#JESUS this ended up being a mammoth of a chapter
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IV - Tome'tayl
masterlist
Series Pairing: f!reader x Tai, Commander Appo, Captain Vaughn, Sergeant Fox, & Sterling [no cl*necest!]
Chapter Pairing: f!reader x Commander Appo (+ a hint of Vaughn, Tai, & Fox)
Content: brief sexual content including making out/petting (is that a thing people say? idk), consent checks, & voyeurism; referenced minor character death, discussions on jealousy and polyamory, o66 and Umbara references. I am once again continuing my "Aurea is space Aotearoa" agenda
tome'tayl [n., to·mey·teyl] - memory
The memories bleed together when he dreams. Hazy recollections of training on Kamino transform into the searing pain of the first blaster bolt to his shin bleeds into the chaos of death at the Temple. Flurries of Commander Tano’s montrals and her radiant green sabers as she blocks an attack that should have killed him. Snippets of General Skywalker issuing orders on a distant moon under Seppie control. Krell and Umbara and the regrets that never stopped haunting him.
Good soldiers.
That first night on Coruscant when everything went to shit. When he was still a shiny, so young and stupid.
Follow orders.
Death. Always death. It follows him everywhere.
I’m sorry, sir.
The choice to leave, to find his vod and take him somewhere where the longnecks and the Seppies and the Empire can never hurt him again. The plummeting of his stomach when the shuttle dropped into the atmosphere, and he thought he was going to die.
It’s time for you to leave.
You.
Your flat.
Hope.
Could-be’s. Maybe’s. What-if’s.
Shame. Guilt. Grief. And all that death.
Appo blinks up at the ceiling, unsure when his dream had turned into waking. He feels his heart beating fast and hard beneath his skin, and it’s forceful enough to hurt. An unfathomable period of time passes in a single instant, and he finally rubs the meat of his palm into his eyes when he realizes that he won’t be able to sleep any longer.
His body moves on autopilot and takes him into the bathroom to splash water on his face. It’s there that he finds some peace of mind, tucked into the tiny space between the opposing wall and the sink, a temporary reprieve from the room he shares with his vode.
The dreams have been getting worse the past week. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want to think about what that understanding means. It’s a wound still too tender to touch, which is why it’s so unfortunate that his date with you is just a few days away. How the hell is he supposed to focus on you, on planning something intimate and romantic and just right when his brain is more interested in dredging up the past and shaming him for it? How is he supposed to touch you when his dreams keep reminding him that he’s more bloodstained than you will ever know?
In an attempt to connect with each brother on a deeper level, you’ve somehow managed to allow Vaughn to talk you into watching his favorite holo-soap. It’s got some weird title like “Shereshoy Street” or something, and focuses mainly on dramatized renditions of diasporic Mando life, strangely managing to straddle the line between painfully boring and wildly intriguing. But it’s not so bad when it means you get to spend your evenings curled up into Vaughn’s side with his arm around you.
Tai will sometimes join in, though he keeps himself seated far away. You’ve been working on him bit by bit each day, offering your company and a smile in the hopes that you’ll finally chisel through his protective shell, and while it is slow going, he does seem a bit more relaxed.
Sterling, on the other hand, is always eager to be close. With you and his vod seated at one end of the sofa, he places himself on the other end so he can trace his fingers over your legs. He doesn’t mind that you haven’t shaved recently, nor does he seem to care that the winter weather has left your skin cracked and dry. He touches you with such gentle reverence that you can’t help falling in love with him all over again each night.
“Hey babe,” you whisper. Vaughn leans down a bit to hear you better, though his attention remains fixed on the holo-screen. “Can we watch one of my movies tomorrow night?”
“Mhm.” His reply is a bit absent. Understandable considering the show seems to be ramping up for its next scene. But his focus wavers then as he suddenly processes your request and his head tilts down so he can watch you instead. “You’re bored?”
He’s not exactly upset nor entirely surprised, but you think he’s a little disappointed.
“No, no, no, I’m not bored-“
“I know it’s not really your thing, but…” He pauses. Vaughn’s face then warms as he breaks into a smile. “Hm. Need some help focusing, love?”
You know exactly what he means. You pretend not to because admitting otherwise might make you perish on the spot.
The placement of his hand in the wrinkle of your waist shifts as he does, drifting to a spot closer to the front of your stomach as he draws you both a little more upright. His hands, like the rest of his brothers, are broad and warm, firm and strong, and they always steal your breath away. This moment is no exception. His thumb rubs up over your ribs to the lower swell of your breast, not quite touching you there but certainly promising to if you allow him.
He kisses your cheekbone, your jaw, brushes his nose against your skin, and he smiles all the while. “This alright?”
No matter how much they may be pretending otherwise, you know his brothers are watching. You can feel the patterns Sterling’s drawing on your ankle grow sharp and jerky, hopefully not out of jealousy, though you can’t find it in you to care if he is or not. There’s something very alluring about the idea of him and Tai watching while Vaughn explores you. Does that make you filthy? Degenerate?
One look into Vaughn’s endless ember eyes already has you melting.
If wanting to have your cake and eat it too makes you filthy and degenerate, then you’ll gladly accept the title.
Your affirmative nod is notably delayed, but the end result is the same – Vaughn’s entire hand cups your breast, his thumb strokes just below your nipple, and then he descends upon you to swallow your stuttered inhalations. Several moments pass in a haze as your hearing goes fuzzy and your stomach drops. He tastes like supper, smells like patchouli and musk.
“Oh,” you sigh, and your gentle, charming, too-smug Vaughn chuckles low in his throat.
“You’re still distracted. Let me help you.” And as he dives in for more, he stops himself and quickly lifts his head. Following the line of his vision leads you to Sterling’s penetrating gaze, to Tai’s downturned face and unreadable expression. “Do, uh, d’you want us to go?”
The sudden stillness of war-worn hands on thighs and the audible swallowing of saliva is overwhelming, concerning, until it isn’t. Until Sterling answers “no” and Tai, albeit shyly, shakes his head. Until a tentative query is posed to you and your permission is granted, and Vaughn captures your lips once more in a steady, burning kiss that sears your skin like a brand.
This is all so new, this maneuvering of fingers on skin and rearranging of limbs to better suit the viewing pleasure of your new audience. It feels forbidden to try, to chase, to yearn for more, but you can hardly stop yourself once the adrenaline hits. You arch into the touch of fingertips on your breast and allow your head to fall back on the shoulder behind you.
The prickling sensation of unfiltered voyeurism pimples your skin. Do they like to watch? Do they wish they were the ones touching you now? Kriffing hell, do they even realize just how much you wish they’d both come over and share in your reckless debauchery?
Vaughn’s breath tickles your ear. “So soft,” he husks. “Where else, love? Where else can I touch you?”
Not even your stolen moments with Fox have led to anything beyond passionate kisses and the framing of your thighs around his hips. His mouth has never lingered past your collarbones and his hands have never strayed beyond your hips. The same is mostly true for Vaughn, the second most eager of the batch, although he’s been more adventurous since your date. The intimacy of his hands on your chest is so delicious. You want more. You know he wants more, too.
“Anywhere.”
The holo is still playing in the background, but no one’s paying any attention. You seem to be the show for the evening. Fuck.
“You’re sure?”
Your head lolls to the side as you fix him with a stern, desperate look. “Vaughn, baby, if you don’t keep touching me, I think I’ll die.”
Three variations upon the same laugh echo in the room, one of which is rumbling under your back. It’s a tad higher pitched than that of his brothers. It’s nice. He’s nice. His hands on your body are even nicer.
The two legs that have been curled around your own start to move until one of them drapes off the edge of the cushion, which allows for your legs to fall apart just a bit more. Easy access, you think, jokingly, until there’s the weight of something new slipping down your stomach, so, so slowly, lower and lower until it hits your waistband, and suddenly it’s not a joke anymore.
“Here?” Vaughn asks. He sounds torn between trying to be sexy and worrying over your consent. You love him more for that than you love him for almost anything else.
“Yeah,” you nod, eyelashes fluttering.
The very tips of his fingers start to tug at your clothes, searching for new skin, and your heart leaps into your throat because this is really happening, he’s really going to touch you, right here and now with his brothers watching, and you want it, and maybe you shouldn’t. And maybe you’re a little nervous. Maybe you’re finally starting to feel the weight of your own insecurities as they batter your brain like a hailstorm. What if you look weird from this angle? What if you smell? What if that bit of hair on your stomach is a dealbreaker? What if this is the night that makes each of them realize this arrangement was just a big mistake, especially Tai? Oh kark, what if it’s too much for Tai?
And then a floorboard in the hall creaks. A flicker of movement in the darkness catches your eye. Vaughn’s palm soothes over your belly button as Appo’s figure comes into focus in the faint light of the holo-screen. He’s mid-step, mid-eye rub, mid-thought, but he’s frozen like a tauntaun in the headlights, fixated on you and the hand under your clothes.
“Ah, a-ah,” is the strangled beginnings of his name that keeps catching on your tongue. It almost sounds like the start of a sneeze.
Sterling reacts first. He startles out of his seat with enough force to jostle your legs. Then Vaughn stiffens beneath you, and not in any remotely sexy way, either. The quick removal of his limbs leaves your skin feeling cold and achy. Tai doesn’t react nearly so physically, though there is a clear uncertainty in the way he holds himself now as he observes each brother.
“S-Sir!”
Hand in the cookie jar. Vaughn couldn’t sound more guilty if he tried, and you’re not even sure he could. It’s not like you were doing anything wrong when there was consent all around. Yet Appo’s presence has always been that of a commander first and a brother second. If anything, you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty as much as the boys do, like you’re just some bunk bunny getting randy in the barracks and the commanding officer just walked in on you. You hate how apt the metaphor is.
Nobody speaks for a long while. Then, finally,
“If you’re gonna make a mess, do it in the bed, will you?”
Appo lingers for a moment, his eyes bleary as he watches you for a heartbeat or two. You think you see something behind the exhaustion, but whatever it is, it’s lost on you when he turns to leave. If you weren’t doing anything wrong, then why do you feel sick to your stomach with guilt?
Dating never used to be this hard during the war. He and the boys would go to 79’s and drink, dance, chat up natties, and return to the barracks a load or two lighter and high on endorphins. Even going out with Benshar wasn’t this hard, but then, he wasn’t nearly as attached to Benshar as he is to you. Because Benshar was a fun string of nights meant to help him left off some steam and screw his head on straight, to distract himself from his memories and his desires and the constant, tantalizing agony of knowing that you were forever beyond his reach.
Now he finally has you and he doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re more than a night of bad decisions, lust, and booze. He can’t kark this up. He is, after all, the commander. The men will look to him for an example to follow and he can’t let them down, or you.
So Appo thinks. He spends the whole day thinking. Some of his customers attempt conversation but are quickly shut down when he refuses to respond beyond a grunt of understanding or disagreement. He drives down every Maker forsaken road in the damn city and he tries very hard to think of the perfect place to take you.
The old shop on the corner of 5th and Main reminds him that you’re fond of holo-novels and good ambience. The nature reserve on the city’s outskirts reminds him that you stop and listen to the birdsong whenever you hear it, no matter where you are. A Weequay pedestrian and her Twi’lek partner walking hand-in-hand on the sidewalk, laughing loud enough to cut through transparisteel, remind him that you like to show your love through meaningful gestures and tenderness, and the too-occasional witty barb. Most of all, Appo knows that you’re proud of being Aurean, which strikes him the strongest when he happens to drop off a small tourist group near the Pā City Culture and History Museum – the PaCC, as the locals have affectionately dubbed it.
As they clamber up the steps toward the museum’s entrance, a holo-banner catches his attention. There’s a newer Naboo exhibit on display and a few new items added to the main Aurean displays as well. The thought transforms into an idea in the back of his mind during the drive home.
You’re bantering with Sterling in the kitchen. With your nose wrinkled up mid-sentence and your eyes sparkling mischievously, dressed in your most casual and comfortable clothes, and looking entirely average and unremarkable, Appo thinks you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. It’s far from the first time he’s ever thought so, and he knows it’s far from the last, but it hits him particularly hard now.
But your expression drops when you see him, and that hurts more than any blaster shot ever could. To see you tuck yourself away in his presence, even to see the way his vod’ika goes tense simply because he’s home, it fucking hurts, and it’s only because he had the bad luck to walk in on something private and he let his pride get the better of him. He needs to fix this.
His coat is shrugged off and tossed over one arm. “Hey.”
One look at him through the curtain of your lashes is enough to make his breath hitch. All the appropriate words and formal apologies his brain had started to conjure suddenly vanish, and he’s left without a single thought. Shit.
“Hi,” you answer rather meekly.
He does the first thing that makes sense. He kisses you.
Well, he almost does. Somewhere along the journey, his critical thinking skills kick back in, and he realizes that he’s acting very strange, so he jerks his face to the side and lands the kiss upon your cheek instead. It’s more appropriate for an apology, he tells himself. It’s not at all because he’s so overwhelmed by his feelings for you that he can hardly decide what to do with them or himself.
“Tomorrow. When you’re done with work, get yourself dressed. I’ll pick you up.” He doesn’t intend for it to sound like an order, but he fears that’s exactly the end result. Best to soften the approach a bit. “Okay?”
You nod, all wide-eyed and confused and so, so pretty. “Okay.”
This is not the perfect resolution he had hoped for, but it’s better than nothing at all and it can be improved upon tomorrow afternoon. Appo nods and allows himself a smile, however slight it is.
To Sterling, he nods again. “Vod.” This is his apology, his offer of normalcy.
Sterling returns the gesture. “Vod.”
“You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
The force with which your head spins in Tai’s direction is almost comical. His humor is greatly appreciated after a solid week of its absence, but it comes at such a bad time. Because the fact of the matter is that you really do feel sick.
You’ve been primping and preening every aspect of your ensemble for the last 15 minutes, and it had taken you at least triple that to even decide on an outfit. You want things to be perfect and you’re worried they won’t be. The mirror definitely isn’t doing you any favors.
“You try going on a date with a big, intimidating commander without getting all nervous about it.”
Tai’s entire face crinkles. “Rather not, thanks.”
He’s seated on your bed with his injured leg extended as he rubs his fingers into the meat of his thigh. Several more moments pass between you. You fuss over your clothes a bit more, over your face and your accessories, and Tai shifts between watching and not-watching. It’s not hard to miss just how deeply he’s thinking, though.
“Thank you.”
The reflection of his eyes flits about until you see it focus upon you. “For what? Didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe. Maybe I just enjoy your company, Tai.”
Each brother has a grip on you in their own unique way, each connection varies just enough, but you think that the connection binding you to Tai is the one that makes you ache the most. He hasn’t shared much about the events that led to his injuries. You’ve never asked. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something went horribly wrong. How else does one end up with a leg full of shrapnel and a lifetime of nerve damage?
It's his pain that makes you ache. The pain that keeps his body from performing on the same level as his brothers, or even with any natborn of a roughly equivalent age. The pain that makes his fingers shake when he works on his carvings. The pain that you can’t see any physical traces of, but that you know haunts him down to the sinew. The kind of pain that makes him so quiet and isolated in a house so full of love and affection.
There’s a bit of that pain now, lurking in the creases of his face, welling under his lash lines, though he makes a good effort to hide it. He ducks his head to one side, and it ends up leaving his profile perfectly framed in your mirror. A strong, straight nose below a pair of stern, angular brows. His chin is softly rounded, like his lips, and his neck slopes gently into a smooth set of shoulders. And from this angle, the sunlight sneaks through the window and hits the gathered mountain of hair knotted atop his head, all dark and curly and beautiful.
Does he even know?
Your heart takes you to his side, settling you upon the mattress close enough to touch but not so close that he feels stifled by your presence. Or at least you hope not.
“This is okay with you, right? Our agreement?”
His throat bobs up and down, his expression suddenly hesitant. “Course,” he grunts.
“Tai.”
He fixes you with a look that either makes you want to burst into your most dazzling smile or scream in pure frustration. “Now’s hardly the time to discuss it.” He gestures to you with a nod of his chin and a vague movement of his hand. “You have a date.”
“You can’t honestly expect me to go enjoy myself when you won’t even tell me if you’re okay with it or not.”
“I never said I didn’t-“
“Yeah, but I know you. And you’ve been distant.” Your fingers close over his knuckles. “And then with last night… I’ve just been worried. I want you to be happy.”
Understanding alights in the depths of his dark umber eyes, and the hand under yours suddenly turns onto its back so his palm can press against yours. It’s the closest the two of you have been in a week.
“Ni utreekov.” It’s whispered so softly that even if you understood its meaning, you still would have struggled to hear him properly.“Bal ni kar’tayli darasuum gar. A ni chaaba.”
Whatever it means, you can’t help thinking it’s a confession. Why else would he speak to you in a language he knows you can’t interpret?
“Tai,” you start, suddenly overwhelmed with the onslaught of wonderings and worries racing through your mind. This is truly the wrong time and place for such a conversation, he’s right. Appo will be home any minute and it would be rude to keep him waiting, and even worse to leave Tai behind without any closure. “You know I don’t know what that means.”
He nods. “I know.” With your hand still in his, he brings both up, up, up to the crest of his lips where he plants a kiss to the center of your palm. Electricity immediately surges through your every limb, crackles in every pore, finally bursting into each chamber of your heart with enough force to stun you. “I’ll tell you one day.”
“‘One day’?”
“Soon,” he corrects, and this time when he smiles, it’s as real as can be. “I am happy, sweetheart,” and the pet name is like another wave of electricity in your veins. It’s the first time he’s used such a word for you and already you love it. “Don’t worry about a washed-up old veteran like me, hm?”
There he is. That’s the Tai you know. A bit self-deprecating, perhaps, but good-natured and playful at heart.
“You know I’m older than you.”
Somewhere outside, a speeder horn beeps as it rolls into the parking space below your window. Appo.
“Yes,” he chuckles, “I know. Now get going before that di’kut brother of mine comes looking for you.”
A quick glance over in the mirror affirms that you look presentable. To Tai, you flash a smile and wave of farewell.
“See you tonight!” And though you manage to bite it back, there’s an instinct deep within you that longs to part instead with a more sentimental “love you!”
Now is not the time to say such things, of course. It’s far too soon. Yet the words still find themselves laced in the final look you share, in the fluttering of your lashes and the quirk of your smile. Someday soon you think you’ll tell him. When the time is right.
You make quick work of your shoes before all but flying out the front door and down the stairs to the bottom floor. Your heart is beating out its own song as it carves itself into your ribcage. You’re excited, you’re nervous, you’re damn near giddy. Where will he take you? What will you end up doing?
But all that frantic, eager energy fails to prepare you for the first glimpse you get of your date, your boyfriend. Seeing him nearly knocks the breath out of you. Braced against the hood of the speeder, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, he’s a kriffing work of art.
He wears the same dark trousers he always wears to work, the same boots and belt. His hair is the same as it always is, cropped just short enough that it doesn’t fully curl the way it should. Only his shirt is different – a black tee in exchange for his usual dark indigo – and yet he looks more gorgeous in this moment than he has in the past two years. Maybe that’s because the sleeves are cropped around the widest part of his biceps. Or because the color looks good on him. Or because he’s looking at you from beneath his lashes, somehow confident and unsure all at once, and it prompts a full nervous system reboot.
You’re so distracted by how damn good he looks that it takes you another few seconds to realize that you’re staring, and he’s staring back. His attention is so focused that you can practically feel it on your body, lingering along your throat, your wrist, the parted curve of your mouth.
“I’m not late, am I?”
Appo’s smile flickers into existence as he shakes his head. “I’m early.” He pushes himself off the speeder and opens the passenger door for you. “You ready?”
“Yes,” you reply, way too fast and far too ardently. “All ready.”
Is it normal to be this excited? Concerning, maybe? All your nerves have suddenly decided that this date is going to go swimmingly and there’s nothing to fret about, and have now redirected you to fixate upon the smaller details: a charm hanging from the dash, some Mandalorian symbol you don’t understand the symbolism of, then the small block arrow carved into the center of the steering wheel, the way the muscles of his arm flex when Appo starts the engine.
That all pales in comparison to the details that strike you when he starts to shift the speeder into reverse. It’s such a normal thing to do, so ordinary. You’ve seen plenty of folks do it the way he does, not just his brothers, so it shouldn’t strike you in the sternum the way it does, like lightning angrily lancing through your bones. And yet the way he turns to look over his shoulder, the way he braces his hand against your headrest and leans his body ever so slightly toward yours is so intoxicating that you’re almost convinced you’re going to burst into flames. He’s not doing it to elevate your heartrate, but that’s the effect it has regardless.
It comes and goes so quickly, but the memory is seared into your eyelids. Who knew that backing out of a parking space could get you going so easily?
From that point on, the drive is quiet and uneventful. You hit a bit of light traffic as you near the center of the city and with both the radio off and neither of you speaking, it leaves a wide expanse for your thoughts to run rampant in. That leads to wonderings. And wonderings lead to questions. And the constant red glare of brake lights prompts you to try posing one such question.
“Can I ask you something?”
Appo nods.
“The other night, with Vaughn… We didn’t mean to upset you.” Well, that wasn’t how you wanted to ask, now was it? “Um, did we?”
He, however, doesn’t seem to mind the query. “I wasn’t upset.”
Huh. Interesting. “Then what? You seemed so, I dunno, not happy, and then yesterday-“
“This is new for me,” he says, and the way your name comes out at the end is surprisingly pleasant. He seems to want to say more but is struggling to put it into words.
But you think you know what it is. “I understand. This isn’t exactly a normal arrangement, is it?” Understatement of the kriffing year. “I’m still getting used to it. Having so many partners is nice, really, but it’s weird too. I can’t imagine how it is for you.”
The look he gives you is a silent request to elaborate.
“I don’t know how I’d feel if I was the one watching you kiss somebody else. Even if I knew that you still, still cared for me, I think I’d still be jealous.”
You’re suddenly reminded of your behavior at the bar a week ago and the memory is so awful that you outwardly cringe, your entire body folding in on itself as you attempt to repel the barraging thoughts. You know exactly how you’d react if the roles were reversed because you’ve already lived it. The cocktail of your suppressed emotions, Benshar’s cheery disposition, and too much liquor might have led to the consensus of a happy relationship with five amazing men, but the road there was paved with regret and shame.
That particular recollection, however, leads you down another train of thought. “You stayed with me that night, when I was drunk.”
Another traffic light starts to come into view and the speeder begins to slow.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Appo takes the opportunity the light has given him to look you in the eyes and it’s startling just how serious he is about it. “Any time you get wasted, you tell me. I’ll stay with you.”
There’s something more to this, isn’t there? Something you don’t know about. Why else would be so adamant about something so trivial? You’ve never had a partner make such a big deal of keeping you company during your drunk spells. Hell, you’ve not had a friend make such a big deal of it either. Not for a lack of caring, you don’t think, but it just never seemed important enough.
“Can I ask why?”
The steering wheel emits a low creak from the pressure of his hands tightening around the leather. Shit, what in the hell happened to make him react like that? You think at first he’s going to lapse into silence again when he doesn’t immediately respond, that perhaps the reasoning behind the gesture is rooted in a terrible enough memory that words are failing him once more and you’ve just ruined the whole date by asking.
“There was a trooper holed up in his cot one night, drunk off his ass from his first shore leave on Coruscant. He was a shiny, like me. Couldn’t have seen more than a month or two of action.” His voice wavers here as he readjusts his entire body, his hold on the wheel, his position in the seat. “I woke up the next morning and found him. He choked on his own vomit while we were sleeping.”
Oh. That’s the saddest, most awful thing you think you’ve ever heard. To wake up and find the dead body of a friend, a sibling, a fellow soldier in the bed beside you would be the kind of nightmare that would probably keep you from ever sleeping again. You can’t even imagine how it’s affected Appo.
“I don’t allow anyone to sleep alone when they’re drunk,” he continues. “So, you need me? You tell me. Deal?”
There’s nothing you can say to fix this. There’s no bringing back that naïve trooper just like there’s no bringing back any number of the GAR’s dead. There’s just what Appo’s life is now, here on Aurea with you and his batch, and that has to be enough. That’s all you can give.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Deal?” He fixes you with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes. I promise.”
This confirmation soothes the harsh lines of his shoulders, gently unwrinkling them so they come down from around his ears. “Thank you,” and you think he sounds relieved.
The PaCC is a favorite of Corellian tourists and local school children. You visited several times in your youth, once every few years when a new subject would be introduced at the start of a semester and the museum had a relevant exhibit. You don’t know this place like you know the back of your own hand, but you know it well enough, and you’re surprised that Appo’s chosen to take you here for your date.
Surprised, but not disappointed. It’s a wonderful museum that centers its research and curation upon Aurean culture and history, though its had some intriguing temporary additions during its tenure. The newest one is a Naboo exhibit – “Ancient Art and Sculpture from the Planet of Queens” reads the caption at the bottom of your pamphlet, which does admittedly pique your interest.
Naboo has always been known for its investment in the arts – theatre, music, architecture, and fashion most popularly – but it skyrocketed into the hearts and minds of the entire galaxy with the coronation of Queen Amidala. That was long before the Empire came into power, though, outdating even the war and the Separatist Alliance if you remember right. Recalling the memory of her tenure is as easy as recalling the memory of her death. Even Aurea had mourned for her as a sign of respect for all she had done to aid her people and the Republic.
A holo of the latest queen, a young girl called Apailana, greets you at the entrance of the exhibit. Her face, slightly matured in the few years since her election, is still that of a child’s, painted white and colored with the same markings Amidala was famous for wearing during her reign. She wears an elaborate Naboo dress that shimmers and shines, and appears far too bulky to be comfortable, while her hair has been done up into the most elaborate headdress you’ve ever seen.
“It is my honor, as both the queen of Naboo and the grandchild of Aurean immigrants, to welcome you to this exhibit showcasing the ancient art and culture of my planet.” Her voice is tinted with hints of an Aurean accent, though it sounds more Coruscanti than anything else. “My hope is that this exhibit can stand as a bridge between our two worlds in times of uncertainty.”
“She’s so young.”
Appo had been silent for so long you’d almost forgotten he was there. His brow is all furrowed now as he watches the holo repeat itself.
“Just a kid ruling that entire planet.”
What’s going on inside that head of his?
“You okay?” You decide to try slipping your arm around his and while it does take him by surprise, he doesn’t fight it or attempt to withdraw. He allows it, and that makes you happy.
He inclines his head and his casual “yeah” is convincing enough to quell your worries, but neither does he look away from the child projected before him. He sees something in her that you can’t comprehend, and you only wish he would share it with you.
Even after living with an entire batch of them for two years, you still know next to nothing about the clones or their lives before the war. You know that they were, of course, cloned from a single template, a Mandalorian bounty hunter. You know they age faster than most other humans, even if the specifics are hazy at best. You know that there was a lot of good and bad propaganda surrounding them during the fighting, and you know that the majority of clones consider themselves to be brothers, a massive extended family of identical faces and voices.
But you don’t know what it was like for them growing up. You don’t know what things they learned, what dreams they had as children. You don’t fully know why the Empire abandoned them to the streets and gutters of the galaxy.
A bit of prompting urges him further into the exhibit. Here there are dozens and dozens of pieces the likes of which you’ve never seen before. Pale white stone has been chiseled into slices of time to show stoic philosophers deep in thought, youthful dancers and musicians as they frolic in a field, the frozen image of a waterfall and the palace adorning its crest, and even a pair of lovers mid-embrace. The man in the lovers’ statue reminds you of Sterling with his head of curls and strong shoulders.
Draped on the walls surrounding the statues are countless tapestries and painted canvases. The tapestries are rich in color and texture, most often sporting shades of green and blue or gold and red, both combinations symbolic of Naboo and the monarchy. Several sport the royal crest. In dazzling opposition, the canvases portray the intricate details of still life in Theed, the underwater Gungan cities, at the great lake and its many mountains, even former royals and senators from ages long past.
One particular canvas catches your eye, a profile of an ancient queen properly dressed and painted as befits her station. She’s older than most queens are, likely in her twenties, but her eyes are distant and melancholy. The painting itself is shrouded in swathes of gray and blue. A lone sentinel watching over her people, noble and strong and wise, but sad all the same.
“I have to admit,” says Appo as he observes the painting, “I’ve never been inside a museum before.”
While it initially surprises you, it makes a lot of sense. After all, when would a soldier ever have need of a museum?
“Really? D’you like it?”
“I’m not sure. The things here are beautiful, but the place itself is… sterile. Cold. Is that normal?”
In all your years, you’ve never heard such a thing. Museums have never felt alien to you in the way they must for him. They’ve always been a part of your subconscious, part of your schooling, part of your heritage as a citizen of Pā City.
Frowning, you step away from the painting to fully face your companion. “I’d never thought of it like that before.” You make a quick scan of the room in an attempt to pick out things that might be troubling him. “These places are always strict about you touching the exhibits, but that’s more because people are stupid and inconsiderate than them trying to keep you from enjoying everything. And I guess it’s quiet because people are too busy thinking. Or maybe they feel as awkward as you do.”
Appo hums thoughtfully. “Maybe.”
“You wanna head to a different exhibit?” The offer clearly appeals to him. “This one’s a little stuffy anyways, huh?”
The neighboring exhibit is a dedication to the history of Corellian ships, one you’re familiar with from a previous visit with your level 10 history class, and this is the one that brings Appo to life. It’s funny how often you forget what his military work entailed. He may not have been a pilot or a mechanic back then, but he’s at home with transports and machinery and weapons. Here among the miniatures of freighters and cargo ships, your soldier finds his place.
Following the line of his extended arm leads you to a red and white ship shaped like a holo remote bred with the aesthetic of a Coruscanti diner and a few small ion cannons. “That’s a YCAQT. Droid cargo. Dealt with my fair share of ‘em when I was a shiny.”
That’s very interesting. You never would have pictured tiny ships like that getting lost in the hubbub of a Separatist assault. “I thought they mostly transported protocol droids and gonks and stuff?”
“They do. But when you’re a shiny, you get sent to do the odd jobs and menial work. Like scanning old YCAQTs for battle droids and redirecting interstellar traffic.”
From what you remember learning as a student (and based on the summary plaque posted beneath the model ship), YCAQTs are mostly short-range transports. “Sooo… that means you were near Corellia, then?”
He shrugs. “A couple times, probably. Why?”
The urge to kiss him hits you hard and fast, strange though your reasoning is. “Nothing, I just thought maybe you’d been by Aurea at some point. Maybe the galaxy brought us together once and we didn’t even know it.”
Such notions aren’t usually a part of Appo’s worldview. That’s more the speed of any of his other brothers, particularly Fox or Vaughn, and he confirms as much with the not-so-subtle rolling of his eyes.
“It’s a nice thought. But not realistic.”
“Ugh, I’m trying to be romantic, Appo,” you groan as you whack the back of his arm. “Don’t be such a grouch.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
But the offense isn’t serious, and you wave him off almost instantly. You don’t want him thinking you’re actually upset. “You're forgiven.” Always.
The two of you never make it to the actual Aurean artifacts and displays. With Appo still adjusting to museum etiquette and ambience, and most of the exhibits being already familiar to you, you decide it would be best to move to the exterior gardens and enjoy some sunshine.
While the actual outside weather is chilly, the gardens are situated in a large greenhouse and are resultingly warm no matter the time of year. Native and non-native plants grow here, lilacs and pink begonias and yellow kōwhai blossoms and silver ferns. The canopied trees are so massive that they rival the museum itself in height. A wooden figure has been carved and placed above the main entrance, a kaitiaki, a guardian from ancient Aurean folklore, meant to protect the land it inhabits and its people.
The fingers interlaced with yours suddenly constrict. “Which ones do you like best?”
There are so many beautiful things here to choose from, how can you possibly narrow them down?
He taps his boot against a sign naming one of the nearest flowering plants. “This one?” It’s a vibrant purple fuchsia.
“Kōtukutuku,” you read for him. Just like you have yet to learn Mando’a, the boys have yet to learn more than a few words in the traditional language of these islands. “They make a good jam, y’know.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had flower jam,” he replies with a sour expression. “What about this one? Uh, poor… poor-uh...?”
Your kiss finds his cheek. “Pōroporo.” This flower is a much softer shade of purple with petals that form a five-point star around the yellow center.
Appo turns on you in that moment between your kiss and your words. He suddenly seems so massive, and you feel so small, tilting your head back so you can look up at him and wonder at the beautiful work of art you’ve found in the exhibit of your life.
“What’re you thinking inside that head of yours?”
Heaven forbids he ever finds out. Not that any of it is bad, but it’s sappy and romantic and everything he’s not.
“Nothing.” Just that you’re beautiful and I’m so glad I know you.
“You.” Kiss. “Look.” Kiss. “Beautiful.” Another, final kiss, this one the sloppiest of them all, but it’s to be expected when the person doing all the kissing is distracted with making dinner.
“Thanks, hun.”
“What color is that, lavender?”
A quick double check of your blouse confirms that yes, it is of the lavender persuasion. “Uh huh. Very nice.”
Fox beams happily, skillet in one hand and spatula in the other. He somehow manages to pull off looking sexy and adorable all at once. “Did he cream his pants when he saw ya?”
“Ugh, Fox!”
“‘cause I’m pretty sure I just did.”
Appo, ever your knight in shining plastoid, comes to your rescue then by delivering a swift smack to the back of his brother’s head. “Or’dinii. You’re disgusting.”
He’s never phased by anything his commander says or does, though, and he’s clearly not about to start now. “I’m just sayin’!”
“Don’t talk about your dick when you’re cooking.”
“Or,” you interject, “don’t talk about your dick period. There’s a thought.” As if you haven’t already thought about it. But no one needs to know that. Inspired by this, you turn to Appo with a finger poised in the air. “Hey, we could muzzle him! Just like Sterling said. Imagine how quiet the flat’ll be.”
It’s rare to see Appo commit to a full bought of laughter when he’s usually so serious, so the sudden bark of belly laughter that permeates the kitchen is initially assigned to Fox instead. It’s only when you see his head tilted back and his cheeks fully dimpled, eyes squeezed shut, that you realize it’s your stoic commander who’s so tickled by your quip. You want to say it all over again just so he’ll keep smiling.
Fox is less impressed. “I wouldn’t be laughin’ at me,” he warns with a perilous flick of the spatula in your face. “Not when I’m the one cookin’ your food, mesh’la.” Your tongue flicks out for far longer than necessary to get your point across, which is really just a terrible mistake in disguise. “Try that again and see where it gets you. That tongue’ll get you into all kinds of trouble.”
Maybe there’s a little hint of victory waving its flag when Appo physically steers you away from the conversation. Victory because you made him laugh, and smile, made him touch you and protect you and squirrel you away all for himself. This victory doesn’t end in a celebratory kiss – he hasn’t made that move yet, so you’ll wait for him until that point – but it does end with the smug and knowing looking of a man who’s well aware that you want his attention.
In the nights following your date. Fox has already started gearing up for his turn out with you, teasing you with morsels of information about what may or may not happen the day of. Appo’s formerly closed off approach to you has softened considerably and you find yourself thinking of him more and more often as a result. He took a great risk in opening himself up to you. He did it for you. You want to show him that you appreciate it.
“Appo?” You say it as softly as you can manage at the threshold of the room he shares with his brothers. It’s not so late that everyone’s already asleep, but it’s certainly late enough to prompt a few raised eyebrows, and at least two of those will be his.
The door opens a few moments later to reveal the man himself, already dressed in his sleep shirt and boxers. The beginnings of scruff have already started to prickle along his jawline. You think you catch a glimpse of the others in their beds, but they’re being far too quiet and still for you to really see them. Probably trying to listen in on you.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh. No, nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to ask you...” Kark, now that the moment’s here, you’re suddenly shy about asking. What if he thinks you’re being stupid? What if it unintentionally offends him? “Um...”
His movement into the hallway forces you to backtrack a few steps. He swiftly closes the door behind him, and it cuts the anxiety nearly in half. It’s much easier to ask without an audience.
“What is it?” he asks in that low, rumbly timbre you’re so fond of. His eyes are all soft and imploring, and kriffing karking fucking hell, he’s so beautiful that the love surge washing over you as a result nearly drowns you.
You need me? You tell me. The offer was given in the event of potential intoxication, you know that. That doesn’t mean, however, that you don’t still need him.
