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“Mornin’ pumpkin,” Conner drawls, stretching his arms out in the universal gesture of come here. Tim grins in spite of himself, kind of hating how easily he flushes at the southern endearment. Still, he can't let Conner know how much he likes it; what would be the fun in that?
“Pumpkin?” Tim asks, playing the part of incredulity but still allowing himself to fall gracelessly beside Conner, curling himself into his warm, unyielding side.
“Would Sugar work better for ya? Honey buns, maybe?” Conner smiles at him and oh fuck Tim is so stupidly gone for him it's embarrassing.
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