, that his boyfriend looked damn fine no matter what he was riding.