“Will you stay the night with me?”
A frown tugs at his lips. “I didn’t see you drink.”
And you shake your head. “I didn’t. I, uh, I wanted to be with you.”
The alternative implications of your request don’t hit you until after he reacts to it with the skyrocketed arch of his eyebrows and the startled widening of his eyes.
“Y-You mean-”
“No! Not like that!”
“Not that I don’t want to, but-”
“I mean, me neither.”
And he relaxes, and you clap a hand over your mouth, and he laughs, and so do you.
“I liked knowing you were there with me. And I started thinking about what you told me, why you stayed, and I thought maybe you’d like to stay with someone without worrying if they’ll be alright or not.”
The breath rushes out of him in an instant and his eyes, somehow, go even softer, and you love him love him love him. “Cyare,” he sighs, reaching for you in the dim, distant light emanating from your room. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
You lean into his touch with a smile. “Lay down with me and I’ll tell you.”
“I’ve done things,” he says later, tucked into your blankets with an arm under your shoulder and your hand upon his chest. He says it to the deep and empty dark. “In the past. Things I’m not proud of.”
“Why?” His silence is answer enough, and something tells you that if you could see him now, you’d see a sadness that runs deep in his own brother’s eyes, a self-directed sorrow that does not allow for mercy or kindness or anything gentle and lovely. “Because you were a soldier?”
When he nods, you nuzzle your nose into his collarbone. “The past is the past, Appo. You’re here now, and I want you because of the man I know you are, not because of what you’ve done. Okay?”
The mattress coils squeak and shift when he kisses you in your bed. He doesn’t take, doesn’t search for more than what you give him. He simply kisses you and allows you to bestow what you deem him worthy of. You give him your entire heart, even if he doesn’t know it.
“Stay with me tomorrow night.”
“You planning on drinking?”
“No.”
His smile is audible. “Good.” And for once, everything is right in the galaxy.
#commander appo x reader#commander appo x you#appo x reader#appo x you#commander appo#tcw#clone trooper x reader#clone trooper x you#star wars#x reader#labyrinth of my mind#JESUS this ended up being a mammoth of a chapter#what do you want from me?? i had a lot to say#please enjoy my 8.3k words of clone content thank you and goodnight
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a failed attempt to hate you
(tristan dugray)
a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3
screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes.
your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.
it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.
‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.
‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,’ he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.
you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.
‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’
‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’
‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’
he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’
‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’
‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’
‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.
you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.
‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’
‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’
‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.
‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’
‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.
‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes.
you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.
he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time.
why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.
‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new.
he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’
that was definitely new.
‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’
‘trying to get rid of me?’
‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’
‘it is? time flies.’
‘tristan.’
‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’
‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’
he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’
‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.
‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.
you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.
‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.
tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’
‘shut up, i hope you fail.’
he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’
‘i guess not.’
there was yet another beat of heavy silence.
‘see you monday.’
‘see you monday.’
you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.
‘i forgot my-’
‘you forgot your-’
another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.
‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.
‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’
‘ever the arrogant twat.’
‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’
‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’
‘as long as you let me do that again.’
tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)
#tristan dugray#tristan gilmore girls#chad michael murray#gilmore girls#gilmore girls fic#gilmore girls fanfiction#can't think of anymore tags so i'll just hope this does ok on its own
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Why Not? - Chapter Ten
Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?
Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!
I'm so sorry it took so long to update... I got a little sucked into a different WIP that I've been obsessing a bit over. But here we are, the final chapter!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC
Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff. Some bad language words…
“Come on,” Annie intones – practically whines – as both hands come up to wrap around his wrist. She gives a sharp tug, lets out a dramatic groan, and then plants her high heels and pulls on him with all her might.
But Bucky’s feet remain cemented firmly in place, his eyes still lingering on the throngs of well-dressed, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous people behind her as they casually saunter into the country club. The corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly, lopsided grin blooming as he watches her antics from his periphery, catching sight of the pretty pink chiffon of her dress blowing in the soft breeze as she leans heavily back and lets out another huff while continuing to manhandle him.
“Uh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, methodically. “No way in hell am I going in there.”
She pulls herself upright and gives him a disappointed look, bottom lip protruding in an overdone pout. “You promised.”
He shrugs, twisting his hand easily in her grip to wrap his fingers around hers. “Changed my mind.”
There’s a cheekiness to his gaze – and a brilliant hue to his crystal blue eyes – that she recognizes immediately. It’s the same vague, teasing look he gives his daughter whilst telling her that dinosaurs used to keep sabretooth tigers at pets… and made wooly mammoths use their tusks to clean their litter boxes. Or when he insists that ice cream for breakfast is against the law, and he’s keeping her out of jail by giving her waffles instead.
It’s a look Annie’s had directed her way a time or two as well, the playful flash in his features doing more to set her ablaze than just about anything else – save maybe seeing him slide out from under a car, covered in grease and sweat. Those moments when he sneaks up behind her while she’s washing dishes, gives her a swift and startling slap on the ass that every time causes her to nearly jump out of her skin? There’s that glint burning in his gaze as she turns to coyly chide him. Or when she bemoans being tired after a long day and a late night, only to feel his fingers trail slowly up her thigh, setting her flesh to tingle and singe? Sure enough, when she rolls over in bed, it’s that look she’s met with, impish anticipation painting his features.
It’s a look that has already become adored and craved by her. And freely given by him. A gesture, an unspoken admittance of affection that – in just these few short months – has managed to work its way into a new, shared vernacular.
She steps closer to Bucky, the slowly setting sun beating harshly on her back as she presses herself to his chest. “What if I change my mind about coming home with you tonight?” she asks with a sly smile, eyes fluttering flirtatiously up at him. “I mean, if I go in there alone, chances are, I’ll find some handsome, rich man and go home with him instead. Let him whisk me away in his Ferrari.”
Her mere presence coupled with the unseasonably warm temperature causes sweat to build beneath his collar, and he reaches up with his free hand to tug at the suffocating tie. “If he’s got a Ferrari, I can’t blame you,” he breathes out casually. “Go for it.” He drops his palm down to her hip, taking in the cool silkiness of her dress. “But you’re not gonna find anyone in there more handsome than me.”
She pulls back with a sudden – utterly enchanting, he can’t help but think – laugh and slaps him in the chest. “Cocky much?”
He merely wiggles his brows at her, earning an eyeroll – amid a beautifully dimpled smile – in response.
“C’mon,” she breathes out then, spinning round and twining her fingers with his before setting off towards the celebration. “You’re my officially RSVPed plus one. There’s no backing out now. It’s the law.”
He bites back a short chuckle, lets out instead a rumbling growl, but easily relents just the same, this time allowing himself to be pulled forward towards the massive gardens ahead. “I don’t know any of these people,” he whines pathetically, plodding behind her with heavy feet.
“You know me. And Tony,” she supplies, forging on without casting a glance back at him.
He rolls his eyes restlessly. “Last time I saw your boss, he was practically dusting for prints in my garage.”
“So dramatic,” she mocks thickly, accepting a program from one of the ushers as they enter the sprawling garden. She stops short once inside, Bucky very nearly ramming into her from behind. “It looks amazing,” she lets out in a low, astonished tone, the very tenor of which shoots a wide grin across Bucky’s face. She spins to look at him, her eyes inadvertently ticking round to take in more details of their surroundings. The lush, green topiaries looming on all sides. The big, beautiful lilies and orchids encircling the seating area. The perfectly placed fairy lights streaming from the tall trees. The giant pergola up front where a terribly well-dressed justice of the peace is already stoically standing. “This is exactly like what Pepper requested,” she mutters delightedly. “She must be so happy!”
He tugs her off to the side – out of the way – as more people stream in. “Well, it is her day, right?”
Annie nods, small hum spilling from her lips as she turns and drags him off towards the pristine white chairs, marching ever closer to the pergola at the front. “Tony said that if I sit any further back than the third row, I’m fired,” she tells him when his heels begin to dig in yet again.
And again, he yields, a deep, rather comic frown pulling on his face as they lightly push their way through the other guests. “So Stark is the bridezilla,” he mutters, no question to his voice.
She leads him into the seats, across a few already sitting – oddly familiar-looking – people before plopping down with a huff. “Ugh,” she drones, completely ignoring his comment and instead straightening her skirt beneath her before letting out a long, weary sigh alongside the very simple utterance, “It is hot.”
“You’re hot?” He turns on her with wide eyes, tugging once more at his tie, trying – and failing – to slide the sleeves of his suit jacket up his forearms for just a little air. “If they say anything more than just I do, I might freakin’ melt out here.”
A soft, clever smile rolls across her face. “But you’ll look good while you do it,” she says, reaching up to flatten his lapel before giving a single, terse nod. “I like you in a suit.”
He lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get any ideas, doll.”
“Any ideas?” she intones, grin only growing. “We’re at a wedding, Buck. I’m getting all sorts of ideas.”
His eyes blow wide for the briefest of moments, mouth falling agape and head cocking towards her as an anxious trilling buzzes through his brain. But then he sees the teasing turn to her lips, the tightness in her jaw as she works to hold in a bout of laughter. And he releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as an exasperated, “Very funny,” slips from his lips.
The bright, airy chuckle she’d been holding so tightly to spills out, her fingers dropping to splay wide over his knee. “Relax. I promise I won’t propose to you at the end of the night.”
His face drops, and along with it, his voice. “Might not mind you proposing certain things,” he mutters with a shrug.
A quick bark of a laugh has his eyes veering automatically back up at her, locking onto her mirthful gaze. “Fine,” she eases out after the giggles begin to fade. “Maybe I’ll propose something.” Then she shifts in her seat, turning towards him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes take on a somewhat solemn quality as she tells him, voice dropping nearly a full octave, “I’m not one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls who’s going to get all weepy just because we’re at a gorgeous wedding.” Her eyes tick over to the waiting pergola, a wistful air wrapping around her tone. “Or because I genuinely love the two people getting married. Or because,” she looks back at him, something clenching and burning deep in her core as she catches his bright blue eyes. “Because I love the fact that you actually came here with me.”
A tight breath hisses between his teeth. “Jesus, doll. You keep looking at me like that, you might just turn me into one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls,” he tells her before throwing an arm over her shoulder – despite the heat – and settling back with her body nestled close to his.
000
In the weeks following what had since been dubbed FLU: Revenge of the Toilet, Annie and Bucky had not only grown closer, but more… solid.
That rather rough Wednesday night – when everything seemed to go wrong and all of their insecurities were laid bare – had been a bit of a turning point in their relationship. Looking back, both of them would likely say that it was, in fact, the beginning of their relationship. Before that night, they were dating. They were two people who talked and laughed and hung out… and were – undeniably, categorically – attracted to one another. But after, they became so much more.
For Annie, the defining aspect of that evening – the thing that convinced her they were about to head down a new path together – was simply the fact that Bucky had pushed. He forced a conversation about whether or not she could handle his messy life, felt the need to because – I really like you – he was beginning to see a place for her in his future. That, coupled with the fact that he never asked her to leave, clearly never wanted her to leave, served to quiet Tony’s well-intentioned warning – You’ll never come first, you know – that always seemed to linger in the back of her mind.
Maybe that would still be true at times. Maybe it should be true, especially when the one she’d be competing against for that top spot was a four-year-old girl. But in that moment – that night – Bucky had made it abundantly clear that she was his priority.
Needless to say, she had stayed the night after all. After a rather intense and achingly long make out session that resulted in swollen lips, a bit of beard-burn, and a broken coffee maker; a quick everything’s good here check-in phone call from Steve and Natasha; and too much lukewarm Indian food, Annie ended up coiled around Bucky’s hulking form, breathless in his bed, sweaty sheets sticking to naked flesh as her exhausted body drifted off to sleep. It was blissful and hot, and above all else, it just felt… right.
The next morning, on the other hand, wound up being less than stellar. She woke cold and alone, sprawled atop an otherwise empty bed, pulled from her slumber by the muffled sounds of retching emanating from behind the closed bathroom door.
She cared for Bucky that day – much to his chagrin – helped him shower and dress, cleaned his toilet, even ran to the store to stock up on Gatorade and ginger ale. And she allowed him to care for her as well – to come and fetch her and take her home, clean her up and keep her hydrated – when she blew chunks all over her desk at work two days later.
And that is what became the defining moment for Bucky.
It had all been a somber sign of things to come. Sickness. Hardship. Going to bed on cloud nine and waking the next morning with a faceplant to the dirty ground. It was all the things that he’d been afraid might happen. Burdening Annie with the cumbersome task of caring for a stubborn patient – I see where Lana gets it now – and the painful domesticity it bore. Having to do the same for her, just looking at her pale skin and hooded eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while knowing she was sick because of him. Having to break plans – the first plans they managed to make that didn’t involve chicken soup and Netflix – when a rather green-looking Natasha brought Svetlana over two days early because Steve’s horrendous retching was making the little girl cry.
But they made it through just fine. It was oddly easy, in fact… easier than he ever expected it to be. Caring for one another. Wanting to care for one another. It had been too damn easy.
If he were to be completely, unabashedly honest, Bucky would have to admit that this degree of ease… of comfort and simplicity – because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? Just a bizarrely uncomplicated, effortless sensation? – was not something he’d ever had with any other woman before. Even with Nat – whom he’d loved long before Lana came along, though admittedly not in the way that allowed two people to forge a life together – it had never been easy. She was strong and independent and wholly her own person. Her strength reeled him in and turned him on. But it also terrified him. Still does. Showing any vulnerability in front of Natasha Romanov – despite her telling him repeatedly that she can see right through his cocky façade – is not a thing he has ever been willing or able to do.
And with other woman too, he’s only ever allowed a certain side of himself – or perhaps a select few sides – to be glimpsed. More often than not, he’s shown them the charming, self-assured smile, imbued every movement, every word with the seemingly subtle confidence that he could see turned them to mush. But never, that he can recall, had he shared with them his struggles. No, instead he’d wear that charm like armor, a beguiling indifference that got him laid while still keeping his heart safe. And after Lana was born, once he realized his heart had become even more precious – more full and seemingly fragile now that his baby girl lay inside – an utter air of detachment was added on as an extra, thicker layer of protection.
He’d tell women about himself – what he did for a living, where he grew up. He’d share with them that he loved cars, loved screwball comedies, loved his daughter more life itself. He’d let them into his home and his bed. But his heart – and most of what made him truly him – was simply off limits.
He never really realized how much of his time was spent walking on eggshells around the women in his life, cautiously selecting which pieces of information to reveal, which parts of himself – if any – to lay bare. He’d never realized quite how hard it had been to be himself… to be real and genuine and – God help him – vulnerable with women.
Until Annie came along and made things so damn easy.
000
The music is surprisingly… intense. For a wedding reception, at least. The not-so-subtle beats of AC/DC and Metallica permeating the air for a good hour or so before slowly tapering off into some more appropriate rock ballads. “Tony got to choose the tunes for the cocktail hour,” Annie whispers to him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”
But for Bucky, the predetermined cocktail hour expands well into the post-dinner lull, his general wariness of large crowds and unease with small talk driving him to keep his hands and lips busy with drinks for as long as humanly possible. He gets it down to a science… sip easily at the watered-down drink in his hand to keep from having to say more than a few words to any of Annie’s overeager – borderline neurotic – coworkers. Then slip back over to the bar, taking his sweet-ass time to get a refill.
He’s on his fifth lap now, taking a break to sit at the far corner of the open bar. He watches from afar – head ducked, fleeting smile stifled – as Annie laughs and talks and mingles with a handful of work friends, her kind eyes ticking his way every few moments in quiet – easy – reassurance. And with each tender glance he feels a new wave of adoration wash over him, a steadily undulating current that both buoys him and threatens to drown him in the depths.
“You’re drinking the cheap shit,” he hears from over his shoulder. His hand grips the crystal tumbler of bourbon a little tighter as he slowly spins on the stool, raising a brow at the suspiciously unaccompanied center of attention. Tony ticks his chin toward his glass before calling the bartender over and saying simply, “Break out the Pappy Van Winkle.”
“The what?” Bucky asks, his eyes following the bartender’s cautious steps as he makes his way around to the back of the bar, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder as he goes.
Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a small grunt before dropping into the seat beside him. “Stupid name, wholeheartedly agree.” He tugs at his bowtie, unfurling it in one quick swipe and flinging it down atop the mahogany bar. “But it’s the best. Or…” he shrugs. “One of the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow – not unkindly, but certainly suspiciously – as he watches the bartender return with two tumblers and a bottle that his fingers curl around as though it were the freaking holy grail. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling with all your high-society guests?” he asks once they’re left alone with their drinks.
Tony raises his glass, holding it high with an expectant sort of impatience. “C’mon,” he mutters fitfully. “I just married the love of my life. Toast me.”
The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up into an amused grin, a quick snort of a chuckle spilling out as he brings the bourbon up and clinks Tony’s glass. “Congratulations,” he deadpans, the smallest gleam in his eye revealing the depth of his sincerity.
“Thank you.” Tony pulls back and sips at his drink, a look of pure comfort spilling across his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.
Bucky brings the bourbon to his lips – slowly, cautiously – and lets the amber liquid slide inside, coating his tongue, his throat, his soul in the most delicious burn possible. “Damn,” he breathes out, staring wide-eyed at the drink in his hand. A delicate trace lingers as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, head shaking slowly. “Damn.”
Tony chuckles under his breath. “Probably shouldn’t have introduced you to good ole Pappy,” he declares. “Like sending someone who’s only ever flown coach across the ocean on a private jet.”
“I’d settle for business class,” he smarts with a frown.
Tony nods, another small chortle spilling out of him. He takes another sip and cheats out on his stool, gazing across the large dancefloor in front of them until his eyes light on the tall strawberry blonde, dripping with white silk, a glass of champagne in her left hand that sets a sparkling backdrop for the platinum band clinking delicately against it. “Nah,” he mutters, grin growing as he watches his new wife throw her head back in a carefree, delightful bout of laughter. “Why settle when you can have the best?”
Bucky’s shoulders pull into a quick shrug, his gaze sweeping out to find the object of Tony’s attention before returning to settle on the drink in his hand. “Not everyone can afford the best,” he mutters a bit under his breath.
Tony turns to him with a disappointed glare. “You do realize I’m not actually talking about bourbon, right?” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh and settles in, placing his glass on the bar and leaning close to the man beside him. “She’s ruined you, hasn’t she? Annie,” he clarifies when Bucky’s brows curl in confusion. “Can’t go back to the cheap shit after getting a taste of her. Am I right?”
Something akin to a growl pulls from his chest, his jaw ticking tightly to the side. “Don’t talk about tasting my girlfriend.”
And Tony just laughs. Loudly. Haughtily. Slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he goes. “Relax, will ya?” he chokes out before swallowing down the snickers. He shakes his head with a fond sort of amusement. “Metaphor, Barnes.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, hint of agitation still in his voice as he brings the glass back to his lips and lets the liquor wash away the remnants of his irritation.
“I was watching you before,” he states simply, mirthful eyes still trained on the rather uncomfortable looking man before him. “The way you look at her, eyes following her around like a little puppy dog.”
Bucky’s lips press tightly together into a small snarl.
“I’m a genius, you know,” he lets out vapidly before giving a quick shrug and reaching up to pop open the top button of his starched, white collar. “Doesn’t take a genius to see what I saw, though.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bucky bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. “What’s that?”
A smug smile, a stifled laugh, a short, incredulous snort… that’s all the answer he really needs. But Tony says it anyway, never one to pass up the opportunity to be heard. “You’re smitten. Intoxicated. You’ve had the Pappy and – you’ve gotta admit – nothing’s been sweeter, smoother… easier going down.”
He flashes him a stunned look, his stare reflecting something between confusion and accusation. And his lips part, jaw popping open to emit nothing but dumbfounded silence.
“Love’s a good thing,” Tony tells him, his voice light and airy, flitting atop a soft laugh. “Annie is a damn good… thing,” he finishes, frown forming as he realizes what he said. But he shakes it off, a look of you know what I mean flashing Bucky’s way. “She tell you about the promotion?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.
Bucky sputters a bit, the swift change in topic causing him to reel. “Uh,” he thinks. Promotion… promotion. “Yeah,” he utters finally, once his brain catches up. “Yeah. Something about… operations…” He shakes his head. “Or operational… something.”
Another snort of a laugh. “Operations manager for our new Innovative Tech Division.” He shakes his head with an almost annoyed air. “Up and comers are the worst. They all think they’re the hottest shit, each of their ideas the most… innovative. I find them… exhausting.” He narrows his eyes pensively. “Actually I find them to be the most irritating little shits on the planet.” He issues out a quick scoff and downs the rest of his drink before returning his gaze to Bucky. “Annie says they’re too much like me and that’s why I hate them. But I don’t buy that. I love me.” He shrugs. “Anyway… figured she could go unleash some of that insight on them. Help them all get their shit together and function like a team. Or, hell, I’d settle for just function.”
Bucky lets out a soft snicker, crooked smile blooming. “Want her to clean up more of your messes,” he muses thickly, taking another pull of bourbon.
Tony flattens him with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “It’s what makes us a good team.” He turns on his stool to bodily face the man before him, brows knitting tightly as a contemplative expression washes over his face. “I can only function in a world tempered with chaos… need it to be able to find the answers that just swirl around in the air. I make messes. It’s part of my process. Annie, she likes to… clean things up. Organize them. Fix them. She’s good at it too.”
Bucky’s lips pinch tightly together, his head slowly bobbing in a pensive nod as a sudden swell of doubt rises in his gut. “She likes order,” he says, almost to himself.
“Nah,” Tony mutters. “She just knows that sometimes order is what you need to make things more… palatable for others.” Bucky’s brows twist tightly together, utter befuddlement tugging at his features. Tony stifles a laugh as he catches the look. “What she likes is the mess. Because it gives her something to fix. She likes the challenge.”
“The challenge,” he repeats, his shoulders deflating, head drooping. “Great. Just what every guy wants to hear… I’m a challenge to be around,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Give her some credit,” Tony mutters drolly, pulling Bucky from his haze. “If she didn’t want to be challenged, she’d shack up with one of the boring-ass intellectuals down in accounting. Lord knows enough of them have tried. She saw your ramshackle little garage, saw you racing all over the place to fix things…”
“My garage isn’t ramshackle,” he interrupts with a frown.
“Every time I went in there the place was overbooked, you had some new project going on – ”
“You brought me those projects,” he defends a bit heatedly.
Tony merely shrugs. “Tools and grease everywhere,” he goes on. “A business partner who comes and goes as he pleases. Some teenager trying not to break shit in the back…”
“Hey, Peter’s a good kid.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard.” He stares Bucky down, his deep brown eyes holding a steely edge. “Barnes, I have heard everything about you. About how great you are with early model fuel-injection systems. How generous your are with your regulars… working out financing and payment plans and other nonsense that’s just gonna land you in the poorhouse. How patient you are with working around other people’s schedules. How wonderful you are with your kid,” he finishes with another overdone roll of his eyes. “Yeah, you got a little bit of chaos surrounding you,” he goes on with a tender note. “And she likes that.”
“You’re saying she likes me because my life’s a mess,” he mutters, only a hint of a question to his voice. “She wants something to fix.”
“Your skull really that thick?” he asks with a raised brow. “I know you’re not a genius like some people…” Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts, both actions being completely ignored by Tony as he goes on to say, “You fix cars. She fixes people. You clean up after a kid. She cleans up after me. You hold together a complicated little family unit, work to make it, well, work. She’s about to do the same with a group of arrogant young prodigies. She’s not trying to fix you. She’s not looking to be challenged by you. Barnes, you idiot… she wants to be challenged with you.”
000
As the party slows, the night growing long and stretching out towards its inevitable end, Bucky finally leaves the bar and returns to their table. The other Stark Industries’ workers that had been surrounding them before, smothering Bucky with their enthusiastic welcomes and long-winded inside jokes that drove him to the silent corner of the bar to begin with, had all filtered off to either take over the dancefloor or simply retire for the night. It’s only Annie now, a vision in pale pink, the loose curls around her face coiling tightly at her temples due the unseasonable humidity. She rests heavily in her seat at the empty table, head propped on her fist as her eyes trail along the smaller – yet still substantial – crowd before her. The sweetest smile rests on her lips as she placidly watches people dance, laugh, talk, and just be.
Bucky flops down in the chair beside her, scooting a plate piled high with two different types of cake and a heaping scoop of fruit covered in chocolate sauce – because apparently there had been a chocolate fountain sitting at yet another dessert buffet on the opposite side of the room all night – over between them. Her smile grows into an excited, toothy grin as she accepts the proffered fork and stabs through the mountain of sugar, trying to capture all of the sweet treats into a single bite.
“Finally get tired of keeping yourself sequestered?” she asks just before popping the fruit-laden cake into her mouth.
He lets out a small chuckle and spears a chocolatey strawberry with his own fork. “Kinda backfired on me,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue around some of the dripping chocolate. “Your boss found me.”
She laughs indelicately, almost snorting around the massive bite of dessert as she chews and effortfully swallows it down. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I saw.” Her fork returns for another serving, playfully batting his away to get at a plump blueberry sitting atop a mass of vanilla buttercream. “Could’ve been worse. Gary from accounting found his way over here.” Her head drops dramatically back, a mocking – and loud – snore pulling from somewhere deep in her chest alongside a theatrical moan. “Sooooo boring.”
Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, his wide smile settling into something fond and familiar as he watches her sigh and slouch forward and focus once again on the dessert, taking another too-large bite and leaving a smear of frosting along the corner of her mouth. “You tired?” he asks, reaching down and plucking a naked raspberry from the pile, raising it up to swipe along her lip, using it to clean her mess before he pops it into his mouth with a wink.
She cocks her head at him and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges as she finishes chewing. He reaches out with his thumb to clear off the remnants of icing and chocolate pocking her bottom lip, and she lets her eyes blink slowly shut, head drooping a bit once she swallows. Bucky unfurls his hand, palm opening to easily accept her flushed cheek as she nuzzles into him. “Is that a pickup line?” she asks, leaning over the edge of her seat, gradually fading into his warmth. “You want to put me to bed?”
He laughs – the sound light and airy and wonderfully melodic to her ears – and scoots his chair closer, wraps an arm around her and tugs her casually to his chest. “Maybe.”
Her eyes flit open and take in the twinkling fairy lights above, each tiny, haloed bulb melding masterfully in with the night sky. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Buck,” she murmurs languidly as her head rolls back along his shoulder.
He lays a chaste kiss atop her head and pulls her a little closer with his left arm, his right hand still absently stabbing at fruit with his fork. “Any time, doll.”
She shifts beside him, turns her head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of his face. Her eyes shine with something akin to mischief as she says, “I have a friend who’s getting married in December. We went to high school together so everyone I grew up with will be there.” Her eyebrows wiggle almost maniacally, the look equal parts terrifying and endearing.
“Great,” he deadpans, swallowing down a chortle. Then, “Ah, you know what?” oozes out of him in an easy cadence. “Yeah, I think I have Lana that night. Probably can’t make it.”
“I didn’t tell you the date,” she says, blank face just barely cracking as a sneaky smile threatens to tug at her lips.
“Yeah, well,” he breathes out. “I’m a busy guy, you know.”
She scoots a bit closer, her hip splitting his knees apart as she settles in and wraps her arms around his center. “You’re not that busy,” she intones, dropping her face to his chest and letting out a small yawn. “Or did you forget that I updated your calendar myself?”
No, he hadn’t forgotten. He actually – silently – thanks her daily. Every time he gets an alert on his phone… a reminder about swim lessons, soccer practice, a change of days with Lana. Or a notification – complete with embedded heart emoji – telling him exactly where to be and at what time for their date that evening. She had – now that he thinks about it – somehow managed to already calm the inherent chaos in his life, easing the strain of the everyday.
“Hm,” he hums out casually as his fingers weave into her hair. “You know, I’m pretty sure that calendar told me just the other day that Lana’s starting gymnastics next month…”
She pops up excitedly, coming to life in his arms as she presses her palms into his chest and pushes off of him. “I know!” she enthuses, turning a beaming smile his way. “I’m so excited for her!”
The corner of his mouth quirks up, soft chuckle spilling forth. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he mutters cheerily, all the while shoving down the butterflies that so often burst to life in his gut when she’s around. She’s excited for my baby, he thinks, grin growing wider from just that one thought. “But I was trying to point out that I’m sure I’ll be way too busy for any more weddings.”
Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout, pensive look tugging at her features as her eyes narrow. “Nah,” she says after a moment of seeming contemplation. “We’ll make it work.”
“Oh, we will?” he questions amid a laugh.
She drops back into him, her head colliding with his collarbone and causing a harsh grunt to sound, cutting off his laughter. “Of course we will,” she mumbles into his chest, the sound of her voice muffled but the feel of it edging into him, vibrating through his chest and colliding with his heart.
He squeezes her a little bit tighter, his fingers trailing softly along the bare skin of her neck, swiping down over her shoulder in a delicate trace. He drops his lips to her hair once more, breathes in the now familiar scent of coconut shampoo… smiles when he gets a swift hit of Lana’s lavender detangler too.
“I think,” he breathes out, low voice slowing trailing off. She curls deeper into him and gives a small hum by way of encouragement. But he doesn’t go on, can’t quite form the sudden, overwhelming thought into a coherent sentence. He releases a long, hot breath into her hair, the statement that had only just cracked forth and dropped through a chink somewhere in his armor now lodging in his throat.
I love you.
She pulls back and gives him a curious, almost worried look. “You want to go home?” she asks, her voice soft, achingly tender.
He offers a fond, closed-lip smile before tugging her back to his chest, nuzzling her close, and tucking her head beneath his chin. I love you. The words are now tickling the very tip of his tongue, smacking ceaselessly atop the roof of his mouth. I love you.
But… not yet. Not here. “Home,” he muses serenely, hums softly into her hair. A deep sigh spills from his lips, and along with it – carrying a note of practiced ease – he utters plainly, “Yeah, doll. Why not?”
#bucky barnes fanfiction#dad!bucky#LDAMC#bucky x oc#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fanfic#marvel fanfic#marvelau#bucky imagine#avengersau#avengers fanfiction
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Highland Destiny Chapter 11 ~Lock the Door~
Although Joe should have been home hours ago, he had opted to stay in the doctor's mess room. He didn't think he could unwind after the previous night's events, and besides, Gail's shift would be over soon-it was nearly 5 am.
Wandering through the cafeteria, he was surprised to see Jamie sitting alone and staring into space. He went and bought them both a cup of coffee before approaching him.
"Hey, need some company?"
"Oh! Aye, take a seat." Jamie rubbed his face in rapid motion and sat up and smiled at the sight of coffee. "Thank ye, I was about to get one."
"Out on bail?" Joe knew already he wouldn't stay long in jail.
"Aye. How's Christie?"
"He'll live. That was some punch you threw at Tom. What were you thinking, Jamie?"
"I dinna ken. I saw red, I suppose. The coppers weren't impressed at all," he joked, not feeling guilty about last night's misdemeanour.
There was a moment of silence between the two men as they drank their coffee.
"You need not be here, you know. You should go home and rest. Claire is no longer in danger," Joe said in-between sips of his coffee.
"Ye said she's pregnant. How did that happen?"
Joe looked incredulous. "Seriously, Jamie? You had sex, that's what happened. Don't you guys use any form of protection or birth control? I know she said she couldn't have any babies...but still!"
Jamie ignored his question. "Does she know?"
"I haven't told her yet...she's still unconscious. Anyway, I intended to tell you first because I was unsure of the effects of Ketamine on the fetus. You see, she received quite a high dose. Out there it's often used as a recreational drug, but recently there are a lot of cases of it being used as a date rape drug. Its effect is almost immediate, making it more effective for its sinister use. In the right amount of dosage, it should wear off in an hour, but Claire ingested a substantial amount and to make matters worse, it was mixed in alcohol. It could have been fatal if she had not received medical attention immediately. There is no antidote for its overdoses, but we have given her a drug to counteract the symptoms. So you might find her drugged to her eyeball for a couple of days. As for the fetus, there is no telling...I'm sorry."
"Christ! I thought it would have just been a matter of flushing the drug out of her system...fuck." Jamie slammed his fist on the table, rattling the coffee cups. "So, ye think Christie had some ill intentions towards Claire?" He was about to say rape, but he couldn't bring himself to say the word. Jamie could feel his anger rising again.
"Pure speculations Jamie. But he will remain detained until proven innocent. It is plausible that he put the Ketamine in her drink because we have them here in the hospital, and it is accessible to him. We use them for anaesthetic purposes. Now the thing is, the drug comes in a variety of forms. Pharmaceutical Ketamine is usually liquid. On the street, it is more common to see tablets or white crystalline powder. And Claire ingested the liquid form."
Jamie shut his eyes tight, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. When he finally exhaled, he noticed his hands were clenched tightly. "I'm no sorry now that I punched the daylight outa that prick."
Noticing his anger, Joe quickly changed the subject. "Don't get your hopes up but if the fetus does survive, have you thought what that would mean for you?"
His tactic worked, Jamie's face broke into a grin. "I'm going to be a da. Can ye tell already if it's a boy or girl?"
Joe coughed, not expecting that reaction. He is now unsure if he made the right choice asking him that question in case there was a disappointment in the end. "No, Jamie...not for another at least 7 weeks. And by the way, I saw on the report that Claire is 5 weeks pregnant...that's around the time when she first arrived here in Inverness. Didn't one of you think of using a condom? It's not just about birth control we're talking about here...there's also sexually transmitted diseases to think about. Oh God, did you have sex on the first day you met? "
"Aye we did," he replied grinning, looking very pleased with himself. "Weel... normally I would have used a condom, it's just that we had a lot to drink and Claire was so beautiful and then..."
Joe stopped him, not wanting to hear anymore. "You know what? Forget that I asked. I don't want to know what happened before conception!" He rolled his eyes as he let out a frustrated sigh.
"But ye're a doctor. Surely ye hear it all the time..."
He glared at him. "Jamie, for crying out loud! We're talking about Claire here. She's like my sister. I'm not interested in hearing about her or your sexual escapade. Jesus!"
Now it was Jamie's turn to change the subject. "Anyway, can ye picture me being a da?"
"No. Not really."
"What do ye mean, no? If ye think I'm going to leave Claire because of her pregnancy..."
"Jamie, listen. It's not as simple as that. A baby will need a family...a father. Are you ready to have a family of your own? Have you thought about marriage?"
"Aye, of course, I have. Weel, what I mean to say is, I was thinking about it before ye came. And what do ye take me for? Ye think I'll run away because Claire is pregnant?" Jamie looked shocked that Joe would think he would abandon Claire.
"It's not only about what Claire wants Jaime. It's also about what you want. Do you really want this? Baby, Claire and the whole family thing..."
"Joe, I know ye're concerned about yer friend. I want ye to know that I will be doing the right thing for Claire, not because it is the right thing, but because I love her."
"Yeah, that's nice, and all, but both of you have been separated longer than you've been together. Falling in love is not the same as loving someone..."
"You know Joe, once I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, weel, he told me when the time came, I'd have no doubt. My da was right. That night when I first laid eyes on her at St. Agnes, I knew she was the one."
"Did you tell Claire how you feel?"
"Aye, but I don't know if she feels the same way. What do ye think? Did she tell ye?"
Joe shifted uncomfortably. "Well Jaime, the only way to find out is to ask her yourself."
..........
Jamie slowly opened the door, careful not to make a noise. He had been explicitly told by Joe that Claire needed a lot of bed rest. So he was surprised to see Claire awake and smiling when he came in.
"Och, ye're awake..." He had brought her a tray of assorted Danish pastry which he knew she loved and placed them on the table before pulling a chair next to her bed. Before he could sit down, he noticed Claire had an odd look on her face.
He smiled at her as he placed a hand on her cheek. "Are ye alright, Sassenach? How are ye feeling?"
Claire extended her arms towards him and said dreamily, "Give me a kiss lover boy!"
His eyes widened at the greeting. Finding Claire's response a bit unusual, Jamie hesitantly leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. But before he could raise his head, her strong arms had pulled him down by the neck. She kissed him passionately, her tongue darting daintily to get a taste of him. He responded but pulled away abruptly, thinking she was not herself. "Christ Claire, what are ye doing?"
