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chilling-seavey · 22 days

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Love Thy Neighbour (gr63) - Part One

↳ A/N Still waiting for Apple to invent the iTimeMachine so I can go back to the 80s when Andrew Ridgeley was in his prime. Anyway, please enjoy house husband George slaying the 1980s suburbia. Comments, reblogs, and predictions are always welcome!!

↳ Inspired By: 'Everything She Wants' by Wham! and 'Heartbeat' by Wham!

↳ Summary: It’s the end of summer 1984 and you and your perfect little family moves into a quaint suburban neighbourhood to escape the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan lifestyle. Your next door neighbours are a picture-perfect family of their own - or so it seems from the outside. But, as you spend more time with the handsome husband, the cracks in your own 'perfect' marriage start to come to light.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Neighbour!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 22.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, slow burn, cheating/adultery (i don't condone this but, boy, does it make for a juicy plot), use of explicit language, female masturbation, non-consenting voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex (and extramarital creampie)

September 1984

The house was straight out of the recent issue of Better Home magazine and even as you stepped out of the passenger seat of the station wagon, you were in awe of the New England architecture. Crisp white siding and red painted shutters over spotless picture windows; it was hard to believe it was all yours. It was nowhere near the small ancient apartment that you were used to in the city - although you certainly wore that place thin until the seams were bursting. It was about time you made the move out of Manhattan and into the nearby suburbs. The American Dream was in the palm of your hand.

Your husband, Andrew, set his hand on the small of your back and dangled the set of shiny keys over your shoulder with his other, “Want to test the locks?”

You smiled back at him and grabbed them out of his hand before hurrying along the front path to the modest porch and welcoming front door. He followed behind you closely, glancing over his shoulder on the way in expectation of a follower of his own, but the young boy was already busy rushing across the freshly mowed lawn.

“Richard,” your husband called for him as you turned the key in the lock, the faint remnants of his English accent ghosting through his words, “Come see inside!”

Unbothered, your five-year-old son didn’t even look up as he dropped to his knees beside the garden bed, “No thanks!”

You glanced across the sprawling green grass yourself, “Don’t you want to see your room?”

The little boy’s head perked up in your direction at your very convincing offer and his big brown eyes shone in the sunlight. He shot up from the ground, “Okay!”

He took the four front stone steps with ease and rushed right past you into the house, making a beeline right for the straight run staircase just inside. You called a reminder after him to hold the handrail but he was already at the top by the time the final word left your mouth.

Still on the front porch, you and your husband shared calm little smiles over your shared adoration for your little boy, and then he was gesturing you inside first. You stepped over the threshold onto the hardwood floors and you took your time soaking in the modern floral wallpaper that trimmed the foyer and led into the formal living room through the archway to the right. It looked so empty without furniture but it also held so much promise and possibility within the brand new walls.

Through the living room you could loop into the dining room that overlooked the spacious backyard framed in lush trees and a wooden fence separating the property from the neighbours on either side. The backyard view was perfect from the kitchen sink, giving you a perfect spot to keep an eye on your son playing while you could do the dishes or prep dinner. You had fallen in love with this house the moment you saw it in the real estate section of the newspaper - a new build in a quaint suburb of Connecticut - but at first glance you had figured it would only be a dream. It was hard to believe that your husband and your finances were on board. With a growing little boy, it was time to move out of that tiny one-and-a-half bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Now, with three full bedrooms upstairs, the future was far more open.

You hadn’t realized you were daydreaming at the empty kitchen sink before your husband gave your shoulders a squeeze, bringing you back to your content reality, “The moving truck should be here soon. Should we start unpacking the car?”

Leaning back into him, you agreed with a smile, “Alright.”

He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed a kiss to your cheek before he was pulling away just as quickly and disappearing into the foyer and towards the front door.

Andrew always lived a lively life and somehow you managed to keep up. He always wanted to be out doing things such as date nights on the town rather than picking up after-hour client dinners just to socialize and bring in more money for his company - and, ultimately, himself and your family. It was so nice when you were younger and you were in love and willing to follow him to the ends of the earth but the reality of parenthood made you more tired than you used to be. Suddenly, nights out felt tedious and the airtime was always filled with business talk or discussions of Richard’s school. It all felt a bit like a chore. But maybe that just came with growing up. You were loved, you were secure, and you had a beautiful roof over your head. You swore you had nothing to complain about.

The moving truck pulled into your driveway not long after your trusty station wagon had only been unpacked about halfway. It was going to be a long day but you tied your hair back and made sure your son was kept busy when you could and Andrew and the movers took over most of the heavy lifting, leaving you to rearrange boxes and direct them inside the house. It was always your responsibility to take care of your son so it wasn’t unusual for you to keep busy with finding him a snack from your cooler once that was brought in from the car. The kitchen table followed not long after from the moving truck and the two of you sat at the table together with Jell-O cups.

Richard would be starting kindergarten in only a week and part of you was worried about what on earth you were going to busy yourself with once he was gone. Being a stay at home mom, your sole job was caring for him and since there were no other kids on your agenda as of yet, you were painfully preparing to be completely alone from 9-3 every week day. You tried not to worry about it as you watched your five-year-old eat his cherry Jell-O and you reached out a hand to brush through his frazzled dark brown hair, trying to pet it down into some sort of order. Even the gel that you had slicked through it that morning seemed to not be doing its job anymore but that seemed to be common with a lively little boy. You truly loved him with everything in you and those big brown eyes could just melt your heart with one look. He was his father’s son through and through.

Being an only child, Richard got bored pretty easily on moving day so it wasn’t long before you sent him outside to the front yard to play while the truck was finished unloading and you and Andrew tended to the organization inside. With the windows open, the late summer air breezed through the freshly painted house and one of the first things you set up was your record player in the living room so you could have some music while you worked.

Soon, Richard came rushing back inside and across the carpeted living room floor in his outdoor running shoes, earning a lightly scolding “Ritchie” out of you.

“Mommy, there’s kids next door. Can I play with them?” he asked, ignoring your quiet scold of his name as he clutched onto the hem of your sky blue shorts pleadingly, batting those sweet long lashes up at you.

You pet your hand over his soft hair, “Sure, baby. Stay close though, okay?”

“Okay!”

He was already halfway out the front door again before the single word reply was even completely out of his mouth. With a few trinkets in your hand that you had been taking out a box of arrange in the curio cabinet, you drifted over to the large picture window overlooking the front lawn. Two kids around Richard’s age were playing on the quiet tree-lined street on big wheel tricycles and your son ran over to them to introduce himself. You smiled fondly at the sociable nature of your son that was quite unlike your own traits, watching the children play for a few more moments as Richard was given a turn on the bike, before you were moving back to your boxes.

As the afternoon wore on and you grew tired, you had just enough energy to make dinner - something simple and quick - and soon you were stepping out onto the front porch to call your son back in to eat. He said goodbye to his two new friends and then hurried over to you just as you noticed two people crossing over your lawn towards you.

“Hey there!” the woman called politely.

Richard stood in front of you nosily, watching them, and he wrapped an arm around your leg. Your next door neighbours approached you across your lawn, a man and woman maybe only a few years your senior, and the man held a white bakeware dish covered in tinfoil in his hands.

“Hi.” you greeted them with a smile.

They were clearly a well kept pair as if they had been cut from a magazine themselves with the husband in tidy blue jeans and a tucked in button up and the wife with her blonde hair tied back in an impressive updo. She had on dress slacks and a blazer with posh shoulder pads, earning a lighthearted envious glance out of you at her style as you accepted her handshake and she spoke again, “I’m Jennifer and this is my husband, George. We just live next door and saw you moving in so we wanted to introduce ourselves.”

“How lovely.” you smiled, moving on to shake her husband’s hand, trying not to be intimidated by the electric blue eyes staring back at you as you introduced yourself and your son.

Your five-year-old peered up at them behind waves of dark hair that tumbled over his big brown eyes despite the way you swooped it out of his face yet again.

“Are those your little ones?” you asked, gesturing over to the street where the two kids were still playing.

Jennifer glanced over to the children before looking back at you, “Yeah. Those are ours. James and Nancy.”

“It was really nice of them to let Ritchie play today.” you started.

The adult conversation got boring quickly for the five-year-old so he slid out from under your maternal touch and slipped inside without a word or goodbye.

“He’s an only child,” you explained, “so he sometimes gets a little lonely…especially in a new neighbourhood and all.”

“Oh, of course.” Jennifer tisked.

“Is he starting school this year?” George asked.

It was the first time you heard him speak apart from a brief greeting drowned out by his wife but it didn’t phase you. The hint of a British accent across his words didn't either, all too used to the same from your own husband. How likely that the suburbs of America brought two Brits as next-door neighbours. Comedically written in the stars, or something of the sort.

“Yeah, he’ll be starting kindergarten next week.” you exhaled, “Big steps.”

“So is James.” George said, “I’m sure they’ll be in the same class. Would be good for them to have a little friend before being thrown into a classroom.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” you sighed thankfully, setting a hand to your chest, “Even that alone brings so much ease to the conscience. I’ve been worried about how he’d transition to this whole new place.”

George smiled knowingly, “And especially when your first is going off to school for the first time.”

“Definitely.”

Footsteps across the foyer floor behind you pulled your attention away from your new neighbours to your husband stepping out onto the porch with you to see what was taking so long - undoubtedly you were tattled on by your five-year-old. You welcomed his arm around your waist as you introduced your new neighbours to him and him to them and they shared brief pleasantries.

“We won’t keep you.” Jennifer took a step back, “I know it’s probably close to dinner time.”

George took one step up onto the stone stairs of your porch to offer out the bakeware, “We just wanted to bring you a little something to say welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“That’s so thoughtful. Thank you so much!” you took it from him.

“Such a nice change to have nice neighbours after the nightmare of living in Manhattan.” Andrew joked.

“Oh, totally. We don’t mess with the city-dwellers.” George waved his hand casually, rising light laughter among your little group. He took a step back towards his wife who was already clearly trying to urge him back towards their house, but he reiterated honestly, “Anything you need, we’re right next door. Don’t be strangers.”

“Thanks a lot!” Andrew raised his hand up in a brief wave and you wished them a good night as they herded their two kids back towards their house and you were gently steered back inside by your husband.

