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"Nice try," Ed snickers, grabbing Shaun's wrist like a python on a rat.
With a click of his tongue, Shaun resists, tugging his arm - and incidentally, the remote - to his chest, wrenching his body back and forth until he's free. The only problem is that in all the effort, he's smacked Ed clean across the face.
Shaun reels back, falling onto the cushion behind him in a fit of nervous giggles. "Sorry!" he says with his hands over his mouth. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, your laughter's real healing."
He wedges the toe of his trainer beneath Shaun's arse, making him gasp and explode into more desperate giggles that have him slipping off the sofa and pooling onto the floor. But, he's still got custody of the remote–
Ed grabs for it, but Shaun's quicker and holds it out of his grasp. "You were here all day!" he cries. "You could've watched whatever, then. I want to watch Smack the Pony."
"Aw, man–"
And then just as Shaun's about to sit up, Ed snatches the remote from him– Just, not before Shaun's grabbing his arm and sinking his teeth into the hairy meat of it. It's more of a surface wound for dramatics, but it does the trick, startling Ed for a long enough to scramble to his feet–
The remote skitters across the floor and then Ed's grabbing him around the waist, tackling him to the ground with a lighthearted growl, "What are you, five?"
"I learnt it from you!" He crashes onto his shoulder and grunts as pain radiates through him, tears springing unbidden to his eyes, but Shaun can't help but laugh and swat at Ed as his mate topples over and pins him down. It's a flurry of limbs, and unfortunately, Ed usually gets the upper hand in limb flurries. "Fuck off!"
They've been best mates a long time, wrestling is nothing new. It's how a lot of their frivolous bickering ends - with one of them on the floor, a bit battered and bruised, maybe accidentally bloodied. Ed's always been a nibbler, at least since Shaun's known him - a tactic that worked in primary school, when bullies were weaker and stupider than Shaun hopes he is. He licks his lips looking at Shaun, planning his attack; his frame is bigger, twenty years later, hands much larger and rougher.
He lifts Shaun by the same wrist he's abused since they began their tussle over the telly, teeth bared for a bruising bite, but Shaun has an idea–
Leaning forward as much as his podgy abs will allow, Shaun plants a wet kiss that somewhat misses and lands half on Ed's lips, if he's being generous.
It makes Ed's brow wrinkle in surprise, and he snorts. "Gay."
"You're being a child. It's my house."
"Pete agrees with me, Smack the Pony is bollocks."
Ed's practically straining the breath out of him as he leans down, pressing him into the carpet with Shaun's tortured wrist still in hand. He pulls at the neckline of Shaun's tee to bare his neck, scraping his teeth over the taut, pinkened flesh there and miming a bite; the result is much more delicate.
It makes Shaun moan.
It doesn't make Ed anything but perturbed, quiet for a beat before huffing a soft chuckle; lowering himself slightly, sitting lower on Shaun's legs as he stares down at him with an impish squint.
And then he bends forward and replicates the same teasing bite.
This time, though, Shaun is ready for it, stifling his shivering gasp with a cartoonish frown that only serves to goad Ed into trying again on his upper arm, and then again on his shoulder through his shirt… He can surely feel the hics from Shaun's chest, the haggard breaths from trying not to laugh or cry or whine, although Ed seems ultimately unphased.
As a last-ditch effort to free himself, Shaun bucks his hips against Ed's in an attempt to throw him off… which is the exact wrong thing to do.
"Ah–"
He sputters an anxious laugh as his cheeks darken, pressing an elbow into Ed's sternum while he watches Ed's expression shift from a quizzical, slack jawed frown to his regular toothy grin. The next bite is on his neck yet again, already tender from the grate of Ed's stubble, and he can't hide the full-body shiver and erotic sob that it drags out of him.
"D'you like that?" Ed snickers, "Or do you like me?"
"Ed I'm serious–!"
Shaun's wrist is freed as Ed instead slips his palm to rest on his friend's windpipe; fingers insistent on either side of his chin as he turns Shaun's face away from him. And for a moment it's hard to breathe. Shaun tenses his body, preparing himself for anything in Ed's arsenal of petty fight tactics: a wad of phlegm on his forehead, a barrage of single-finger pokes or flick to his nose. He's even ready for a fist square in the gut–
But what he receives is the unique pain of Ed's tongue pressed against his clavicle, the faint graze of teeth, and then his lips on him, sucking like a hoover to draw a bruise to the surface of his skin. It's as incredible as it is shocking, and with the endorsement of Shaun's whimpers, Ed does it again a few inches up, lapping at the sore red blotch he's left, and then biting again.
Shaun's cock stirs, threatening to get hard, making this entire thing that much more horrific, and finally with both arms free, he's able to wriggle out from under him with a weak kick in the bollocks. He frowns in apology, Ed grimacing as he shoves a hand down the front of his pants to readjust himself.
But whether he takes the win or not, he's managed to put an end to this.
"You look like a leper," Ed says, grinning proudly and tossing him the remote control. "Here, watch your stupid show."
And that's what Shaun remembers, as the chain rattles and tears free of its anchor on the old wooden foundation of the shed wall, allowing Ed the extra tolerance he needs to shamble forward with all of his dead weight trapping Shaun against the ground.
He always was a bit bitey.