To his surprise, she unexpectedly sat up and looked at Jamie with twinkling golden eyes and an impish grin. Biting her lower lip, she provocatively looked him over. "Come 'ere Jamie and give me some of your sweet lovin'," Claire slurred. She was staring at him like he was some savoury dish to be devoured.
"Oh, sweet Jesus, Sassenach, ye're still drugged. Ye should lie down!" Jamie tried to gently force her down back to bed, but instead, she threw the covers aside and got onto her knees facing him, her hands reaching for the buckle of his belt. Wearing only a thin hospital gown and the hazy glow of sunlight casting a shadow, he could see the outline of her body and her breasts. Oh, God! Disengaging her hands from the front of his jeans, took a mammoth effort. Not because of her strength but more because of his rapidly dwindling self-control. He firmly put her hands away from him and backed away. "Claire, listen to me, ye need to lie down..." he said slowly and deliberate, not quite sure how to deal with the situation.
"I don't need to lie down...I feel good, and you look good. So, come here, love and give me a kiss." She puckered her lips in invitation.
Jamie was beginning to get nervous. "Sassenach, ye're heavily medicated, so ye're not acting yourself. So be a good lass and get under the covers. I'll only come to ye once ye're lying down." he said in an unsteady voice.
She sat back on her heels and pouted prettily, one hand resting on her thigh and the other slowly raising the hem of her gown. "Don't you want me, Jamie love?" Oh Christ Almighty, of course, I want ye!
Taking big deep breaths and braving the risk of what could potentially happen if he touched her again, Jamie made another attempt. "Claire, please, ye need rest and all these excitement cannae be good for ye. Well...it's certainly not good for me," he muttered, reaching out to grab her so he can lift her and lay her down.
Instead of cooperating, Claire dodged Jamie's hands, raised herself on her knees and flung both arms around his neck. "Lock the door..." she whispered huskily into his ears, "...and then kiss me." She ran her tongue on the edge of his ear before biting his earlobe.
His hands having a mind of their own, landed on her round arse, fondling it as Claire rubbed herself against Jamie. "Now, Sassenach, why would I want to lock the door?" he replied hoarsely. He could hear hospital activities happening outside on the corridor, and he was on the verge of committing public indecency. It's been over 3 weeks since they had made love and his restraint is about to snap.
"Because I want to take a peek," she giggled as one hand suddenly grabbed Jamie between his thighs.
Gasping, he seized her wrist away from his growing bulge. "Oh, fuck! Sassenach! For someone who has small hands, ye have some firm grip on ye. And I dinna want ye taking a peek!"
"Why not?! How about I let you see mine first? Then I'll take a peek at yours" she grinned coquettishly, leaning back to take a better look at his face, "After all, fair is fair, right, Jamie?"
He grabbed both her hands and held them behind her back, gripping them in place, making her head tilt to the side. "No, Claire! Naebody is taking a peek at anything..." His words trailed off as his eyes rested on the smooth line of her neck. He could almost see the pulsation of her vein as Claire struggled to set her hands free. On impulse, Jaime kissed the spot, before trailing down to the base of her throat, making her quiver. Then he remembered and backed away. "Christ Sassenach, ye're not making this easy for me are ye?"
She winked as she grinned wickedly, "Well if you won't come here, you can watch me instead. Would you like to watch Jaime?" Her hands were already sliding between her thighs, and he knew anyone can come through the door any minute.
"Fine Sassenach, I'll lock the door and don't ye dare make a sound..." he said, giving her warning look.
Door safely locked, he turned back once more to Claire to find her standing barefoot beside the bed, swaying on her feet. "Go back to bed now!" he growled. Damn ye woman! He was amused by how quickly she scrambled under the covers.
Claire settled in, he got into bed with her, lying on his side with his head propped by his elbow. "Jamie..." She was looking expectantly at him, her eyes, although dilated was dark with want. Gone was the giddy, sultry seductress she was moments ago. He knew he wanted to take her there and then, but he couldn't. Not here and not like this even though he was dying inside. Instead...
"Shh Sassenach," he whispered softly as he moved his free hand slowly under the cover and under her gown. There he squeezed the soft, warm flesh before parting her thighs gently. Her golden eyes widened, and her hips began to move, as his forefinger travelled to the moist patch of her panties, tracing the lines of her cleft and her sensitive spot. A faint moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes in ecstasy, making him dizzy with want. Then he slipped his hand under the waistband, cupping the heat between her legs before dipping his forefinger into her wetness and stroking the silky fold long and slow. She let out a loud gasp as she arched her back, her hand reaching for him to take her.
"I want you inside me..." she whimpered, her breath quickening.
Jamie could see her hard nipples against the thin fabric of her gown, as her chest heaved at every stroke of his finger. "No, Sassenach, I want to watch ye," he murmured as he lightly touched her lips with his, resisting the urge to kiss her thoroughly. He pressed his fingers inside her, thrusting, stroking, dipping and rubbing, her hips lifting to push herself against his hands. She writhed and squirmed with wanton abandonment, her thighs spreading wider apart for deeper penetration. She was so hot and wet, and her throaty moans were making his head swim. He plunged deeper, his thumb grinding the sensitive spot until he felt her clamped around his fingers tightly and her body began to shake uncontrollably. She let out a cry before collapsing next to him, her breaths warm against his neck, and her thighs tightly clamped around his hands. Claire held on to him like that until tiredness took over and her body began to relax.
Claire smiled, drowsily at him as her body eased. "Jamie, I never got to take a peek."
"Sshh sleep now, mo chridhe," he murmured, kissing her on the forehead, before releasing his hands from between her thighs. Then he got up and straightened her gown before pulling the covers to her neck.
"Jamie?"
"Aye Sassenach?" He took her hand in his as he watched her eyes began to get heavier, and her head bobbed, as she struggled to stay lucid.
"I love you," she whispered before drifting off to sleep, her hands going limp in his. He smiled a very broad smile. Jamie wanted to hug her but thought better of it. She needed her rest, so he watched her sleep instead, feeling content with the world.
Today's problems can be tomorrow's, he thought.
Then Jaime received a phone text from Finn, the bartender from the Scotch & Rye Pub.
Jamie, please come ASAP to the bar. I have some footage from our surveillance camera I want you to see.
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You Got Iced- Chapter 2
Pairing: Jared x Reader x Jensen
Rating: T, for language (future chapters will be explicit)
Summary: Inspired in part by the challenge prompt and in part by this conventionhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAHS_RJ5Gac (which is fucking hilarious, go enjoy yourselves there). The reader is attending a Supernatural convention during a heat wave and gets her money’s worth out of her ticket that’s for sure.
Word Count: 3773
Warnings: None for this chapter
A/N: Written for @babypieandwhiskey ‘s Hot as Hell challenge. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the rest of the chapters shoot me an ask! I’ll be posting them over the next couple weeks as I finish them. I’m in the process of moving to a different country so it’s taking me a little longer to write than I’d hoped :)
Smirnoff Ice finally consumed, Jared and Jensen each reached out a hand to pull you up from your knees. Jensen’s eyes were almost glowing with a kind of subdued excitement that you couldn’t conceive of a reason for. He clapped your shoulder in a ‘job well done’ fashion and then exchanged a glance with Jared while you were straightening your clothes and weren’t looking at them. Jared had the same excitement burning behind his eyes, and gave Jensen a firm nod.
“What do you say we get you a real drink to wash that crap down?” Jensen asked firmly, like it was more of an instruction than an offer.
“What?” You spluttered, not understanding what on earth was going on. You looked between him and Jared, hoping one of them would offer up some kind of explanation. Neither did.
“Yeah,” Jared cut in, “we have a cooler of stuff in the green room back there. Come sit down for a bit.” Jared hovered his arm behind your back, as if to wrap it around your waist, but he didn’t touch. In an almost dream-like state you let them guide you towards the direction of their green room, calling a hurried goodbye and thank-you to Rob, Rich, and the band who were being left behind you.
Upon reaching the green room, which was just a small conference room with two couches in one corner, and a cooler set up on a meeting table, surrounded by other snacks, Jensen bounded to the cooler while Jared continued to guide you to a seat in the corner of the couch.
“What do you want to drink Y/N?” Jensen called over his shoulder. “We’ve got beer, there’s some wine in a can… I think this is whiskey…” he rifled through the assortment of bottles crammed together.
“Um, I’m not picky, whatever you guys are having is fine,” your voice almost came out as a squeak because Jared had just lounged himself next to you, taking up the remainder of the couch with his giant giraffe legs. And those giant giraffe legs were now centimeters from your own bare legs, that you had tucked up underneath you in your little corner of the couch.
“And if he gives you a beer, you won’t make a face?” Jared poked at you with his knee.
“I resent that implication,” you looked faux-shocked for a moment, making your eyes round and wide, but breaking into a quick smile that crinkled your whole face up like tissue paper. Jensen handed you and Jared each a bottle and thunked himself in the corner of the next couch, the arm he set on the endrest brushing dangerously close to yours. “So, I have to ask, are you in the habit of bringing random strangers back to have a drink with?”
“We do every now and then,” Jared nodded sagely, as if this was a perfectly understandable and reasonable occurrence, and not your wildest dream come true.
“Not to sound ungrateful but, why?” You pushed, taking a sip of your beer to cover up your embarrassment.
“Your question,” Jensen grinned. “I know it wasn’t anything profound but we’ve been doing these things for more than a decade and no one has ever asked us that one before.”
“We thought the ingenuity should be congratulated,” Jared chimed in.
“Oh,” you let that bit of information sink in. “Cool.” You took another drink to give your face something to do other than blush with anxiety.
“Are you a little nervous?” Jared asked kindly, no trace of his earlier teasing left. You nodded, blushing deeper.
“Don’t be,” Jensen reached forward and patted your forearm bracingly. “Have some more beer, let yourself relax.” You quickly followed his instruction, grateful for the excuse to ingest the liquid courage much more quickly than you had been. Jensen smiled at you, satisfied with your response.
“So, Y/N, have you come to any conventions before?” Jared asked, drawing your attention back to him. You shook your head.
“No, this was my first one. I had to live vicariously through the internet, before.” A nervous laugh escaped you as you realised what a fangirl you sounded like. Jared seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed about watching cons on youtube. You love the show, that’s why you’re here.” Jared’s smile was reassuring and sweet. “We’re fans of the show too, that’s why we do all this stuff. We like being able to share this with people, we like seeing people excited.”
“It’s incredibly vain really, but someone has to feed his ego. My love isn’t enough anymore,” Jensen mocked, feigning hurt.
“Hey!” Jared gasped. You and Jensen laughed and you followed his example, taking a further draught from your bottle.
“Were you planning on going to the concert tonight?” Jensen asked.
“Oh yeah,” you nodded, much more comfortable discussing your love of music than your love of the two men sitting next to you right now. “I’m probably just as excited for tonight as I was for your panel.”
“Yeah they put on a good show,” Jensen agreed. “I think Jason’s coming tonight too actually, he texted me earlier he thinks he’ll make it in time.”
“Sweet, he owes me twenty bucks,” Jared made a small victory fist. The conversation moved around that night’s show, and music more generally, while the three of you made it through your first bottles. Favourite songs were listed, first concerts were recounted, funny memories regaled with smiles. By the end of your bottle you felt more at ease with yourself, letting your body unfold from the slightly defensive position you had been perched in, in the corner of your couch.
Jared moved to get the next round, dragging a chair behind him on his way back, holding all three beers in his other mammoth hand. You grabbed the bottle he offered you, and your fingers brushed his when he passed it over, sending a burn through your skin that was made all the more jarring by the cold condensation running over the back of your hand. You blushed and glanced down quickly, but then realised how incriminating that looked, and so shifted your eyes back to Jared, pretending there was no reason for you to have broken eye contact. You noticed that Jared’s eyes flicked down to his fingers, and then to yours, for just a moment, before he shook the expression of contemplation from his face so quickly you thought you might have invented it.
“Is there any particular reason you sit like that?” You had asked the question before you gave yourself a chance to check if you would sound stupid or not, nodding to how Jared had sat with his chair facing backwards, like he had earlier on stage.
“No,” Jared shook his head, not giving any indication that he thought you were weird or stupid for asking, and you relaxed again. “I used to get in trouble for sitting like this in school, so I think I do it a load now because no one can tell me not to,” he laughed.
“I just noticed Sam sits that way a lot,” you explained. “I guess I wondered if it was something you did because of Sam of if it was the other way around.”
“Yeah, no that’s me,” Jared laughed. “We definitely bleed into Sam and Dean more than we realise sometimes. I never even noticed that one before.”
“Just don’t start overthinking it every time Sam sits down from now on,” Jensen laughed.
“I won’t be thinking any harder than you. You still have to concentrate on not sitting on Misha’s lap every take.” You actually choked on your drink a little. Jensen leaned forward and thumped you on the back.
“Jesus Jared, don’t kill her.” You gave Jensen a small thumbs up to indicate you were fine while you continued trying to catch your breath. “He was joking, by the way,” Jensen looked at you seriously, urging you not to misinterpret the situation. “Misha sits on my lap.”
You narrowly avoided choking on your drink a second time as you burst out laughing. “I am genuinely amazed people get any work done around you two.”
“Us too, believe me,” Jensen laughed easily.
“What do you do for work, Y/N?” Jared asked with genuine curiosity, taking another swig of beer.
“Oh, I don’t right now, I’m in college. That’s why I could come to the convention at all, you guys never came near my hometown, but my college was actually close enough to manage it.”
“What’s your major?” Jared pressed for more information. You couldn’t fathom the attentive interest shining from his face.
“I, haven’t actually declared one yet,” you admitted. “I’m chronically indecisive.”
“Yeah you really must be if you still don’t have a major this late in the game. I didn’t think they let you past junior year without picking one,” Jared bemused.
“Dude,” Jensen looked at Jared in something between exasperation and abject horror, “I think she might not be as old as we thought she was.” Jensen dragged his beer free hand across his face, pushing his fingers into his eye sockets in a pretty good imitation of Dean’s ‘frustration and despair’ face.
“Um, I’m a sophomore…” you interjected sheepishly, ashamed that you had been found out. You had admonished yourself in the back of your mind when you had first been tossed the Smirnoff Ice. It was stupid to drink illegally in front of a load of celebrities. Not that you hadn’t drunk plenty before but it was just usually at parties filled with loads of other underage students. Here, you were alone.
“You’re a sophomore?” Jared asked slowly, cautiously. You nodded, grimacing at your own idiocy. “Which means you’re only…” Jared left his question hanging.
“Nineteen,” you admitted, curling back into yourself, getting ready for the outburst that must be close to the surface.
“Jesus Christ,” Jensen’s voice sounded like a hiss, but it was underpinned by something deep, something hungry.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, mortified. The bottle in your hand suddenly felt like it weighed as much as your school bookbag, and you hurriedly looked for a place to set it, settling on the floor. “I should probably go…” You scrambled off the couch, tears blooming behind your lashes as you looked around for your bag and avoided looking anywhere near Jared or Jensen.
“Sit your ass back down,” Jensen barked without looking up from the hand still plastered over his face. Stunned, you sat back down immediately, now risking a glance at Jensen.
“You’re not in trouble,” Jared piped up, drawing your gaze.
“Yeah but we so are,” Jensen groaned, finally pulling his head away from his hand to look at Jared with eyes that seemed to convey a message only Jared was meant to understand.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Jared agreed, downing the rest of his drink and swinging off his chair to grab another. Jensen followed suit and drained the last of his beer, accepting a new drink from Jared, a glass of whiskey this time.
“I’m so sorry,” you said again, forcing the words past the catch in your throat. “This was really stupid of me, I should have said something when you offered me a drink-” Your apology rant was interupted by Jared’s bark of laughter as he sat himself back on the couch next to you, considerably closer than he had been previously.
“Y/N, we’re not mad at you,” Jared leant forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, and swirling his drink thoughtfully. “And we’re not worried about giving drinks to someone underage.” That bit of information shocked you out of your panic a little bit. You had figured that was the reason your age had disconcerted them, why else would it?
“You’re not concerned that I essentially just tricked you both into breaking the law?”
“Y/N, come on,” Jensen scoffed, but good naturedly. “How many times do you think we got wasted before we were 21? It’s what kids do.” He gave you a half smile that only barely covered the grimace in his eyes.
“Well, I’m still sorry I lied,” you said. “I never wanted to get you in trouble.”
“The beer is not what’s gonna get us into trouble,” Jensen’s smile fought harder this time, and you could see it beat out whatever it was inside him that was making him so uncomfortable. This was the sign Jared had been waiting for, his permission from Jensen to keep going with what they had planned before your age had derailed them a moment. “It’s more the fact that we’re really feeling like old pervs right now.” A twinkle of mischief made its way back to his eyes as he gave Jared a wry smile.
“Why…” You were entirely confused by Jensen’s comment. No matter how hard your brain tried it could not identify the connection between your previous conversation and why Jensen was now calling himself and Jared ‘old pervs’. Or why he was calling himself that at all.
“Y/N,” Jared said your name cautiously, savouring its syllables on his tongue as he slowly reached a hand over to your knee. “We didn’t just bring you back here because of your question.”
Jared’s fingers might as well have had live wires hooked up to them considering how far the shock radiated through your body when he touched you. They drew your eyes like magnets, and it took immense effort to look back up at Jared and over to Jensen, who had moved as close to you as his couch would allow him. Jensen reached forward and took your hand, squeezing it comfortingly in his bigger one.
“I’m going to say this very seriously right now, I need you to believe us one hundred percent,” Jensen looked earnestly between you and Jared. “If you don’t want this, that is okay. We are not expecting anything from you, you do not have to do anything, you are more than free to tell us to shove it up our asses and leave you the hell alone.”
You still had not said a word, frozen in astonishment between Jared and Jensen, who each had a hand on you. That was probably the only reason you hadn’t jumped up from your spot on the couch by now. Grasping for words you settled on Jensen, breathing deeply before you plunged into the deep pool they were pulling you into.
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to be incredibly clear about what you’re talking about, and then I’m gonna search this room for hidden cameras and the signal for Rich and Rob burst in with the ‘gotcha’ crew.” Jared and Jensen laughed brightly, and Jared patted your knee reassuringly.
“We’re not pranking you, sweetheart.” Jensen’s voice had dropped closer to Dean’s, found some gravel in his throat to drag over.
“What we’re asking, is if you’d be interested in having a little more fun with us... somewhere a little more private.”Jared’s mouth curled into a wicked smile, and he pulled your arm towards him, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist, and pressing his glass of whiskey into your hand. You looked down at your hand questioningly. “You look like you could use that,” Jared nodded to the whiskey. You swallowed hard, then raised the glass to your lips and drained it in three burning gulps.
“Good girl,” Jared whispered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else in the room, focusing on the movement of your throat as you downed the liquor. You heard him though.
Your eyes flicked to his, wide and nervous, but also incredibly turned on. You shook your head to clear it from the warm haze the whiskey had settled in your cheeks to speak the other big concern on your mind.
“You’re married,” you stated emphatically. “You’re both married. You talk about how much you love your families all the time! I can’t- I couldn’t…”
“Yes!” Jensen did a small fist bump with his whispered acclamation.
“What?” You were so beyond confused at this point it was ridiculous.
“That was the last test,” Jensen admitted. “If you didn’t say anything about being concerned for our moral and our families we’d have to back out.”
“That one is Gen and Dany’s rule,” Jared clarified.
“Wait, they sanction this?” You took a second to evaluate if you thought they were lying then lit on another part of what Jensen had said. “What do you mean ‘last test’, there were tests?”
“Yeah if Jared picks someone out then we usually ease into it to see if whoever it is seems like they would be into what we want. We weren’t lying to you before, your question was awesome, that was one of the reasons Jared wanted to throw a test at you to check.”
“And I passed this test?”
“With flying colours sweetheart,” Jensen grinned.
“What was it?”
“The Smirnoff Ice,” Jared laughed. “We iced you to see if you would play along with our bullshit or if you would wind up backing out, that’s why I made sure I told you you didn’t have to drink it, you had an out if you wanted it.”
“But what sealed it was how you dropped to your knees like that,” Jensen cut in, his gaze claiming yours and holding you there. “That’s what we’re looking for in this. Someone who’s up for being a submissive for us.”
“And we know that’s kind of out there for most people so if that freaks you out or it’s not your thing that’s totally okay,” Jared rushed to cut in, once again making sure you had an out if you wanted it. You were pretty sure you didn’t want one but there was still a crucial hang up that they hadn’t actually answered yet.
“Okay but, I’m still confused. Genevieve and Daneel are just cool with you guys picking up random girls for one night scenes?” You cringed internally, hoping you were using that word correctly, this wasn’t exactly territory you had experience in, outside of the internet.
“Yeah they are,” they boys nodded. “And since you seem genuinely concerned that we’re stepping out on them, we have… where’s your phone Jared?” Jensen popped up off his couch and went to grab Jared’s phone off the table holding the cooler, where he had left it earlier, refreshing his whiskey while he was there.
“Here,” Jared offered you his phone after he pulled something up on its screen. Jensen didn’t settle back on his couch but perched himself on the arm of yours, resting a hand on your shoulder as you pushed the solitary play icon on the black screen.
“Hi!” Two chipper voices rang out in unison and the screen filled with an image of Jared and Jensen’s wives, sat at what looked like Jensen’s kitchen counter (it wasn’t creepy that you knew that, you told yourself, he’s the one who did the AD interview).
“We hope you’ve been having a good day and the boys haven’t been giving you too hard a time!” Gen said.
“We know what a pain they can be,” Daneel mock whispered before taking a sip of wine. “So, yay you, if you’re seeing this then they obviously think you’re something pretty special. You don’t have to feel bad, this is all totally okay with us-”
“Yup, everything is totally in the open, they’re not trying to trick you or us,” Gen assured you through the phone screen.
“This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other either, so don’t worry about any of that.” Daneel’s smile was incredibly sincere and you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “The thing is, me and Gen, we’ve all talked about this but neither of us is the threesome type.”
“And that was the one thing the guys wanted that we really weren’t up for,” Gen put in. “So we came up with this deal for them, they can have fun with a few people out on the road for conventions and stuff if they make sure to be careful, not pick up a lunatic, and always always make sure that whoever they pick up is gonna keep this to themselves.”
“For obvious reasons,” Daneel laughed. “So, if they’re letting you in on this little secret you’ve passed all the tests!”
“So stop worrying, and go have fun, sweetie,” Gen grinned.
“Bye!” They waved in unison and the screen went black.
“Any questions?” Jared asked gently.
“I mean, in general, a million,” you laughed. “But I guess the big question would be how do you want this to work? Like, what exactly do you want from me?”
“So you’re saying yes?” Jensen asked.
“I think I am, yeah. But, seriously, what do you want?”
“Are you comfortable having a threesome?” Jared asked, in a manner that would have been appropriate if he was asking what pizza toppings you preferred. Your heart basically stopped at the image that produced in your head. Your body between theirs, their hands on your skin...
“Yes,” you nod.
“Are you comfortable being submissive to us?” Jensen asked.
“Yes… sir?” You threw the title out there on a whim, wondering if that was Jensen’s style.
“You’ve never done this kind of thing before, have you?” Jensen grinned.
“Which part? The threesome or the dom/sub stuff?”
“Well I’m assuming, neither, based on your answers” Jared chuckled, and brushed the backs of his fingers up your thigh.
“Yeah I- I haven’t,” you blushed and cleared your throat. “I haven’t done any of this before.”
“That’s okay,” Jared’s voice was pitched barely above a whisper. “We kind of like that,” his eyes glinted, darting up to Jensen in a brief look of victory.
“You know how to pick ‘em, Jared,” Jensen smiled, brushing your hair back over your shoulder and leaning down to touch his lips to the skin he uncovered.
“This is really happening?” You breathed.
“That finally our yes?” Jared asked, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, pulling a shiver from your spine.
“There’s one more thing I should tell you,” you yanked yourself back into your head, steadying yourself with a final breath before you chance smashing the glass on this illusion. Jared and Jensen backed off slightly to give you space. “When I said I’d never done anything like this I meant it.” You gave them a moment to absorb that but saw they hadn’t quite made the connection. “Like, anything,” you emphasised.
You saw their understanding slam into place.
Tags: @babypieandwhiskey @samsgirl93
#babypieandwhiskey#hot as hell challenge#j2#j2 fic#spn#j2 x reader#j2 x reader fic#jared padalecki#jensen ackles#spn family#you got iced#getting iced challenge#chapter 2#jared x reader x jensen#jensen x reader x jared
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Nature Trail to Hell Arc I: Nature Trail to Hell (5)
Chapter 5: Being Bad is Good as Long as You’re Being Bad to Bad Guys
Having slogged through the worst days in my ten-year-old life, it seemed like things were finally looking up. Well, that’s a stretch ever for me, but at least now I had a mission to distract from how sucky everything was. My theivery, or ‘Acts of true selfishness’ as Hilda called them, started with basic stuff: ketchup packets, napkins and the like. But my favorite was a trick where I’d rip the stickers right off kid’s shirts, replaceing them with sticky notes before they even noticed. The ol’ Switcheroo, I called it. Now, I know what you’re thinking:
‘Watt, if you were such a good kid, then why were you stealing?’
To which I’d like to point out that it ain’t stealing if you’re doing it from the bad guys. Like Robin Hood!
Meanwhile, Shatner was raising ticks and Lord knows what else under his bed. Whenever we reconvened, I’d always see them in his hands, little red marbles swollen with blood. Never did ask where he got the blood, though. Probably for the better.
Sometimes, before we lay our offerings to the Vessel of Darkness that was our camp mascot, Shatner and I would have a little talk. Turned out, he didn’t really want to eat boogers.
“Like the great snake tamers of old would gradually inject more and more venom into their veins to get an immunity, so I have tasted my own nasal mucus in hopes of being granted resistance to that fiendish concoction our benevolent hosts call ‘Turkey Meatloaf Surprise’.”
So if you couldn’t tell, Shatner was an arrogant prick who liked using a lotta big words, but prison breaking has a funny way of bringing the oddest people together. And we were no different. One day, we’d been bickering about whether or not the dreaded meatloaf surprise was from a mutant blob or something called pink slime when Shatner dropped the big one:
“If I might inquire, what drives you to abscond from this wretched hive of tyranny?”
I had no idea that half those things were even real words, but I got the message, so I told him about the big misunderstanding with the Leprechaun that had started it all, and my poor Gamekid at home, probably dying from neglect.
Shatner fished around his pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper. After he unfolded it, I realized it was one of those old Kodachrome color photos. Now, I’m not what you’d call an arachnaphobe- back at home, I’d pick up spiders with my bare hands to put them outside- so I think it says something that the critter in the photo made me jump back a foot. The spider- at least, that’s what Shatner told me it was- was the ugliest little bugger I’d ever seen. It was at least the size of a dinner plate- no, dinner plates were the size of it- with fangs thicker around than my thumb and black eyes like bullets. Most spiders have hair, but this thing? I’d seen wooly mammoths that were less shaggy. But the most shocking thing of all was the photo showed Shatner wearing the thing like the world’s creepiest coonskin cap.
“This is Hixson. I think I forgot to feed him before I left.” He gripped my shoulders. Hard. “Listen, Watt. I’m a strong kid. I’m actually like fiber O’s. I could endure the vilest punishments of Hell if need be. But I cannot stand idly by while my best friend starves!”
I began thinking that wasn’t too bad for a prick who ate his own boogers, when in swooped Hilda, snatching up the photo and tearing it to pieces.
Shatner stared, on the verge of tears.
“Wh-Wot the deuce you do that for?!”
“Cool your jets, Shatner. We must offer our desires to our Dark Lord if he is to fulfill them.” She sprinkled the photo pieces like confetti around Freddie’s cage, the bits blending perfectly with the newspaper at the bottom.
Compared to Shatner or me, Hilda was a bit of a weirdo, which was really saying something, all considered. She never told us anything about why she wanted to do this, and when we did ask, she’d tell us it was none of our business. Or worse, threaten to turn us in.
Felt kinda bad for her, though, since being Camp Mascot Keeper meant she had to work harder than either of us to look like Hobag’s stooge, and I could see by the way the color drained from her face it was really taking something out of her. Smelled funny, too, but I never told her that.
The upside was she could pull some strings, so we’d often find ourselves paddling the same canoe, literally. Hilda said she just wanted time to hang out, but I knew it was cover for our little operation. She even thought of clever things like bringing along board games Shatner and I liked.
It was only over the last few days of our operation I noticed something odd going on with Freddie. There’d be flickers of time where his beady eyes would be filled with something like malice only his cute little self. On at least one occasion, I swore I heard him squeaking rap music backwards. I just figured he’d been listening to Hilda’s IPod. Though maybe I should have been more concerned with the technical details. Especially after he started vomiting up blood whenever we mentioned Jesus around him.
And that’s the way things were for a while. Shatner and I gather offerings, while Hilda would set them up around the cage, all while pulling the wool over Hoebag’s eyes. By the time a week passed, we’d made a tidy little monument to what could only be described as the world’s most gruesome scavenger hunt. Ms. Hoebag had even given Hilda a special scratch and sniff sticker as a reward for taking care of Freddie. Ripped it up and stomped it into the ground first chance she got. Guess I should also mention the chanting. It was how we’d end our secret meetings at Freddie’s cage, doing it holding candles for maybe five or ten minutes, then we’d go back to whatever hellish chore Ms. Hoebag had designed to build our character. Don’t remember the specifics of the chant (or chaunt, as Shatner liked to say), other than it sounded pagan-y with some belching. Still funner than singing about baby sharks, at least.
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Troglodytae - Chapter Two
Rating - Adult
Summary - When a party of cavers go missing whilst spelunking in Mammoth Cave National Park, Kentucky, Mulder and Scully are called to investigate. Soon, they uncover a dark and frightening secret of evolution hiding underground and find themselves in a race against time to get out alive.
Notes - I write slowly, so this has taken a while, probably long enough that anybody who read the first chapter has forgotten what the fuck actually happened. To that end, you can find it on AO3, should you wish to remind yourself of the story so far. Originally, this was begun for @viceversawrites and @softnow‘s 50 States of Us challenge, but it grew wings in the planning stage and became my first attempt at a proper casefile. Tagging @today-in-fic, @allyinthekeyofx, @peacenik0, @frangipanidownunder, @scully-eats-sushi and @i-gaze-at-scully in the hope they might like it!
Thanks super much to @scully-yeah-run and @lifeisshortdrinkthewine for beta work. I’ve stuck with British spellings because we all know they’re right. So there.
Chapter Two
MAMMOTH CAVE, KENTUCKY
He’d been in darkness before. When you’d descended into the bowels of the earth as many times as he had, you came to know darkness. At times, it was friendly, benign, a gentle, welcoming embrace that spoke of cosy nights tucked in bed, of peace and solitude. But other times it was chilling, unnerving, a threat veiled beneath silent obscurity.
This darkness was like liquid and he was submerged. It was the kind of darkness that robbed you of your best sense and replaced it with fear. Reuben knew his eyes were open, but he could see nothing. He blinked, and knew he was blinking, but there was no change in his field of vision. His body felt heavy, his limbs lead-like and ungainly. He was cramped into a tight hole, his legs pulled up in front of him as if he was a foetus. Cold, rough stone pressed at his back and beneath him and he felt his lungs straining for breath in the quiet. He listened. The sound of his breathing was suddenly abnormally loud and a wave of sheer terror passed through him. His heart was racing. He felt like prey. Lost. Alone. Part of him wanted to shout out, to cry for help, but another part told him to shut the hell up and keep quiet, for God only knew what was listening.
He stayed very still, purposefully, fairly sure that he was drifting in and out of consciousness, but unable to truly judge because of the dislocation of being in total blackness. Eventually, though, his body began to come back to itself and the heaviness that had filled his limbs seemed to soak away. He shifted his position and felt the tingle of pins and needles take hold in his legs. Wriggling his toes felt like he was moving another person’s body; every part of him was stiff, perishingly cold and numb. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth.
The sensation of being watched seemed to have abated somewhat, and in its absence, he was suddenly overcome with a desperate urge to get out of wherever he was. He forced his reluctant body to move and realised that the hole he was in was only shallow, more of a shelf in the rock rather than any kind of passageway. He swung his feet downwards and realised that they were now planted on solid ground. Light. He needed light. His headtorch and the eyes and ears kit were gone so he patted his chest and was relieved to find that his internal pocket still contained one of his emergency glowsticks. A quick crack and dull yellow light began to spill from it, penetrating the darkness all around him.
But light brought with it shock and horror. He was in a narrow fissure in the rock and all around him were chambers of varying sizes, hollowed out. Some were several feet in height and width, others were slimmer; all had been physically carved from the rock, chipped away in a haphazard manner with rudimentary tools. Reuben held up the glowstick and saw that within each chamber was a body, some were almost skeletal, others were shrunken and leathery. He walked along the fissure, counting dozens of chambers, until he came across one that stopped him dead in his tracks.
Rachel.
She was wedged into the rockface, her face turned away from him, but even so, he knew it was her. Her distinctive red hair was matted and darkened with what looked like blood, and her arms were folded awkwardly around her body, as if she was embracing herself. Fear surged inside him as he considered the possibilities. “Rach!” he hissed and poked the glowstick at her. Her skin was pale and her lips were blue with cold. Please no, please no, he thought. Reluctantly, he pressed two fingers under her chin, waited a few seconds, held his breath. A faint pulse beat beneath his fingertips, weak and thready, and his breath gasped out in relief. She was alive. He tried her name again, but there was no response. She was out cold.
A tattoo of what do I do, what do I do was just establishing itself in his mind when he heard the tiniest of scraping sounds behind him and froze. Not daring to look back, his eyes searched the darkness in front of him even as his heartbeat sped up still further. Fuck. He needed to get out of here, needed to get them both out of here, while he was still able. He looked at Rachel, then reached out and touched her cheek. I’ll come back for you, he thought, I swear I will. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his caving instincts to take hold and he scanned the ground for footprints, looking to see which way the exit was. Cool air was funnelling onto his face, telling him that the way ahead was the way out. He took one last reluctant look at Rachel, then started to move.
The sensation that he was being watched from behind did not abate as he stumbled on weak and rubbery legs along the passageway. If I don’t look back, I can’t see it to confirm it’s there, he thought desperately. Just keep moving. Keep moving.
The passageway widened out into a larger cavern, and all of a sudden he recognised where he was. Stumbling in his eagerness, his legs still rubbery beneath him, he sped up. Whatever it was behind him stayed in the shadows, but kept pace. Occasionally he heard it – a soft shuffle, a scrape or a shush of breath. His heart hammered in his chest and sweat pearled on his forehead. He’d have run if he could, but in the narrow tunnels and passages of limestone, he was limited. He had no idea why it wasn’t attacking him again, why it seemed to be allowing him to escape without any attempt to halt him. It was almost as if it wanted him to get away.
When eventually daylight flashed in front of him as a pale spot of light, he almost cried with the relief. He tried to yell, but his mouth was dry and his brain was sluggish. Pushing forward, he felt the presence behind him hang back, then, just as he was nearing the exit, something sharp hit him in the back of the neck. He’d had horsefly bites before and they fucking stung, but this was sharper, more piercing. He slapped his hand up to his neck with a cry. “Jesus… what the fuck?!”
He wheeled on the spot and searched behind him and that’s when he saw it. Crouched high up on the wall, like a spider dangling from a web, a slim almost childish figure with sparkling crystalline skin that rippled and shifted as he looked at it. He blinked. His eyesight was clouding, his balance wobbling. Turning, he stumbled away, towards the light, crying out, “Help me! Help…”
THE MEDICAL CENTER AT CAVERNA, HORSE CAVE, KENTUCKY
Reuben Waller looked like he’d seen a ghost. Or something. His face was pale as chalk and his eyes bore huge, pronounced shadows beneath them. Lying atop the clinical white sheets of his hospital bed, Scully thought that he seemed half like a wraith himself. She stood at the foot of the bed and once again studied his chart with interest. Reuben had indeed walked out of Mammoth Cave exactly the way he’d gone in, but after that, things had taken a serious turn for the worse.
“He’s out cold then?” Mulder asked, framed in the doorway like some Wild West hero, his shirt-sleeves rolled up and his gun resting in its holster at his waist. Scully glanced up at him. He was leaning against the frame, his legs crossed at the ankle, blocking out most of the light from the hall.