The apple crisp was placed on the kitchen counter and you served some for dessert to your little family. It wasn’t chocolate, candy, or ice cream so Richard wasn’t too impressed, but as adults, you and Andrew both swore it was the best dessert you had in a while - even surpassing your own. You made a mental note to find a way to thank the neighbours next time you saw them.

Having just moved in, your available time was few and far between throughout that weekend and into the beginning of the following week. Your plethora of boxes that needed unpacking as well as your young son who needed to be prepared and set for his first day of school kept you busy and it didn’t help that after the weekend, Andrew was back to work full time, needing to leave earlier to commute into the city and ultimately getting home later for that same reason. You were just appreciating the last few days you had with your son before he was going to be in school for the next two decades. The looming loneliness almost had you craving another baby but the time just never felt right.

Wednesday was Richard’s first day of school and he was that perfect expected mix of nervous and excited. He was already eating his cereal at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to the TV in the adjacent family room when Andrew returned from his early morning run to get ready for work before the sun had even passed the horizon. With a five-year-old, every morning was an early morning but a commuting husband only stressed that fact further.

In his white t-shirt and short white Fila shorts, Andrew was quite the looker as he joined you and your son in the kitchen for good morning kisses before he had to run upstairs to shower and get ready for the day. The white clothing stood out against his tanned skin and dark features right down to the white socks and running shoes. He was still that tall, dark, and handsome stranger you fell in love with those few short years ago and the way your eyes trailed after his legs in those itty bitty shorts only had the desire to fill the second bedroom upstairs heating across your cheeks. But you quickly turned back to your work at the counter prepping Richard’s lunch for school.

Andrew was gone in under an hour and your driveway was left empty as he took the family car for his commute to the train station where he would then take transit into the city. Since the car would be gone every day, Richard was set to take the school bus to school which was a whole new experience for both the five-year-old and yourself. You held his hand as you closed your front door behind you and started on your short walk down the front path of your house and along the curb of the street to the bus stop. Richard’s blue backpack looked almost huge on his back and he carried his metal Flintstones lunch box in the hand that wasn’t claimed by yours.

At the nearest intersection in your quiet suburbia, a few parents and kids were already standing there and waiting for the bus. Richard tugged at your hand and when you looked down at him, he took his hand out of yours to point to the small forming crowd, “I see James, Mommy!”

“You can go run and say hello. I won’t go anywhere.” you promised.

He rushed across the street to the sidewalk and met up with his neighbourly friend he had met on moving day. Sure enough, James’ father was also waiting for the bus to arrive like some of the other parents with his daughter sitting in his arms, and as you approached, you shared quiet ‘good morning’s.

“First day jitters?” you asked lightheartedly.

“Yeah,” George sighed with a melancholy smile, “Although more so me, apparently.”

“Preaching to the choir.” you agreed.

There was a pause as you both stared fondly at your boys talking excitedly together with their seemingly huge backpacks and perfectly styled first-day-of-school hair. You sensed yourself being stared at so you looked back to him only to find the culprit being his young daughter perched in his arms.

“Good morning to you too.” you said sweetly to her. She smiled shyly and leaned her head against George’s as if to hide from you as a stranger.

He rubbed her back and coaxed her, “Say ‘good morning’, Nance.”

She shook her head and tightened her little arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, I wanted to thank you and your wife for the delicious apple crisp.” you said, steering the subject away from the unwanted attention to the shy little girl. George glanced at you as you continued, “Andrew and I agreed that it was the best we’ve ever had.”

“That’s great to hear! I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just found the recipe in the recent issue of Home Cooking magazine and thought I’d give it a try.”

Your eyes widened, “You made it?”

George chuckled, “Yeah. I made it. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well…no…I guess not.” you stammered, trying to collect your words before you embarrassed yourself, “I’ve just never seen my husband pick up a measuring cup yet alone a whole recipe in all six years we’ve been together. I’m impressed.”

He simply shrugged modestly and gave his daughter a little bounce to try and bring a smile to her face, “Baking is just something I like to do in my spare time when I’m not running after these two crazies.”

“I’ll get that bakeware back to you this week. Don’t want to keep you from your passion projects.”

“No rush!” George promised, “I have plenty.”

“Mommy!” Richard ran right into your legs, burying his face against your thigh, and you only had to glance up to find the cause of his panic was the yellow school bus turning the corner.

“Aw, Ritchie.” you smiled fondly and crouched down in front of him to take his soft face in your hands, “You and James are gonna have so much fun today! And when you get home, I will meet you right here in this very same spot and we’re going to have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner…your favourite.”

He threw his arms around your neck and you held him close as the bus stopped by the curb and opened the doors for the kids. The older few got on with no issues but a few of the younger ones were facing the similar sense of anxiety as Richard was. Even James was lingering close to George despite the way he tried to play it off.

“Okay, my handsome boy.” you gently guided your son away from you and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “The faster you go, the faster you come home!”

He nodded sadly.

George added with a pat to his son’s head, “You two stick together today, alright?”

The boys nodded.

You told your son you loved him and left him with one more kiss before he and his new friend were getting on the school bus together with the rest of the kids. You and George waited there until the bus was long gone around the corner and the other parents started to disperse. Since you were next door neighbours, the two of you walked back towards home together with the added company of George’s daughter still in his arms.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked you casually as you navigated the tree lined street.

“Still unpacking a little.” you confessed. “I feel like it’s been going on forever.”

“I don’t miss that.” he chuckled faintly, “When Jenn and I moved here when we were expecting James it felt like we were never going to get out of the hoard of boxes.”

“Truly. But I just put on my records and get busy.” you shrugged, tucking your hands in the pockets of your blue jeans.

“Are you much of a music listener?” George asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been playing Bryan Adam’s album on basically repeat since it came out last year.”

“Cuts Like A Knife?”

You looked over at him with a grin, “Yeah! You know it?”

“Of course. I’m quite into music myself.”

“So is Andy.” you looked back to the street beneath your feet with each slow step side by side, “We met in a music club one night back in ‘78 and you could say he literally swept me off my feet. He plays some guitar but I can’t play an instrument to save my life. We’re hoping Ritchie gets his talent.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of George’s lips but he nodded modestly, “That’s great. Jenn and I have the same mindset for our two - although I don’t know if she has any musical talent because she claims she never has the time.”

“Maybe I should use that excuse.” you chuckled, “I might deafen you if I ever pick up Andy’s guitar - or if he ever lets me. So if you hear anything that sounds like a dying cat from the next house over, that’s just me and my wonderful musical renditions.”

Stopping by the curb between your two houses, George shared in your smile and your gaze lingered on the way his light eyes shone in the morning sun. He hiked his daughter a bit higher on his hip and readjusted his hands under her bum as he replied smoothly, “I doubt you’re that bad.”

You waved your hand passively as if to brush off his niceties, “You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, all you’ll be hearing is my record player. Please tell me if it gets too loud and disruptive. I can get carried away sometimes.”

“I won’t, but it’s a kind offer.” he smiled with a cock of his head. “Seems you like good music anyway so who am I to complain?”

You set your hands on your hips with an up-turn of your nose in his direction, a mirrored amused smile on your lips at his playfulness, “Well then, I take my role as neighbourhood DJ very seriously. Any requests, you know where I live.”

“I might take you up on that; watch out.”

Your conversation naturally faded out under the waving shade of the lush trees that stretched over your suburban street like a canopy and Nancy tapped George’s cheek shyly to get his attention. He looked at her expectantly and she leaned in to whisper to him under the presence of a stranger - you. The quietness of his youngest had George smiling fondly and he rubbed her back with a soft “okay” before looking to you,

“We have to head back - important date with cartoons and snacks are awaiting us.”

“Of course.” you took a step back towards your lawn, “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too. And I’m sure we’ll see each other again in the same spot at 3pm sharp.”

You nodded, “That we will.”

Then, he headed across the lawn towards his house that was nestled closely beside yours and with the satisfaction of a nice conversation with your new neighbour fresh in your heart, you made your way into your own house to start your first day all alone.

It wasn’t until the next day that you were able to bring over the bakeware to your neighbours’ since you wanted to make a point to wash it first. Richard was off at school again and after lunch you walked across your shared lawn to the house beside yours, sparkling white dish in your hands. You ascended the few stone steps to the front door and knocked against the glass, hidden from the inside by sheer curtains. After only a few moments, someone appeared behind the door and then it was opened to reveal George.

He smiled warmly at you, “Hey, neighbour.”

You couldn’t hide your slight startle from seeing him, trying to play it cool with a friendly smile and the bakeware held out towards him, “Hi. I brought back your dish. Washed up and everything.”

“Oh, thanks so much.” he took it from you, “You didn’t have to wash it. I’m sure you already have enough on your plate.”

“No trouble. It was the least I could do.” you assured him.

“Did you want to come in?” he asked, “If you don’t have more boxes to unpack.”

You chuckled softly, “I could actually use a break from that overwhelming presence of cardboard.”

“Yeah?” he stepped aside with a warm smile and a cock of his head, “Come on in.”

The wood paneled foyer welcomed you in and you stepped over the threshold with a quiet thank you, your flat shoes landing dully against the linoleum tile floors. George shut the door behind you and led you straight through the modest house towards the kitchen, passed the foyer console table that was lined with photographs of his children around a centred wedding photo of him and Jennifer. Your eyes skimmed them on the way past as you followed him into the kitchen.

“I couldn’t help but expect your wife to answer.” you confessed once you passed by the stairs and entered into the kitchen at the back of the house, the fluorescent lighted ceiling tiles really brightening the space with that 1984 modern touch, “Are you taking the day off?”

“Nope. Everyday is a work day for me. I’m a stay at home dad…Jenn brings home the bacon.” George explained as he opened one of the wood cabinets and crouched down to stack the clean bakeware with the rest under the counter. He then walked around the small island to the corner of the kitchen where the kettle was resting on the stove, “Would you like tea or anything?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

He filled the kettle at the kitchen sink before setting it on the stove again and turning on the heat to boil the water. You stood just out of the way, head whirling with the concept that he was the one who stayed home while his wife worked. You couldn’t help but be nosy.

“So what does Jennifer do for work?”

George opened the fridge to take out the carton of milk, “She’s an executive assistant to some big shot CEO in the city. He’s pretty demanding so she’s always somewhere or another.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of her.” George pulled a tight lipped smile as he fetched two mugs from one of the cupboards and set them on the counter as the kettle boiled. “We knew when we got married that we wanted at least one of us to be home with the kids as they grew up and her job was already pretty set in stone and secure so we agreed that I’d take the at-home responsibilities.”

“Hence the apple crisp skills.”

“Exactly.” George leaned back against the counter opposite you and he crossed his arms over his chest casually, “Although with two little ones, I’m surprised I have time for much of that. It’s so hectic sometimes. I guess that’s the one good thing about James going off to school now; one less kiddo to chase after during the day.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sure.” you agreed politely before glancing around the unfamiliar house, “Where’s your other?”

“Napping. We went to the park earlier then had lunch and she was knackered. I’m sure she won’t bother us.”

“Never a bother.” you tisked, “I love kids.”

“But you only have one?” George asked before quickly following it up with a, “Sorry if that’s an invasive statement.”

“No, no. You’re fine.” you shrugged, “Where we lived before was a tiny apartment in Manhattan that Andrew had bought when he was a bachelor after moving from London. Ritchie was literally sleeping in the den with the desk and filing cabinet and things. There was literally no room for another kid.”

“And the time was right to move into a proper house?”

“Yeah. We didn’t feel totally settled in the city and with a young kid I felt like he needed a yard to run around in.”

“I understand that. That’s why we moved out here after we were married. The appeal is just so much nicer than Manhattan when thinking of settling down.”

There was something about George that felt so trustworthy and kind and you found yourself easily relaxing in his company enough to confess, “We didn’t have the luxury of planning. Our relationship was a little…out of order.”

The whistle on the kettle blew and George turned to take it off the stove and shut off the heat while also continuing your conversation, “Out of order? What do you mean?”

“Well…we got married because I was pregnant.”

George’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ in realization and he glanced over at you for a brief moment as he filled the mugs, not quite knowing what to say.

“Married at 20 isn’t totally ideal.” you chuckled, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the tile floor. “But we were in love so it was okay. And Richard is the best kid we could have asked for.”

“All worked out then.” George said with a kind smile in your direction.

You nodded faintly, “Yeah.”

“Milk? Sugar?” he asked with a gesture to the filled and steeping mugs.

“Milk would be great, thanks.”

George prepped the tea and even grabbed a few cookies from the cookie jar to place on a plate for your early afternoon snack and then you followed him back down the hallway and towards the formal living room adjacent to the foyer, passing the photographs once again. The built-in bookcases along the far wall housed more pictures and trinkets from over the years and your eyes lingered on them as you sat on the blue upholstered couch and George arranged your drinks on coasters on the cherry coffee table. With you on one end of the couch, he sat on the other end with a respectable distance between you.

“I was just admiring your photographs.” you confessed when you finally tore your gaze away from the collection across the shelves and you leaned forward to grab your tea with a quiet thanks to him.

“Yeah.” he smiled fondly as he glanced over the frames he was all too familiar with, “I like having them around.”

“The wedding one in the foyer was really sweet.”

George sipped his tea with that gentle upturn of his lips and an acknowledging, “Mhm.”

“How long have you two been married?”

George leaned back on the couch and looked to the ceiling in thought, his mug held at a rest on top of his blue jean clad thigh, “We were married in ‘77 I think…the years seem to get a little foggy. And Jenn doesn’t like to make a big deal about anniversaries so it’s not like we diligently keep track.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t she like to make a big deal?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, really. I think she’s so busy all the time that having one less thing to worry about is easier. The first few years were celebrated and even planned the odd stay-cation but after the five year mark and having kids…it’s just easier to not really bother as much.”

“I guess so. I think Andy and I are the same way…although we never really had the money for stay-cations or elaborate gifts anyway. He’ll just buy me flowers.”

“Flowers are good.” George smiled over at you.

“Yeah.” you exhaled.

“I’m more of the romantic one in my marriage but Jenn isn’t into the whole bit of gifts and time and whatnot so I’ve had to learn to cut back or she gets so overwhelmed.”

You frowned and met his gaze, “That makes me sad.”

He shrugged with a melancholy smile, “Eh, it’s okay. We had our share of mushy love in high school anyway. Maybe we’re just too old for all that now.”

“High school sweethearts?” you pried.

“Mhm.” George’s eyes sparkled. “Met her in our first year of high school when my family had just moved here from London. We were the graduating class of ‘73.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to do the mental math for a moment before finally asking, “So how old are you then?”

George cocked his head to the side with an amused expression, “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t want to answer that.” you laughed, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked down to your steaming mug of tea held in your lap.

He spared you with his answer, “I’m 29.”

“Okay, not far off from us. We’re both 26.” you added.

“Still young.” George bantered lightly, “Did you want more kids? Now that you have a bigger house and all.”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted a whole bunch…Andrew not so much though. He took some time to warm up to Ritchie when I told him I was pregnant the first time so I’m not sure how he’d feel about the pitch of a second.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask. Marriage is all about give and take, right?”

George’s statement inflicted a bit of ache in your chest as it forced you to reflect back on your six years with Andrew and the desires and plans of your own that you had pushed down to help him thrive in his own life and career. You sipped your tea quietly without a reply, taking a second to daydream about the filled house you had always wanted ever since you were a little girl. A house full of kids and a little job for yourself on the side and a husband who treated you like a queen. You were treated well by him - that was never a question - but everything always felt as if it was falling short to your expectations.

“Sorry.” George’s voice tore you from your thoughts, “I don’t mean to force my way into your marriage as some sort of psychologist.”

“No, no. That’s okay. It just has me thinking.” you looked over at him again with a melancholy smile, “We were just so young and I didn’t really have a chance to know myself or what I wanted before we got married. Andy’s such a good guy but sometimes there’s some sort of disconnect in what we both strive for.”

“That’s fair. But even time doesn’t guarantee that perfect connection. Like how Jenn and I differ with what we want in terms of romance and showing our love. I love the words, the gifts, the intimacy…whereas she just likes when I do her laundry or make her lunch.”

“Got those reverse gender roles, huh?”

George cracked a half smile, “That’s actually very true. I finish tidying this entire house by the time she gets home from work, the kids are already bathed and in bed, and she’s ‘too tired’ to spend any time with me. Honestly, I don’t even know how we ended up with two kids.”

You both shared faint laughter behind casual sips of your tea.

“That’s not much different on our side of the fence.” you agreed. “Must be that working world that just absolutely obliterates someone’s intimacy desires. Is it that tiring?”

“Commuting an hour and a half into the city there and back every day doesn’t help.”

You tisked, “Of course not.”

“It’s easy to feel lonely. I didn’t understand it when I was growing up…seeing my mom being a homemaker and all…but when you’re in it…”

It was the first time someone truly acknowledged how you felt - and a man at that. Even your husband didn’t quite get it, but why would he? But suddenly this stranger was speaking the words that you were too ashamed to even think about and you felt like a weight of a cloud was pulled from your shoulders.

“Yeah.” you breathed, sharing the air across the couch with your unwavering gazes, “That’s exactly it.”

“And then your kids grow up…”

“And then what do you have?” you concluded his sentence, “What is your purpose after that?”

George tisked lightly and scooted slightly closer so he could set his hand on your knee, “You have purpose, okay? You’re not just a mother and not just a homemaker and not just a wife. You’re a woman too.”

You bit lightly at your bottom lip, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes that suddenly seemed to push a warmth through your chest and up to your cheeks.

“You have purpose and you have value.” he told you like he was telling you the most honest truth.

“Thank you.” you mouthed back, worried that if you spoke out loud, your voice might break.

He gave your knee a gentle reassuring squeeze, “Of course.”

You both stayed there, frozen, for a moment, just staring at each other. You felt some sort of warmth all around you from more than just the half empty mug of tea still clutched in your hands, realizing how close you were now. Tearing your gaze away from his light eyes, you naturally glanced at his lips and watched as they perked up at the corner in a gentle smile, moulding the shape of his soft lips and his precisely shaped cupid's bow that you couldn’t help but stare at.

The moment you got the urge to lean in, you turned your head away from him and cleared your throat as you set your mug on the coffee table. His hand was removed from your leg.

“I should go…” you mumbled.

George stood when you did, “Okay.”

“Thank you…for the tea and the company.” you said to the ground as if scared to look at him in fear of feeling those strange warm flutters again.

“Of course. I’m always here…whenever you want to talk or anything.” he promised before leaning down to pick up the plate of untouched cookies, “Biscuit for the long journey home?”

You smiled at his playfulness and when you grabbed one from the plate, you finally looked him in the eye again, “Thank you.”

“Let me walk you out.”

He held his arm out for you to urge you to lead the way and you slid between him and the coffee table to make your way to the front door, trying not to focus on the scent of his cologne as you drifted by him so closely. You needed to get out of there.

You barely remembered saying goodbye or the ghostly touch to your arm he offered in passing before you were out in the fresh air of your neighbourhood and you were trying not to stumble down his front path. The cookie was still held in your hand and your startled eyes darted back over your shoulder to his shut front door before you broke out into a brisk walk across the lawn and onto your own property.

In the peace of your house, you shut your own front door once back inside and you leaned against it heavily, your chest rising and falling in your half panicked breaths. Nothing had happened but it felt like it had and the strange feeling of guilt bubbled up in your stomach. You had never before had thoughts of another man apart from Andrew but you pinned it to George’s manners and how he only said what you wanted to hear. There was nothing to feel guilty about because absolutely nothing happened. Just because you thought something didn’t mean you did anything wrong.

The cookie was still in your hand and you pushed yourself away from the door to take it straight into the kitchen and you tossed it in the garbage bin, closing the lid loudly.

Andrew got home around 6:45, just when you were putting dinner on the table. Richard hopped out of his chair to greet him with an excited hug and your husband crouched down to meet him with a wide grin and open arms. He asked his son how school was and half listened to his youthful explanation of his day as he greeted you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth and drifted past you to his seat at your dining room table.

You ate together as a family like you almost always did and then when Andrew retired to the family room to wind down and watch some TV, you took Richard upstairs to get ready for bed. The little boy was bathed and dressed and afterwards he rushed downstairs to say goodnight to his father before you were tucking him into his single bed in his blue wallpapered room. You always loved watching your son fall asleep; there was something so peaceful about it and gave you a moment to admire his soft features without him running away with youthful exuberance. With a kiss to his head, you left him to sleep and shit his door behind you before making your way back downstairs.