“They had to sedate him. He needed a massive dose of Versed to stop him ranting and endangering himself, so I’m not sure he’s going to wake up any time soon. They’ve got him on IV fluids, but physically there���s nothing much wrong with him. The CAT scan was clear, and he has no broken bones or internal injuries. But he was completely delirious with what appeared to be an acute psychotic episode.” She frowned at the chart. “I’m interested in the bloodwork though. Something just seems amiss to me, Mulder. Dehydration can make you confused, but he was ranting completely outrageous things as if he was under the influence of something… perhaps a hallucinogen. I’ve requested a tox screen so hopefully that will give us some insight.”
“He did seem as if he was on something.” He drummed his hand on the doorframe, then pushed off and paced into the room, stopping beside Reuben’s bed. He stared for a long moment. “But what if he was telling the truth, Scully?”
“Mulder, you heard what he was saying. Something human but not human? That glittered? Surely you don’t need me to tell you how ridiculous that sounds? Not to mention how scientifically improbable.”
“I don’t think Jeff Bellamy thinks we’re dealing with the scientifically probable.”
She looked away from him, back to the chart in front of her and slid the witness statement Reuben had made out from beneath the chart. Her eyes flowed over the words once again. A slight figure, possibly five and a half feet in height, with skin that glittered and refracted the light and cold, silver-white eyes. It was utterly fantastical. Clearly it had to be the product of a vivid imagination or a particularly expansive trip.
“So, what? You believe there’s some creature down there with glittering skin attacking people?” She was unable to keep the scepticism from her tone. Seven years in Mulder’s company had admittedly taught her that despite everything science currently knew and understood, there were still plenty of things it couldn’t yet explain. But, until it did, she wasn’t about to jump to a conclusion based on the strength of just two reports. She needed some actual solid evidence.
“I don’t know yet,” Mulder said. “But I do know I want to speak to Jeff Bellamy again and take another look at that video tape with him.”
What Scully wanted now was the results of the tox screen. And to talk to Reuben herself. She felt sure that with a dose of sedative inside him and an exchange of rational words, she’d be able to get through whatever fear or delirium the caver was experiencing and hear a more reliable tale of what happened to him. “I’m going to stay here for a while in case he wakes up. But it could be a while.”
He nodded. “Okay.” His hand reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Catch you later, then.”
***
Mulder made his way back to Mammoth Cave via a series of back roads, mulling on their encounter with Reuben Waller, such as it was. The account of the strange, sparkling figure with white eyes preyed on his imagination, and he slowly began piecing together the information they had and combining it with the rest of what he knew. It was already growing dark when he pulled into the small parking lot in front of the superintendent’s office, a pinkish sky giving way to banks of curling dark grey clouds. Once again, the building seemed deserted, but now he knew where he was headed, he slipped quietly through to knock on Jeff Bellamy’s office door.
A moment’s pause, no doubt as Bellamy checked through the peephole for who was disturbing him, and then the door swung open to reveal the chief ranger. “Agent Mulder,” he greeted and stepped aside to allow Mulder to enter his office. “I’m sorry I had to leave you at the hospital. I would gladly have stayed, but I had some phone calls to make and another meeting with the Chief of Police.”
“Who is?”
“The Chief? Mitch Allen. You’ll meet him soon enough, I have no doubt.” Bellamy made a face. “Imagine a human incarnation of a mosquito, both in physical appearance and manner, and you’ve got Mitch. My best advice would be to keep swatting him away before he bites your ass and leaves you with a welt the size of Brazil.”
Mulder smiled at Bellamy’s gallows humour. “I’ll remember that for when I get the pleasure of meeting him.”
“You’re here to look at the tape, aren’t you?”
Bellamy pulled out a chair and waved to Mulder to have a seat.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it a couple times already, but I’d like to watch it with you if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Mulder reached into his breast pocket and removed the VHS tape he’d taken from Skinner’s office, then handed it to Bellamy, who walked around to a TV that hung slightly askew on a wall mount. After inserting the tape, Bellamy fiddled a moment with the remote control to rewind and restart the recording. “I asked for you specifically, Agent Mulder, when I contacted the FBI. Despite what Mitch Allen thinks, I don’t believe that what we have here is a common or garden-variety murderer. I swear… there’s something on that tape. Mitch says it’s a spot on the tape, that I’m seeing things, but… well, you see what you think.”
He pressed play and the tape began to roll. Mulder watched as the scene he’d seen before started to play out before him once again, keeping his eyes trained on the darkness that surrounded Reuben and Rachel. Mulder’s eyes were sharper than most, but when Bellamy called out, ‘There!’, he had to ask what it was he saw.
“Where? Show me again.”
The ranger froze the tape and rewound it a touch, then played it again. “There.” He pointed one of his thick fingers at the fuzzy picture on the screen. Mulder took a step closer and scrutinised the screen, unsure what he was supposed to be looking at.
“I don’t see it,” he said.
“See those two white dots? Behind and to the right of Rachel.”
Mulder froze, mid-breath, as he realised what Bellamy was pointing at. He was right. There, in the dark and shadows behind where Rachel was standing, were two tiny silver-white smudges of light. They were so small and so faint that you had to really be looking for them to see them. It was hard to say if it was light that was being refracted from elsewhere or if it was being emitted from something. They were still, unmoving, and utterly compelling.
Eyes in the dark.
“You see them now?”
“Yeah…” Mulder’s head tilted quizzically as the tape continued to roll and the white dots shifted slightly, then vanished.
“I’m not imagining it, am I?” said Bellamy. He looked from Mulder to the image on the television and back again, as if he expected Mulder to disagree, meaning he’d have to launch into a further explanation.
Mulder’s voice was quiet. “You’re not.” He took the remote control from Bellamy and rewound the section of tape again, playing it through a third time. As the white spots of vague light appeared and disappeared, he was reminded suddenly of a nature programme he’d watched just the other week where deep sea fish flashed lights in the ocean abyss to attract prey. “I’d like the tape back please, Mr. Bellamy. I want to send it to someone back in D.C. who might be able to rescue something from the blackness.”
“Sure.” Bellamy ejected the tape and handed it to Mulder. “Do you believe me, then?”
“I believe you.”
***
The evening wore on and still Reuben Waller’s sedation appeared to have him tight in its grip. Doctors and nurses came in and out, checking vitals and administering various tests, but all seemed content to let their patient sleep. Scully alternately paced around the room or sat mulling over the information they’d collected so far. Every bone she had in her body told her that white-eyed, cave-dwelling monsters were the stuff of comic books and horror stories, not real life, but the longer she sat, and the more times she read Reuben’s witness statement, the more she found herself becoming unnerved by the tale. Her mind flicked back through past cases – Tooms, the African monster who drained his victim’s pituitary glands, the Flukeman, those strange mothmen in the Florida forest – and she considered the possibility of Reuben’s description having some credence. Evolution had shown itself to create some fantastical things before, given enough years and the right conditions, and she’d seen them with her own eyes. What was to say that the depths of limestone caves couldn’t create something as strange and inexplicable as the things she’d seen already? Whatever it was had clearly been enough to frighten Reuben Waller to within an inch of his life.
In her pocket, Scully’s phone trilled loudly, and she jumped, glancing around the room, as she fished it out and answered, “Scully.”
“I think you should call it a night,” said Mulder. “It’s past eight.”
“Mulder, it’s fine. I… I’m waiting for him to wake up. There are questions I want to ask him.”
“He’s not going anywhere, Scully. They pumped him so full of drugs Keith Richards’d be jealous.” Over the line, she heard him close a door and the soft thwump of his jacket hitting a bed. He was at the motel. Scully closed her eyes, thinking of kicking off her shoes, of taking a shower, of the relief of stretching out on a soft mattress.
“Scully?”
She drew in a sharp breath and realised that her attention had drifted and she was still on the phone. “Yeah?”
“I’ll order pizza,” he sing-songed in her ear and she felt herself smiling, despite herself. Pizza sounded like a dream.
“Okay, okay. Pepperoni, mushrooms, green pepper, diet soda. And don’t let them skimp on the cheese.”
“Never.”
He hung up and Scully pocketed her phone. She got to her feet and afforded Reuben a last, long look before replacing the witness statement back into the file and tucking it under her arm.
She got a cab back to the motel Mulder had booked for them just out of town and checked in. Inside her room, the air was hot, stale and unmoving. She switched on lights, toed off her shoes and turned the AC on full, before heading to the bathroom and firing up the shower. She peeled off her clothes and, when the water was running at a constant temperature, stepped under the stream. For a long moment, she stood like a thirsty tree beneath the water, letting it pound over her and loosen the crick in her neck and soothe the ache in her back, allowing it to remind her of things other than petrified grown men and monsters in the dark.
When the water eventually ran cold, she stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in the complimentary robe and returned to the bedroom. “Hey Scully,” said Mulder from the bed. “I heard you through the wall.” He was sitting propped up against the headboard in his jeans and that familiar grey t-shirt she always saw him wearing when she pictured him in her head. His hair was freshly washed and fluffy, sticking up in every direction and a tiny piece of toilet paper betrayed how he’d nicked his chin when shaving.
“Hey.”
“Pizza’s on the way,” he said.
“Good, I’m starving.” She let out a long sigh. “Although I’m so tired, you might have to feed it to me.”
She sank down on the edge of the bed and began towelling her hair, only to feel him shift behind her and lay his hands on her shoulders. His fingers squeezed once, twice, and then began working their way up to her neck. The gentle pressure soon had her eyes closing in relief, and Scully rolled her head, releasing a slow moan as he kneaded at the knots in her tired muscles.
“You’re tense,” he said, his voice low. She hummed.
“I feel like I’ve been sitting still, waiting and thinking we should be doing something more all day. If it wasn’t already dark outside, I’d go for a run to shake it off.”
His lips joined his hands on her neck, kissing gently over her shower-soft skin. “I can think of something else we could do to shake it off…”
“Mulder…” she murmured. “We said nothing like this while we were working.”
He stopped and drew back but said nothing further. Instead, he let his hands knead at her neck and shoulders, soft and firm in the same moment. Scully sighed, feeling her traitorous body respond to him. She pulled the towel off her head and arched back into his touch. So much for standing by her own rules, she thought, as Mulder slid around and pulled her up so they were facing one another.
“You know what I think about rules, Scully,” he said, and his breath puffed gently on her neck.
He pushed her bathrobe open, his hands running over her bare shoulders and down her upper arms, then leaned in to kiss her. At first, she didn’t respond, tired to the bone, then slowly, her mouth opened and the kiss deepened.
His clothes disappeared, and he laid her back onto the bed, her head amid the pillows. They began to sink into an age-old rhythm. The bed creaked as they shifted against one another; he was hard above her, lean, taut lines and his thick cock pressed against her thigh. Scully’s skin was sparking. So much for rules, indeed, she thought, as he pushed his way slickly inside her.
Her back arched as he slid in to the hilt, wanting to draw him still further inside her. Above her, Mulder groaned a breathy ‘fuck’ against her neck and rested in stillness a moment. The feeling of him inside her was already flashing pleasure through her body. She shifted and grabbed at him, wanting him to move, to satisfy her need. Reading her desire perfectly, his hips started to move. Beneath them, the bed creaked, and the cheap headboard banged steadily against the wall as he rocked into her.
For a long while, there was nothing but gathering pleasure. She sought out his mouth and he kissed her deeply in answer, then slowed his rhythm just enough to make her buck her hips beneath him. The change of angle was enough and with a cry, she fell over the edge, orgasm rippling through her in pulses. Seconds later, she felt Mulder lose his own control and he pushed into her hard as he emptied himself.
Afterwards, Mulder rolled away to lie beside her. Their hands reached out across the sheet and their fingers intertwined. They laid in silence while their breathing evened, then Scully snuggled up against his side. He tugged her closer and kissed the top of her head.
“I’ve always felt like I’ve needed this when we’ve had one of these cases,” she said once her heartbeat had steadied.
She felt Mulder’s chuckle rather than saw it. “Damnit Scully… Why didn’t you say?! Think of all the times I could’ve gotten laid and instead I sat alone in my motel room watching crappy TV.” She rolled her eyes and he chuckled again, the audacious, insufferable man that he was. It was the kind of typically Mulder comment that she had grown used to ignoring and she did just that, continuing, propping herself up on her elbow to regard him properly.
“I don’t know what it is, maybe some kind of reaction to the loss of life… Like a reaffirmation of humanity in the face of inhumanity.”
“Those are some big ideas, Scully. You sure it’s not just plain and simple horniness?” He reached out and thumbed her nipple until it rose again into a peak. She cast him a now vaguely irritated glance; he wasn’t taking her seriously.
“Mulder…” She issued his name as a flat reprimand. “This case is tragic already – potentially six people are dead. And whether that’s from your highly improbable cave-dwelling mystery creature, a serial killer or just terrible misfortune, it’s still tragic.” She paused, reaching down and grabbing the comforter. The AC had really kicked in now and as the sweat cooled, she shivered. “It bothered me how frightened they said he was. Anything that makes a grown man react with that level of fear…” Her voice trailed off.
Mulder rolled onto his side, mirroring her, and propped his head up on his hand too. “You’ve seen all kinds of evil, Scully. Things that would make other people quiver in fear.”
“I may have seen it. But that doesn’t mean that it affects me any less.”
He nodded. They fell quiet and, in the silence, there came a knock at the door. “Pizza,” said Mulder, glad of the distraction. He flipped out of bed, grabbed up his shorts and pulled them on. “Stay there and I’ll get the door.”
After a brief exchange of words at the door, Mulder returned with the pizza box, spinning it like a basketball on one finger, then tossing it onto the bed. “Dig in, Scully.”
She scooted forwards and opened up the box, taking a deep breath of the smell within. “God, that smells so good.”
They ate too quickly and far too much, Mulder finishing off the final slice and scraping the last of the melted cheese from the bottom of the box with his fingers. “Don’t you want to know what I found out, then?” he asked as he licked his fingers clean. “When I went back to see Bellamy?”
Scully looked up and met Mulder’s eyes. It was all she had to do. “You found something on the tape.”
“You’re not going to believe it, Scully, but I’m telling you, there’s something down in those caves. And I’ll bet you a stuffed crust that it’s not human.”
“Not human?”
“Well, not human as we know it.” He stood and beat pizza crumbs from his chest, then crossed the room and reached into the pocket of his jacket, removing the VHS tape he’d borrowed from Bellamy. He went to the cheap television that hung slightly askew on the far wall and pushed the tape into the built-in deck. “Check this out.”
“Mulder, this is the tape we saw with Skinner.”
“It is, but I’m going to show you something I bet you missed first time around.”
He pressed play on the tv and came to sit on the end of the bed near her feet. The tape sputtered and came to life and the scene they’d watched before began to play again. Under the covers, Scully brought her legs up and hugged them, suddenly feeling irrationally chilled. Mulder stayed silent and still as the tape rolled, then jumped to his feet and pressed pause. “Look there.”
He pointed at the screen. Scully frowned and squinted. “See the two white dots?” Mulder prompted her.
“Yeah…”
“Watch them. The way they move.”
The tape unfroze and started to play again. Scully watched.
As the white dots shifted, then disappeared, Mulder rewound the tape and ran it through again, but she didn’t need to see it again. “They’re eyes,” she said in as level a tone as she could muster and met his gaze. “Maybe a deer? Lost in the caves, perhaps.”
Mulder sighed. “A deer,” he repeated flatly. “Scully, sometimes I wonder if you disagree with me just because you get a kick out of it. No way are they the eyes of a deer. That movement… the stare and the shift in position… That’s predatory. Whatever it is, it was stalking those cavers.”
“I know what you want me to say, Mulder, but you have no concrete proof here, just a video tape of something that could be any number of things.”
“Which is why I’m going down there, Scully. Tomorrow. And Jeff Bellamy’s coming with me.”
“You’re going down there?” Scully could not keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Mulder are you insane? We may have no idea what’s down there, and whatever it is, seven full grown men and women have been attacked and six of them are still missing. What’s to say the same won’t happen to you?”
“I don’t see that there’s any other choice. It’s shown no desire to leave the confines of the caves, so if we want to find those cavers, and Rachel Simmons, we’ve got to go after it.”
“You don’t even know what it is!”
Mulder stood, huffed softly and picked up his fallen t-shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head. “No… but I have a theory. It needs a little corroboration, but I’m working on that.” He smiled and bobbed his eyebrows. “Wanna hear it?”
Scully made a face but Mulder took her lack of verbal response as an affirmative.
“Four thousand years ago, American Indians discovered the Kentucky Mammoth Caves contained extensive deposits of nitre salt, gypsum, selenite and other minerals. Successive generations mined the caves for two thousand years, gathering the minerals for use in medicine and trade, then quite abruptly, and for no known reason, archaeological evidence dries up and it appears that, for some reason, the native culture stopped mining the caves. But the mineral deposits are still there even today and there is much evidence to suggest that American Indians continued to live in the area up until the present day. So what made them leave the caves? What stopped them doing something they’d done for two thousand years?”
Scully stared at him, her eyes darkening. “You think they were chased out by whatever it is you think is still living in those caves? Mulder, you’re talking about an event that occurred two thousand years ago. It’s highly questionable if anything in biology has a lifespan that long, let alone something big enough to take down a human being.”
“Come on, Scully, since when have genetic mutants conformed to the laws of science?”
She shook her head. “Even if you’re right, Mulder, why now?”
“That I don’t know. Maybe those cavers were exploring deeper than anyone had explored before? Maybe it felt threatened by the encroachment? Maybe it’s been dormant or hibernating?” With a shrug of his shoulders, he sat back down on the bed. “Maybe if we find it, we’ll understand more about it and its motivations?”
“And what about Reuben Waller? Does his condition not concern you?”
Mulder twisted to look her in the eyes again. “I know it bothers you, Scully,” he said, softly, and he reached for her hand. “But the only way those cavers are going to be recovered is to go underground and find them.”
“I’d just like to know a little more about what we’re dealing with before we send anybody down there unprepared for what they might meet. At least wait until we’ve had chance to speak to Reuben,” she countered. Mulder stared at her, then acquiesced.
“Okay, I agree. That’s logical.” He pulled on his jeans and then picked up the empty pizza box, crushing it as flat as he could. “I’m going to take this out to the trash and then I guess I should get some sleep.”
Unspoken in his words was the way they’d ended every night out in the field in the last few months - should they share a room or not? Scully looked up at him, now standing by the door, his eyes fixed on hers. After everything they’d spoken about this evening, and regardless of her scepticism, being alone wasn’t high on her list of preferred options. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?” she asked.
His smile was small, nervy of rejection. “Sure. If you’ll have me?”
She dropped her chin and quirked her eyebrow at him. “Well, the pizza man’s long gone.”
Mulder’s laugh was cut off as he walked out and behind him, the door slammed shut.
***
Scully’s cell phone rang shortly after dawn broke, waking them both with a jump. As she grabbled for it off the night stand, Mulder rolled onto his back and groaned. He’d slept fitfully throughout the night, waking repeatedly with his brain on high alert, questions running exhaustively through his mind, and even as he shifted into full consciousness, he could feel the lack of good quality sleep permeating his bones.
“Scully,” he heard her say into the phone and felt the bed shift slightly as she sat up fully, twisting away from him and swinging her legs out.
Still with eyes closed, Mulder stretched and sighed, then tried to listen to the voice on the other end of the line. It was female, possessing of a clipped, professional tone and Scully was listening closely.
When she hung up, she turned to him and said, “That was the hospital. Reuben Waller’s sedation has worn off and he’s awake and calmer. He’s asking for us.”
Mulder opened his eyes. “For us?”
“Yes, he couldn’t remember names, but he asked for the Feds.”
She rose and he was treated to a sight he didn’t think he would get used to if it continued for his entire life – Dana Scully fully naked and at ease in his presence. He let his eyes drift down the curve of her back before asking, “How is he?”
“Distracted. Desperate. He keeps asking to go back down into the caves, but so far they’ve put him off. They’ve got a psychiatrist coming to see him during morning rounds.” She headed for the bathroom but paused and turned to face him in the doorway. “Oh, and the tox screen is through.”
He nodded. “Then let’s get going. I’ll shower in my room.”
The temperature was already well into the 70s by the time they arrived at the hospital, and it quickly became clear that news of Reuben Waller’s recovery had been made public, for a throng of reporters was gathered outside the main entrance, several of whom were engaged in recording live reports when Mulder and Scully arrived. As they weaved through the crowds, Mulder overheard comments about ‘federal officers’ and ‘increasing police presence’ mixed in with ‘the Mammoth Cave monster’. He glanced sideways at Scully as they passed through the automatic doors and, as expected, she rounded on him immediately. “The Mammoth Cave Monster?” she said with acerbic tone. “Where’s that come from, Mulder?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me, Scully. You know what these guys are like. Anything for a headline. Kinda catchy though, wouldn’t you say?”
Her eyes narrowed as she hit the call button for the elevator and Mulder looked down at his shoes, hiding his amusement. There was nothing Scully liked less than the press getting hold of details of a case they were working on, much less when they sensationalised it into a real-life horror story.
When, moments later, the doors of the elevator opened with a sigh and they stepped out onto a brightly lit, generic hospital corridor, they were immediately confronted by a young deputy. “Excuse me, I need to stop you here. What’s your business on this ward?” His eyes flicked over their suits as he tried to evaluate who they were. Mulder and Scully reached simultaneously into their breast pockets and withdrew their badges, holding them up for the deputy’s attention.
“Special agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI, we’re here to speak with Reuben Waller,” said Mulder.
The deputy visibly drew himself up, his cheeks colouring. “Oh, agents, my chief told me to keep a look out for you guys. Sorry for the, er, old stop right there routine; we’ve had news reporters up here in the last hour trying to get on the ward so…” His voice drifted off as he did a double take to check out Scully, which made Mulder bristle and bite.
“I’m pleased to hear you think we look like journalists, deputy.”
“It’s fine,” Scully said to the deputy, offering him a smile and dismissing Mulder’s comment with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure you must have your work cut out here.”
“I think this is the most exciting news this part of Kentucky has had in a generation,” replied the deputy with a rueful chuff of laughter. He turned and began to lead them down the corridor. “The Chief is trying to keep everything under wraps, but it’s not working all that well. Everyone’s spooked, agents. There’s talk of monsters and all kinds of shit.” He glanced at Scully again. “Is that why you’re here? Because there’s a monster down there?”
Scully drew in a quietly exasperated breath. “We’re here to help recover the missing cavers.”
They came to an admitting desk where several nurses were perched on high-backed stools filling charts and talking quietly. From behind the desk, a male doctor in dark blue scrubs appeared and came towards them. He was fair-haired, fair-skinned and when he spoke, it was with a Scandanavian accent. “Can I help you? I’m Dr. Svensson.”
“These guys are the feds,” said the deputy, helpfully.
“Ah,” Svenson said, “I presume you’re here to talk to our resident celebrity?”
“If you’re referring to Reuben Waller, yes we are,” said Scully. “And there should be some results for me too – a toxicology screen?”
“Yes, yes, there’s a tox screen. The lab brought it up first thing this morning. Said there was a rush on it.”
Mulder used Svensson and the deputy’s distraction to step around Scully and slipped off down the corridor, peering through the series of propped open doors until he found Reuben Waller, sitting up in his bed and staring out of the window. The caver appeared in good physical health, but even from ten feet away, Mulder could see the anxiety rippling through him. Every muscle in his body was tense and his eyes were fixed unseeing on the cloudless sky.
Mulder entered, and as he did so, Reuben’s concentration broke. Startled like a wary bird ready to take flight, he looked sharply towards Mulder in the doorway.
“Reuben Waller?” Reuben’s answering nod was barely noticeable; he seemed as if he was ready to break and run at any second. “Special Agent Mulder with the FBI. How are you feeling?”
“I don’t want to talk about how I feel,” said Reuben sharply. “Why does nobody seem to understand that? I want to get the hell out of here. My partner needs me to help her.”
Mulder came further into the room. “And that’s what we’re trying to do, Mr. Waller. But we need you to help us help her.”
Reuben shook his head and closed his eyes a moment, as if summoning calm. “I don’t want to seem rude here, Mr… What did you say your name was?
“Mulder,” said Mulder.
“Mr Mulder… But someone like yourself, standing here in a fancy suit… You don’t know the first thing about what needs to be done to get Rach back. I can get her back, but none of these sons of bitches are letting me leave this room!”
“I know how frustrated you must feel,” said Mulder, reading the party line even as he imagined himself in Reuben’s position, with Scully missing. Nothing on this earth could have kept him chained to a hospital bed if he’d known she was in danger. Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it.
Reuben rolled his eyes. “You have no fucking clue how I feel,” he spat and looked away, back out of the window.
Mulder pulled up a plastic chair and sat, then leaned forward and hissed, “Listen to me… I know you’re the one who can show us where Rachel Simmons is, and believe me, nothing would please me more than to have your help, but they’re not letting you out of here until you can demonstrate that you’re of sound mind and no risk to yourself or others. So yelling and shouting and losing your shit, no matter how angry you feel, isn’t going to help your case. Now, like I said, I’d like to help you get your friend back and I’m sure you think you know how to do that, but unless you want to end up back in those caves with your own life in danger again, you’ll shut the hell up and behave rationally.”
Reuben’s lip curled and for a moment, Mulder thought he was going to fly out of the bed and pummel him, but then slowly, the caver appeared to subside.
“I need you to tell me what’s down there, Reuben.”
***
Scully had to re-read the toxicology report three times over before she was able to form coherent thoughts about its results. She’d been expecting something, but not this. Running in Reuben Waller’s blood was a plant toxin derived from the Datura genus. And with that knowledge, Scully’s brain flew into overdrive. Datura was a rarely encountered toxin but it gave symptoms that suddenly made Reuben’s delirium from the night before slide into perspective.
The caver had been drugged.
Tucking the report under her arm, she went in search of Mulder, finding him stepping out of Reuben’s room. “Scully,” he said. “We have to get this guy out of here. He knows where the cavers are.”
“Mulder, there’s something you need to see.” She thrust the toxicology report at him and carried on talking while he read it. “These are Reuben Waller’s blood results from last night. There’s evidence of a plant toxin I’ve seen only once in my life in his bloodstream.”
“Datura.”
“Yes, it causes delirium, an inability to judge fantasy from reality, tachycardia, photophobia and amnesia.”
Mulder hummed. “You think he was under the influence of this last night?”
“I’m sure of it. The quantities present in his blood are enough to have caused acute psychosis.”
“Well, that explains why he was one fry short of a Happy Meal last night,” said Mulder. “But how did he get that amount in his blood?”
“I’m guessing he ingested it. Perhaps as he was exiting the cave. He hadn’t eaten in days.”
“Datura is a plant, yes?” Scully nodded. “Plants don’t grow underground. They need light to photosynthesise.”
“Well, yes—”
“So how could he have eaten a plant toxin when he’s been underground for the last 48 hours?”
She huffed out a breath. She hated that he was so good at poking holes in her theories. “I don’t know, Mulder, but that’s definitely what it is.”
“American Indians have used plant-based medicines for thousands of years, Scully. There’s also considerable evidence that they tipped their arrows and darts with various poisons derived from rattlesnake venom and poisonous plants for the purposes of hunting and battle.”
With an arch of her brow, Scully replied, “You’re still labouring on this theory of yours...”
“Prove me wrong, if you can,” Mulder challenged. “I’m just putting together the pieces as best I can. Reuben says he saw something down there and even taking into account the likelihood of his being drugged, his word remains the only actual evidence we’ve got of what happened to those cavers and to Reuben and Rachel.”
“Okay, okay, so say you’re right, then,” Scully bit back. “What do you think actually happened?”
Mulder glanced down the corridor. The charge desk was just a dozen paces away and it was clear that the nurses had stopped their chatter and were almost certainly trying to eavesdrop. He took Scully by the arm and pulled her into an empty room then lowered his voice. “I think whatever it is down there is drugging its victims with something, then while they are insensible, it takes them deeper underground.”
“For what reason? And what purpose?”
“Maybe it’s defensive, protecting its territory.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The original party of cavers was on a ‘wild’ tour through less well-known passages of the caves. Maybe they accidentally strayed too far. As for purpose, I don’t know yet. But if you recall the X-File on Thomas O’Rourke, those bodies were desiccated and appeared as if they’d been placed in storage. Maybe that’s what this thing does. It just stashes these people so they can’t bother it again. Or maybe the fact that they are desiccated is the clue.”
Scully felt a shiver run through her as her imagination tore off after Mulder’s theory. Bodies could be desiccated by virtue of having spent a long time underground, but they could also be desiccated by having had all their fluids drained away. She closed her eyes a moment and gathered herself. Why the hell was this bothering her so much? As Mulder had said last night, she’d seen far worse. Clearing her throat, she threw herself back into the discussion.
“And Reuben and Rachel?”
“That was more spur of the moment. They were attacked in a hurry. My guess is that it saw them and reacted on instinct. Like a mother protecting the nest.”
“The nest, Mulder? You think this thing is not alone?”
Mulder didn’t reply. There was no need to, for Scully was quite able to imagine the implications of that possibility. She swallowed.
“But whatever it is, the only way we’ve got any chance of getting Rachel Simmons and those cavers out alive is to let Reuben lead us to where they are.”
“And you want me to sign his release papers, is that it?”
“He can leave AMA any time he wants, but he doesn’t know that. I don’t want him realising he can either because we all know what’s going to happen if he does. He’ll be down underground on his own faster than we could follow him. And I’m not about to let that happen.”
#txf fanfic#txf#msr#fox mulder#dana scully#50 states of us#my fic#feedback always appreciated!#if you wanna reblog that'd be great#thank you kindly sirs
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Love Yourself (Chapter 14)
title: Love Yourself
summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista.
chapter words: 17k story words: 105.3k (so far) chapter: 14/?
rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia
genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn
[[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]
a/n: can you believe i’m posting a 17k chapter? because i can’t. a massive thank you to @auroraphilealis for reading this mammoth of a chapter MULTIPLE TIMES for me and helping make it better.
also: before you send me an ask about using a read more, i did, they just don’t always work on mobile and there is nothing i can do about it :( take it up with tumblr lol
Dan didn’t entirely trust Isabella to not chase after him. The second Dan was out the door, he was desperate to put as much distance between himself and Isabella as possible. As much as he truly hated exercise, Dan practically sprinted away, paranoidly glancing over his shoulder every couple of feet to make sure that Isabella’s signature clack clack clack wasn’t trailing behind him.
Instead, he waited until he was five blocks away from Isabella’s building before he slowed to a fast paced walk and pulled out his phone. Dan was ready — he was ready to be fucking done with Isabella in his life, and he was ready to move fucking forward with Phil. When he opened his phone, he was determined to do just that.
Jesus, he had six missed calls from Adaline. For a moment, Dan had forgotten about Adaline’s emergency phone call. Just as he swiped away the notification, another call came through. Dan pressed the decline button — he’d call her back in just a minute.
He had something else to do first.
Riding the adrenaline high of finally, finally doing what he wanted to do, Dan opened twitter and — fuck. He’d left the app open on the picture of Isabella. Knowing that she’d fucked that model, that the mark on her neck was from another man, didn’t hurt as much as Dan had thought it would. It fucking sucked, of course.
After all, cheating was the one place where Dan drew a firm line of what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Honestly, he was more upset about the fact that he’d been cheated on, than about the fact that Isabella had been the one doing the cheating. He hated her, he hated her for a lot of reasons. He hated her for the way that she used him, for the way that she manipulated him, for the way that she cheated on him.
But above everything else, he was just glad to be done with her.
Replies were rolling in, most of them tagging both him and Isabella, and, weirdly enough, a few tagging Phil as well. Deciding his mission could wait a moment, Dan clicked on Isabella’s name, his finger hovering over the unfollow button.
If he clicked that, if he actually unfollowed Isabella, people would surely notice. People would undoubtedly piece together the scandalous picture with the fact that he’d unfollowed his bloody girlfriend and know.
Know that they’d broken up.
Dan didn’t give a fuck. He’d meant what he’d said to Isabella. He was done. The fallout of breaking up with Isabella didn’t phase him, fans could think whatever the hell they wanted to — most of it would probably be right, anyway. With a surge of defiance, Dan smashed the unfollow button.
That felt good.
But not good enough.
Fuck Isabella, fuck her being in his life and having even an inkling of control over him.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He clicked the gear next to her name, pressing Block @IsabellaDeLaRenta before he could change his mind.
That felt really good.
At least now he wouldn’t have to see whatever bullshit she pulled and would be relatively sheltered from the inevitable drama.
But that wasn’t what he’d come on the app to do.
Dan tabbed over to his DMs. Phil’s name was right at the top of the list.
Dan could do this. He was on a roll of doing rash and brazen things tonight, he might as well fully commit. He’d been holding back from this, because it felt like a definite step across a line, a line that he wasn’t willing to cross. But now, the line was gone. He was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted.
He didn’t let himself overthink the message. It didn’t matter how it came out. It could be flirty or blunt or a little bit aggressive, it didn’t matter. So he wasn’t about to spend thirty minutes crafting it.
Daniel Howell: text me about drinks tomorrow 07712345678
Well, it probably could have stood to be a little less abrupt, but whatever. Dan’s point was made. Isabella was gone and there was no longer anything stopping him from texting Phil, from having Phil as an actual contact in his phone.
Okay, next thing.
Deciding it was time to call Adaline back, Dan switched back to the phone app, but quickly got distracted once again. The third person down on his missed calls list was Izzy D.L.R <3.
Fuck that. Dan tapped on her name, pulling up the contact page.
Should he edit the name, or just delete her entirely?
It seemed stupid to keep her number in his phone just for the sake of it potentially, someday being useful. What did Dan care? He couldn’t imagine a single situation that was worth the emotional weight of keeping her number in his phone. So instead of just deleting the heart, Dan scrolled all the way to the bottom and smashed the delete contact button, quickly accepting the annoying are you sure?
Yes. Dan was very, very sure.
Fuck, that felt heavenly. Having that last little bit of Isabella completely gone from his life — knowing that he didn’t have her number anymore, knowing that if he wanted to talk to her at all that he would have to unblock her on twitter… it all felt like this very definitive wall between them.
He liked that wall.
Okay, now Dan could focus on calling Adaline back. Dan tapped back to his call log, happy to see Isabella’s name gone, and clicked on Adaline’s name. The phone didn’t even make it through a full ring before a sharp voice answered.
“Daniel. James. Howell. I’ve been calling you nonstop for forty-five minutes,” Adaline greeted him sternly.
“I know, sorry, I couldn’t answer.”
“Wasn’t the whole point that you needed to answer so you had an escape? I was beginning to think you died.” Adaline sounded annoyed, but Dan could hear the concern laced in her voice as well.
“Chill out, Mum, I’m alive,” Dan joked, high off the fact that he was finished with Isabella. No amount of irritation from Adaline could phase him now — not while he was this happy.
“Fuck off,” Adaline grumbled, never pleased to be compared to their mother (even if she was one of the sweetest women alive). “What the hell was happening?”
“Well, see, I was out to dinner with Isabella originally. And then I ended up back at Isabella’s—” Dan just about gagged on the name, which, judging by Adaline’s giggle, didn’t escape her notice. “I didn’t want to, um, you know.” Dan coughed awkwardly.
“So you thought faking an emergency would be better than just saying no, like an adult?”
“Look, I didn’t want to dig myself into an even deeper a hole. I had these grand plans to take her to breakfast tomorrow and dump her, but I knew if I pissed her off too much tonight, she wouldn’t agree to see me before she went back off to wherever the fuck she’s planning to go tomorrow.”
And thank god that Dan had successfully broken up with her before she jetted off to Vancouver, or Switzerland, or Melbourne — or wherever the fuck she’d said. He wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to end things over the phone — or worse, text — and he couldn’t imagine suffering through that relationship for another second.
Adaline was quiet for a moment.
“What do you mean had plans? Please don’t tell me you changed your mind,” she begged.
“Er, well, sort of,” Dan stumbled, a little charigned.
“Are you fucking serious? Don’t make me get on a bus and come smack sense into you,” Adaline threatened. “God, I thought you’d finally figured out that you were dating a total bitch.”