MTV was playing on the chunky TV across the family room and Andrew glanced up at you from the couch when you entered. He held his arm up and you gladly took the spot beside him and cuddled up close. He rested his head against yours with a soft sigh as he focused back on the music video he was watching with the host of MTV counting up that week's hits from the charts.

“Imagine if I was #1.” he spoke quietly, almost dreamily. “Making it big in some internationally known band rather than rotting in some office in Manhattan. We’d have the money to afford an even bigger house.”

You hummed plainly in acknowledgement and slid your arm around his middle as if in some desire to melt completely into him.

Your lack of response had him looking over at you, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” you mumbled.

You weren’t looking at him but you could feel how he stayed staring at you for a few more seconds before he turned back to the TV too, not wanting to press you further. But then you shifted at his side so you could tuck your legs under yourself on the couch and face him properly.

“Andy.”

“What’s up, sugar?” he rested his head back against his couch so he could look at you again.

The random pop music video played on in the background.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” you confessed, trailing the hem of his collared work shirt with your finger.

“Alright.” he leaned forward to mute the TV and the smiling dancers danced to nothing on the screen, giving you his full attention.

When he was settled back in his spot on the couch, his big brown eyes on you and his hand on your thigh right where George’s had been earlier that day, you just blurted it out, “I want to have another baby.”

Said big brown eyes blinked at you once, twice, then his eyebrows furrowed for a half second before he spoke, “Oh.”

“We have a bigger house now and that empty room upstairs has been just calling to me or something. And I’ve always wanted many kids and Ritchie is the best we could ask for…where’s the harm in having a second of him?”

Andrew sighed and gave your thigh a squeeze just like George had, “I dunno, sugar.”

“Why not?” you frowned and leaned in closer to him, almost pleadingly.

“Well, work is busy so I won’t be home much and we just are getting settled in this new place-”

“We’ll still have nine months to prepare!” you reminded him quickly.

Andrew laughed lightly towards the carpet, “Yes, I know, but now Ritchie’s away at school and he’s already big and-”

“Which means I won’t have my hands as full taking care of a baby and a kid at home.”

“I don’t think we need another. I am perfectly happy with our little family as is. Aren’t you?”

You nibbled at your bottom lip as you stared at him while he looked at you expectantly and everything in your heart wanted to tell him no but your quiet voice abandoned you with a soft, “Yeah, I guess.”

Andrew lifted his hand from your lap to tuck your hair behind your ear before pulling you close by his arm around your shoulders, “Maybe you’re just saying this because you’re not used to being alone since Ritchie started school.”

“Maybe.” you muttered.

“I am very happy with the life we have. I don’t need anything more.” he tried to be sweet about it but your heart ached and even as he kissed the corner of your mouth, you had to force the smile to come to your lips.

Andrew rested his head against yours as he unmuted the TV and the top hit pop song filled your family room and the big house that felt empty in your heart. Your eyes drifted away from the screen to peer through the adjacent window that looked out towards the neighbour’s property and although only looking at red brick and white siding, you silently and guiltily wished you had what they had.

Since Richard had no siblings, you knew that it would be important for him to socialize outside of school with kids his own age at various activities. He had expressed interest in baseball not long before so you jumped on the opportunity to sign him up for the local little league team just before the fall season was set to start. You, yourself, were excited for a bit of a distraction after the ultimate letdown that was your conversation with your husband a few evenings prior although Andrew went about his days like nothing was wrong.

On Tuesday evening, you were getting Richard into his baseball uniform for his first practice, making sure that the shirt and pants fit him properly on his young body that seemed to be growing faster than you could buy clothes for it. He stood proudly in his mirror in his room as you adjusted his navy blue baseball cap over his dark hair and swooped his messy bangs out of his face. Grinning up at you in approval, he didn’t even have to say a word for you to read exactly what was on his mind.

“You look so grown up, Ritchie!” you gushed, crouching down to his height for one last shirt adjustment, “You excited?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna get a home run!” he announced.

“I bet you are!” you held up your hand and he smacked his little palm against yours for a high five. “Come now, let’s show Daddy and then get your shoes on.”

Richard rushed right out of his bedroom and hurried down the stairs in his socked feet, “Daddy, I’m ready!”

Andrew was already waiting by the front door and seeing his son coming down the stairs brought a beaming grin to his face, “Looking so spiffy, little slugger.”

You passed over the baseball shoes to your husband, “Can you put his shoes on for him while I get the snacks?”

“Of course.” Andrew took the pair from you and crouched down in front of the little boy who obediently rested his hands on his father’s shoulders and stuck one foot out for a shoe.

You returned to the kitchen that still had the dinner dishes in the sink in need of washing but time was already cutting it close and you were already in a bit of a rush to get to the field in time. The cooler was packed and sitting beside the fridge and you checked that the watermelon slices and Hi-C juice boxes were tucked away with some bags of ice before locking the lid and carrying it back down the hallway to your family. Andrew took the cooler from you to carry it to the car himself and you ushered your excited five-year-old out of the door after him so you could close up the house.

As you walked down the front path to the driveway, you couldn’t help but glance over to your neighbours’ and notice their family car was missing from their house. You forced yourself to ignore the curiosity that was getting the better of you as you had been in a constant strive to pretend absolutely nothing had happened between you and George. In reality, nothing did happen, but the strange feeling of guilt was eating at your heart. Some distance would do just the trick, you were sure.

It was nice to have Andrew able to come to Richard’s first little league practice, especially after he was tired from a long day of commuting and work, but you thanked him silently with a quick kiss to his cheek as you climbed in the passenger seat of your station wagon. His warm smile back at you still managed to bring that little flutter to your heart after your six years together and you broke his gaze to glance to your son in the back seat. Richard gave you two thumbs up and a beaming grin that was all his father’s, making his big brown eyes scrunch closed at the corners, all ready to go to his first event.

The community park was only about a five minute drive from your house and once Andrew pulled into the gravel parking lot, it appeared that there were still some families pulling up. The baseball diamond looked busy though so you hurried to get your son all signed in and so he could meet his teammates and coach. Andrew took the cooler and your hand while Richard ran ahead in his own determination to socialize. You joined the queue of parents by the team dugout who were signing in their sons and as you waited, you both watched Richard help himself to the group of boys who were playing in the red sand of the baseball diamond, all in matching navy blue uniforms with their own chosen number on their backs.

After a few moments, Andrew gave your hand a squeeze to get your attention, “I’m going to put the cooler down and find us a spot on the bleachers. You okay to sign him in?”

“Of course.” you agreed.

He left you with a brief kiss before heading off to the metal bleachers that were already dotted with parents and families alike. You watched him go for a few seconds before turning back to the lineup you were in, only to find yourself face to face with George himself. You were so startled that you nearly choked over your breath but he just smiled cooly.

“Hello, neighbour.”

“Hey.” you stumbled out. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at his blue baseball jersey and then back to you with a casual wave of the clipboard in his hand, “I’m the coach.”

“Oh, right, of course you are.” you chuckled faintly.

“Your boy signing up?”

“Yeah, his name should be on the list. Richard Ridgeley.”

George, who had looked down at his clipboard after his initial question, only glanced back up at you with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” you asked worriedly.

He licked away his smile and looked back down to his list with a half shake of his head, “Nothing.”

If it was anyone else, you would have been mad, but it was George and you knew he meant no harm. You couldn’t help but smother a smile of your own in return, “Are you making fun of my son’s name?”

“Not at all. I love alliteration. Very poetic.”

“Okay, shut up.” you laughed. “I bet your last name is no better.”

“Russell.” he told you smoothly with a playful glance.

You scoffed teasingly, “Of course…George Russell…what a champion kinda name.”

“Who knows…maybe I’ll be MVP before you know it and you’ll be seeing my face everywhere…getting totally sick of me.”

“Mhm.” you tried to steady the racing of your heart at the realization that you were already trying not to see his face everywhere, desperate to change the subject, “So is my kid on the list or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s here.” George crossed his name off, “I also see you’re down for snack duty.”

“Sure am. Brought my cooler and everything.” you gestured aimlessly towards the bleachers.

George looked back up at you but his eyes drifted past you with a tight smile. Before you could look over your shoulder to see what he was looking at, Andrew appeared beside you and set his hand on your back.

“All signed up?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re all set.” you answered calmly.

“Hey, mate, good to see you.” George held his hand out to your husband and they shook hands politely.

“You too.” Andrew smiled, “It’s been a while.”

“Sure has.”

“Well we should let you get set up.” you said, taking a step away from George and closer to Andrew.

“No worries.” George adjusted his cap on his head with a smile, “See ya after.”

Then he was walking off into the baseball diamond to corral the little boys to begin their practice. You and Andrew headed back to the bleachers and to the spot he had saved for you with the cooler and you sat on the metal bench between the other interested parents. It was surprising that so many parents wanted to stay and watch even if it was just a practice but it reinstated your good feelings about your new neighbourhood and how involved everyone was with the community.

While George directed the boys through throwing drills and showing them how to swing the bats, you found yourself staring more at him than you son. There wasn’t really much to watch when the other kids were taking their turns anyway and there was something about George in those light wash blue jeans that just drew your eyes in shamelessly. They just fit so nicely over the curve of his ass and you habitually licked your lips with a focused cock of your head.

Andrew’s arm draping around your shoulders made you jump and you pressed a hand to your heart despite his grinning face and you huffed, “You scared me.”

“That into the practice, huh?” he chuckled.

“Yeah.” you mumbled and looked back to the field for a moment, pulling Richard out of the crowd of boys with ease before you glanced back at your husband, “I’m glad you could come.”

“Of course.” Andrew smiled over at you in the evening sunshine, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I dunno. With work and the longer commute and all…you’ve seemed more tired…busy.”

Andrew sighed and pulled you closer by your shoulders and you rested your head against his as he spoke to you quietly, “Yeah, it has been a lot to get used to. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much and if you feel like I’m letting you down.”

“Oh, you’re not letting me down.” you assured him, lifting your head up again so you could give him your full attention, “I’m proud of you for sticking with it even when it gets hard. You work so hard for Ritchie and for me and I really do appreciate it.”

Andrew reached his free hand up to tap your nose lightly and you shared in his calm smile before he was guiding you towards him by the chin for a kiss or two.

“I love you.” he whispered against your cheek.

Your eyes drifted back out to the field, “I love you too.”

At the halfway mark, George called you over with the snacks and Andrew let you slip out of his arms to do your little job. You helped to hand out the juice boxes and watermelon slices to each little boy and most said thank you - and your son even gave you a kiss with his thanks. George stood beside you to watch as his little players ate their snack and relaxed on the grass for a few minutes and once your stock was empty, you closed up your cooler.

“Thanks again for bringing the snack.” George said as you stood up.

“Any time.” you smiled, “Is it a rotation thing or is it one parent for the season?”

“It depends. Why, are you willing to be the designated snack-bringer?”

“For you, sure.”

It was out of your mouth before you could think about how it would sound and George’s expression rose into a hint of amusement.

You cleared your throat, “And the boys, of course.”

“Of course.” George nodded.

You stared at each other for a few seconds.

Then, his hand was on your arm, “I should get back to practice. I will expect you here with snacks next week then.”

He was gone before you could process the warmth that his touch left and you just smiled and nodded after him as he herded the snacking boys back to the diamond, the sunshine yellow '63' printed boldly on the back of his jersey. You carried your empty cooler to the bleachers again and sat yourself stiffly beside your husband who was oblivious to anything going on and, instead, was waving to your son from across the field.

For the next week or two, you ran into George more than you’d have ideally wanted. Between school drop off and pick up, little league baseball practice, and the casual neighbourly run-ins, it was starting to feel nearly impossible to avoid him. And, at the same time, the more you saw him, the more you didn’t want to avoid him. There was something so charismatic about him that made him so easy to talk to and to confide in and you hated to confess that you took him up on his offer for tea once or twice during the week. While you sipped in his living room, there was never a silent moment as there was always something to talk about and even little Nancy was starting to warm up to you just a little.

Despite your fluctuating feelings towards your neighbour, your guilt was something that stayed stagnant. You loved Andrew with your whole heart and you never once doubted that, but the strange warmth that spread across your skin at a mere glance at George was unlike anything you had felt before. You swore it would be something you would take to the grave. No one - especially not George or Andrew - needed to know the internal battle you were facing.

Since your first conversation with George at his house two weeks earlier, you only started to see more and more of the truth behind your honest chat. Andrew was working himself exhausted between the commute into the city and the lengthy hours which left almost no time for you to relax as husband and wife the way you would have appreciated. You tried to talk to him here and there about it but you also didn’t want to make him feel badly - you knew he was trying his absolute best and for that you were grateful. But still, at the end of the day, you were still a woman with needs and it was growing increasingly more frustrating to sit around and wait for him to give you the satisfaction that you needed.

The one good thing about Richard being off at school was that you had more private time which, with children, often was incredibly few and far between. With your record player on, you were listening to Madonna’s album as you vacuumed the main floor of your house, letting your mind wander on its own. Maybe it was the emptiness of your house or maybe it was a certain time in your hormonal cycle but as the seconds ticked by, your desire to tend to the house diminished greatly. Finally, the vacuum was turned off mid chore and you rested it down on the carpet before flopping back onto the couch with a huff to the ceiling. Your music played on from the other room, the familiar scratch of the vinyl record bringing comfort and you closed your eyes for a moment to let yourself be taken by the celestial voice of Madonna.

As if with a mind of their own, your fingers inched their way over your thigh and up to the waistband of your straight leg blue jeans and you popped the button, taking an habitual glance towards the front door as if someone were going to walk right in unannounced. But you were in the complete privacy of your own home, away from the paper thin walls of Manhattan apartment buildings, and you could do as you so pleased. Your jeans were dropped to the carpeted floor.

Propping your feet up on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, you got yourself situated comfortably within the warm embrace of the sofa cushions and your eyes were drawn to your framed wedding photo that sat on the fireplace mantle directly in front of you. Licking your lips and then your fingertips, you didn’t tear your eyes away from it as you slipped your hand down the front of your underwear and refamiliarized yourself with your body.

It had been so long that the first graze of your fingers had your lips parting in a soft gasp, working yourself slowly without any sort of prior build up, gentle circles over your aching clit. You hadn’t realized how many weeks had gone by without any sort of touch like this until you got yourself in that position. Under slightly furrowed brows, you stared straight ahead at your wedding photo, eyes boring into those of your husband without so much as a blink; almost as if you were reconditioning yourself to direct your full entire attention at him and him alone.

No more nonsense thoughts of the neighbour.

Even though you spoke that line to yourself in warning, the concept just tasted so good to your mind with your hand down your panties and your legs spread in the middle of your sun-bathed family room. Flashes of him at the last little league game filled your head; the way his arms looked in that snug navy blue t-shirt standing out against his lightly tanned skin…his blue eyes sparkling every time he looked at you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter closed and your head fell back against the couch with a soft whimper, shutting out the framed photo with the curse of your own mind.

Little did you know, said neighbour was on his way over to your house at that very moment with a sealed Tupperware container in hand and a whistle on his lips. The faint muffled sound of Madonna leaking through your walls brought a fond smile to George’s face as he crossed over onto your property and made strides over your perfectly trimmed grass. His attention was caught by the sight of you through the single paned front window and he went to send you a smile and a wave until he stopped in his tracks at the realization of what he had stumbled upon.

There you were, lounged back on your couch, socked feet propped up on the coffee table with your legs spread and your hand nestled between them. The look on your face was nearly erotic as you faced the ceiling with an angelic furrowed expression and made yourself writhe under your own touch, any sounds muted by the music that filled your empty home.

George stepped away from the front window so as to not be caught and he turned to head back home to give you your privacy but before he crossed over the property line again, something stopped him. Almost like he was held by an invisible force, he stood dumbly at the edge of your lawn, staring at his house, the Tupperware container of homemade banana bread held in his hands. Everything in him knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help but glance back to the side of your white paneled home to the side window that gave him a direct glance inside and to the couch on which you sat.

If anyone drove by, they would have thought this man looked absolutely ridiculous just standing there, but he was captivated by you, watching you touch yourself to whatever thoughts were taking up your mind. Little did he know, but they were thoughts of him.

His name fell from your lips when you came, almost startling yourself in the process. As your body shuttered through the small waves of your orgasm, your eyes snapped open to land on your wedding photo again as if your husband had seen the whole thing. A furious blush came to your cheeks and you panted heavily as you tried to catch your bearings and process the realization of what you had just done. Sitting up a little more on the couch, you found yourself unable to look at the framed photograph again, instead, staring wide eyed into the darkened fireplace beneath.

A flutter through the window beside the fireplace caught your eye but when you looked, there was nothing there. You hurried to tug your jeans back on and buttoned them up before making a beeline to the kitchen to wash your hands and splash some cool water on your face. What was wrong with you? Your husband was going to walk through the door in four hours and you were going to have to kiss him hello with the mouth that just moaned another man’s name. You were going to have to face said man at the bus stop in an hour and that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Before you knew it,

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Silence.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Huh? Oh, me? Yeah…fine. It was fine. Nothing…important.” you looked to the sidewalk beneath your feet.

George nodded, “Nice.”

Silence.

“How was yours?” you asked.

“Fine. It was good.”

“Good.”

Silence.

You urged the bus to round the corner with the pleading glance of your eyes, desperate to escape the horribly awkward situation that was completely one sided. George cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another at your side. Neither of you knew what the other knew and somehow it made it that much worse. You swore that even a few of the other parents at the bus stop were catching onto your horrible tension and you tugged at the collar of your shirt habitually to try and get some air.

In reality, it was all in your head but, to be fair, George was all in your head too and that was the root of your issue. As you stood there, your mind taunted you with the thoughts that had clouded your mind that afternoon - curious imagination of how his lips would feel or how his hands could grab you or how his body would feel against yours, traced by your fingertips. You discreetly stepped away from him.

In perfect time, the bright yellow school bus rounded the corner and you took that opportunity to step even further away from George, feigning it as simply excitement to see your son. Like every afternoon, Richard ran off the bus and right into your arms and you hugged him tightly with your warm maternal greeting. You barely gave George a goodbye before you were encouraging your son to race you home - a perfect excuse to get as far away from George as possible…and as quickly as possible. Of course, despite the way you ran down your street in the afternoon breeze, you still let Richard get to the front door first and you let him inside with a ruffle to his hair and one last glance from where you came, almost as if you were hoping to see your neighbour trailing after you.

Later that evening, once Andrew was home and dinner was had and Ritchie was tucked into bed, you were desperate to repair the damage to your mind that you had caused by your own actions. Your husband was sitting in the same spot on the couch as you had been earlier that day, already in his pyjamas, a magazine in his hand as he read quietly by the light of the table lamp. He was oblivious but you felt as though just him sitting there would cause him to realize what you had done so the only way to prevent that was to bring your full and entire attention back to him - where it rightfully belonged.

You plucked the magazine from his hands and tossed it onto the coffee table, urging his eyes to raise to your face as you tossed a leg over his lap and sat yourself down on his thighs. His hands fell to your hips just as you swooped in to kiss him purposefully, lingering on his lips for a few seconds before offering him a bit of tongue. He humoured you for a few seconds before he was tilting his head back with a soft chuckle to break your kiss.

“What are you doing?” he asked playfully.

You slung your arms around his shoulders and leaned forward against his chest until your noses were almost touching, asking him almost pleadingly, “Have sex with me.”

Andrew’s hands gave your hips a squeeze, “You know I love you,”

“Mhm.”

“But I’m far too tired for that right now, sugar, I’m sorry.”

“Andy.” you dropped your head back in frustration, staring at the same part of the ceiling that you had earlier that day.

“I’ll be nothing but completely disappointing to you.” he argued lightly. “You deserve my best.”

You frowned and slid off his lap onto the couch beside him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, leaving his hand on your waist to keep you close and he kissed up your neck, “It was just a really exhausting day today. Maybe this weekend, okay?”

“Since when do we have to plan it?” you tisked.

“Since we got old.” he teased.

A small smile perked at the corner of your lips and you swatted him gently with the back of your hand, “Speak for yourself.”

Andrew kissed over your cheek and to your lips and you shared a few brief kisses before he replied softly, “We are the same age, in case you forgot, and thus we are going to get old together.”