“No!” Dan interrupted fiercely. “I mean — I did! She’s a bitch! I get it, loud and clear. Everything’s fine.” Dan did his best to console his sister. Everything was fine — it was more than fine at the moment, all things considered.
Dan stopped at a crosswalk, pushing the walk button repeatedly. He could feel his excitement, his energy, his complete exasperation with the entire situation itching beneath his skin. “I broke up with her tonight,” he continued. “That’s why I didn’t answer.”
“Wait, on Valentine’s Day?” Adaline screeched, utterly scandalized. “What the fuck, bro?”
Dan took a breath, ready to defend his actions, but Adaline cut him off.
“Look, I wanted you to break up with her as much as anyone else, obvi, but I thought you were determined to be the good guy or whatever. Which, you know, would mean waiting until it’s not the day of love?!”
“It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into the details. But if you go on twitter, you’ll get the gist of it.”
“Okayyy, should I go look now or…?” Adaline trailed off. Dan could hear the faint do do do doooo of her computer starting up in the background.
He didn’t particularly want to deal with Adaline’s reaction to everything on twitter at this moment in time though.
“Later’s fine.” Dan rubbed his hand down his face. “I actually have a different favor to ask you.”
“Someone’s needy tonight.”
“Shut up, you act like I do nothing for you.” Dan pulled his coat tighter around his body — jesus it was cold tonight.
“Fair enough, what’s up?” Adaline asked more nonchalantly than Dan had anticipated, given the drama of the evening.
“Do you have any plans this weekend?” Dan asked tentatively as he stalled at another street corner, looking back and forth for cars before he carried onward, carried himself towards home, towards the comfort of his own bed.
“Um, I might have a date tomorrow night, but I don’t know.” Adaline sounded just uncertain enough of her plans for Dan to interject his own life into them.
“How attached are you to going on it?” he asked bluntly.
“Not. Why?”
Thank fuck, Dan thought. “Well, you know Phil, the one from —”
“Twitter and the coffee shop, yeah, I know Phil.”
“Oh. Right.” Dan felt himself blushing and was glad that it was dark and no one was around. Of course Addie knew about Phil, Dan talked about him constantly. “Well, I like him,” Dan blurted out. He held his breath, waiting for Adaline’s reaction. It wasn’t normal for him to have actual feelings for someone new so soon after a breakup. Having grown up in the same house as Dan, Adaline probably knew that better than anyone.
But her response didn’t come.
“I mean, like him like him,” he added when Adaline still didn’t say anything.
“No shit,” Addie shot back. “ Are you going to say anything new or…?”
“You knew?” Dan asked in surprise as he pulled open the door to his building. The warm air of the lobby felt heavenly against his cheeks, and Dan almost felt guilty for the wave of frigid cold he must have let in.
Almost. But right now, he was feeling too high off all of his decisions to feel too bad about anything.
“Dan, I’ve watched you date how many people? I’m not an idiot,” Adaline said, interrupting Dan’s thoughts. Dan jottled a little, trying to think back to what Adaline was talking about, and blushed when he realized.
“Oh,” he muttered dumbly. He gave a short two-fingered wave to the doorman as he power walked to the lift, eager to be in the comfortable safety of his own flat.
Dan was silent the entire lift ride, trying to process what it could mean if Adaline realized that Dan properly liked Phil. If Adaline knew all the way from Wokingham, had Phil caught on, too?
Although, Adaline had watched him cycle through relationship after relationship, fuckbuddy after fuckbuddy. She wasn’t that young while Dan was living at home, and he’d never been particularly subtle about it. Somewhere along the way, Adaline had developed a knack for picking up on when Dan was interested in, well, fucking someone.
Maybe there was hope that Dan’s interest wasn’t quite that obvious to Phil.
“So what about Phil, this boy you like like?” Adaline prompted teasingly when Dan was silent too long for her liking. Even though Dan had brought the subject up, he had no idea where to begin talking when it came to the topic of Phil.
Or, at least, he had no idea how to talk about it without just gushing.
“Hang on,” Dan murmured when the lift doors opened. He sat his phone down on the table so he had both hands free to shrug out of his coat, letting it fall somewhere in the foyer. There were more important things to deal with right now that being tidy.
Dan picked his phone back up, finally having decided what he needed to say first. “Well, objectively,” Dan explained, with just a hint of annoyance at his own conclusion shining through, “I know I need a bit of a break from dating before I just go for it with Phil.”
“I’m sorry, did I hear that right?”
“Before I date Phil, I know I should take a break from dating,” Dan repeated a little bit louder, in case the connection was weak.
“That’s what I thought you said.” Adaline sounded stunned.
“Yeah…”Dan tugged roughly at his tie on his way to the bedroom, trying to get out of this damn suit, this damn night as quickly as possible. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m being weird? You’re the one that’s being weird. I can’t believe that Dan Howell is going to take a break from dating?”
“Fuck off, it’s not that big of a deal,” he grumbled, his free hand trying to undo his belt.
“It’s a huge deal.” Adaline corrected. “I literally can’t remember a time when you weren’t at least sleeping with someone.”
So maybe she was right. Maybe Dan had never gone a full week after a breakup without sleeping with someone new. And maybe Dan had always made an effort to have someone in his life, whether it was a relationship or a… fuckbuddy.
Dan sighed, not able to be really annoyed since Adaline was technically right. “I know, okay. But that’s the thing. I don’t want Phil to be just sex and I’m afraid that if I try to date him right now I’ll fuck it up.” Adaline made a sympathetic sound. “It matters, okay? I want to do this right.”
“Okay, so how is all of this rolling around to needing a favor?” Dan could tell by the amusement in her tone he was already probably going to win.
“I kind of asked him to get drinks tomorrow. And it’s not, like, a date, I’m sure. I asked him before Izzy and I broke up. But now that I’m not with Isabella anymore, I’m not sure I trust drunk, horny me to not drag him back to my place and fuck him.” He put Adaline on speaker and set the phone on his dresser.
“Y-you’re fucking rid-ic-iculous,” Adaline managed to say through loud laughter. Her laughter was contagious, and Dan found himself unable to control his own giggles as he realized just how bloody absurd it was that he was asking his little sister — who he used to babysit all the time — to essentially babysit him.
“You’re not wrong.” Dan agreed, once he’d gotten his own laughter under control. “But — ugh this is so childish. I want a chaperone to make sure I don’t do anything dumb.”
“Get Louise to go with you.”
“I don’t actually trust her to stop me. I think she’s rooting too much for me and Phil that drunk-Louise would probably actually try to whore me out to him.” Dan glanced down at his hands as they unbuttoned his shirt and, for a split second, he imagined they were softer, paler hands.
Fuck. No he really couldn’t be trusted to be drinking around Phil alone.
“So you want me to trek all the way into the city, just to have drinks with you and your crush in order to stop you from doing anything stupid,” Adaline deadpanned, not bothering to hide just how ludicrous she thought Dan was being.
“Not just to have drinks. You can stay over, obviously, and we’ll do something on Saturday.”
“Hmmm, tempting.” Adaline considered it for a moment. “Wait, a second.” She sounded suspicious.
“What?” Dan asked warily.
“Last time I checked, you’d sworn that you weren’t going to introduce us to anyone that wasn’t serious.”
“One, I said I wasn’t bringing anyone who wasn’t serious home and I’m not bringing Phil home, and two, we aren’t dating — yet,” Dan retorted, throwing himself onto his bed with a content sigh. It felt so good to be back home, especially knowing that tomorrow, he’d wake up and not have to pretend to care about Isabella anymore.
“I see how it is, you’re playing the technicality card.” Adaline’s smug teasing was beginning to make Dan worried that she wouldn’t actually agree.
“Look, will you do it or not?” Dan snapped impatiently.
“A chance to watch you drunkenly embarrass yourself in front of someone you like? Obviously I’m coming.”
“I resent that,” Dan muttered, but Adaline kept talking over him.
“But you get to figure out what we’re telling Mum and Dad. And Phil, for that matter, because I assume you don’t want to tell him that you made your little sister travel an hour just to come babysit you.”
“You’re the best Adaline. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll book you a ticket and forward you the confirmation when I hang up.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow you fucking idiot.”
You’re a fucking idiot, Dan thought back at her bitterly, because Adaline had already hung up.
*****************************
It was half past ten, and while Phil didn’t usually sleep until closer to three, he was already getting ready for bed. He figured if he was going to feel somewhat sorry and pathetic for himself, he might as well do it while wrapped up in his green and blue check duvet.
He’d never been the type to really buy into Valentine’s Day — normally he didn’t care if he was single or not on the holiday. But this year, the date had felt a little like a slap in the face.
Dan’s visit to Beans and Grind, had been lovely — for the most part. No matter what day it was, Phil would always savor any time he got with Dan, but he had been particularly grateful to get a few hours of Dan’s undivided attention today.
It was just that, well, it had left him wanting more.
To be fair, Phil knew that there was no amount of time that he could have with Dan that wouldn’t leave Phil wanting more. Looking back, Phil couldn’t identify when he’d gone from simply enjoying spending time with Dan to craving it and dreading its end.
Phil, could, however pick out the exact moment that he’d realized that his feelings for Dan were so much stronger than a normal crush.
It had been a cold day filled with snow flurries and gusts of wind. Phil honestly hadn’t expected Dan to come into the coffee shop — if Phil hadn’t have had to work, he certainly wouldn’t have left his flat. But just an hour into Phil’s shift, when the snow flurries had been at their heaviest, Dan had waltzed in, wearing a fluffy hat and an oversized coat. He’d brought his laptop with him, but he’d never got around to opening it. Instead, he’d ordered a hot chocolate, demanding that Phil drink one with him. It had taken a few sips of the hot beverage before Dan had finally felt warm enough to shed his massive coat, and when he had —
When Dan had taken off his coat, Phil had seen what Dan was wearing.
Phil’s jumper.
Out of all of the that clothes Dan owned, for some unfathomable reason, Dan had chosen to wear Phil’s pugs not drugs jumper — a jumper that was so unbelievably different from Dan’s normal aesthetic that Phil had originally worried Dan wouldn’t even wear it as an alternative to his own soaked shirt.
And yet there Dan was, wearing it for no apparent reason other than because he’d wanted to.
Dan had curled up on his chair, somehow, and gotten lost in conversation with Phil. He’d looked impossibly young and cuddly and comfortable, and Phil had known right then that not only did he want to see this version of Dan again, he wanted to see every version of Dan.
God, Phil was so fucked.
Valentine’s Day just sucked this year. The things that he had done — work, see Dan — hadn’t sucked, sure. But the whole day left a rotten taste in his mouth. Left him bitter about the fact that he’d gone and fallen for someone who wasn’t available.
Trying to minimize the agony of the day, Phil had completely avoided the internet all day, other than his brief DMs with Dan that morning. He just hadn’t been in the mood to deal with the constant love love love that was sure to be everywhere, and figured it was safest to hold off until tomorrow.
But at quarter to midnight, when his laptop had died and Phil was too lazy to go across the room to find the television remote, he gave into the temptation. How bad could it be?
The first thing he noticed when he opened up twitter was that he had a new DM from Dan that he’d somehow missed — he must have cleared the notification on accident. The second thing he noticed was that he had approximately a thousand mentions. Which wasn’t a crazy amount for him — not by a long shot. But usually, any significant amount of mentions was preceded by something from him, and he had been completely silent today.
Maybe some of his followers were just wishing him a Happy Valentine’s Day? In the past, his followers had started hashtags on his birthday or a holiday — maybe they had done that again?
The temptation of knowing what the hell was going on somehow overrided Phil’s perpetual desire to talk to Dan. Hesitantly, Phil clicked on his notifications, and scrolled through his mentions.
@AmazingKendra: @danielhowell i get that @IsabellaDeLaRenta is pretty but have you seen @AmazingPhil
@DanIsTheMan64: @danielhowell tbh your smile looked more genuine in that picture with @AmazingPhil last week
@DieDanellaDie: @danielhowell fuck #danella. i’m fucking disgusted with @IsabellaDeLaRenta and you can do better. i only ship #phan now @AmazingPhil
There had to be some kind of context to these tweets. Phil kept scanning, trying to find someone who included something more helpful in their messages. Finally, he found one that tagged someone other than him, Dan, or Isabella.
@iHowellForDan: @danielhowell did you see the @Tatler picture? Just move on already (preferably to @AmazingPhil)
Phil knew about Tatler. They were a gossip website that he’d been featured on one too many times to have any respect for, but he was desperate to figure out what the hell was going on.
Well, that seemed as good of a place to start as any.
Phil’s stomach was clenched in a tight knot as he clicked on @Tatler. He had no idea what to expect.
Fuck they tweeted a lot. How many people ran this account? It couldn’t possibly be just one. The gossip website was far too massive for its own good. Each tweet felt like a shot in the dark in the hopes that something would land them some hits.
It look a moment of scrolling to find anything that might be relevant and then — shit. That was it. That explained at least some part of what was going on.
There was a very risque picture of Isabella on a beach in some random dude’s arms. According to the magazine, the picture was taken just two days ago.
The nerves in Phil’s stomach turned to guilt. He’d been hoping, praying for Dan and Isabella to break up. But he’d never wanted it to be because of something as serious or cruel as Isabella cheating on Dan, and, well, that’s exactly what this picture looked like.
Wait, shit.
Dan.
Was Dan okay?
Phil couldn’t even begin to imagine how Dan might be feeling right now, if that picture had any truth to it, if Dan had seen it.
Phil abandoned his quest to figure out what the hell was going on in favor of opening the DM from Dan. If Dan was upset and had messaged Phil about everything that was happening — whatever that may be — Phil wanted to be there for him.
The message wasn’t Dan freaking out, though. In fact, it didn’t seem to have any connection to what was happening on twitter at all.
Daniel Howell: text me about drinks tomorrow 020 2436 8532
It was short and simple, but it made Phil’s heart soar. Actual Dan Howell’s phone number was sitting in Phil’s twitter inbox. He hadn’t even had to ask for it.
Part of Phil wanted to continue stalking twitter, to read through all of the available tweets to figure out what the hell was going on. But if Phil had learned anything through being in the public eye, it was that more often than not, whatever the public was assuming to be true on twitter was either wildly off base, or a gross oversimplification of things.
Besides, he’d rather hear about whatever was happening in Dan’s life from Dan himself. And now, Phil had a much more efficient way to get a hold of him.
Maybe it would come across as eager, perhaps even too desperate, since the message had only came in an hour and a half ago, but Phil didn’t care. He copy and pasted the number into a new text message, only to stare blankly at the screen.
What the fuck was he supposed to say?
Did he mention the shitshow that was happening on twitter? Did he ask about how Dan’s Valentine’s Day was? Should he ask if there was any truth to the picture of Isabella?
Phil opted to ignore all of the questions he had — at least for now — and send something more casual, allowing Dan to take charge of the conversation and say… whatever he wanted Phil to know.
Phil: This already seems like a more efficient method of communication than twitter -Phil
Even though Phil knew Dan was a night owl, he didn’t expect Dan to text back instantly. It was, of course, still Valentine’s Day, and just because Dan had a moment free on his phone earlier, didn’t mean he still did. Plus, even if Dan was home, he probably wasn’t attached to his phone like Phil was.
Boy, was Phil wrong.
It took less than a minute for Dan to reply. And reply. And reply.
Dan: hey there stranger
Dan: i agree. it’s too easy to miss messages on twitter
Dan: now i can just shout at you. much easier.
Phil chuckled. And to think that he had been worried about coming across as too eager. Meanwhile, Dan was sitting somewhere triple texting Phil.
Not that Phil was complaining.
No, Phil was sat in bed at midnight, staring down at his phone, smiling like a complete idiot because of a boy. How was it that Dan was able to make Phil this flustered, this happy from halfway across town?
He felt like a lovesick teenager — and was half tempted to call up his best friend to help him draft a text message like he was fifteen again.
That was ridiculous, Phil realized. He was twenty-goddamn-seven years old. He could message back a cute boy on his own for fucks sake.
He wasn’t sure what to say though. He started typing, trying to figure out the best response.
I know, twitter was a pain — delete.
How was tonight? — delete.
So you want to —
Phil’s third attempt to write a message was interrupted by another text from Dan.
Dan: you still up for drinks tomorrow?
That message wasn’t hard to respond to, at least. A smile snuck its way onto Phil’s face. He felt more like a teenager getting asked to a school dance than he cared to admit.
I am if you am
That made it sound like Phil was being dragged out to drinks with Dan — which was definitely not the case.
Delete.
Absolutely
That sounded a bit too eager, right?
Delete.
Phil tried again, and ended up settling on something that probably still counted as too eager in most people’s books, but, well, a lot of Phil’s actions so far could probably be considered as too eager.
Phil: Of course! What time are you free?
Dan: anytime after 7 works for me
Dan: one small thing though
Oh god, Phil’s heart dropped into his stomach.
A million possibilities rushed through Phil’s head. Had Isabella put her foot down about Dan spending time with Phil? Had Dan realized how flirty their relationship was and gotten uncomfortable? Was Dan going to want to bring Isabella along for drinks?
This was it, Dan was going to find some way to force a line between them. He was going to invite Isabella or remind Phil that he was a man in a committed relationship or tell Phil that he was one hundred percent straight.
Phil took a deep breath and forced himself to respond as naturally as he could.
Phil: What’s up?
The three typing dots seemed to flash in time with Phil’s far-too-fast heart. Dot, dot, dot, thump, thump, thump. What the fuck was Dan typing? Why was it taking so long? What did—
Dan: i just found out today that my sister is coming into london tomorrow. do you mind if she tags along?
His sister. It was just his sister.
Phil let out the breath he was holding, relief coursing through his body. Dan wasn’t trying to build some wall between them, Phil wasn’t being pushed away. Dan just wanted to bring his sister to drinks with them.
A sister that it took Isabella almost a year to meet, a self-satisfied piece of Phil’s mind added without his consent.
Phil: Sounds great! Where do you want to meet?
Dan: do you know harolds? it’s like a block over from b&g
Phil: Yeah! Emmalee and I have gone there a few times. Sounds good! Meet there at 7?
Dan: great xx
****************************
The next day went by far, far slower than Phil wanted it to. He was anxious to get through his meetings with the BBC and his manager, Marianne, so that he could finally get to the part of the day where he got to see Dan.
Dan, who a whole mass of people on twitter were speculating might be single now. Dan, who had given Phil his number right after a risque picture of his girlfriend had leaked. Dan, this boy that Phil was more than a little enamoured with and who might, just might, like Phil back.
And Phil wasn’t just getting to see Dan, he was getting to have drinks with Dan.
But the day seemed to absolutely drag on.
The day’s meetings at the BBC had been longer and more frustrating than normal. Overall, Phil was incredibly lucky. He was one of the first internet creators that the BBC had taken a risk on, and the success of his weekly radio show had not only opened the doors for dozens of other internet creators to work with the BBC, but had also allowed him to be granted a frankly ridiculous amount of creative freedom.
However, his shows producers had recently been pushing for Phil to do a special one-time show with a guest co-host — preferably someone with a strong musical background. They’d said it was to broaden the audience that listens to BBC Radio shows and, for some absurd reason, they’d thought Phil’s show would be the best place to start. They were really pleased with the younger demographic Phil’s show had reached, but were hoping to introduce new listeners — who were supposedly more interested in music than the internet — to his show.
Phil understood their point; the radio station was first and foremost about music, and his show (as well as several that had started after the success of Phil’s) focused much more heavily on other things. It made sense that they would want to have a special episode (or maybe even two, as they had hinted at) with someone who knew more about music than Phil did, someone that appealed to a different demographic. It would attract new listeners to the show who were interested in the special host — listeners who would potentially turn into more devoted listeners of BBC Radio.
The producers weren’t particularly picky about who Phil invited onto his show— in fact, they had thrown several big, exciting names at Phil. They seemed fairly confident that they could secure a one-time appearance from anyone performing in the Live Lounge in the upcoming weeks. The producers had also offered to reach out to people from other parts of the music industry, if Phil preferred. As he walked back to his apartment, his mind was still reeling at some of the names they had suggested.
And it was great. Phil knew he should be ecstatic about this kind of opportunity, flattered that the BBC had thought that his measly little radio show was the right place to start gaining a new demographic. But the fact of the matter was, Phil was too fucking awkward to have a co-host he barely knew — especially a famous one. When it came to interacting with people, Phil was a mess. At least when he did collabs, he was able to edit out all of his awkward social interactions. But live? Live, he would be forced to endure his viewers mocking his social ineptitude for weeks.
He just wasn’t very good at interacting with people he didn’t know, and he didn’t need the whole world to see that.
So Phil had tried his best to fight them, to lay out why that might be a horrific idea. At the end of the meeting, though, they had made him promise to think about it, and if he came up with anyone he would collaborate with — anyone at all — to email his producers as soon as possible, and they would try to set it up.
Unlikely, Phil scoffed. He was fairly certain that there was no way he was going to feel comfortable hosting some bigshot that he barely knew on his show.
Because of all of the conflict, Phil’s meetings took longer than he anticipated. By the time he got home, he barely had time to change and have a quick bite to eat before he had to head out the door to meet Dan.
************************
Phil, who always did his best to be on time, showed up to Harold’s at 6:58, knowing that there was absolutely no chance that Dan was there yet. If Phil had learned one thing while getting to know Dan, it was that Dan was basically incapable of being on time.
Surely, it had to annoy a lot of people in his life, but Phil found it to kind of be an endearing quality. The more he got to know Dan, the more he realized that Dan was always late because he had a tendency to get wholeheartedly wrapped up in whatever he was doing, which usually caused him to misjudge how long he needed to get ready, or how much time he needed to allot for travel. That was just how Dan was, Phil had discovered — an unbelievably passionate person.
So when Phil walked into Harold’s two minutes early, only to be greeted with, “Hey, Phil! Over here!” he understandably had a moment of panic. For a moment, Phil was convinced that a fan just happened to be in the same bar where Phil was about to have drinks with Dan Howell.
But then his eyes found the person shouting at him, landing on none other than Dan himself, who was seated with his back to the door. He was peeking out over the edge of a tall booth he was tucked into — a small, four-person booth in the back corner.The bar, with its dim lighting and slightly dodgy atmosphere, already lent itself to anonymity, but the far back booth, with the flickering light and high walls, practically screamed leave us alone.
It was exactly the booth Phil would have picked out, and not just because he was hoping to avoid the scrutiny of his viewers for the evening.
Fuck, Phil shouldn’t be thinking about that. He had no actual evidence that Dan was single — twitter was notorious for getting facts wrong. And even if Dan turned out to be single now, this wasn’t a date. When Dan had originally asked Phil to get drinks, he was literally on his way to a Valentine’s Day date with this girlfriend. Plus, Dan’s sister was getting drinks with them. If that didn’t scream this isn’t a date, Phil wasn’t sure what did.
But still, Phil felt a spark of happiness that he couldn’t quite squash when he thought about the fact that Dan had selected the most intimate booth in the bar.
Phil made his way over to Dan’s side, dodging around all of the empty tables. “You’re here,” he said in lieu of a proper greeting when he got to the booth.
“Yeah, you spoon. Of course I’m here.” Dan had a smirk on his face, but his eyes reflected genuine happiness. Whatever Tatler was insinuating about Isabella must not be true, not if Dan currently looked this happy. Phil tried not to feel too disappointed. Above everything else, Dan had become one of Phil’s best friends, and Phil shouldn’t be rooting for his heart to get broken.
“I just meant, you’re early,” Phil teased.
At the end of the booth, Dan’s coat was hanging on a hook — it was the one that Dan claimed made him look like a wraith, but Phil would argue just made him look kissable.
Phil pulled off his much brighter coat and hung it over top of Dan’s.
Assuming the second drink sat next to Dan belonged to Adaline, Phil started to move around to the other side of the table, prepared to sit across from Dan, but Dan caught him off guard when he grabbed onto Phil’s sleeve and pulled him into the booth next to him. The full, fruity looking drink was pushed towards him.
Dan nodded his head and raised his own drink in a quick cheers motion.
Phil wrapped his hands around the cold drink, pulling it in front of him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.” He tipped his drink towards Dan, mimicking the cheers, but way less smoothly. Unlike Dan, Phil nearly sloshed a bit of the drink out. Smooth.
Dan sent him an unimpressed look, but Phil could see the humor dancing in his eyes. “I’m capable of being early, Philip.”
“Really?” Phil cocked an eyebrow. “Because I’ve never seen it.”
“Shut up,” Dan swatted his arm, twisting around a bit in the booth so he could look at Phil properly. Dan’s leg came up to rest on the booth between them, his ankle tucking under his opposite knee so that his shin was pressing against Phil’s thigh. “You don’t know everything about me.”
“No, but I’d like to.”
Phil’s face flamed up, heat burning his cheeks when he realized what he’d just said. Shit, something about being around Dan made Phil confess all of his desires — even the ones he probably shouldn’t tell Dan about. The only salvation was the fact that Dan’s cheeks turned equally red, and his gaze suddenly dropped to his knee, which nudged Phil’s hip softly.
Phil thought he heard Dan mumble same under his breath, but he wasn’t sure. He was never sure of anything when it came to Dan.
Except for the minor detail that Phil was very, very sure he was head over heels for this boy.
“So,” Phil cleared his throat, trying to restore some sense of normality to their conversation. “I thought you said Adeline was joining us?”
“She is. Um,” Dan’s eyes flitted to his phone, which was resting face up on the table. “Her train was delayed, actually. That’s part of why I’m early. I realized she was going to be late like fifteen minutes ago and I figured you were probably on your way, so I just told her to drop her bag off at my place and come down and meet us.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have minded waiting if you wanted to pick her up,” Phil insisted.
“No!” Dan almost shouted, before widening his eyes bashfully at Phil. “I — she’s a big girl. She’s capable of getting a cab from the train station to my flat and walking one block. It’s fine.”
Phil took another sip of his drink. “Okay, then. I’m excited to meet her, but I’m not heartbroken to get a little bit of time alone with you.”
Dan’s eyes widened, and for a moment Phil was worried that he’d said the wrong thing, that he’d finally found the imaginary line between them and leaped over it. But his worries were assuaged when Dan let out a tiny whine before collapsing forward, his forehead falling onto Phil’s shoulder. Trying his best not to disturb Dan, to not make him feel like he needed to move, Phil twisted his head a bit so he could look at Dan. From what Phil could see of his face, Dan was smiling bashfully, his dimples and red patch on full display.
This time, Phil was confident that he heard Dan mumble me either — he could feel the vibrations of Dan’s voice against his arm. Phil could get used to having Dan’s head on his shoulder, maybe even tucked in more securely, his breath wafting over Phil’s neck instead of his arm. Dan rested there for a moment, before leaning back up. The red spot on his cheek had subsided some, but the dimples were still prominent. Phil was glad for that, he hadn’t seen those dimples nearly enough lately.
“So, um,” Phil fumbled, still not quite composed after having Dan so close. “How late is Adaline?”
Dan sat up a hair straighter, as if the reminder of his sister had pulled him out of something. The way his leg was pushed against Phil’s, and how close his drink was to Phil’s, still left Dan very much in Phil’s personal space, though.
“She’ll be here within the half hour, she wasn’t delayed that much.” Dan took a long drink out of his glass, and the topic of his sister seemed to melt away. “So,” Dan poked Phil in the ribcage, “Tell me about your day.”
Shrugging, Phil took another sip of the fruity concoction. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he liked it a lot. Dan normally drank bitter things — who the heck drinks a triple espresso with only one sugar? — but Phil prefered his drinks sweet. He was glad that Dan hadn’t ordered him whatever dark liquid was in his own short, round glass.
“It wasn’t particularly exciting, I worked most of it.” Phil couldn’t keep the frustrated edge out of his voice. He wasn’t quite over how much he’d clashed with the show’s producers today — it was rare, so Phil didn’t feel particularly equipped to deal with creative differences.
Dan looked unconvinced, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. “Your work is exciting though,” he pouted. “What did you do?”
“Not Fridays,” Phil grimaced. “I always have loads of meetings,” he explained. “I have my weekly radio show planning meetings with the BBC today, which was…” Phil rolled his eyes and took sip of the drink as he searched for the right word. “Stressful.”
Dan’s glass — and the fingers wrapped tightly around it — pushed against Phil’s arm as Dan’s other arm slid across the table, his head coming to rest in the palm of his hand, his eyes staring widely up at Phil. “Why’s that?”
“Just, you know,” Phil waved vaguely, “Pressure from the bosses about things.”
Dan groaned, straightening up a bit so that he could take a sip of his drink. “I know what you mean. What are they giving you pressure about?” His eyes narrowed, a smile threatening to break out on his mock-angry face. “Do I need to go kick someone’s ass?”
“No, no,” Phil laughed, blushing a bit at Dan’s overprotective attitude, even if he was joking. Phil busied himself with another drink while he figured out what he wanted to say to Dan. “It’s just, you know, publicity type stuff?” His voice ended like it was a question, and Phil lowkey hated himself for that. He had no reason to feel weird talking to Dan about fame-related things, which usually made him feel insufferably pretentious. But if there was anyone in Phil’s life who would truly get it, it was Dan.
Dan stared back at him with raised eyebrows — not disbelieving, just curious — prompting Phil to continue. “I have the radio show, right?”
“Yes, which I finally got the chance to listen to and it’s wonderful,” Dan interjected with a playful smile. “I think your voice was made for radio, it’s hot. Although, the fact that you livestream your face doesn’t hurt either.”
What in the fucking —
Phil took a large gulp of his drink, unsure of what the hell Dan was getting at. Sure, Dan was flirty sometimes, but he seemed far more forward than usual today. Phil glanced at Dan’s drink, which was nearly empty. Was it possible that Dan was tipsy already? Tipsy Dan had been flitier than usual, after all. But Phil didn’t remember Dan being a light-weight. Surely three quarters of a drink wouldn’t push Dan to the point it had taken three drinks to get him to last time, right?
Maybe Dan had drank something else sometime before Phil had arrived?
“I — uh, thanks,” Phil stuttered, very flustered, completely incapable of saying anything more intelligent.
“So what about it?” Dan prompted, knocking the knuckles of his fingers against Phil’s when Phil didn’t carry on with his story.
“We’re having a bit of a… creative difference,” Phil offered in way of explanation. He didn’t want to bore Dan with the details of his story. Dan looked interested now, but Phil wasn’t sure if Dan genuinely wanted to know every intricacy of Phil’s life (like the way Phil wanted to know the intricacies of Dan’s).
Dan shook his head, bringing the amber liquid to his lips for another swallow. “That’s the fucking worst. What happened?”
Apparently, Phil had underestimated Dan’s interest. The question didn’t sound insincere. It sounded like Dan actually wanted to know about Phil’s problem, that Dan actually wanted to support Phil.
“They’re pushing for me to do a special show with a guest host — preferably someone who knows more about music than me — so that they can, quote, draw in a new listener demographic or something.”
Eyebrows furrowed, Dan cocked his head. “So you’re against this idea…?”
“A little,” Phil confirmed with a shrug and another drink. “I don’t want to see disingenuine — and maybe more importantly, I don’t want to make an ass of out myself on live air by being awkward because I barely know my co-host.”
Dan hummed as he drank the last swallow of his drink. “Would you feel differently if it was someone you knew?” he contemplated.
“I guess,” Phil shrugged. “It would at least feel less fake, and I’d probably feel less uncomfortable.”
Dan waved his hand in a gesture that seemed to say so what? “What’s the hold up, then?”
“I’m a vloggy youtuber, it’s not like I really have any work connections I can try to force into collabing on me with this.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Dan looked at Phil blankly, a slightly annoyed tint to his eye.
“What?” Phil asked, confused, after a few beats.
In explanation, Dan circled his hand around his face wildly, looking at Phil like he was an idiot.
“You’re going to have to be more explicit, Daniel.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “Gee, if only one of your non-work friends just happened to be in the music industry,” he said, resting his chin primly in the palm of his hand.
It took Phil a second, but he finally caught on. “Oh — oohhh! Would you — like — do you think you’d want to —”
Dan stared back with raised eyebrows and an expecting expression. “Yeah, dumbshit,” he said, finally. “I mean, I highly doubt that radio is my undiscovered talent, but I’d try it for you.”
“You’d — for me —?” Phil stuttered ineloquently.
“Of course, you spoon. I’d love first row tickets to AmazingPhil, even if that means embarrassing myself on live radio.”
“I’d feel bad,” Phil waffled. “It’s a huge professional favor, and I’d want to give something back. I’m absolutely rubbish at all things music, though, so it’s not like I could repay you at all.”
“Trust me, Phil, you do plenty for me. Both personally and professionally. If anything, I owe you a favor.”
Phil blinked blankly at Dan. What the fuck does that mean? Phil wracked his brain, trying to think of a single time where anything he had done had even remotely helped Dan professionally.
Phil was so concentrated on trying to figure out what Dan was implying that he almost forgot to respond.
“Um, if you’re serious,” Phil spun his glass awkwardly in his hands, “I’ll speak to them. They seemed pretty open about who I had on the show.”
With the hand that wasn’t cupped around his short glass, Dan reached up and ruffled Phil’s hair. “Of course I’m serious, anything to help you silly goose. Talk to them, and let me know what they say.”
“Thanks, Dan!” Phil smiled back, suddenly far more excited about the prospect of a guest-host than he had been that morning. “So how was your day?” Phil asked.
“Uneventful,” Dan shrugged. “I slept in, which felt great, and then I was surprisingly social for a bit, before managing to work some this afternoon.
The conversation that Phil had overheard between Dan and Louise had made it sound like Dan had big breakfast plans — plans that were big enough to require some sort of debriefing with Louise. But if Dan slept in before socializing, did that mean breakfast — whatever that was supposed to be — didn’t happen?
“I feel like I’m actually making progress on this album.” Dan continued, obvious to Phil’s confusion. He was smiling, though,, and Phil could see the passion building as he started talking about his music. “When Louise set a deadline of half the album before Germany, I thought she was insane. But at this rate, I think I’ll be okay.”
Phil managed to control his surprise at Dan’s lack of mentioning anything more exciting, but only just. Was work only thing Dan had done today — or was that all that he was willing to share with Phil? Phil wasn’t sure if Dan’s dramatic sounding breakfast plans potentially falling through was a good thing or not.
Phil sighed, trying to shake off his confused thoughts, and turned to his drink again, quickly finishing it. When he’d regained his composure, he turned back to Dan, “So you actually went outside and socialized today?”
“Meh, nothing big,” Dan said indifferently — he certainly didn’t make it sound like whatever social activity he’d done was noteworthy enough to mention. “I knew we were meeting for drinks and Adaline was coming, so I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to hole up in my house and work.”
There was no way Phil could continue pushing about Dan’s morning — not after Dan had turned the subject to work a second time. At least not without it being painfully obvious that Phil was fishing for details. He took Dan’s lead and switched topics to Dan’s music, genuinely curious about how his work was going.
“Were you writing again today?” Phil asked, trying to show that he was just as interested in Dan’s work as Dan was in his.
“Yeah, the song I was working on the other night, you know, the one from skype? I think it’s coming together. Up until today I just had snippets of lyrics but I’m pretty sure I made it into something coherent, something that flows and actually matches the melody.”
“That’s awesome, Dan!” Phil beamed, proud of Dan’s accomplishment. “How are you feeling about the album so far?”
“Amazing, actually.” Dan’s fingers tapped excitedly against his empty glass. “It’s not what I set out to do, but I’m somehow actually writing a concept album.”
“Wow! What’s the concept?” Phil blurted out before he realized that Dan might not want to — or might not be able to answer that. “Or is that top secret?” he added, giving Dan an easy way out of the question.
“It not top secret, per say,” Dan started before his attention suddenly snapped away from Phil, turning towards his phone. Confused, Phil’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze following Dan’s.
Adaline: did I miss you and loverboy at home bc i’m here and i don’t see you
If Adaline was here, and she knew she was meeting Dan and Phil — which presumably she did — loverboy had to refer to Phil… right? The rational part of Phil’s brain tried, really tried, to keep his hopes in check, to not think too wishfully, but the part of Phil that was completely infatuated with Dan was positively screaming.
With a message like that staring Phil in the face, it was almost impossible not to get his hopes up.
Quickly, Phil averted his gaze. He may not know what that message meant, but he did know that he was definitely not meant to see it. Fortunately for him, Dan was too preoccupied by the text and popping his head over the back of their booth, peeking back towards the door, to realize that Phil had seen it.