Never before did that statement bring a tinge to your heart but in that moment it did and you could only pull a tight smile and nod in reply and he gave you one more kiss before shifting off the couch and taking you by the hand to lead you to bed.

By Friday, you seemed to have fallen back into your usual routine of pretending that George didn’t exist. The few times you saw each other in passing or at the baseball games were few and far between and conversations didn’t stray farther than a polite hello or shallow discussions about your sons or the weather. Your initial guilt due to your solo situation on your couch from earlier in the week seemed to die down and you were very thankful for that. George was a great guy and you appreciated him as your neighbour and wanted to keep it that way.

That might also have been a reason why he was the first person you thought to call when your washing machine flooded all over your basement floor just after lunch. If nothing else, he was kind and reliable. He came over right away with his tool box in hand and you opened the front door for him and led the way into the basement where the flood was occurring. The unfinished concrete floor was covered with a thin layer of cold water that only seemed to be leaking more from somewhere behind the washing machine.

“I haven’t even used it since we moved in!” you said as you stepped cautiously through the water to your laundry basket that was sitting protected on top of the machine. “First time and of course it goes to shit.”

“It’s okay.” George set his tool box on top of the adjacent dryer and then leaned over the two machines to see down between them and the wall, flashlight in hand. “Good you called. Wouldn’t want you flooding away.”

“My new house at that.” you added.

“Exactly.” George wrapped his hands around the sides of the washer and warned you politely, “Step back a bit.”

When you did, he heaved the machine away from the wall with a tight grunt and your eyes widened at the bulge of his biceps under his t-shirt. It certainly wasn’t a light thing to move so you coloured yourself impressed and you stayed out of his way as he managed to give himself enough space to get between the washer and the wall with a wrench from his tool box. You clutched your hands together and held them anxiously in front of your mouth as you watched him crouched down working, focusing your attention on hoping there was no damage done to your house rather than how his jeans fit him so nicely over his thighs.

“Nothing major.” he called out with his head still hidden by the washing machine, “Just a loose pipe. Guess they weren’t installed correctly.”

“Damn.” you tisked.

“Yeah,” George chuckled, his voice tight as he worked the wrench around the pipe to fix it for you, “That’s what you can expect from these installers on new builds. They’re getting sloppy.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

George straightened up carefully from behind the washing machine, “Same thing happened to us when we moved in, if you can believe. I actually liked to pay attention to what the plumber was telling me…and guess it helped to save you $30.”

Your eyes widened, “$30? My Lord.”

“Yeah,” George chuckled and set his wrench back in his tool box, “Should be all set now. If you have some towels we can use to mop up the floor that could be good. I can restart this load for you.”

“Sure. Thanks.” you headed back upstairs and traipsed your damp footsteps up to the second floor to retrieve all your towels you owned from the linen cupboard in the main bathroom.

Bringing them all back to the basement, George had restarted your load of laundry that you had attempted to put on - including detergent and fabric softener and even set it to the correct wash cycle for your blouses. He then showed you the most efficient way to mop up the water with the towels without allowing it to leak into the foundation of the house and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his knowledge base.

“I can’t thank you enough.” you said with a relieved sigh as you both stood on the bottom step of the basement stairs and admired the organized mess of towels soaking up the water.

“No problem at all.” George assured you modestly, “Was the most interesting thing to happen today.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you chuckled, “Nothing like a damsel in distress call to really shake up the lunch hour.”

“Hardly a damsel in distress.” George brushed his hand over your back casually, “You’re perfectly capable in many ways.”

You met his eye in the dim basement lighting before turning to look back up the flight of stairs as you cleared your throat, “Did you want tea or anything?”

“Sure. If you’re offering.”

As you led the way back upstairs and into your kitchen, you realized that was the first time he was in your house. Of course, it was when your basement was flooding and you had breakfast dishes still in the sink and Richard’s toy cars scattered all over the family room and part of you felt embarrassed as if you had to impress him for some reason.

“Sorry that the place is such a mess.” you rushed out as you hurried across the kitchen to try and make the mound of dishes in the sink look less disgusting.

“No need to apologise.” George tisked, “Realities of parenthood. I get it. I don’t judge.”

“Yeah.” you sent a calm smile over at him in silent thanks before focusing on filling up the kettle in the sink, ready to make you both tea just like he did for you that first day you truly talked.

George set his tool box on the round kitchen table and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he walked slowly around the kitchen and took in your shiny new house that was already starting to look like a home. The counter by the hallway archway was covered in pens and stamps and opened mail on which your address was written on each and addressed to ‘Mr and Mrs Andrew J Ridgeley’. George looked away, walking across the linoleum floor towards you and he leaned against the counter beside the stove as you turned on the burner and set the kettle down on top.

“Where’s Nancy today?” you asked casually.

“Oh, sometimes she goes to work with Jenn on Fridays and spends the day at the daycare in the office building. She has a few little friends there and whatnot so she likes it.” George explained.

“That’s nice.” you replied, “So on Fridays you really feel like an empty-nester like me, huh?”

George laughed faintly, “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Good thing I saved you then today.”

“Very good thing.” George agreed smoothly.

There was a calm pause between you as the kettle boiled on the stovetop and you looked away from his light-eyed gaze with a casual lick to your lips. You tapped your fingers against the countertop.

“Y’know,” George said, “I was worried you were avoiding me recently or something.”

You looked back at him, “What?”

“I just felt like you’ve been going out of your way not to talk to me or something so getting your call today kinda reassured me that we’re still on good terms.”

You let out a half laugh and rested your hand against your forehead for a brief moment in near embarrassment, “Actually…I kinda was, honestly.”

George’s eyes widened, “Oh? Did I do something?”

“No, no.” you assured him quickly, “We have just been spending a lot of time together and I didn’t want Andy to get the wrong idea.”

“Did he say something?”

“Well…no…but-”

“Then what wrong idea is there to get?”

You let out a soft nervous laugh without looking away from the steaming kettle but you didn’t offer him any sort of response. George cocked his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment that he was listening for your reasoning. You had his undivided attention. Why did it make you nervous?

“You’re just…” you sighed despite the anxious smile that you couldn’t lick away, staring unwaveringly at the stove, “Really sweet and really personable and I don’t want to get too comfortable and too close to where Andy might feel uncomfortable or suspicious. Or Jennifer, for that matter. There are boundaries, you know? I don’t want to overstep.”

“And if there weren’t boundaries? What would be different?”

The kettle whistled and you stalled in answering his question by taking it from the stove and turning off the burner so you could pour the water into the mugs to steep. Finally, you set the empty kettle back down and forced yourself to look at him, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be talking about this.”

“You started it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” you countered quickly, covering your bases.

“It’s not what you’re saying…it’s how you’re saying it.” George said smoothly. You were suddenly very attuned to how warm and rich his voice was and your eyes flicked across his face like they always did when he was around, wanting to look at every inch of him. He continued purposefully, “How you can’t stop staring at me, especially.”

You scoffed and turned away from him with a blush rising to your cheeks, “I’m not staring at you.”

“You were. You often do.” George teased. “I’m not a complete idiot, I know when someone is checking me out.”

“I don’t-” you laughed nervously down to your steaming mugs of tea, your hands falling gently onto the edge of the counter, “I don’t check you out.”

“Yes, you do.” George laughed just the same. “It’s okay. I don’t mind it. It’s flattering.”

You opened your mouth to reply with some defence but no words came to mind and you shut your mouth with a frustrated little huff and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes for a moment. With your cheeks so warm they could keep your tea hot, you almost wanted to leave if it wasn’t for the fact that it was your own kitchen you were both standing in.

When your hands dropped loudly to your sides, George leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest as he asked in retaliation, “Do you mind when I check you out?”

Offering a disbelieving laugh, you glanced over at him, “You don’t check me out.”

“Why do you say that?” he questioned.

“Why?” you were taken aback, “Because I dunno. Because why would you?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” George answered. “And I most definitely stare at you…although I must be better at hiding it than you are.”

You kept your eyes on his, eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, and you let a faint smile prick at your lips as you gave him a faint shake of your head.

“Can I confess something?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“The other day I came over here to bring you some banana bread I had baked but…I saw that you were already occupied on the couch.” he gestured haphazardly behind him towards your family room. “And I might have stared at you a little then.”

Your eyes widened and you raised your hands to your cheeks in realization, “Oh my God.”

“I’m really sorry, I should have just left when I first noticed but…” George sighed, “You looked fucking gorgeous when you were touching yourself like that.”

“That’s so embarrassing.” you mumbled despite your smile and the eye contact you kept with him.

“No, it’s not.” George shrugged, “We’re human…we can do whatever we need to in the privacy of our own homes.”

“With peeping neighbours in our windows.” you teased.

“Hey, now.” he laughed, reaching out to gently nudge your arm, “Not like I was standing out there with binoculars in one hand and my dick in the other.”

Your smile faltered for a second as if he had completely read your thoughts from that day and how you shamefully fantasized about him as you made yourself cum on your family couch. George’s hand grazed down your arm and his finger linked in the sleeve of your blouse for a brief moment as if he were debating something in his own mind.

Then, his eyes focused on yours once more and he asked as casually as the weather, “What were you thinking about?”

It was a question that would ultimately change the course of your life depending on how you answered but at the moment, you didn’t think that deeply about it. He was right there and he already confessed that he liked it when he stumbled across you like that, the least he deserved was an honest answer. Not to mention the gorgeous blue of his eyes was so mesmerizing that maybe you were a bit dizzy by him as you breathed out a soft, “You.”

Pin drop silence.

Unbreakable eye contact.

And then he was grabbing you by the back of your neck and yanking you towards him for a kiss that burned every inch of your skin.

Your hands grasped the front of his t-shirt to hold him as close as possible, letting your lips mould sloppily together in some sort of semblance of a kiss that easily progressed into more. Standing at the counter in your kitchen, you grabbed onto each other like you were life preservers and he kissed you with so much passion that you had nearly forgotten what it had been like to be craved so carnally like that. He nearly took the breath from your lungs, bending over you until your back was arched and your body took the shape of his. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair as your lips smacked together wetly, tongues pushing together for a greedy taste of infidelity; although your spouses were the last things on your minds.

The steeping tea was forgotten about as he guided you backwards blindly across the kitchen and you gently hit the edge of the opposite counter, giving him the chance to grab the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto it. Right away, your arms and legs were slinging around his body and yanking him closer all without breaking your kiss, sharing hungry moans into each other's mouths. Your fingers tightened in his soft hair but your aggression just pulled a handsome groan from his throat that tasted like heaven against your tongue.

With your ankles linked behind his back, you used the heels of your feet to pull him closer to the counter as you rested near the edge so the front of his blue jeans were pressed up snugly against yours, getting your fix of that fiery touch after so long, regardless of who it was. Your eyes were shut tightly with greed, taking what you wanted from his lips with your body arching against his. George’s hands on your hips pressed indentations of his fingerprints into your flesh and he held you against him as he grinded against you faintly.

The sweet moan that fell from your lips had him moving like that again, rutting the front of his jeans right up between your spread legs, creating that friction that satisfied the craving of pleasure that you ached for. You moved with him faintly, grinding against his body in return from your spot on the edge of the kitchen counter until you both were turning more and more desperate from it.

George broke away from your kiss first and his hands shoved up the bottom of your blouse and lifted it over your head so it could be tossed aimlessly to the floor. You panted heavily to the kitchen as he moved his kisses down your neck and over your breasts that were tucked in your unflattering bra but he didn’t mind one bit. He groaned against your chest as he sank to his knees in front of the counter, “You’re fucking sexy.”

“Holy shit.” you exhaled, lifting your bum off the countertop when he popped the button on your jeans so he could yank them off you.

“That’s it.” George licked his lips as he guided your feet back until your heels were tucked on the edge so you were spread open for him, only separated by your underwear. He leaned in close and dusted his nose right up between your legs before his tongue was following, teasing your pussy over your underwear with the faintest of touches that still managed to make you squirm. He stared up at you from his knees, sending you a teasing wink as his fingers linked in the hem of your panties and he started to pull them down too, “I’ve wanted to do this for too fucking long.”

Once they were dropped to the floor too and your feet were back in place where he wanted them, you could barely rush out a reply, “Me too.”

In reality, you hadn’t truly realized you wanted that until you were put in that position but the images that your mind pictured earlier that week certainly might have proved otherwise.

He touched you like you were a masterpiece, gliding two fingers down between your glistening folds with his lips parted in near awe, watching how your wetness clung to his fingertips greedily. You raked a hand through his hair to guide his face in too and he gladly obeyed, nustling his tongue alongside his fingers with a gorgeous exhale that sent shivers up your spine. The caresses of his tongue were devine and he teased around your clit and down across your pussy in gentle strokes that had your head lolling to the side.

Being in that position wasn’t new to you - you had a husband after all - but you weren’t aware of how limited your experience might have been until George had you there. His first few touches and licks were expected and you offered him soft hums in appreciation, your teeth sunken into your bottom lip faintly as you watched him between your thighs. But then his large hands were sliding around your thighs and his fingers pressed into your flesh, his wedding ring on his left hand shimmering in the early afternoon sunlight, and he was nuzzling his face deeper with quick laps of his tongue. Your mouth fell open at his insistence and your hand in his hair gripped tighter in surprise.

“Oh-” you stumbled out faintly.

George tugged you closer to the edge of the counter as he slurped at your cunt until he was sucking on your clit and your head tossed back with a sharp gasp and your back straightened up.

“Fuck!” you squeaked.

He hummed against you, blue eyes staring straight up your body to gauge your every reaction as he tongued at your clit in quick strokes. The feeling was intense and you didn’t know what to do with yourself as you gaped dumbly into your kitchen and almost choked over your breath, eyes struggling to stay open, and your hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair ended up slamming flatly against the side of your refrigerator. The upper cabinets caught your head as you let out a loud moan to the ceiling, toes curling over the edge of the countertop, and George only grabbed tighter to your thighs to hold you on his mouth.

Your hand tightened in his hair although you couldn’t decide if you were pulling him closer or wanting to push him away with how strong the pleasure was that he built within you. You mouthed a silent chant of “fuck, fuck, fuck-” to your kitchen ceiling, gaping dumbly to the light fixture. George took his right hand back just long enough to slip two fingers in his mouth before he was guiding them slowly inside your leaking pussy.

“Oh God-” you whined tightly.

“Good girl.” he praised warmly against your cunt as his fingers started to thrust into you shallowly but strongly. “This what you were thinking about?”

“Mhm-” you could only nod cluelessly, barely able to make out what he was saying thanks to the ringing of your ears that was brought on by the pleasure he introduced to your body.

His tongue flicked faster at your clit and his fingers nudged up against that warm spongy spot just inside you at a perfect consistent pace. The moans that tumbled from your lips were nearly involuntary, coaxed out of you by his generous touch, until you were sure the neighbours could hear - if it weren’t for the fact that your neighbour was the one between your legs at that very moment. All your stresses and anxieties from the prior few short weeks seemed to fall away and the rush of pleasure that tore through your body completely made up for it.

You felt dizzy and you rested your head back heavily against the upper cabinets behind you with your eyes screwed shut, barely able to choke out a, “Yes-”

George gripped you tighter and kept his pace going, keeping his eyes on your face even if you weren’t looking at him. He analyzed your every flutter of expression to see just how you wanted it, smothering a half smirk at the displeased huff that you let out when he gave his tongue a break to suck on your clit instead. The change up took a second to get used to but you had never been so catered to before so you weren’t one to complain, tightening your fingers in his soft hair while he worked wonders on you.

Then that build up was forming again, flushing warmth across your skin, and you gaped down to him, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

George didn’t move a muscle from exactly where you needed him even as your legs started to quiver from where you were held open. You choked over your next breath as the first wave of pleasure tore down your spine and George gripped onto your thighs to hold you steady on the edge of the kitchen counter as you came on his mouth. His name fell from your lips like it was second nature and it truly felt so much better when he was there to hear it himself.

He pulled away once you started to get sensitive and he pulled his fingers out of you as he stood up and he rubbed along your messy cunt in lazy strokes. Your hand in his hair slid around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another open mouthed kiss, instantly sharing the taste of you that lingered on his tongue and you sucked on it greedily. George blindly unbuttoned his jeans while he kissed you, barely able to drop them and his underwear to the floor before you were tucking your legs around his waist again and tugging him closer.

“No one’s ever gone down on me like that before.” you confessed breathily between feverish kisses.

“No?” George chuckled cockily into your mouth, kicking his jeans off his ankles and across your kitchen floor, “Well good thing you have me.”

You offered a sweet “mhm” in reply that was quickly swallowed up by his lips once more.

He grabbed your thighs again and tugged you closer to the edge of the counter, “This okay?”

“Yeah.” you slung both your arms around his shoulders, leaving one hand in his hair and the other grasping onto the back of his shirt.

“You want this?” he asked breathily.

“You have no idea.”

The two of you shared faint laughter that was swallowed up by a few more sloppy lustful kisses before George was breaking away from you long enough to look down between you so he could angle the head of his cock against your slick cunt. You shuttered slightly in anticipation, clinging onto the back of his shirt as you breathed him in greedily with your nose pressed against his cheek.

George pushed inside you slowly and once that aching stretch came to spread across your hips, your eyes met closely as your mouth fell open with a soft gasp. His eyes darted across your face before his lips were capturing yours in a sensual kiss and he slid deeper inside you with his hands grabbing at your doughy hips, sinking himself into your body. The wavering breath he let out into your mouth was laced so perfectly with the faintest moan and you felt it right through your body, making your muscles flutter around him.

“Holy shit.” George slid a hand around the back of neck, his fingers nestled in the roots of your hair, and he pulled your lips harder onto his with an underlying sense of urgency that burned hot over your skin. And, as he did, he started to thrust into you hungrily, sharing in your whimpering moan that blessed your kiss.

“Fuck.” you choked out, your grip tightening on the fabric of his shirt as if to pull him impossibly closer.

Your kisses were messy from the quick aggression with which he fucked you on your kitchen counter but you kept at it like you never wanted to stop, unable to get enough of each other and the addictive drug of sin that joined you together. When even what he gave you didn’t feel sufficient enough, you pressed your heels into the flesh of his ass to try and get him to give you more, whining desperately against his tongue-led kisses. He stopped completely, nestled as deep inside you as he could fit, and your head dropped back against the upper cabinets behind you with a warm moan at the glorious fullness he offered you. George grabbed your ass and pulled your body right up against his so he could lift you up off the counter and into his arms.

You gasped in surprise but clung onto him tightly, trusting him entirely to do whatever he pleased, and your hands splayed across his back over the thin material of his shirt to feel the way his toned back flexed as he held your body weight. He carried you through the adjacent doorway into the dining room and through the spacious archway into the front living room, the afternoon sun streaking in through the large picture window at the front of the house. The carpet was soft beneath his feet and hid his footsteps as he blindly navigated his way to the couch, still taken up by your lips that kissed him like he was more important than air. George sat himself down heavily on the couch with you perched perfectly on his lap, his dick still tucked warmly inside you.

“Mm, my God.” you withered, driven by humanistic lust, and you were right away starting to bounce on his lap.

“Holy fuck, you’re sexy.” George groaned, slumping back comfortably on your couch that had been a wedding gift to you and your husband. He stared up at you with dilated blue eyes and he licked his lips at the sight, his large hands on your hips following your eager motions. But despite the obvious intent you held, he still reminded you politely, “You tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not.” you insisted strongly, grounding your hands flat against his chest so he was held down on the couch and you had the leverage to ride him harder. You had wanted that for what felt like weeks now and even though you had initially wanted it from your husband, you couldn’t be completely blamed for finding it elsewhere.

“Oh my God, look at you.” he breathed in near awe, “You want it so bad.”

You couldn’t bite back the sly smile that pricked at the corner of your mouth even if you scrunched your eyes shut and tilted your head back in some effort to keep him from seeing the effect he had on you. Your skin clapped lewly against his thighs with every bounce, tainting your marital home each and every time. The feeling of his hand around your throat startled you slightly.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Fuck, yeah.” you stumbled out.

That wasn’t new either and you had your fair share of more kinky interactions with your husband before he was your husband and before parental responsibilities and careers started to diminish the passion. It had been far too long.

“Harder.” you ordered.

George’s hand squeezed your throat a little tighter, “Better?”