Phil ducked around their booth as well, looking towards the entrance and trying to who Dan was looking for. A younger girl was standing near the entrance, her eyes scanning through the crowd.
Dan’s knee nudged insistently against Phil a few times. “Budge over and let me out, will you?” Dan asked.
Phil nodded numbly, not fully processing anything that was happening, his attention still focused on loverboy. Eyes and mind glazed over, Phil slid out of the booth, letting Dan slip out behind him. Phil watched as Dan strode over to the door and enthusiastically enveloped the young brunette in his arms. When Dan leaned out of the embrace, he didn’t pull all the way back, instead wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her over to the table.
“I missed you, you know,” Phil heard Dan say as they came within earshot.
“It’s been like a month, Dan,” the girl responded, elbowing Dan in the ribs.
Dan shrugged, not looking embarrassed at being called out on his feelings. It was cute, seeing Dan so happy to see his sister. It reminded Phil of how he felt when he saw his brother after a long separation. Phil knew that Dan hadn’t been as close with Adaline as Phil had been with Martyn while they were growing up, but he also knew that Dan was determined to build a better relationship with his sister now that she was older. It looked like he was doing a good job.
Dan led her to the other side of the booth before hovering at the table’s end between them.
“Yeah, well,” Dan sighed, rocking back and forth on his feet, “It’s been a long month.”
“So it would seem.” Dan’s sister, Adaline’s, eyes flickered between their empty glasses, and Phil wondered if she was thinking about the fact that they had both already been on the same side of the table when she arrived. Lord knows it was on Phil’s mind.
With a look of intent, Adaline’s attention switched to Phil, her eyes quickly flickering back to Dan with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, right, sorry. I’m being rude,” Dan apologized, nervously arranging the mop of curls on his head. “Phil, meet my sister, Adaline. Addie, this is my — um, Phil.”
The tips of Dan’s ears turned red, a matching spot coloring his cheek. A wide, cheeky smirk took over Adaline’s face. It was a smirk he’d seen before; Dan had flashed him that same expression countless times.
My what? Phil wondered, his cheeks flushing to match Dan’s. Surely Dan wouldn’t have cut himself off from saying friend. So what had he been about to say?
“Good to meet you, Phil,” Adaline was saying. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The red spot on Dan’s cheek deepened, and Phil could feel his own cheeks heating up to match it. “I — yeah. I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”
“Awww, are you bragging about me, big brother?” Adaline teased.
“Fuck off, I can’t help talking about people I care about, okay?” Dan took a small step back from the table.
Shit, the both of them really needed to stop saying things that made Phil’s heart skip. At this point, he wasn’t sure if there was blood left anywhere in his body other than his face.
“So,” Dan broke the silence in what he probably hoped was a smooth interruption (it wasn’t). “Who wants what to drink?”
Phil pointed to his glass. “I liked whatever this was.”
“Okay, another Dark ‘n Stormy.” Dan snapped his fingers, making a lame finger gun at Phil. “Sis?”
“Whatever you’re having?” She suggested tentatively, her order coming out more like a question than a request.
“Right—” Another awkward finger gun. “I’ll be back in a moment, lads. Behave.”
Phil felt an internal moment of panic at being left completely alone with Dan’s sister after such a brief introduction. Apparently, his wariness wasn’t unfounded.
“So you’re Phil?” Adaline questioned the moment Dan was out of earshot, an impish look on her face.
“Y-yes?” Phil stuttered back insecurely, spinning his empty glass in his hand for lack of something better to do. Everything Phil knew about Dan was telling him not to trust the mischievous expression Adaline was fixing him with.
“Dan somehow forgot to mention that his lovely new friend Phil from the coffee shop was AmazingPhil.” A wide smirk took over Adaline’s face — a smirk Phil had seen before, on Dan.
Phil wasn’t sure just how worried he should be about the fact that Dan’s sister apparently knew who he was. Phil had told Dan countless things he had no desire for his viewers to know, and he had no idea how much of that information Dan had shared with his sister. Phil wholeheartedly trusted Dan, and recognized that if Adaline came from the same family, she was probably trustworthy too. But the fact remained that he didn’t know her. “I —”
He had no idea what to say.
“It’s fine, I saw through twitter beforehand, so it’s not like it’s a surprise. Don’t worry, I’m not a crazy fan or anything.” Adaline was much more nonchalant than Dan had been when he’d found out about Phil’s channel. Did that mean Adaline didn’t care, or had she just been exposed enough that it just wasn’t shocking anymore?
“Oh… have you, like, watched my videos?” Phil fished, trying to get a read on how potentially dangerous this situation might be.
“A few. I found your channel through PJ’s a few months ago and happened to see a few. Imagine my surprise when I found out you were the guy that was suddenly tweeting at my brother.”
“Er — yeah. Dan about had a heart attack when he found out,” Phil chuckled.
“I know,” Adaline laughed mercilessly at her brother. “He called me up in a fit the next day.”
“What a nerd,” Phil said with a roll of his eyes and a soft chuckle. He was pretty sure that his fondness for Dan was seeping into his voice, but he was well past the point in their friendship where he had any hopes of controlling it.
Luckily, Dan saved Phil from the embarrassment of Adaline potentially calling him out on his soft spot for Dan by Dan coming back, precariously balancing three drinks in his hands. He sat the fruity drink in front of Phil, pushed something clear and bubbly towards Adaline, and slid a half-full cup of amber liquid back towards his original seat.
“Let me in, Philly,” Dan smiled, tapping much more rapidly at Phil’s shoulder than was necessary.
“I’m moving, I’m moving!” Phil insisted. “You impatient little brat,” he added under his breath.
Unfortunately, his jab seemed to be heard by everyone at the table. Dan smacked him playfully upside the head.
“Oh look, he knows you already,” Adaline teased.
“Fuck off, Addie,” Dan said as he slid across the bench, stopping halfway to the wall so that he was still very much in Phil’s space when Phil sat back down. Absolutely nothing Dan and Phil did seemed to escape Adaline’s notice; her gaze was concentrated on the space — or rather, lack thereof — between them. Phil shifted nervously under Adaline’s scrutiny. He wasn’t sure what to make of how closely she was watching them.
“I thought I asked for the same thing as you?” Adaline questioned, letting her attention drift from the minute distance between them to just Dan.
“Yeah, but I’m drinking Jameson neat and I figured one of us needed to keep their head on straight,” Dan answered with a pointed look.
“Fine, fine,” she grumbled back, taking a sip of whatever Dan had passed her.
“Don’t worry, loser,” Dan quipped. “It still has alcohol in it. Plus, I figured you might like that better, seeing as you’re like Phil here and don’t care for bitter drinks.”
“Right, I’m sure giving me a weaker drink was a totally selfless, caring choice.” Adaline looked skeptically at Dan, who anxiously passed his glass back and forth between his hands.
Phil took pity on Dan and decided to change the topic, taking the focus off him for a moment. “So, what are you doing in London?” he turned with a smile to Adaline.
“Err…” Adaline mumbled shiftily, her eyes darting to Dan.
“We’re doing a uni tour tomorrow,” Dan supplied. Really smoothly.
“That’s awesome! Which uni?” Phil knew that Adaline was important to Dan and he wanted to show that he was interested, that he could get along with Dan’s family.
“Imperial,” Dan said at the same time that Adaline answered, “Middlesex.”
“Um…” Phil uncertainly looked between the two of them. Had one of them gotten confused? Did they suck at communicating? What the hell was happening here?
“We’re touring two!” Dan said abruptly, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights. “Middlesex in the morning and Imperial in the afternoon!”
Adaline nodded along quickly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m, um, trying to decide which I like more!” Something about the way Adaline said it sounded fake, like she’d decided that on the spot. But why?
Regardless, Phil decided it was probably best to drop that conversation, since it seemed to have sparked a weird vibe between the siblings. “I’m going to run to the loo,” Phil said, hoping that the tension would dissipate before he got back, and that maybe, just maybe, he could have a moment to think rationally without Dan touching him and causing Phil’s thoughts to scramble.
Dan tugged on Phil’s sleeve, catching his attention. “Will you get me a water while you’re up, Philly?”
“No problem. Adaline?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
“Be right back,” Phil grinned before he turned away.
He only got a few feet from the table before he froze, realizing that he had no idea where the loo was here. He glanced around, searching the walls for a sign.
“Adaline!” Phil hear Dan hiss. “Since when are you interested in bloody Middlesex?”
“I’m not!” she whispered back. “I panicked and said the first school that came to mind!”
Phil spotted the bathroom sign and slinked away, hoping to not draw any attention to how close he still was to the table.
So he’d been right — there had been some weirdness when they were talking about why Adaline was in London.
But if it wasn’t for touring a uni, what was she here for?
**************************
By the fourth drink, Phil could feel the rum loosening his tongue — something he should probably be concerned about, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about. In his tipsy state, he turned to Dan and finally asked a question that had been plaguing him since yesterday.
“So, how was breakfast this morning?” Phil drawled, looking curiously at Dan.
Okay, it wasn’t the exact question he’d wanted to ask, but it would hopefully still get him the answer he was seeking.
It wasn’t until Dan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously that Phil remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know about breakfast. All Dan had said was that he’d “socialized” this morning.
“I didn’t realize I’d told you I had breakfast plans,” Dan said in a tone that made it clear he definitely knew he hadn’t told Phil about his plans.
Well, fuck.
“I — um, so.” Out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see Adaline’s eyes bouncing back and forth, back and forth between him and Dan. Phil scrambled for a moment, trying to find something he could say to cover his arse. But his tipsy mind couldn’t land on a good excuse before his tipsy tongue took over. “Look, cards on the table. I might have overheard you and Louise talking yesterday.”
Phil wasn’t sure what he was expecting from Dan — maybe him to be angry that Phil had been eavesdropping, maybe a chiding remark. He definitely wasn’t expecting Dan’s eyes to widen all the way and a look of panic to cross his face. But that’s what he got.
“The whole conversation?” Dan looked well worried about something.
Oh, you know, just the part where Louise was demanding to meet some guy in your life and you wouldn’t let her into the coffee shop. And the small part where you both were freaking out about whatever the hell your breakfast plans are. But no, no...
“No, why?” Phil said instead. If the look on Dan’s face was anything to go by, Phil should definitely not confess to how much he’d overheard. Which was… interesting, given the content of it.
A wave of tension appeared to wash out of Dan’s body, his shoulders untensing and his fingers unclenching from his glass. “N-no reason.”
Phil didn’t believe that for a moment. He’d let it slide though, for now at least.
“Breakfast didn’t happen though,” Dan said cryptically, not elaborating oh why breakfast didn’t happen or what breakfast was supposed to have been.
Adaline, for her part, was starting at Dan just as studiously as Phil was, which led Phil to believe that not only was breakfast something Adaline knew about, but he was right in his suspicions that it was supposed to have been something.
Phil knew he probably shouldn’t, but he decided to push his luck. “Oh, why not?” He hoped he sounded nonchalant, and not like he had an underlying motive for trying to figure out more information.
Dan breathed out a long sigh and knocked back half of his drink.
For a moment, Phil was worried that Dan wasn’t going to answer — or worse, that Dan was going to tell Phil to fuck off and that Phil shouldn’t be pestering him with questions about something he’d overheard.
Dan pleasantly surprised Phil, though, when he confessed the truth. “Well, the whole point of breakfast was to dump Isabella.” His voice was quiet, his words slightly slurred, and his eyes concentrated on his glass, but the meaning of what Dan had said rang loud and clear.
Breaking up with Isabella. As in, Dan making himself single and available. But —
Shit. Dan hadn’t gone to breakfast. Phil latched onto that fact, trying to make his brain wrap around what that meant — that Dan probably hadn’t gone through with his plans to break up with her.
Why? Why was the world being so cruel to Phil?
“Did you change your mind, then?” Phil asked, aiming to maintain his casual demeanor, but there was a wobble to his voice that was surely betraying his true feelings: panic and disappointment.
“What?” Dan’s head snapped up from his glass, looking at Phil in alarm. “No!” he corrected hastily. “I ended up breaking up with her last night.”
Oh.
Oh my god.
A million emotions rushed through Phil, and he wasn’t sure which one he should be paying the most attention to. He was relieved, so fucking relieved that Dan was single. That Isabella was out of the picture. He was worried, worried that Dan was upset or heartbroken about it — or worse, that there might have been some truth to the picture Phil saw on twitter last night.
But above it all, Phil felt a wave a clarity. If Dan had broken up with Isabella last night, that casted his actions in the last twenty four hours into a whole new light — Dan giving Phil his phone number seemingly out of the blue, Dan being much more forward tonight, Dan’s thigh currently pressing into Phil’s.
Were all of those things connected to the fact that Dan was now single?
Dan’s eyes bored into Phil’s, looking like they were trying to stare into his soul, like they were trying to communicate something.
Looking like they were confirming everything that Phil was thinking.
Against his better judgment, Phil’s heart soared. He should wait until he’d heard verbal confirmation from Dan, he should wait until Dan was single for more than a mere day.
He should wait.
But he couldn’t.
“Mum said to pass on her congratulations, by the way,” Adaline said with a smirk. The tension — the sexual tension, Phil was pretty sure — broke between Dan and Phil as they boy whipped their heads around to face Adaline. From the surprised long on Dan’s face, Phil wagered Dan had forgotten that Adaline was there just as much as Phil had.
Dan shook his head, seemingly pulling himself out of whatever thoughts he was having. “Mum is congratulating me for getting cheated on?” He sounded somehow both bitter and humored.
“So it’s true, then?” Adaline asked softly, the smile draining from her face.
Dan’s gaze fell and he fiddled with his napkin. “Yeah, it’s true.” There was no emotion left, he just sounded defeated.
“I’m sorry, bear. That sucks,” Adaline murmured, rubbing her hand against his forearm.
“It’s fine,” Dan said with a forced smile, fake positivity in his voice. His efforts to seem fine about that aspect of it were painfully transparent. “I was going to end it anyway. That just made it — you know, easier to do.”
“Still,” Phil chimed in, “That sucks. I’m sorry it had to end like that.”
“I mean, yeah, me too.” Dan took another long sip of his drink, almost draining it. “But, hey, the outcome is the same, right? And it made me feel justified in doing it on Valentine’s Day, so at least there’s that.”
“Oh god, how far did you get in your date before things went awry?” Phil asked, horrified.
“Ugh,” Dan groaned. “All the way to the end. I actually DMed you right after I left her apartment.”
“Uh!” Adaline interjected indignantly. “Excuse me, did you really DM him before calling me back, Daniel?”
The ashamed look on Dan’s face was enough of an answer. “Um, maybe. It’s not like it took long!” he defended.
“Excuse you,” Adaline crossed her arms defiantly, but in her tipsy state, she misestimated her movements and ended up smacking herself lightly in the shoulder, which seriously reduced the effectiveness of the action. “I”ll have you know that you’d given me a right scare after demanding I call you with a fake emergency and then ignoring my calls for nearly an hour.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Phil interrupted before Dan could further defend himself. “Did you really make your sister call you with a fake emergency so you could leave? Are you fourteen?”
“See!” Adaline cheered too loudly. “Phil agrees with me, you were being a baby.”
“Look,” Dan tried to explain, his hands waving around a little more wildly than normal. “You guys don’t know Izzy like I do. She doesn’t take very kindly to having her… sexual advances turned down—” Oh god, Phil thought, the alcohol had clearly loosened Dan’s tongue as well. “— and by that point I’d used up every excuse in the book.”
“Oh,” Adaline’s brows furrowed. “Was she just really not taking no for an answer last night?”
“Er, not quite,” Dan mumbled sketchily.
“Dish. What are you getting at?” Adaline demanded, banging her hands noisily on the table in earnest.
Phil was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear this. Whatever details of his sex life that Tispy Dan decided were appropriate to share were probably things that would only make Phil feel like shit. Briefly, Phil considered excusing himself to the bar to buy another round, or maybe even to go to the loo for the third time that night. Anything to avoid having to listen to Dan talk about sex with Isabella.
But Dan answered before Phil could do any of those things.
“More like over the past month. I’ve kind of been avoiding that for a while now.”
“I’m sorry, you wh-what?” Adaline choked a little on the liquid she was trying to swallow.
A month. Dan had been avoiding having sex with Isabella for a month. Out of all the things Dan could have said about his sex life, that had to be the most surprising one. He was dating a model for god’s sake, why hadn’t he to have sex with her for a month?
Nevertheless, Phil was glad. He had no claim to Dan, but knowing that he hadn’t been sleeping with Isabella for a while now… well, it was a relief.
“It’s not that big of a deal, okay.” Dan gave her a sharp look. “It just… hasn’t felt right—” His eyes flickered over to Phil, lingering for a moment, before returning to Adaline. “—for a while now. So I, you know, haven’t.”
Shit. Phil froze, staring at Dan long after Dan had returned his attention to Adaline. The way he looked at Phil, the heat that was in his eyes, made Phil feel like maybe he was the reason Dan didn’t feel right sleeping with Isabella.
“Oh my god,” Adaline gasped. “I —”
“Drop it, Addie,” Dan said tersely. “Enough about the demise of my shitty relationship.” His voiced lightened up some, turning almost teasing. “Now tell us about this date that you may or may not have had tonight that you were so easily persuaded to bail on.”
Well that certainly made it sound like whatever Adaline was in London for was because Dan had asked her to be. That explained why they were so weird about the uni tour thing, at least. It was odd that they felt the need to lie about why Adaline was there to Phil, but his alcohol hazed mind couldn’t come up with any possible explanations for it.
And clearly, Dan was too far gone to keep up pretenses about why Adaline was here.
“I just wasn’t that interested in the bloke, that’s all.”
“You not have a great Valentine’s Day either, then?” Dan asked.
“Huh?” Adaline looked perplexed for a moment before recognition dawned on her face. “Oh, no. Not that. Um, don’t judge me and go all big-brother.”
Dan raised his eyebrows expectantly. Phil had flashes of what Dan might be like in full big-brother mode, and hoped that he might get to see a glimpse of it.
“The bloke from last night was good. We’re going out Sunday. Tonight was going to be a, uh, different guy.”
“Adaline!” Dan admonished. “Are you really dating around? I thought we’d already talked about the dangers of sleeping with more than one person at a time! What if one of them has something? You need to be a bit more careful!”
Evidently Phil was getting to see big-brother Dan after all. He found it funny that they were apparently so open about sex, but yet Dan was still being protective.
“I’m being safe! Chill, bro.” Adaline chugged the rest of her drink. “Oh looky there, I’m all out of beverage. Dan?”
“You’re a piece of work,” he mumbled to Adaline, before swallowing the rest of his own drink. “I get us another round then, eh?” Dan poked Phil again, forcing him to let Dan out. Dan poked lower than he had last time, missing his ribs and hitting the soft, ticklish bit of Phil’s stomach.
On instinct, Phil spun towards Dan, catching Dan’s hand in his own, a giggle tumbling out of his lips. “Dan!”
“Oh dear, is Philly ticklish?” Dan’s other hand came around, poking Phil in the same spot, causing him to squirm. Phil’s free hand flew out, snagging Dan’s other hand. “Oh dear, he is!”
Dan wrestled with Phil a little, trying to wiggle his hands free so that he could poke Phil again. He succeeded in loosening Phil’s grasp enough that he was able to launch forward and poke Phil again, his chest crashing into Phil’s arm. Phil folded in on himself, trying to protect his sides from Dan’s attack, causing Dan’s chest to slip from Phil’s arm to his back.
“I give, I give!” Phil managed to say through his giggles.
“You’re no fun,” Dan said, the laughter in his voice contradicting his words. The hand he’d broken free from Phil’s wrapped around the front of Phil’s waist, pulling him into a hug. Dan rocked him back and forth lightly. “You’re silly, you spoon.”
Phil leaned back into Dan, feeling so warm in Dan’s arms, but was startled by an obnoxiously fake coughing attack from Adaline.
“I’m still here boys. And parched.”
Dan’s face heated up. “Sorry, sis. I’ll be right back.”
Phil started to slide out of the booth to let Dan out, but Dan’s grip on his hips tightened, holding him firmly in place. For a moment, Phil was baffled at what Dan was trying to do, unable to make sense of how the heck Dan was planning to get out of the booth if Phil didn’t move.
But then, it became very, very clear how Dan was planning to get up.
Still pressing Phil into the booth, Dan’s opposite leg swung across Phil, and, suddenly, Dan was straddling him.
Time froze.
Phil’s vision, which had previously been slightly blurred from the alcohol, focused sharply on Dan. Dan, who was properly in Phil’s lap, his head towering above Phil’s, his eyes gazing down at him. Phil stared back up, forgetting that the rest of the world still existed. Instinctively, Phil’s eyes dropped down to Dan’s lips, and he thought about it. He thought about saying fuck it, about closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Dan’s. When Phil dragged his eyes back up Dan’s, he found that they were looking downward — like Dan was looking at Phil’s lips, like Dan was thinking about the same things.
“Fucking hell, Dan,” Adaline cried, sounding outraged. Her voice broke the trance between them, pulling Dan and Phil out of their own little world and back into the crowded, noisy bar.
“Right, sorry,” Dan murmured, far too quietly for Adaline to hear. His eyes searched Phil’s face one last time before he gave Phil’s hips a quick squeeze and climbed off his lap, abruptly heading for the bar.
Phil shifted in his seat. He had just enough inhibitions left to be embarrassed to face Adaline after that blatant display of flirting.
“So,” Adaline pounced on Phil the moment Dan was out of earshot.
“So…” Phil trailed off, unsure of why Adaline was looking so eager — and hesitant to find out.
Adaline crossed her arms, leaning forward on the table to inspect Phil. “You’re cuter than he normally goes for,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows and a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
Phil just about spat the ice cube he was chewing on out of his mouth. I’m what now? He tried to make his brain focus and think through all of the rum that was currently clouding his sense of rationality.
Did she mean that Phil was cuter than the girls Dan had brought home in the past? Because last time Phil checked, he hardly thought he compared to a damn supermodel. But, also, it was weird to compare the attractiveness of guys and girls, right? Did that mean — ?
Did that mean Dan had brought home guys before?
“Sorry?” Phil eventually spat out unintelligently. He was completely lost for more complex thoughts.
Adaline snickered — she knew exactly what she was doing to Phil. She clearly had information about Dan, his dating life, his history with boys that Phil didn’t know. And she was taking full advantage of her position of power.
Goddamn, her and Dan were too much alike.
“When it comes to guys, I mean. They’re normally, well, less cute. Don’t tell him I told you that though.” She winked furtively at him. “I doubt he’d take kindly to me drunkenly spilling his secrets. That’s definitely not why he invited me here.”
Phil’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t completely sure what to make of what Adaline was saying, but his heart was already skipping a beat, and his stomach was turning over. What Adaline had just said — it made it sound like Dan had definitely dated boys before.
“Oops!” Adaline covered her mouth dramatically, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “Gee, whiz, did you not know that Dan’s bi?”
Phil’s heart had skipped a few beats before, but now it was downright pounding. The shock of what Adaline was implying — basically saying, at this point — was slowly starting to sink in.
So Dan had. Dan had definitely dated boys before — something Adaline had very intentionally just told him. That had to mean something for Phil, right? All of the things Phil had thought might be flirting, the way Dan had skirted around Isabella… That must mean something, then, right?
“I, um, no. Obviously,” Phil said when he was able to muddle through his drunken shock. He tried to organize his thoughts, tried to swallow his utter shock at having it confirmed that Dan was single, that Dan liked boys, to ask if all of that together meant that Dan liked him. “What did Dan invite you here for, then?”
Phil had to resist smacking himself in the forehead. That was an odd question to ask, given everything Phil had just learned, but okay.
To his surprise, Adaline cackled. “Actually, he wanted a babysitter.”
Phil rubbed his hands down his face, trying to get the drunk part of his brain to calm down so he could fucking process whatever the heck this was. What grown adult wanted a babysitter, and why? “Isn’t he, like, twenty three?”
Again, the wrong question to ask. Phil mentally kicked himself in the arse. Why was he completely botching this one moment he had with Drunk Adaline to learn more about Dan’s life?
“And asking to be babysat by an eighteen year old?” Adaline chucked. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” Phil’s brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of that. Adaline seemed to find the situation as funny as Phil did. “Uh, why?”
Well, it lacked sophistication, but at least he was finally asking a worthwhile question.
“Apparently he didn’t want to drunkenly drag you back to his place to fuck.”
What in the —
If Phil was shocked by everything Adaline had said so far, he was completely floored by that.
A hot rush of arousal shot through Phil at the very mention of that, and he forced himself to shake it away as best as he could. Those weren’t thoughts he should let his mind drift to while he was sitting across from Dan’s sister.
Okay, fine, Adaline had said that Dan liked guys — that was great. And she’d implied that Dan liked Phil, which, okay, fantastic. But to explicitly say that Dan wanted to fuck Phil — that was a whole new level that Phil wasn’t prepared to hear.
He did his best to swallow his shock and respond to Adaline. “I — he what?”
Adaline narrowed her eyes, evaluating Phil, the slight upward turn of her lips a pale ghost of the raucous smirk it had been a moment before. She nodded slowly. “Listen up, though.” Her voice was sharp this time.
Phil’s eyes widened at the fast change in her attitude. “What?” So far, Adaline had been nothing but chipper and easy-going, so the quick shift to reprimanding took Phil by surprise.
“That kid,” she nodded to the bar where Dan was waiting in line for the bartender, “I’m not sure who that kid is.”
Phil opened his mouth to defend Dan. Dan was so insistent on getting to know his younger sister better, and hearing her say that she didn’t know Dan made Phil want to launch into a diatribe about how hard Dan was trying. But Adaline cut Phil off before he could start.
“I know Dan, well,” Adaline rushed on to say. “And I like this new version of him,” she clarified, sensing Phil’s desire to stand up for Dan. “But I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Phil cocked his head, trying to make sense of what Adaline was saying. The Dan that was here tonight didn’t seem that different from the Dan that Phil was used to. Sure, this Dan was a bit more forward, a bit more flirty than the Dan that Phil had previously gotten to know, but that could be easily accounted for by the fact that this Dan was single. That didn’t seem to explain why Adaline found the boy at the bar nearly unrecognizable.
“What do you mean this kid?” Phil forced out, hoping to figure out what the heck Adaline meant.
“The guy who doesn’t want to sleep with someone immediately after breaking up with someone else?” Adaline pointed out incredulously. “The guy who’s saying that he doesn’t want to fuck up a relationship by moving too fast and jumping into sex before he’s ready? I’ve never heard him say those things before you.”
Phil was dumbfounded. It didn’t seem possible that Dan was doing all of these things for the first time solely because of Phil. “You mean, he’s acting different… because of me?” Phil asked stupidly.
“Yes, you idiot, because of you.” Adaline rolled her eyes, just like Dan. “Apparently he’s determined to do whatever this—” she waved her hand vaguely towards Phil, “—is right.”
“Oh,” Phil breathed, unable to keep the wide, beaming smile off of his face. Dan had just ended a rather long relationship — it was downright dickish of Phil to be happy at this moment.
And yet, his heart felt like it was racing faster than a plane about to take off, his body was tingling more than if every single limb had gone numb at once, his stomach was turning over like he was strapped into a never ending roller coaster.
“No, don’t smile yet,” Adaline reprimanded. “I’m not done talking to you.”
Phil’s eyes widened in fear, but he couldn’t make the smile completely go away.
“Like I said, this is new. I’ve never known him to not be sleeping with someone.”
Phil’s eyes flickered away briefly, more uncomfortable with the idea of Dan sleeping with someone — anyone — than he’d like to admit.
“But that being said,” Adaline continued without any respect for Phil’s feelings, “He’s Mr. Fucking Monogamy — in case you couldn’t tell by his reaction to me seeing two guys at once.” Adaline shook her head in exasperation. “I know he’s happy to be done with Isabella — as are the rest of us, frankly — but if I know him at all, I’m willing to wager that getting cheating on is probably hurting him more than he’s letting on.”
“Of course!” Phil rushed to assure her. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I got cheated on, even if it was in world’s worst relationship.”
“Exactly.” Adaline stared at him pointedly. “Which is why you need to need to back the fuck up here.”
Phil was startled — whatever he’d been expecting the point of Adaline’s lecture to be, that wasn’t quite it. He worried at his inner lip, drawing it between his teeth and biting harshly. Did that mean Adaline thought Phil wasn’t good enough? Was Adaline saying that any possibility of a relationship with Dan was off the table?
“What do you mean?” Phil asked worriedly, trying to conceal just how deep his anxieties were running.
“I mean that I can’t drop everything and come to London every damn time you two hang out, so I’m going to need you to be respectful of the fact that at least sober Dan wants a little bit of recovery time before—” she waved at Phil again, “—this. Do you think you can do that?”
“I, yeah, of course. I just…” Phil searched for a way to articulate everything he was thinking, “Want him to be happy,” he finished lamely.
“Then wait a bit,” Adaline implored. “Let him come to you — sober, I might add.”
Wait.
Not fuck off entirely.
Just, wait.
Phil could wait. For Dan, Phil would wait until the damn sun burnt out if that’s what it took.
“I can do that,” Phil smiled.
“You smug git,” Adaline teased. “You’re too happy about the fact that he definitely likes you to give a fuck about waiting, aren’t you?”
“Basic—” Phil was cut off by Dan’s return.
“Here we go, lads.” He set the drinks he was carrying down on the table, sliding each one to the right spot. “I forgot how busy this place gets on Friday nights.”
“Mmm,” Phil hummed as he took a sip of his fresh drink, hoping to avoid having to say anything for a moment so that he could process everything Adaline had just told him. And maybe to hide the stupidly big smile currently sat on his face.
Luckily, Dan took control of the conversation, as he was often want to do. And, like always, Dan proposed something that threw Phil for a loop.
“I want to tweet,” Dan bursted out abruptly. “Can I tweet?” He turned first to Phil, then to Adaline.
“Hey,” Adaline raised her hands in surrender, “I’m not here to police your public life.” She sent a wink at Phil that Dan was, in all probability, too drunk to notice.
“What do you want to tweet, Danny?” Phil asked. In general, Phil had no opposition to tweeting — but also, Dan could probably ask for the moon and Phil would start knitting a big enough lasso, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge.
“Ughhh,” he whined. “Please never call me Danny again. She called me that all the time, and if I ever have to hear that nickname again, I’ll fucking die.”
“Sorry,” Phil apologized. “Dear.”
Phil received a swift kick in the shin from Adaline for that, but it was well worth it when he watched Dan blush and mumble, “I like that a lot better.”
A burst of warmth rushed through Phil’s chest at the genuinely content, flattered look Dan had on his face.
Phil cleared his throat. “So, dear—” another kick to the shin — that was definitely going to bruise, not that Phil really cared that much. “What do want to tweet?”
“Us! And our drinks!” Dan exclaimed, looking more like an overjoyed child than he had any right to at this moment in time. Phil picked up Dan’s phone off the table, grabbing Dan’s hand without asking and pressing his thumb to the home button to unlock it. Once it was unlocked, he opened the camera and slid the phone across the table to Adaline.
He turned his attention back to Dan. “What are we doing in this tweet?”
In response, Dan pushed Phil’s Dark ‘N Stormy into his hand, picking up his own drink. “Hold it and look at the camera,” Dan ordered.
Obediently, Phil raised his glass to his mouth, dramatically taking a sip for the camera. Dan held his up at the same level as Phil’s, giving the camera a knowing look. The camera clicked loudly half a dozen times while Adaline took several version of the same picture so that they had some to pick from.
When Dan deemed there to be enough options, he made grabby hands for his phone, taking it back from Adaline.
“Help me decide which to tweet, Philly.” Dan pulled Phil in by his sleeve. Even though Phil could feel Adaline’s drunken watch on him, Phil let himself lean in ever-so-slightly to Dan. Not enough to warrant another kick in the shin from Adaline, but enough so he could smell Dan’s cologne better, enough so he could feel the warm heat radiating off of Dan’s body, enough so that he felt a little bit all consumed by Dan.
“I like that one,” Phil murmured near Dan’s ear when Dan swiped over one that was a good balance of silly and cute.
“Perfect,” Dan smiled, sharing it to a tweet. He gnawed at his lip for a moment before typing your fave lads are at it again, tagging Phil, and hitting tweet without taking any time to look it over.
***********************
Four hours and five (strong) drinks later, both Phil and Dan had surpassed tipsy and were properly drunk. Adaline, who’d showed up late and was a drink behind, had a bit more sense intact — but not by much.
“What do you think, lads, one last round?” Dan proposed.
Phil looked at Dan, his eyes struggling to focus clearly. “Okay,” he found himself agreeing anyway. Phil moved to push himself out of the booth.
“No, no, no, no. I think you’ve both had enough for tonight,” Adaline interrupted, catching the sleeve of Phil’s jumper and pulling him back down.
“But Adddieeeeee,” Dan whined.
“But Daaaannn,” Adaline whined back, teasing.
Dan raised his hand to the side of his head nearest Phil, only sort of successfully blocking Phil’s view of his face.
“Addie,” Dan whispered loudly, doing a piss-poor job of not letting Phil hear what he was saying. “I don’t wanna leave Phil yet, though.”
Phil’s heart melted. He didn’t particularly want to leave Dan either.
“Too bad,” Adaline mocked Dan, whispering back equally loudly and not even attempting to keep Phil from overhearing their conversation. “I didn’t drag my ass to London just for you to go home with him.”
Dan petulantly crossed his arms, huffing out an annoyed sigh, but didn’t fight her any further.
“And on that note,” Adaline giggled, “I think it’s bedtime, eh?”
“Probably for the best,” Phil agreed. As much as he adored getting to see this drunken version of Dan, as much as he definitely wanted Dan to come home with him, there was just enough left of Phil’s rational brain to know that tonight was not the night for that. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, maybe not even any night soon. Phil knew Dan needed time.
Time that Phil was willing to give him.
Adaline stood up, offering a hand to Phil. Phil gratefully accepted the help, letting her pull him to his feet. It had been a while since he’d stood up and — wow. The world rocked for a moment. Not having another round was the right decision.
Phil turned around to face Dan, who was staring helplessly up at him.
“Come on,” Phil said, grabbing Dan’s hand in his and tugging gently as Dan got up. The combined momentum sent Dan crashing into Phil, the two of them swaying precariously. In sync, their hands reached out to steady each other, Phil’s landing on Dan’s hips and Dan’s grasping Phil’s shoulders.
The rocking world faded away. All Phil could see was chocolate curls, and espresso eyes, and strawberry lips.
“Philip!” A voice behind him said sharply. Phil whirled around, knocking one of Dan’s hands from his shoulder. Adaline was stood close by, her hands on her hips and a reprimanding look on her face. “Behave!”
“Oops!” Phil ripped his hands from Dan’s hips, stepping backwards, his embarrassment practically radiating off of him.
“And to think, I’m the teenager,” Adaline mumbled.
“Sorry…” Phil apologized half-heartedly. His eyes drifted away from Dan, from Addie, and to the far corner of their booth, where the three of them had hung up their coats.
“Coats!” Phil exclaimed, smiling brightly at his own helpfulness.
Phil handed Adaline her coat before slipping his own on. He plucked Dan’s off the hook, spinning Dan around by the hips so his back was to Phil. Taking much more time and care than necessary, Phil helped Dan into his coat, slowly sliding each arm into the hole and slipping the jacket up his shoulders. When the jacket was on, Phil twisted Dan back to face him, and took Dan’s zipper between his hands.
The alcohol made Phil’s fingers clumsy and sluggish. It took three tries for Phil to successfully thread the zipper into the pull, his eyes focusing on Dan’s once it latched. Unwilling to let go of Dan just yet, Phil tugged the zipper up as slowly as he could, savoring every second of being close to Dan that he got.
Everytime Phil saw Dan, he could his stomach flipping over, his heart racing, his face threatening to break into a smile for no reason other than Dan’s presence. Tonight had been no exception, and now, holding Dan in place so closely to him, every single one of Phil’s feelings was amplified. He never wanted to move away.
But nonetheless, he had to eventually. Phil closed the zipper the final few centimeters, tugging slightly at Dan’s collar, just for something to do.
When Dan was tucked securely into his coat, Phil turned around to see Adaline watching them in amusement, shaking her head at their antics.
“Let’s get out of here, lads,” she said fondly.
“Phil needs an uber!” Dan exclaimed.
Oh yeah, Phil lived a lot further away than Dan did. Phil moved to fish his phone out of his coat pocket, but Dan already had his own in his hand, calling an uber for Phil.
“Here, Philly, put your address in,” Dan ordered, passing Phil his phone with unsteady fingers. Phil took the phone from Dan, taking four attempts to correctly type his address in the destination box. Two minutes, the app warned when he hit confirm.
“Thanks,” Phil handed back Dan’s phone, turning towards the exit. Dan’s hands came to rest on Phil’s lower back, pushing softly, guiding him towards the door. Adaline trailed behind them, following them outside.
Phil stopped by the curb to wait for his car. To his surprise, Dan stopped next to him — right next to him. Just a few small centimeters away.
“It’s cold,” Dan mumbled, maybe in explanation for why he was hovering so close to Phil.
“I know,” Phil agreed, wrapping his arm around Dan under the guise of providing warmth. And he did feel warmer. Maybe not physically, but there was an internal warmth washing over Phil that he’d never felt before. Phil grinned down at Dan, who’d tucked his head into the crook of Dan’s neck, and pulled him impossibly closer.
They stood like that until Phil’s car came. Phil half expected Adaline to interfere, to tell Phil to take a fucking step back, but when Phil glanced over Dan’s shoulder at her, she was smiling fondly at them.
When Phil’s car pulled up next to them, Dan drew back, but not quite all the way.
“I had a good night, Philly,” he whispered sweetly, eyes searching Phil’s face. Dan’s tongue darted out, licking his lips. Phil’s eyes followed the movement closely.
He should step back, he should give Dan the space that Adaline insisted that he needed.
But before Phil could make himself do it, before Phil could force a bit of space between them, Dan was leaning in slowly, swaying the slightest bit. Phil was rooted in his spot, unable to even move his head.
Dan closed the distance between them, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to Phil’s cheek. His lips lingered a moment, his hand finding Phil’s and squeezing briefly.
Phil squeezed back. It was the only way he could manage to show his appreciation for the moment. Dan pulled back, finally stepping all the way out of Phil’s embrace.
A hot blush spread over Phil’s face, and, not for the first time that night, Phil felt like a teenager with his first crush.
“Me too, Dan,” Phil smiled softly, climbing into the back of his uber, his hand coming up to touch his cheek as he felt the ghost of Dan’s lips on him.
Me too.
a/n: i can’t WAIT to hear y’alls thoughts xoxo
#ly#love yourself#phan#phanfic#phanfiction#phan au#au#coffee shop au#barista!phil#singer!dan#iminclinedtowriting
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When You Least Expect It | 05
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings: tiny bit of angst
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate
A/N: Okay, this is the second part I extracted from that mammoth chapter. It’s a little shorter than normal as a result, but I hope you enjoy it.
Next: 06 || WYLEI Masterlist
You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.
The first date was supposed to be the most nerve-wracking one, right? And that’s why you couldn’t understand why choosing something to wear was even more of an insurmountable task than the last time. How even though your apartment was now meticulous, it still seemed unfit for Jungkook to see, and that was despite the fact you were still not planning on inviting him in. Oh, no, just because you didn’t put out on the first date, that didn’t mean you were reserving it for the second one in some half-assed attempt at sticking by these new values you had adopted.
So why had you, yet again, gone to town on grooming and dressing parts of yourself that he wouldn’t be seeing tonight? Surely you should have been going au naturel to guarantee that you wouldn’t dare let him in the vicinity of these areas?
Because.
He was disarmingly handsome, cute, and growing on you at an unnerving rate. Without being in the same room, even! It was mind-boggling. Perhaps the sheer fruitlessness of your love for Taehyung was beginning to dawn on you. Perhaps your outpouring to Hoseok had been a turning point.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps you were fooling yourself into thinking that you enjoyed Jungkook’s attentions.
Time would tell.
And time was approaching fast. He was due to pick you up in another five minutes, and you couldn’t find your fucking keys! Typical.
Buzzzzzzzzz.
Fuck. He was early. Good job you had pressured your lazy ass into cleaning up.
Sounding, you were sure, akin to an elephant charging across the savannah, you stomped down the stairs to your front door and flung it open, the two of you presenting each other with similarly toothy grins. His, however, won, because you were sure you were beginning to develop some kind of freakish fetish for his rabbit-like gnashers. “Hi!”
“Hi,” Jungkook brimmed so intensely with enthusiasm, you could almost see him vibrating. Jesus. It was still novel to you that someone was so sincerely excited to spend time in your company. As with anything that seemed too good to be true, your paranoia set in to fret over whether this was another – certainly more malicious – of Taehyung’s pranks. But for the next thing Jungkook uttered, you honestly didn’t give a shit. You would take it, even if it was fantastical. “Wow,” he breathed, casting a long, appreciative glance over your figure. “You look incredible.”
You blinked down at what you considered to be a rather hum-drum outfit – some black skinny jeans and a tank-top – and wasn’t sure just what he was seeing. You hadn’t even put on your fancy sweater yet. Yes, you were just that organised. “Thanks,” you exhaled a mild snort. “I don’t know about that, though. I’m not even ready – sorry to be a pain. You were considerate enough to show up a little early and here I am, frantically searching for my damn keys. Would you like to come in for a minute while I look for them?”
Jungkook’s upper lip thinned as his smile grew. Everything that came out of your mouth seemed to be music to his ears, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. His eagerness was almost abnormal. Or perhaps your sense of self-worth was just that skewed? “Sure.”
“Perspective, ____,” you heard Hoseok’s parting words echo in your mind. “Don’t always trust what your mind tells you. At the moment, it’s on the wrong side.”
You opened the door wider and turned to run back up the stairs – realising halfway up that it was probably impolite to clamber around your apartment like a chimpanzee in company. Awkwardly, you slowed down and looked over your shoulder to apologise, but stopped when you noticed that Jungkook’s eyes had been glued to the tight outline of your ass and his face was only inches from colliding with it when you stopped. Immediately you roared with laughter and his gaze flew to your face, his expression some hilarious amalgamation of guilt, mischief and chagrin. He hung his head low, like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry, you’re just—right in front of me, and those pants look really good on you—“ he spluttered, but you only laughed harder.
“It’s fine. I probably should have given you some notice before you nearly face-planted my butt, too,” you snickered as you ascended the stairs.
When you reached the landing, you led him into the living room, the place you were certain you’d misplaced your keys. While you frantically upturned sofa cushions and rifled through the magazines on your coffee table, Jungkook took the chance to absorb his surroundings. And, by extension, probably glean something about your personality, you surmised.
It was appropriately lacking.
“You have a really nice place,” he commented kindly, and you scoffed.
“It’s boring, and doesn’t have many personal touches,” you muttered distractedly, hands on hips and completely flummoxed. “I haven’t really had the time to do much with it, even though I’d like to.”
“I like DIY if you ever need a helping hand,” he offered, and that tore you from your quest for keys for a moment. You tilted your head in disbelief at just how genuinely nice this kid was.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smile appreciatively, then, remembering why you were still standing around in your apartment and not on the way to the movie you were bound to be late for, you growled in frustration. “Where did I put those fuckers? Hold on a sec, let me check the kitchen.”
Jungkook nodded and plopped himself down on your couch, and you found yourself mildly thankful that he didn’t ask permission to do so. You wanted to see him relax, to take some initiative, and maybe – this suggestion being entirely influenced by your unbidden libido – for him to take some control.
“Thank Christ,” you muttered under your breath when you found the offending item on your kitchen counter, right where you’d sworn to retrieve it from. Because you’d baked Jungkook some cupcakes, too, and you knew you’d forget them. Instead, you’d forgotten both your keys and the fucking baked goods.
When you returned to the living room, you saw him examining your various framed photographs. You approached where he stood and smiled at him when he looked up, his finger outstretched and pointing to one in particular: Your high school graduation. Your parents had, of course, been absent, far too busy for such a “glorified, pointless event. The piece of paper is what matters, darling.” But Hoseok and Yoongi had lined your sides as exemplary stand-ins, and in all honesty, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You had graduated together as classmates, peers and family that day. “Are these your parents?” Jungkook joked.
“Yeah,” you played along. “My two gay dads. They adopted very young. We’re very close.”
“My collection of photos looks scarily similar to yours,” Jungkook smiled dolefully. “A little more aesthetically pleasing, perhaps, thanks to my eye for composition,” he ribbed in passing, and you shook your head incredulously, “but just as devoid of family. I’m glad you’re displaying who and what actually makes you happy.”
Ah, yes, Jungkook had vaguely mentioned his own familial troubles. “That’s right. There’s more to life than pining after a parents’ overvalued love,” you commented rather cynically, but Jungkook was nodding his agreement. “I couldn’t have wished for a better substitute family than these two. I’m theirs, too, really. It’s one disjointed, but loving, family. You’re more than welcome to join,” you teased, and Jungkook shuddered exaggeratedly.
The side of his mouth arced into a suggestive smirk. “I’m not into incest, but thank you for the offer.”
You raised your eyebrows at his boldness. This was a first for him, in person. “Oh?” you let your one-syllable response hang in insinuation. And if he were about to respond, in kind, with a decidedly more salacious reply, he didn’t have the chance before you were shoving the box of cupcakes at his chest. You know, in that half shy, half ‘just take it!’ way that textbook Tsunderes do. You fitted rather easily into that god-awful stereotype. “I baked these for you,” you stated lamely, your face flushing for some unreachable reason.
Jungkook’s eyes widened as he opened the box and saw what lay within. “You made these for me?”
“I did just say that,” you brushed your efforts off with a nonchalant flap of your hand.
“Wow, ____,” he mumbled, gazing into the carton of treats with all the wonder of Pandora and her box. Hopefully, no such ills would befall him for consuming it. Possibly food poisoning, but that hadn’t happened in a while and— “Thank you, I’ll probably eat them all in one sitting when I get home.”
“If you do, then I’ve done it right,” you chuckled, then clamped your hands onto his shoulders and steered him toward the way he’d come in. “I’ve got my keys, let’s go.”
The car journey was subdued in conversation, but fizzed like nothing else with delicious tension. No particular moment had sparked it; rather a sequence of minor, missable happenings. A brush of hands, a waft of cologne, the way he had reached over to pull your seatbelt over your lap when you found yourself struggling. Jungkook locked eyes with you when it clicked into place and fuck if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him so badly right then, completely ruin whatever semblance of innocence he still had clinging to him.
Your curiosity having gotten the better of you, you finally broke the spell of charged silence by questioning him gently about his past dating life. “So,” you started awkwardly, picking at the threads that had begun to unravel on the sleeves of your sweater. “When did you last go on a date? I told you it’d been a while for me, so it’s only fair that you ‘fess up too.”
Jungkook chuckled, glancing at you quickly before returning his eyes to the road. He was, of course, one of those infuriatingly hot guys that drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearstick, oozing a confidence for driving that you were envious you didn’t possess. Oh, no, you were definitely as nervous a driver as you were a navigator of life. “I went on a few when I first moved here, a couple of months ago,” he admitted, and that uplifted you a little, to know that he had some experience under his belt. You wouldn’t want anyone’s first time to be spent with the unworthy likes of you. “But it didn’t work out, really. I haven’t been interested in anyone for a while.”
You couldn’t resist the urge to play coy. “And that changed?”
Without taking his eyes off the view ahead, his profile flashed with a contented grin. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Right. My parents have always had a very narrow view of who I should be with,” he sighed, his buoyancy vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
“Oh,” you puffed out, caught off-guard. “Is that why you moved away?”
It seemed like Jungkook hadn’t meant to steer the conversation in this direction. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. “Yeah. It was a rather twisted, complicated situation,” he was being purposefully vague and you didn’t want to see your night ruined by bringing up bad memories.
So, without thinking, you reached out to turn on the car radio and jumped so high in your seat you nearly banged your head on the ceiling. Fucking hell, he liked his music loud. “Jesus, Jungkook!” you swore, turning the dial to an acceptable level. He cackled brazenly and you swatted his arm in response, the thick leather of his jacket serving to protect him well. Yes, he was wearing a leather jacket, something he hadn’t deigned to bless your eyes with until you’d reached the car he was taking you in. When he’d swung the garment over his shoulders, it was almost as though it had played in slow-motion before your eyes. Every guy you’d ever had a crush on growing up had had a leather jacket. And, somehow, he pulled it off better than any of them.
To your delight, the radio was tuned to one of your favourite stations. “You weren’t just talking shit when you said the 80s were your favourite,” you mused, impressed.
“Of course not,” he gasped in mock injury. “It’s the best era.”
“You’re too young to remember it,” you teased, pinching your tongue between your teeth in preparation for a scathing rebuke.
He raised a sole eyebrow. “Do you want me to call you noona, is that it? Is that why you keep reminding me?”
You hadn’t been expecting that. You flushed and turned away, well and truly put in your place. It didn’t help that Taehyung’s overuse of the word had kindled in you something dangerously akin to a kink. “No,” you muttered flippantly.
But he wasn’t fooled. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh,” he dragged the offensive breath of air out, recognition sparking in his eyes. “You do want that?”
You shook your head vigorously. “No!”
“You do!”
“I don’t! I hate that word,” you hissed, the defensiveness of your posture – crossed arms, avoidant of eye contact – said more than enough.
“Noona,” he purred, and nothing could have had you whipping your head around quicker than that. He sounded fucking sinful and an all-too unwelcome throb nestled itself adamantly between your legs. Jungkook looked elated by this newfound power. “Holy shit, I’m definitely using that from now on.”
“Only if I get to call you my Little Sugar Kookie, then,” you shrugged, lips pursed and defiant.
An embarrassed groan met your ears. “Oh God, I don’t think I’ve heard anything worse.”
“Well then,” you sniffed, a smirk creeping back into your expression. “Don’t try me.”
You arrived soon after that exchange, your charged banter invigorating your spirits and expectations for the evening. He insisted, of course – and despite the roll of your eyes – that he open the door for you. Such blatant chivalry deserved a reward, you reasoned, so as you walked past him you casually yanked up the drooping waistband of your jeans, giving him an eyeful your best asset. There was no need to look back, of course, to judge his reaction, because you heard it well enough – some choked vocalisation that he tried hard to cover with a cough. However, you weren’t to be fooled – you didn’t have a lot you were particularly proud of, and sure your self-esteem was buried 6 feet underground somewhere. But the many men you’d gotten through had all agreed on one thing: that your ass had been the first – and last, when you inevitably walked away from their bullshit – thing they’d noticed about you, and for ample reason.
“I’ll get the tickets,” he jogged in front of you, his hands stuffed in his pockets and hugging his jacket to himself. Was he ever going to let you pay for anything?
“Let me at least get the snacks, then,” you offered, but he shook his head at you from the ticket office window. “It’s expensive,” you went on, acutely aware of how low-paying both of your jobs were. The least you could do was split the cost. He had, afterall, paid for dinner too.
When he came away with the tickets, he was still shaking his head. “Nope. You’re not paying for anything,” he insisted, pointing to the tempting display of diabetes-inducing treats. “What would you like?”
Everything he said and did was so mindful, so courteous that you couldn’t help but just stare at him sometimes. Like, was he real? And if he was, was he for real? Was he like this with everyone else? You still had so much to learn about him, and he did nothing but make it a pleasure to do so. “I’ll just have some salted popcorn,” you mumbled after a while of dithering. “I’m not really hungry.”
“I took you for a sweet kind of girl,” he laughed at his own joke, and you were immediately ready to take him down again.
“Nah, I like it salty,” you shrugged, but couldn’t maintain a straight face with the way that his eyes bugged out of his head. “Okay, you are far too easy to shock.”
Jungkook turned away and huffed, scrambling to repair his dented pride. “I just—I see your angelic face, and I don’t expect to hear such lewd things come out of your mouth,” he gushed, the cheese heavy and fully intended. He smirked in satisfaction when your hand planted your face in embarrassment.
“I actually have no comeback to that,” you relented. When you peeped at him through your fingers, he was tonguing his cheek in that insufferably appealing, arrogant way of his. “Stop that,” you chided.
He feigned incognisance. “Stop what?”
“Being sexy. I’m outlawing it,” you pouted.
Jungkook’s lofty front faltered somewhat. “You think I’m sexy?”
That wasn’t as plain as day? Just what the fuck were you doing with your eyes and words and body language every time you saw him? You thought you were being too overt. Maybe he shared your knack for undervaluing oneself.
The clock on the wall caught your eye. “Shit, we’re going to miss the start.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he called after you as you took off.
The only explanation for your lateness were your extended bouts of flagrant flirting for each new location you arrived at. It was, indeed, a trifling problem, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but revel in it. Eventually, though, you did make it to your seats, even when your eyes couldn’t quite adjust to the darkness and you tripped over someone’s legs, nearly pulling down Jungkook’s jeans on your way to the floor. Luckily, he’d grabbed your hands just in time, somehow even halting the momentum of your knees making an assuredly painful impact. You’d gulped then, realising just how much upper body strength he possessed.
Both of you whispered a quick apology to those caught in the fray and giggled between yourselves as you located a relatively empty row in the back. The movie had already started by this point, so when he unfolded your seat and held it out for you in one of his eye-roll provoking displays of excessive gallantry, you couldn’t even call him out on it. And he knew, by the shit-eating grin on his face.
You had to give Jungkook credit – the movie was almost unbearably frightening to you. He’d chosen well. Every time the killer made an appearance, you curled into him in preparation for the gratuitous gore you knew you wouldn’t be able to stomach. The first time you’d done it, he’d tensed like a bow string, his arm wooden and stretched obstinately over the back of your seat, as though touching you uninvited would see you immediately casting him from your good graces. But with your rough coaxing – grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him to you – he relaxed into his role of protector. And by the halfway point, he had become a veteran.
“I hate this,” you hiss-whispered into his neck. Without a doubt, you’d seen less of the movie and more of Jungkook’s frustratingly sculpted chest in the time that you’d been sat here. “I can’t look.”
You felt, rather than heard his chuckle, the vibration from his laughter lulling you into a temporary peace. With time, emboldened by your prompting, he’d begun to stroke the length of your arm to a lazy, consistent rhythm, allaying your fear somewhat. His touch was so different to the platonic affection that Hoseok had swaddled you in the other night. And it was different, still, to the way Taehyung would sometimes rub your shoulders when he saw how tightly wound you were – mainly because he’d never meant it with any of the intent you so wanted.
Jungkook evoked something else altogether.
His touch was alien, unknown, but oh-so right. His fingers were long, and strong, and although you couldn’t see them now, you knew how vascular his hands were. You’d never been handled by someone quite so built, so muscled, and this uncharted territory beckoned you with untold wonders you were eager to map out. The screams from the heroine in peril were no longer jarring, so absorbed in your blind appreciation for his appendages were you. When you lifted his arm away, Jungkook glanced over in confusion. And, bless him, a flash of panic. You smiled your reassurance at him, though you weren’t sure how well he could see it, and instead slid your palm over the top of his hand, your other coming up underneath to support it. He was no longer watching the movie, either, choosing instead to observe your curious behaviour.
The light in the theatre flashed brighter with the change in scene, and only then could you see the glorious intricacies of his ensnared hand. Turning it over in yours, your thumbs traced the lines of his palm, noting how smooth they were. This boy had certainly never worked a day of menial labour in his life. These hands were soft, uncalloused, and just how knowledgeable of a woman’s body were they? How many times had they gripped his—
You caught Jungkook clearing his throat in the lull of action on-screen and looked up at him, hitting him with a kittenish smile. It was more than likely just the darkness of the theatre, the circumference of his pupils lending themselves to the absence of light around you. And yet, the way he was tensed, his fingers slightly trembling in the looseness of your grip, you wondered if he would be looking at you so darkly right now, even if the lights were up. Were your innocuous touches stirring something in him?
Of course, you weren’t about to tell him that you had been committing him, viscerally, to memory. That later, in the privacy of your bed, you would be recalling the size and feel of him, to imagine what it would be like to have those same hands on you, in you, doing unspeakable things. But distantly, you wondered whether he would like that idea.
Neither of you, however, needed the aid of light to feel the way the atmosphere fizzed with tacit desire. He was leaning into you before you were, drawn to each other like North and South, and you were but four, three inches away from finally tasting him when you clambered over the armrest to close the excruciating distance. And that was when he stopped in his tracks. Slowly, his face angled down, and your lust-addled brain took a moment to catch on to why he no longer had any interest in meeting mouths. You followed his stricken gaze to his lap and the spillage your unceremonious scrambling to get to him had caused.
You’d soaked him through with Coke.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, a little louder than the people in the row in front of you would have liked, judging by their disapproving glares.
This wasn’t how you’d envisioned your first time looking directly at Jungkook’s crotch to be like, and yet here you were, eyes wide and aghast as the stain – very apparent against his blue jeans – continued to spread. “I’m so, so sorry,” you whined. God, it was impossible for you to go a day without apologising to someone over some fuck-up or another.
Jungkook, though, seemed to find it incredibly amusing. He threw his head back as his body was wracked with silent laughs, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. You stared, mouth agape, in confusion. “You’re not angry?”
“Of course not,” he wheezed. “Don’t be silly, it’s just a pair of jeans. It’s just, that was so perfectly timed, I can’t get over this. Are we in a drama or something?”
You smiled in line with his thinking, relieved that he appeared to take it in such good humour. Yet another sign that he was worth persevering with, despite what your heart may say. “Are you gonna be okay?”
The row in front’s disgruntled muttering had you wincing. Jungkook stirred uneasily in his seat and whispered as quietly as he could manage. “I don’t know, it’s getting kind of swampy down there,” he tried to repress a laugh but it only resounded all the louder, strangled at the back of his throat.
You chewed on your lip to stop it coming out. You really did, really did try and swallow it. But the temptation was just too fucking much, the opportunity too damn good to miss. “Good job I like sucking Coke.”
And that was when the woman in front rounded on you and raised her finger, but you were already high-tailing it out of there, dragging a bent-double, boggy-assed Jungkook behind you. When you burst through the doors and out into the lobby, the two of you fell into fits of laughter, falling against each other for mutual support and finding only a crumpling mess of giggles. “I can’t,” you sobbed, nearly incoherent. “I can’t get up.”
Sure enough, you were fastened to Jungkook’s waist like Velcro, your knees digging into the uncomfortably thin carpet, tears leaking from your eyes.
And then you heard him. “Noona?”
Why?
Why did he always appear like someone nearby had summoned him directly from hell?
Arms still cinched firmly around Jungkook’s waist, your head turned stiffly to heed his call. Seeing Taehyung there, his face, so charmingly betwixt confusion and amusement, was enough to extinguish your gaiety. Like having a bucket of ice water thrown callously over your head. “What’s going on?” he asked, and although his tone seemed pleasant enough, there was a strange look in his eyes, one you couldn’t identify.
“Uh, just a date,” you explained feebly, and Jungkook helped hoist you to your feet.
“Hyung,” he acknowledged him, beaming, and clearly unbothered by the unsightly brown patch marring the front of his jeans. “Nice to see you.”
Taehyung’s gaze flickered to Jungkook and, though he still seemed a little off, he smiled widely. “And you. I’m just here with—“
So today was the day you were destined to meet her. Why, why was Taehyung always just there, ready to ruin your day, your date, your fucking life.
Always.
And today he had an accomplice. Predictably beautiful, leggy, and with long, impossibly lustrous hair, Tara emerged from the ladies’ bathroom and hooked an arm through Taehyung’s. The way he fucking looked at her.
It decimated you.
It shattered you, inside and out, so severely that for a few long, vulnerable seconds, the extent of your hurt was broadcast plainly from your face. There was no strength to find, no desire to pin on some genial expression. Even when, internally, you were climbing the walls in a bid to do so. Your body was refusing to cooperate altogether. It was hopeless, trying to fake something welcoming, or excited, or any one of many polite – because she was certainly undeserving of your embittered feelings – emotions you should have been displaying. And now you were vaguely aware of Jungkook looking between the two of you when you didn’t respond to her greeting. He nudged you. “____?” and when you didn’t respond to him, “Noona?”
That had your and Taehyung’s immediate attention. “Noona?” Taehyung repeated slowly. “You’re getting on that well already?”
You couldn’t break here, not now. Not in front of either of them.
Hoseok will be there for me.
The reminder brought you to.
You approached the pleasantly smiling woman and reached out your hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m ____, Taehyung’s friend.”
She accepted with enthusiasm and nodded in recognition. “I knew it was you, as soon as I saw you. Taehyung’s told me so much about you. I’m so glad to meet you finally.”
Fuck.
She was nice.
You couldn’t even entertain the idea of hating her for being a bitch, now.
“Likewise,” your voice had taken on an abnormally high timbre, not far removed from your customer service charade. “I wasn’t expecting to until Yoongi’s party. This is a nice surprise.”
Taehyung was quieter than you were used to. Of course, the last time you had seen him had been that dreadful night at Hoseok’s, and although he had been texting you as diligently as ever after seemingly accepting your curt forgiveness, your replies had lacked the intricate subtlety of Hoseok’s carefully-worded texts. He could sense you were being weird, and you hoped to God, any God, all of the Gods, that he would never put two and two together. That night had been as dangerously close as you had ever come to letting on that you felt something other than happy-smiley friendship-love for him. “Noona,” Taehyung addressed you in an oddly assertive tone, and you felt Jungkook straighten just a fraction. “We should hang out soon.”
All the more for having witnesses, you wanted to end this painful interaction quickly. “Yeah, of course. Text me? We’ve got to go, Jungkook and I—“ you looked directly at his crotch and he faltered a little under your gaze, pulling down his shirt. “We had an accident, so we’re gonna get him home so he can change.”
Tara laughed; an enchanting, tinkling sound, and you tried so hard to hate her, but you couldn’t. “I won’t ask what happened, but you two looked like you were having a blast anyways.”
Jungkook grinned widely, flashing her his prominent teeth. Selfishly, you hoped she wouldn’t notice – surely it was impossible for any woman or man not to fall for them. “We were. We might have to come back and actually finish the movie some time, but—“
“No way,” you shook your head, visibly shuddering. “I’m not putting myself through that again. That was a stupid idea.”
“You’ve never been able to stick through the entirety of a horror film,” Taehyung sighed, smiling warmly. Tara was snug to his side and he seemed all the happier for it. “I should have given Jungkook a heads-up.”
The man in question shot you an imploring look and you were quick to defend him. “It’s not his fault, I insisted. I thought it would be, I don’t know,” you mumbled your latter words, coy all of a sudden. It was still weird talking about this kind of thing with Taehyung in earshot. “More fun.”
Tara clapped her hands and cackled. “She gets it.”
You laughed along politely before your face dropped a little too suddenly and you turned to Jungkook. “Let’s go?”
He nodded. You bid them both a hurried goodbye and walked a few steps closer to the exit, which flew open with the next person to enter it. A gale seemed to be blowing outside. Jungkook, of course, was already on top of your needs. It almost seemed like he’d been waiting for this opportunity. He removed his jacket and wrapped it securely around you, his eyes glinting gleefully. Peering over Jungkook’s shoulder, you caught Taehyung’s eye across the lobby and smiled weakly at him – honestly, your feelings for him were so mixed at the moment that you had no idea how to even interact with him. You loved him, you hated him, you wanted him, you resented him. You couldn’t be consistent, and it was fast becoming obvious that something was very off with you.
The drive home was quiet, just as it had been on the way there. But not uncomfortably. No, it was calm and content, and though the earlier build-up – of whatever that was – had died down in the face of some undue exhaustion, you’d had a good day. Yes, the appearance of Taehyung and his flawless girlfriend had dampened your mood to a large extent, but you weren’t about to take that out on Jungkook again, fuck no. He’d done everything right. And if, perhaps, one day you could just meet and not have Taehyung supernaturally teleport to the destination of your next date, that would be fantastic. As it was, that was what had happened today, and now you needed time to collect yourself. But you would not be unkind, and you would not spurn Jungkook out of melancholy.
When you arrived at your apartment, you felt glum. Did it have to be over?
Yes, it did, because you were not planning on continuing your dalliance tonight.
You heaved a sigh over your internal musings, and Jungkook looked over at you, unclicking your seatbelt. You weren’t so inept that you couldn’t work it yourself, but he just insisted on these things, half because he was too good for you, and half because he knew how much it annoyed you. The brat liked to tease.
“What are you thinking?” he freed himself from his own restraints and turned in his seat to regard you fully.
“I’m a little sad to go home,” you answered truthfully, and you hadn’t meant to be so candid. As a stranger to being so open, it was unnerving how easily you had offered up the confession. But Jungkook made anything possible.
He trapped one of your hands as it picked, in agitation, at your sweater, his touch instantly quelling your restlessness. When he so delicately interlocked your fingers, your heartrate shifted up a gear. You both just sat there, staring at where you were connected. It felt…
“Perfect,” he mumbled, and you looked up to see that he’d taken a bite of one of your cupcakes. “Oh my God, these are amazing,” he continued, an errant crumb flying with his full-mouthed praise.
You barked with laughter. “Way to ruin the moment,” you joshed, and grinned all the wider for seeing him hastily gulp down what he was chewing. “Not that I should be criticising you for that.”
“Wait,” he rasped. “Did I ruin the moment? Can I bring it back?”
“Only if you’re a necromancer,” you chuckled, letting yourself out of the car.
Unconvinced, Jungkook stumbled out of his side and around to you as you walked off. Your mouth twitched at the corners when you felt his familiar warmth surround your fingers, but you didn’t look back at him.
“Noona,” he tried to woo you, and fucking hell, of course it worked. You stopped to allow him to catch up, and he smiled as he passed you. Tugging you up the path to your complex, your hands now so intimately acquainted after today, you decided you would let him take the lead. Take what he wanted from you. Not, perhaps, that, not just yet. But in allowing him to reclaim the moment that you had so clumsily spoiled earlier.
You swung on his arm as he brought you around to face him, bumping into his chest gently. “____,” he smiled down at you, brushing a loose lock of hair from your cheek. He braced your upper arms with his hands and tilted you away enough so that he could examine your face. Jungkook loved to observe you. Whenever you chanced a glance at him, sure enough, he was usually staring. It both flattered and embarrassed you. You couldn’t understand what he might find so captivating. “Thank you for today.”
Jungkook’s jacket squeaked with the movement of your shaking head. “No, thank you. Even though I ruined things – as expected – it was so much fun.”
He tutted. “Stop putting yourself down. The way things turned out probably made it far more memorable in the end. Something, I hope, you will look back on and laugh about if you’re feeling a bit down.”
Ugh, he was so fucking precious. You sighed like one of those lovesick princesses who’d just been rescued by their prince. “I will. I’ll think about it often. The entire day I spent with you, I didn’t have one thought about work, or uni, or—“ you almost said it, but stopped yourself in time. You looked down, but he was soon cupping your chin and having you face the source of your squirming guts.
“I’m glad. I’m happy, if you’re happy,” he stated like it was God’s truth, and you believed him somehow. Jungkook swayed towards you, then, and in response, the heels of your feet left the ground. Your eyes fluttered closed, ready to finally receive him.
And that was when he grasped the lapels of the leather jacket still adorning you and steered your imminent face to the side. You felt his lips, but not where you had wanted, had expected them. They landed on the curve of your cheek, the heat of his mouth permeating where it pressed. The kiss was soft, and despite the innocence of its placement, mildly sensual. As he pulled away, you felt the coolness of the air rush against the wet mark he had left, the only evidence of his being there. Of its own accord, one of your hands drew up to your cheek to touch where he would be forever ingrained in your mind, and – like the lovelorn maiden you were so good at emulating these days – you had to suppress your knees from knocking together. “Oh,” you mumbled softly.
Jungkook scrutinised you with patent interest, delighted by his ability to disarm you. Fuck, if he caught on, he could get too big for his boots and employ it at any time. You weren’t simply wearing your heart on your sleeve, here, oh no. You were being far more obvious than that. The effect he had on you was apparent with his every touch. He might as well have been performing open-heart surgery on you for all your vain attempts at shielding it from view. You swore he could feel every thrum of it as he held you there, his arms having curled surreptitiously around your waist when you were too befuddled to notice.
“Uh,” you started benignly. For some reason, the closer your proximity, the less inclined you were to look at him. Probably because If you glanced at his mouth once, you’d be going in for a second helping. “I know you might be busy, but would you like to go to Yoongi’s house-warming party with me next Saturday? I know you don’t know my friends yet, and--”
“I’d love to,” he mercifully intercepted the beginnings of a flustered ramble. “Anything involving you sounds like fun. We could set up another date afterwards, if you like?” Jungkook suggested, and you were painfully aware of the hands resting timidly on your lower back. You willed them to move lower, but they didn’t heed your immoral influence.
Mentally engaged elsewhere, you managed a stiff nod.
“I’ll text you soon, noona,” he filled in the silence while you stood there entertaining such unsavoury things. He seemed determined to adopt this term against you.
“Okay,” you smiled breathlessly, returning to the present. You slipped his jacket from one of your shoulders, but he halted you immediately.
“No, keep it,” Jungkook was firm. “I want you to.”
Yet again, he left you awestruck. “Are you the leading man in a drama afterall?”
He quivered with mirth. “I did get my inspiration from that kind of thing, yeah. You warrant such treatment, though.”
“Oh God, stop it,” you were beginning to get giddy. It was time to exile yourself from his presence until you could rebuild your cool, collected façade somewhat. “I’m going, now. Good night, Jungkook.”
He stood there and waved until he could no longer see you. Of course he did. “Good night, ____.”
-
Next: 06 || WYLEI Masterlist
#jungkook scenarios#taehyung scenarios#jungkook#taehyung#bts scenarios#jeon jungkook#kim taehyung#bts v#bts fanfics#bts smut#jungkook x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook smut#taehyung smut#bts angst#jungkook angst#taehyung angst#jungkook scenario#taehyung scenario#v scenarios#v scenario#when you least expect it
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The Horsemen
I don’t even know what this is, but it’s been in my head so it needs to get out ! I might make it a multi-chaptered thing, with a chapter for each side if y’all like that idea. Also I’m tagging @demerite, @lana--22 and @taki-random because you all sencouraged me to write this so it’s really all your fault ... <3
Highschool AU, OC’s Point Of View
Pairing: none
TW: mentions of suicide, of death, of physical fights (i think that’s it, pls tell me if i missed something)
Length: 2.1k yeaaaah buddy
Also, i apologise if I got any of the biblical references wrong, Wiki was my main ressource
Urgh, I hate firsts. Firsts are always awkward, and ultimately disappointing. At top of the list is definitely the first day of school, especially when your first day happens to be in the middle of the school year. I had just managed to figure out how my locker worked and had turned to walk to my class when I was pulled out of the way just before being bulldozed by a mammoth of a teenager, who walked past as if nothing had even happened.
I turned to my savior to see someone even shorter than myself, wearing a baggy yellow hoodie and black skinny jeans, with white Converse. They had short, bright red hair that clashed beautifully with their hoodie, and a simple grey backpack was slung casually over one shoulder.
“Sorry about that” they said, letting go of my sleeve. “You were about to get trampled”
“Yeah I noticed” I said as I dusted myself off.
“Haven’t seen you around. You new?” They asked.
“Yeah, first day.”
”That’ll explain it. You’re lucky Famine didn’t flatten you. Usually everyone gets out of his way quickly so he wouldn’t have stopped.”
“Yeah I was worried there for a sec- Hang on did you just say Famine?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story. Tell you what, I’ll tell you at lunch, every newbie deserves to know the story.” They stuck out a hand for me to shake, smiling widely. I took it in mine and gave my best firm handshake, surprised at the upfront friendliness.
“I’m Chris, by the way” they said just as the bell rang “... and I’m late for AP History. Meet you here at noon? We’ll go get lunch” I nodded dumbly as they took off in the direction of their classroom. Not bad I thought, I’ve already made a friend. I shrugged my backpack further up onto my shoulder and went to find my own class.
*****
Midday soon came around, and I found myself in the cafeteria with Chris, looking at a surprisingly good school lunch.
“They’re called the Horsemen” Chris started without preamble as we put down our trays and sat in the hard plastic seats.
“The horsemen?” I repeated.
“Named after the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
“Oh. I’m not a christian, I’ve never heard that story before” I explained.
“Well in the New Testament, in the Book of Revelation, there’s a chapter that talks about a scroll that is sealed with seven seals. The Lamb of God -which is just another name for Jesus- opens four of the seals which brings down the Horsemen, the harbingers of the Apocalypse and of the Judgement Day.”
“Sounds morbid” I joke.
“Well, that’s the Bible for you” They chuckled. We chatted for a while about other things: where I was before, how I was liking the town so far, the usual mundane things. I found I really liked Chris, they had an uplifting personality and I quickly felt relaxed around them, something that didn’t happen often for me.
“Here they come” Chris announced, and I felt the room grow quieter as the door swung open. In walked a gang of five men -they definitely weren’t boys- who ambled their way over to the line to get some food, talking quietly amongst themselves. The other people in the queue tensed at the new additions, but carried on with whatever they were doing. The men didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t seem to care of their intimidating presence.
“That first one is Conquest.” Chris pointed at the first man, beginning their explanation “His real name is Roman, but no one calls him that anymore. He is what is commonly referred to as a man-whore. He’ll have sex with anything with a heartbeat. No ties, obviously. It’s just ‘Wham, Bam, thank you whoever’.”
I watched as Roman collected his food. He wore a white and red t-shirt, very form-fitting jeans and stylish sneakers. His hair was impeccably quiffed, and there was no denying his good looks. He shot a charming smirk at the lady serving him, and she turned bright red and giggled.
“He looks good, but I don't see how he’s so terrible” I defended.
“There's just something about him. Everyone knows how he operates and yet people fall under his charm and they're goners. They fall in love with him, and he knows it. He uses them for whatever he wants: information, tasks he doesn’t want to do, you name it. Once he's slept with someone, they become one of The Conquered. Half the school has been conquered by him so far, students and teachers alike.”
“Have you been... Conquered?” I asked tentatively. They chuckled in response.
“No, we asexuals are immune to his powers, a fact that annoys him greatly”
Conquest sat down at an empty table, casually ignoring all the loving eyes that followed him across the room. I turned back to the line as Chris continued.
“The next one is War. Real name: Logan. Don’t be fooled by the shirt and tie, he’s definitely the scariest of the four.”
Looking at Logan, I found that hard to believe. He was the very definition of ‘White & Nerdy’. He wore thick rimmed glasses, a crisp black shirt with every button done up, a bright blue tie fastened securely around his neck, and pressed trousers with smart black lace-ups. He had a neutral expression on his face, almost like a robot.
“How could he possibly be scary?” I asked incredulously. As I spoke, a freshman who wasn’t looking ahead of him walked straight into the man they called War. War turned his head rigidly to stare at the younger boy, who stuttered out a faint apology before running away, tripping over his own feet. War stared at the retreating figure, then returned to what he was previously doing, choosing his dessert.
“War has anger issues. He seems all monotonous, but don’t cross him, whatever you do. He will destroy you, quite literally. The last guy who pissed him off ended up in hospital for 2 months.”
“What did he do to anger him?” I gawked.
“No one knows. The stories go from having sex with his sister to tripping him up accidentally in the hallway. He’s also very protective of the others, so crossing them is crossing him.” Chris shuddered slightly and I found myself doing the same. The more I looked at War, the more he creeped me out; He was so robotic in his actions, his face devoid of all emotion. He joined Conquest at the table, sitting down mechanically opposite him.
“I suppose you’re already acquainted with Famine.” Chris joked, and I turned my head back to where Famine was filling his plate with everything in front of him.
“The name’s kind of ironic; He’s on the wrestling team so he eats a lot.” In contrast with the others, Famine seemed massive. Although he was of similar height, he was at least twice as wide. His blue shirt strained against his biceps and upper back as he leaned forward to grab even more food for his piled up plate. Everything about him was big.
“He doesn’t say much, but when he does speak you listen. If he tells you to do something, you do it. He’s got this authoritative tone in his voice that makes you feel like you have to obey. I reckon it’s the whole being a father thing” Chris shrugged.
“He’s a father?! He’s still in highschool!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, he’s got two kids. Twins. Not many people know about them though. I only found out because I overheard a conversation between the four of them a while back. They’ve taken to calling him ‘Dad’ as a joke. His real name is Patton I think, but like all the others his name isn’t really used anymore”
As Famine sat down with the others, his plastic seat squeaked as he put all his weight on it. Without saying a word the other two gave him things off their plates to add to his mountain of food, Conquest holding out the kiwi in his hand with a disgusted look on his face.
Then the man that I assumed was the fourth Horseman stepped up to pay. He was slightly shorter and skinnier than the others, wearing a large black hoodie with black jeans and black sneakers. As he turned his head I noticed large purple bags underneath his eyes; It looked like he never slept.
“Who is he then?” I asked curiously.
“That’s Death.”
“Death?”
“Yup. I don’t know his real name, in fact I don’t think anyone does. He doesn’t like it so he makes the teachers and everyone call him either Death, and sometimes Anxiety.”
“That’s…weird”
“He gets called Anx most of the time anyway. He’s probably the least intimidating of the four, he’s actually quite nice, if a bit quiet. I had Art class with him last semester and we actually got on pretty well.” They explained. I watched as he took a seat with the others, jumping in and joining in on the conversation already taking place between them. He made a quick remark at Conquest, making Famine guffaw loudly and put his arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair. Looking at them interact, it was hard to imagine that any of them could be as horrid as Chris made them out to be.
“So why is he a Horseman?”
“Because of his reputation. There’s apparently a curse on him that means that anyone who gets close to him dies”
My eyes widened and I whipped my head around to stare at Chris.
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately. His parents died in a car accident when he was young, and he didn’t have any living relatives so he got shuffled around the care system for years. Apparently most of his foster parents died not long after taking him in, and others just dumped him back in the system. When he first came here he made friends with a girl. Her name was Emmy. She committed suicide three months later.”
“Oh my God, that’s heartbreaking.” I took another glance at him, and he had retreated slightly from the group, eating his lunch in silence.
“Anx sort of shut himself away after that, refusing to talk to anyone, not that he did much talking to begin with. It wasn’t until the gang decided to take him under their collective wings that he started to talk again. Now he’s the one that calms them down when they go a bit too overboard.”
I got a perfect example of that as a small commotion erupted from their table, making everyone’s heads turn to watch. War was standing up and leaning over the table, staring down angrily at Famine, who was staring back just as menacingly. I don’t know what had happened, but War’s face was getting increasingly red, and a vein had popped up on his forehead. Calmly, Anxiety got up and placed a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. The other snapped out of his staring contest to look at Anxiety. No words were exchanged, but Logan nodded at Anxiety and the pair sat back down. War extended a hand out to Famine who slapped his own against it, then they bumped fits and carried on the conversation they’d previously been having. For his part, Conquest hadn’t flinched at the interaction, he’d carried on eating his burrito as if it were a common occurrence. The whole scenario was bizarre, to say the least.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I turned back to the food line and remembered the fifth member of the group. He’d also paused at the interaction, but he’d quickly turned back to pick out his food.
“So who’s the fifth one? I thought there were only four horsemen” I asked.
“There are. That’s Thomas. He’s sort of like their ringleader. He’s the worst one of all”
I took a moment to watch him, and was surprised when he smiled and thanked the server for his food before picking up his tray and making his way to the table.
“He looks nice enough to me”
“Everyone thinks that at first. But you’ll learn, eventually. He’s like all four of the other rolled into one deceivingly sweet package.”
“So what do you call him then, if he’s not a Horseman?”
“What do you think? Who sent the Horsemen in the first place?”
I look at Chris blankly, confused. They lean in towards me, lowering their voice to a whisper. I leant in also, feeling the tension build in the air.
“He’s God, who else?”
#A sandersides fic#Anxiety sanders#roman sanders#Prince sanders#logan sanders#logic sanders#morality sanders#patton sanders#what even is this fic#i have no idea
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If I Had Only One Wish
John Sawyer
Bedford Presbyterian Church
8 / 19 / 18
1 Kings 2:10-12, 3:3-14
Ephesians 5:15-20
“If I Had Only One Wish”
(The Wisdom of God)
So, there is a story about a guy who found an old oil lamp. And when he rubs the lamp a certain way, a genie comes out of it and offers to grant the guy three wishes. Oh, I forgot to tell you, the guy with the lamp – his name is Aladdin. Anyway, the genie tells Aladdin that he can use his three wishes to wish for anything. And then the story gets crazy.
Those of you who are familiar with this story – or with the Disney movie – might say that making wishes for riches or fame or love could get you into trouble, if you’re not careful. But, this great old story does spark the imagination. . . What would you wish for if you had three wishes and could wish for anything? Would you wish for money? Would you wish for fame? Would you wish for a cure for cancer or an end to world hunger? Would you wish for Tom Brady and his perfectly chiseled chin to never grow old, and win every game and live forever? One of my favorite songwriters, Lucinda Williams, sings a song that goes “If wishes were horses, I’d have a ranch.”[1] That’s a lotof wishes! What would you ask for if you had three wishes? What would you ask for if you only had two wishes? Or only one wish?
I want to be clear about one thing before we start talking about today’s story about Solomon’s prayer for wisdom, and it is this: the God we believe in and worship – the Creator of the universe, the One who has saved us through Jesus Christ, the One who sustains us by the Holy Spirit, is nota genie who grants wishes. No matter how much we might wish that God would grant our wishes and prayers, God’s answers to our prayers for certain things are not always a wholehearted “yes.” If you are wishing for an A on a test, or for the lottery ticket to be a winner, or for a house that has solid-gold fixtures in all seventeen bathrooms, God really isn’t into that kind of stuff. And today’s story from 1 Kings shows this to us, quite clearly.
After King David had died and was buried, David’s young son, Solomon, became king. The scriptures tell us that Solomon loved the Lord and would go out of to Gibeon – five miles or so away from Jerusalem[2]– to make sacrifices to the Lord. As the story goes, “Solomon used to offer a thousand burnt offerings on that altar.” (1 Kings 3:4) Most people would just make one burnt offering – of a bull, or sheep or goat, or bird[3]–and they would have the priest burn the entire thing, which could take a while, depending on what was being burnt. It might sound strange of kind of gross to us, but this is just what people did back in those days. The Bible has all kinds of instructions on how to make a proper burnt offering sacrifice to the Lord. When Solomon made a burnt offering, though, he went all out. He would offer a thousand animals at a time, which was a very expensive and time-consuming process. Solomon loved God, though, so he spared no expense.
As today’s story goes, while one of these big offerings was being made, Solomon fell asleep and had a dream in which the Lord spoke: “Ask what I should give you,” God said. (3:5)
Now, if you or I had a dream like this, we might say, “Yes! Score! I’ll have a Maserati full of Bitcoins and fur coats and ice cream, please.” But Solomon was not so eager: “God, you have really blessed me by making me king, but I’m young and don’t have any experience, and this job is very big. So, what I really need is an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil. . .” (3:6-9)[4] In the original language, Solomon is asking God for a “mind that can hear, a heart that can listen.”[5],[6] You and I might say that Solomon was praying for wisdom. This is what God calls it a few verses later when God says, “Because you have asked. . . for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I now do according to your word. Indeed I will give you a wiseand discerning mind. . .” (3:11-12a)
But what does it mean to have a wise and discerning mind? What does it mean to have a mind that can hear and a heart that can listen?
Wisdom is one of those things that is often hard to define. Just because you know stuff or have an opinion about stuff, it doesn’t mean you are wise. Spend thirty seconds watching any of the talking heads on any cable news channel and you will see how true this is. Wisdom is more complex than knowledge or opinion. Martin Copenhaver, the president of Andover Newton Theological Seminary, writes that wisdom is kind of hard to pin down. It is kind of a “wooly mammoth of ideas – big shaggy, and elusive”:
. . . wisdom is more than a single attribute. It is more like a cluster of attributes, including a clear-eyed view of human behavior, coupled with keen self-understanding; a certain tolerance for ambiguity and what might be called the messiness of life; emotional resiliency; an ability to think clearly in a circumstance of conflict or stress; a tendency to approach a crisis as an intriguing puzzle to be solved; an inclination to forgive and move on; humility enough to know that it is not all about you; a gift for seeing how smaller facts fit in within a larger picture; a mix of empathy and detachment; a knack for learning from lifetime experiences; a way of suspending judgment long enough to achieve greater clarity; an ability to act coupled with a willingness to embrace judicious inaction.[7]
Anyone who would hope to be wise would do well to pay attention to a list like this. As a pastor who is seeking to be wise, myself, when I look at this long list of attributes, all I can say is, “Yes, Lord, please! All of the above! Right now!” So, I can really identify with Solomon’s one wish for wisdom.
The Bible talks a lot about wisdom and how important it is. In the Book of Proverbs – which, some say, was written by Solomon – we find some of the most vivid descriptions of wisdom. Eugene Peterson translates some of it in this way:
Do you hear Lady Wisdom calling? Can you hear Madame Insight raising her voice? She’s taken her stand at First and Main, at the busiest intersection. Right in the city square where the traffic is thickest, she shouts, “You – I’m talking to all of you, everyone here on the streets! Listen, you idiots – learn good sense! You blockheads – shape up! Don’t miss a word of this – I’m telling you how to live well, I’m telling you how to live at your best. . .”[8] [She goes on from there.]
The first thing you might have noticed about wisdom is that she is female. When she shouts, “You – listen – learn [some] sense – shape up!” she kind of does sound like someone’s mom. But if we keep reading in Proverbs, Chapter 8, we learn that Wisdom was present at the very beginning of creation – before there were mountains and hills and dirt, and before the heavens were made, Wisdom was there. “When [the Lord] marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker;” Wisdom says, “and I was daily [the Lord’s] delight, rejoicing before [the Lord] always, rejoicing in. . . the inhabited world and delighting in the human race.” (Proverbs 8:29-31)
In other words, creation has God’s big wise fingerprints all over it. And Wisdom wants the heavens and the earth to be the very best that they can be. So, when Solomon prays for wisdom, Solomon wants to be connected to something ancient and holy, mysterious and powerful and creative. Wisdom has high expectations and Solomon wants to try to meet them. He wants to know Wisdom and be taught by her, because she knows how things are supposed to be.
But, we know how things are supposed to be, too, right? We just have a hard time making them that way because we fall short all the time. Wisdom knows how human beings have a tendency to mess up. Solomon might have been wise for a while, but he also made mistakes that caused his great kingdom to break apart within a generation or two of Solomon’s death. The guy who wrote that great description of wisdom – Martin Copenhaver – made some very unwise decisions, himself, and had to make a public confession about a marital affair that he had. We saw news this past week of the Roman Catholic Church coming to terms with so many unwise decisions to allow priests to continue in ministry after they were accused of abuse. Their unwise decisions hurt people, hurt the Body of Christ. Oh, people can be very unwise.
You know, God gives each of us multiple opportunities each and every hour to be wise. And God’s wish for us is that we would be wise, but we need God’s help to be truly wise.
“Be careful how you live,” the Apostle Paul wrote, “not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil.” (Ephesians 5:15) The kind of wisdom that Paul is talking about here – the kind of wisdom we need in troubled times – is a wisdom that comes from God.[9]
This is Paul’s wish for the church – that we would be wise in how we think, and act, and pray – in how we walk around[10]through life. That we would know when to speak and when to keep silent. That we would not get lost in the things that do not matter, but focus on the things that do matter. There is wisdom in this old wish of Paul’s – that the church of Jesus Christ would be wise, and that we who would seek to follow Jesus would be wise, too – full of the Spirit, seeking after God.
If wishes were horses, I’d have a ranch, but I don’t have a magic lamp and there is no genie. Oh, and I don’t have a ranch. All I have is God. And God is enough.
If you had only one wish about your life with God, what would it be? Thankfully, with God, we aren’t limited to one. There are so many wishes that we could wish – prayers that we could make. But, in order to choose what to wish for, we would need to be wise, first – to think about and pray for and act upon that which would do the most good. And this is wisdom: in the moment, making the decision that will bring about the most good.
There is so much good that could be done in this world if we were just a little more wise. Friends, be wise – trusting in the wisdom that comes from God.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
----------
[1]http://www.metrolyrics.com/if-wishes-were-horses-lyrics-lucinda-williams.html.
[2]Rand McNally Historical Atlas of the Holy Land(New York: Rand McNally & Company, 1959) 23. Map VIII, E3.
[3]See Leviticus 1:1-17.
[4]Paraphrased, JHS.
[5]F. Brown, S. Driver, and C. Briggs, The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon(Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1997) 1033.
[6]Brown, Driver, and Briggs, 523.
[7]Lillian Daniel and Martin B. Copenhaver, This Odd and Wondrous Calling(Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2009) 109.
[8]Eugene Peterson, The Message – Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs: NAV Press, 2002) 839. Proverbs 8:1-6.
[9]Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) 760.
[10]Walter Bauer, 649.
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Starting Over Chapter 13 ~The Conditions~
Bracing her jaw with one hand, Jamie cautiously brushed his lips over hers and then slightly drew away. He'd half expected her to deck him but gazing down at her face, her eyes were half-closed, and her skin flushed. She looked so damn beautiful even with her makeup smeared and her hair wild and messy. It took every ounce of his self-control not to pull her hard against him and kiss her thoroughly, torturously taking his time to give her a chance to push him away. But when she moved closer, and he caught the tiny whimper of pleasure escaping her throat, his blood roared in his ears, the feeling of triumph that she'd be his almost bringing him to his knees. Until he felt her hands slide up from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him in and realised he'd belong to her just as completely.
"Sweet Jesus, Sassenach, please tell me ye want this as much as I do," he whispered hoarsely, pressing their foreheads together. "I need to hear it. I must hear it."
"W-want you ...need you." Her words came out slurred as she licked her lips and swayed.
"This better not be a rebound," he growled against her mouth.
"Call it whatever you want, Jamie. Just kiss me already."
The demand in her voice made his cock swell, and his skin grew hot and tight. With a pained groan, Jamie obliged, sinking his tongue into her mouth, the taste of her turning him into a ravenous beast, making him wonder what mediocre high he'd been chasing all these years when this woman was out there. Unwittingly, the weight of the many meaningless one-night-stands bore down heavily on his shoulders, catching him off guard. They slithered in to haunt him because nothing and no one had ever felt like Claire. His soul yearned to be reborn again and purge for his past sins, purifying himself in the clean smell of her skin, the tentative strokes of her tongue and featherlike fingertips sliding up his back.
Seconds ticked while he teased her with what was to come, noting her responses to every exploration of his hands. He wanted to know her secrets, coaxing them out with his kiss, subtly pushing her to reveal herself. Her mouth moved under his, eagerly, and so perfect. He adored the little sounds vibrating up her throat, ending where their lips met, but it was too damn much as lust pumped in his veins. He needed more.
Unable to contain himself any longer, his fingers gripped her hips to lift her up. Satisfaction and relief surged through him when she wrapped her legs around his middle, her fingers tangling in his hair and holding on tight. Without releasing her mouth, Jamie walked them out of the kitchen and towards Claire's bedroom. He felt her hands grabbed at his back, frenziedly trying to yank up his shirt, her dress hiking higher above her thighs with her movements. His erection pushed painfully against his jeans. Knowing she wanted him as badly jarred his centre, and he fought for restraint as she pulled him into the current of raw emotion and need he'd never experienced before.
The next thing he knew, they were tumbling onto the bed, flattening her underneath him on the mattress. Still wedged between her thighs, he started to rock against her, her scent and the fragrance of her room surrounding him, a heady mixture of candles, wildflowers and freshly washed sheets.
"Christ," he rasped, breaking the kiss before his mouth coasted down the side of her neck for a taste. "Ye sure about this? I dinnae want ye having any regrets."
"Damn you, Fraser." She writhed beneath him, her ankles locking behind the small of his back. "You're asking me that now? What do you think?"
Bracing himself on one elbow, he gingerly unbuttoned the front of her dress with concentrated effort and a shaking hand. He was acting like a horny teenager, but it couldn't be helped when his cock was growing fuller and aching harder by the second. "I want to do this right, Sassenach. For ye. Exactly how ye wish it to be."
"You're worried about that?" she gasped. "I'm concerned about whether it's feeling this good for you too." She let out a breathless laugh as she unbuckled his belt.
This lass who'd appeared during the lowest moment in his life and yelled him back into existence had bravely poked his sore spots and offered herself as bait to help him get a job at the network. She was innately a giver in all sorts of ways, but right now, he needed to convince her to be the taker. "I've never had my heart and mind in this before, Sassenach. I'm normally a million miles away, but with ye, I'm right here. Ye hear me? Right here with ye." Heart knocking wildly against his ribs, he dragged his open lips along her jaw, still fumbling with her buttons. "Ye're anxious it doesnae feel good for me? I'm trying my hardest not to bust like an eejit."
"Really?" she breathed, boldly unzipping his jeans and sliding a hand over his erection. Her sigh washed over his chest as she squeezed him, nearly making him shoot out of bed.
Jamie groaned at her touch. "Christ, ye're killing me. I just want it to be perfect for ye." He pressed his face against the crook of her neck as he continued to grapple with the last button of her dress, this time more impatiently.
"If you must know ...in my fantasy, I'd be wearing a red baby-doll nightie and serving you a dirty martini. So let's be over with the bathwater, alright?"
Laughter rose from his chest as he rid finally of her dress, drawing it from her body and throwing it on the floor. He found it endearing how she could make him laugh when his balls were on the verge of revolt. "Is that right? I dinna ken what a baby-doll nightie is, but it sounds verra interesting. Ye'll have to show it to me another time," he murmured, his eyes hungrily skimming down the length of her body.
Unable to resist, he trailed a finger over the hollow of her stomach and around her belly button, biting his lip in satisfaction as her alabaster skin quivered under his hand. Her full breasts were restrained in cream coloured bra, and the juncture of her thighs barely covered with tiny transparent lace panties. "Gorgeous as ye are now in yer knickers, I want to see all of ye bare."
"Y-yes, Jamie."
"Yes, Jamie," he echoed, slowly sliding his hand in the inside of her thigh, making her squirm. "Why weren't you agreeable all those times I told you faking a relationship wasnae a good idea?"
"If you paid attention, you would have noticed I'm selectively agreeable."
He tamped down the urge to smile. "Smart-ass! Look where it got us. Ye had to be exactly what I need, stubbornly reminding me it was all for the show. Then driving me out of my nuts from wanting ye. Look at ye half-naked, and here I am with an ache, only ye can ease. What are we going to do about that, huh?"
"I-I don't want to fight it anymore."
"Neither do I." He kissed her hard then went back to being serious. "I tried hard to ignore it, but I can't stop myself from wanting ye." He groaned against her mouth, cupping his hand between her thighs. "I need to be inside this so fucking bad but ..."
"...you don't do relationships," she finished off for him, making him stiffen.
"Christ!" he muttered. "Ye certainly do cut to the chase, don't ye?" He ignored the odd lump in his throat and swallowed hard. Even though it pained him, he needed to tell her the truth. "It'll be more than a fling, Sassenach and even if it lasts only a few weeks or months or a year, it'll be the longest I've ever been like this with someone. I-I can't promise a happily ever after ...I don't have a family gene in me. I can't be that for ye, but I'll be damned before ye regret this."
"I understand. Our futures look different, and it could never work. I don't suppose I'll marry again so soon but if one day ..."
"... I won't stand in yer way of a chance for happiness. I will let ye go." He said the words earnestly and with conviction, but how come he didn't feel convinced he would do just that? But before any further train of thoughts could gather steam, he shut the laughing voices in his head. "Are ye in, Sassenach?" Jamie's heart rapped violently in his chest.
"Y-yes, let's do this," she whispered, her hands impatiently skating up and down his back.
Gladdened by her answer, he pulled her against him, his tongue travelling along the curve of her lower lip before diving back into her mouth. "And one more selfish demand ... while we're together, there will be no one else but us until we decide differently. That work for ye?"
"Yes ...yes, it does ..."
Before she could finish, he laid his mouth on top of hers, brushing his thumb back and forth across her sensitive spot between her thighs, making her stomach hollow and loins twist. "Christ ye're so wet for me."
"Oooh, yes ...feels so good." Her words emerged choked as her hands began to tug and dig at his shoulders. She needed him badly, and the proof was in every lick of her tongue inside his mouth, and the rushed exhale onto his skin.
Pulling away with a grunt, he sat back on his heels and hooked his fingers into the flimsy band of her lingerie, gently working it down her hips. Then he dropped the lacy scrap on the floor and stood up, divesting himself of his clothes and placing a condom on the bed. With anticipation, his eyes feasted on her exposed flesh, and it took a mammoth of self-control not to throw himself upon her and take her there and then. Pure amusement took over as Claire shut her eyes, refusing to look at him. "Sassenach, look at me."
Claire groaned as she slowly took a peek, her bright amber eyes pools of lust and doubt warring together. Her cheeks turned a deep crimson, and she swallowed audibly as she viewed his naked glory. "A word of caution," she whispered. "I'm not like the glamourous women you date or sleep with. I'm afraid I'll be a disappointment to you."
His heart twisted, shredding his voice to fragments. With Claire's insecurities and her feeling of uncertainty, he knew she needed him to be confident enough for both of them. "No, ye're not like any of the women I've been with, Sassenach," he said truthfully. "Because I've never wanted anyone this bad. I lived with the knowledge and torture during these last few weeks ...ye ... within reach, will never be mine to have. And yet here we are." He knelt between her thighs, gently spreading her legs wider. And then he took his cock in one hand and fisted it, causing her to blush even more. "Trust me when I say, I've never come close to a fraction of this kind of want. Ye can never be a disappointment."
He leaned in, watching her eyes widen even more as he took her mouth in a slow, thorough kiss, pressing his erection against her heat and expertly undoing her bra and discarding it with a quick flick of his wrist. He keened out loud as their bodies locked together, her breasts and softness pressed against him almost robbing him of his sanity. Their breaths became loud and laboured in the quiet room, along with the sounds of their bodies shifting on the soft mattress, the springs beneath them sighing with their movements.
Cupping her breast, his thumb circled her nipple until it puckered to a hard point. He felt her chest heaved for gulps of air, and her pulse beat wildly at the base of her neck as he prolonged their kiss. He relished the taste of her but never quite getting enough, wanting desperately to bury himself deep inside her. Although he was aching badly, he took his time wanting to commit every second and the feel of her to memory. When she tried to reach for his cock, he snagged her wrist. "No, Sassenach. I cannae allow it," he muttered too gruffly. "Not yet, anyway."
"P-please, now, Jamie. I'm ready." She seemed almost flustered by the lift of her hips as if she wanted to play it collected, but her body wouldn't allow it.
But Claire's sweet plea did it. Dragging his open mouth over her breast, he sucked her nipples hard, his tongue flicking restlessly, while he drove two fingers between her thighs. Claire's eyes rolled back in her head, her back arching and her legs spreading a little wider in an invitation.
Unable to hold on the sweet torture any longer, he slid down between her thighs until he was eye level with her swollen folds. He used his fingers to separate her flesh, lowering his mouth and licking her with the flat of his tongue. She twisted and moaned, her fingers gripping the sheets as he regarded her like a starved man, listening to her breathing go shallow and loving the taste and sight of her in the throes of passion.
"Oh, God, Jamie, it's too much. Please. Please," she sobbed loudly.
"So responsive, my wee sweet, Sassenach," he muttered between her thighs. "It's never too much, mo chridhe ."
Swiping her slit slow and deliberate, he tasted, nibbled and teased. He used one arm to pin her flailing body down, never hastening his pace, her cries charging the air with sexual desperation and frenzy. He inhaled her musky scent, rubbing the engorged nub, and pushing his finger in and out of her soaking channel. Her insides clamped down hard and tried to suck him deeper, but he continued to tease until she floundered and thrashed, like a senseless being on edge.
"No more," she gasped, her amber eyes wild and past sanity. "Damn you, Jamie, no more. C-can't take ..."
With a low chuckle, he took her throbbing nub between his lips and sucked hard, sensing her orgasm shimmering right there and so close. He cursed out loud, pumping two fingers this time and tucking a tongue alongside, in and out of her entrance. And then he drew back out, sliding up higher and driving in faster, her slickness making his mouth work.
And then she came, her body arching like a bow under his command. He absorbed all her sweetness in his mouth, continuing the suction motions so that she succumbed into another orgasm so beautifully, it made him wonder if he'd allow her to leave the bed ever again. She hung onto him with wild abandon and desperation he couldn't refuse. Sliding up her body, he worshipped every inch of her damp skin with kisses, pausing at her mouth to nip her lips and to cradle her face with his hand in the act of pure adoration.
Eyes unfocused, her head lolled to the side as she reached for his cock, once again, gripping it without finesse. "Want you now, inside me," she garbled.
He let out a shaky laugh. "Easy now, Sassenach, otherwise I'll burst." Shoving back the reluctance, Jamie tore his lips away from hers and reached for the condom he'd left on the bed. He quickly covered himself in stretched latex and slid up her body, muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss. His cock was poised at her entrance as her tongue battled his and her legs locked behind him. Unable to wait any longer, he plunged deep inside with a single thrust and all the pent up emotions she'd awakened, immersing himself in her completely.
He swallowed her cries as he stretched her with his width and length, her nails cutting through his skin, and her thighs squeezing him tight. He completely filled her, giving her no time to shore up defences and allowing no room for anything but the primitive demand to surrender. With every stroke, he claimed her while he drove inside her over and over. His hips rolling harder of their own volition with every smack of flesh and every whimper from her. And then just like that, with one perfect deep thrust, she convulsed underneath him in a climax. He listened to her moans of his name, treasuring the husky awe of them in his ears and around him.
He tried to breathe and then tried to slow down, but there were too many emotions crashing over him to know anything but the need to make his mark. He'd never wanted anyone this bad and never felt wanted this much. Increasingly, a tightening began at the back of his neck and proceeded down his spine, curling at the base. Finally, letting himself go, he yanked her legs up and fucked into the storm for everything he was worth, chanting her name in reverence.
His release was a flood that roared through him, creating a rush of white noise in his ears. His muscles tightened to the point of snapping before they unlocked. He shook violently, his lower body a battle zone of pleasure and pain and need and fulfilment. There's a harbour in the storm, though, and her body was already demanding him back, making the intense pleasure they've inflicted a beautiful thing they shared. With his insides razed and his mind blown, every cell in his body drifted toward Claire until they were wrapped together, arms and legs twined, mouths locked, their movements slowing little by little.
What just happened between them was the best everything in his life and nothing came close. Not even his glory days and triumphs in rugby.
In the past, usually, after sex came relief and it meant parting ways after the sweat had cooled. Jamie had never been anything but fine with that upshot because he barely knew the women to begin with. But now panic niggled at him, his chest throbbing painfully as his hand coasted over her body memorising her skin. If Claire asked him to leave now, he knew he wouldn't like it at all.
Then her lips glided over his cheek, and he turned into them, inhaling through a lengthy kiss. His concern eased for a little while, a smile lifting at the corners of his mouth.
And then he realised something he never thought would ever happen - he'd never be able to touch another woman again without wishing for Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. He'd just made a pact with the devil, and now, he wondered, how in the world was he ever going to let this woman go?
..........
Claire slipped into the bathroom, careful not to make any noise. Jamie had spent the night and was sound asleep in her bed. He was facedown, spreadeagled, and his taut, naked arse a sight to behold. She put his sleepover down to him having too many drinks and leaving his car at the parking lot outside the bar where they had been in last night.
A sigh escaped her mouth, but she crammed it back up. She was a big girl and wasn't about to lose sight of reality and facts. Last night was nothing more than two consenting adults engaging in a temporary sexual relationship, and she reminded herself she'd agreed to it and any sticky feelings or thoughts of white picket fences had to be banished immediately.
Grabbing her toothbrush, she started to brush her teeth vigorously. She was beginning to sense like she'd set herself up for one epic downfall. What if Jamie suddenly realised that being in a permanent relationship wasn't a bad thing and found a different woman? Where would that leave her then?
Pushing all thoughts of the impending gloom away, Claire rinsed out her mouth and plonked her toothbrush in the glass. And then she laid out a spare for Jamie hoping that wouldn't cause an alarm and think she wanted more from him. But on second thought, maybe that was an unwise move. Muddled, she sighed and decided to wing it. It was just too bad she didn't have an example to look to.
She heard a deep groan from the bedroom, accompanied by the creaking of bedsprings. And suddenly, the memories of their lovemaking surfaced, making the inside of her thighs tensed, causing a twinge of soreness and muscle ache. Looking into the mirror, she found her face bright red and her eyes glowing. She looked like an adolescent in puberty crisis. Ah, fuck . Irritated, she fanned her cheeks with her hands, reprimanding herself for being silly and acting like a teenager. So what if Jamie spent the night and he doesn't believe in happily ever after? You've always known the score! Suck it up, Beauchamp!
There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sassenach?"
"Yeah?"
Jamie's tone dropped. "Do ye mind coming back to bed?"
Oh! She'd been worried he'd wake up panicking like a cornered male in the light of day, but as it turned out, she was so very wrong. Taking a fortifying breath, she opened the door and was greeted by a fully naked Jamie with an erect penis. "M-morning..." she croaked.
Holding her breath, she blinked twice and then gawked at the naked male marvel before her. Oh, sweet mother of God , Jamie was lean, mean, and toned. There was not an ounce of softness visible on his body, from the breadth of his shoulders, abs, powerful arms, and bulky thighs.
Oblivious to his erection jostling between them, he backed her into the bathroom, bringing her attention back to the present. "My shirt looks good on ye," he grinned, sleepily. "Why are ye up?"
As her back met the sink, she remembered the packaged toothbrush and casually pushed it into the basket. "I wasn't sure if you're an early riser or not, so I thought I'd make some preps for breakfast."
Without missing a beat, Jamie leaned past her and retrieved the toothbrush. Frowning, he popped the package open and slipped it into his hand. "It's seven in the morning, and we were up all night making love. Breakfast can wait a little longer."
"Right, yeah ...umm."
Jamie applied toothpaste to his brush and stuck it in his mouth. "Why didn't I get a good morning kiss?"
"A good morning kiss?"
"Aye," He brushed his teeth and waited for an answer.
"Ah ...well, I was going to. You were sound asleep, and you know ..."
He leaned over the sink and spat "No, I dinna ken. Are ye acting weird because I didn't leave last night as ye expected?"
"No, of course not!" Not wanting him to see the heat creeping up her face, she busied herself, looking for a towel for him to use.
He rinsed his mouth and placed his brush next to hers in the glass. "It's funny. I always thought morning afters consisted of cuddles."
"Y-yeah, it does."
He stopped and crossed his arms. "Hmmm. Why did ye chuck the toothbrush in the rubbish basket?"
Oh, fuck! She laughed hysterically. "I think the jury of the court will agree it was an unfortunate mishap."
"Sassenach, I'm beginning to get annoyed. I still havenae received my good morning kiss, and ye intentionally discarded the toothbrush."
She couldn't help the giggle escaping her lips as she eyed his morning erection. "Aroused and annoyed, that's a first."
Her words still hanging in the air, he lunged forward and placed his hands on either side of her and leaned in. "Next time, Sassenach, I want proper good morning with a cuddle from ye. I dinna ken what one looks like, but still, I'd like to have one. Just so that ye ken, I wanted ye lying there when I opened my eyes." His mouth tugged in the corner, but his eyes were dark and serious. "Preferably, I want yer hands all over me and yer lips on mine. And next time ye get out of bed without giving me both, I'm going to turn ye over my knees and backhand that wee bum of yers ye had mercilessly wiggled against me all night. Am I making myself clear?"
"Jamie!" she gasped. "That's unethical!"
Jaws clenched, his eyes dropped down to the apex of her thighs. "Trust me, Sassenach, I wasnae thinking of ethics when I was kissing ye down there last night."
She gulped, her pulse racing a million miles per hour. "Ethics ...overrated anyway," she mumbled, not making any sense with her words.
"Weel, then, I'm gonnae take a shower. Ye can join me or wait, that's entirely up to ye. Either way, I want to see ye back in bed when I'm done because I'll still be wanting my good morning cuddle. Are we clear?"
Without another word, she nodded and did as she was told. And that morning they made love twice more and didn't leave bed until after midday.
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