“Mhm.” you withered, still messily bouncing on his lap.

“What do you say?”

His demand took you by surprise but it was invigorating and you looked down at him and his handsome lust filled expression, offering him an angelic, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.” he corrected you smoothly.

You nearly choked over your breath and the obvious reaction to that simple demand had Georges smirking proudly under you as you tried to keep riding him on your couch.

His hand tightened around your neck a little more, ordering you strongly, although his voice could never get rid of the undertones of gentleness, “Say it.”

“Thank you, sir.” you exhaled.

“Good girl. You’re doing such a good fucking job.”

“You feel so fucking good inside me.” you whimpered. “I don’t wanna stop.”

��Don’t. Keep going until you make yourself cum.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you confessed, “I can’t cum like this.”

“No?” George tugged at your neck to urge you down on top of him so you were chest to chest and he could kiss you.

You took that opportunity to rut yourself against him greedily, rocking your hips back and forth on his lap with your clit rubbing faintly against his pelvis just enough to get a little huff out of you against his lips. George let go of your throat to take two handfuls of your ass instead and he guided you into stronger motions against his body, keeping you on his cock even as you used his body to stimulate your aching clit. Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt tightly, moaning into his mouth while his tongue pushed insistently against yours until you were falling breathless.

When he slid his hands up your back, you tried to keep yourself going the way he had started for you but it wasn’t the same. Before you could beg for him to help you again, he was swallowing you up in his arms and smoothly sliding one of his legs under him so he could flip you over and drop you both lengthwise across the living room couch with him rightfully on top of you.

“Fuck.” you squeaked, throwing your arms around his shoulders just as he started thrusting into you roughly, forcing your head back against the arm of the couch with a choked, “Sh-Shit!”

“Better?” George taunted against your cheek.

“Yes, sir.” you whimpered.

His chuckle was low and warm and your toes curled at the sound, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. But he would never dream of stopping, not when he had you where he had dreamt of having you for as long as you had imagined the same about him.

What had started as a somewhat cautious rendezvous had quickly moulded into a carnally lustful hookup, entirely trusting of each other, and he wasn’t holding back as he fucked you on your couch harder than you had been in a while. You couldn’t even manage to form words as you stared up at him above you with your mouth agape and your eyebrows furrowed with intense pleasure, stupid little moans tumbling freely from your throat as language abandoned you. His icy stare was steamy hot and you refused to look away for even a second, raking your nails across the back of his t-shirt until the fabric was definitely being creased and wrinkled.

“Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

His voice was ethereal and you could have finished from that sentence alone, the pet name causing your swollen cunt to tighten around him for a moment.

“Use your words.” George teased.

“Please,” you forced out, “sir.”

“Can you cum like this?” he asked softly.

You nodded quickly, already feeling the seeds of an impending orgasm blossoming inside you, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” George chuckled, nudging his knees across the floral couch cushion to be a bit closer to you, keeping his thrusts so perfectly deep, and when he sat back from you just enough to get his hand around your throat again, he was at the perfect angle to hit your g-spot dead on. When you took in a sharp breath at the quick rising pleasure from his minor adjustment, he smirked down at you, “You needed it that bad, huh? Already gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, sir.” you repeated dumbly up to him, swimming in a euphoric haze, “Please don’t stop.”

“No way, baby.” he promised, keeping your unwavering eye contact, “Wanna feel you cum all over my fucking cock.”

“Please.” you breathed, face scrunching up from the intense sensations. “Please-“

George was on the same wavelength as he was blessed with the glorious feeling of your body, already feeling himself falling into his own rising pleasure. His hand that wasn’t taken to your throat was gripping the arm of the couch beside your head and with every thrust, his hair was falling farther over his forehead on beautiful messy waves. You wanted to kiss him again but you wanted him to make you cum more, so you didn’t dare move him from his positioning, taking the view gladly instead as your attention was all on him and your fingers stayed locked around the fabric of his shirt.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl, I can feel you tightening up already.” George spoke down to you, his voice so rich and heavenly you swore it made you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum.” you whimpered loudly, head lifting from the arm of the couch so you could peer down your body and watch how he fucked you, the sight of his dick disappearing inside you before pulling back out almost all the way covered in your glistening wetness in rapid succession only making your impending orgasm feel stronger and stronger. You were almost sure you were going to rip his shirt right off him as you squeaked out, “Fuck, fuck fuck, right there, right there-“

“Uh huh?” George’s jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself back for the sake of you as the priority. You had to finish first.

The moment that the first wave of pleasure hit you, your entire body shuttered and your head tossed back against the arm of the couch with a silent gape to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut. Then it was all let out with the most beautiful trembling moan George had ever heard and you filled your silent house with the sounds of your euphoria and the praise of his name, painting the walls in sin. You hadn’t cum that hard in a while to the point where you almost blacked out from the strength of it and your body wrapped itself around George to yank him down on top of you for something to hold onto.

That just made it even more impossible for him to stop as he kept fucking you right through it, groaning loudly against your cheek as he fought against your vice-like grip around his aching cock. He was getting sloppy with it, losing himself in the warm wet heaven of your pussy and the lewd sound it filled the living room with. Your ankles linked behind his back and pulled him in deeper, gasping and whimpering in sensitivity that you pushed aside to bask in the glorious and reliving pleasure he brought you.

“I…” George choked out, dipping his face into your neck as you held each other tightly, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Gimme it.” you pleaded. “Please, sir.”

Forward thinking was not your priority in that moment as all you craved was for him to claim you completely, filthily, beautifully. For all you cared, this could have just been one perfectly intense dream and you wanted to make the absolute most of it.

With a few more thrusts, George was shoving hard into you once more and as his dick throbbed inside you, he came strongly, spurting thickly as deep as he could reach. Your mouth fell open at the feeling and one hand flew to his hair to tangle in the soft strands and hold his face in your neck as he moaned heavenly against your flushed skin. He ground into you greedily, giving you everything he had and it made your mouth water, your head tilting back to stare up at the living room ceiling with a mouthed ‘oh my God’.

“Fuck.” George huffed, gently allowing his body weight to rest on top of you completely.

You welcomed him gladly and enveloped him in your embrace and even kissed his head and his faint breathy chuckle at your action had you smiling. The pleasure hormones swirled around your mind and body and before they could fade away, George was sliding his hand over your cheek and guiding your lips to his for a slow, sensual, breathless kiss.

The two of you made out like that on the couch for a few minutes, what was once such a rush now dimmed down to lazy yet purely passionate kisses in the silence of your marital home. He was still tucked inside you and feeling his body so close with yours was addicting. Your fingers scratched through the back of his hair and he broke your kiss to rest his head against your collarbones.

“I needed that so fucking bad, oh my God.” George sighed.

“Me too.” you confessed lightly.

“It’s been way too long.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of silence as the reality of your situation settled on your minds.

“We really did that.” you exhaled.

“Yeah.” George sighed.

“Do you regret it?”

George lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you properly, “Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

A faint smile pricked at the corner of his mouth and he answered with a soft, “No.”

You trailed your hand out of his hair and down the side of his neck to guide him in for a chasté kiss, “Me neither.”

George gave you one more kiss before he was carefully sitting back from you, “Our tea is probably cold.”

You giggled softly, “Probably.”

“Want me to get you your clothes?”

“Please.”

He carefully pulled out and you let your hand take his place, staying on your back to keep from leaking out onto the couch, and he disappeared back into the kitchen. For the few seconds he was gone, you stared wide-eyed out the front window to the tree-lined street, the heavy side of reality settling onto your consciousness. If you had felt guilty about your thoughts the last weeks, then this was unimaginable. You committed arguably the ultimate sin in marriage - how would you ever come back from this?

“Here you go.”

George held out your underwear to you first and you glanced up at him - now fully dressed himself - and you took them from him with a soft thanks. He helped you up from the couch and you hurried to shimmy your clothes on while he watched you.

“This should be a one time thing, right?” you said after a moment.

“Yeah, probably.” George sighed.

“And…just between us?”

“Of course.” he agreed quickly. “We don’t want to…mess everything up.”

“Yeah.” you smiled faintly, thankful that he understood.

You could see him hesitate for a moment before he was taking your hand and leaning in to kiss you again. Despite the events that had just happened, the move made you a little shy and you pulled away a second later with a bashful smile to the ground. His thumb brushed over your skin lazily and as you stood together in your living room face to face in the afternoon sun, you felt drawn into him to steal another gentle kiss from his plush lips. Without sharing a word or any additional touch, you kissed softly, innocently, for a few long seconds before breaking away from each other again. You licked your lips that tasted like him and he noticed with a fond smile.

“The school bus should be here soon.” he said.

“Mhm.” you hummed, only half paying attention as your gaze was transfixed by his swollen lips.

“We can walk together if you want.”

“Mhm.”

There was another momentary silence between you and George’s faint bite to his bottom lip had your eyebrows naturally peaking for a split second. He could read your face like it was the front page of the morning paper.

“This isn’t going to be a one time thing, is it?”

You shook your head and took the half step closer to him as you leaned in for another tender kiss.

He was everywhere in your house now. Everywhere you looked it was tainted with George and you were worried that it showed all over your face. The kitchen...the living room…everywhere you looked. That very same night you stood in the kitchen preparing dinner while Richard watched TV in the family room and you tried not to think about the memories that the counter behind you held or pay attention to the constant leak that dampened your panties under your jeans. Andrew would be home in no time and you had only that long to compose yourself enough to face him like nothing was wrong.

The phone on the kitchen wall rang loudly, startling you dramatically and your head whipped around to it. You set the knife down on the cutting board and wiped your hands on your apron as you made your way over to it. Without thinking twice, you answered it with a casual, “Hello?”

“Hey, my love. It’s me.”

Your grip tightened on the receiver at your husband’s voice and you cleared your throat before answering, “Hi, Andy. What’s going on?”

“I just heard news that the boss wants me to come out for dinner with a potential client tonight so I won’t be home until a bit later. Nothing crazy but we’re hoping to get them onboard with this pitch and apparently bottomless wine is the way to do it.” his soft chuckle acted as a way to cover up his disappointment - you knew that well after your few years together.

“Oh. Okay.” you looked to the ground, silently grateful you wouldn’t have to face him until later.

“I’m really sorry, sugar.” Andrew said softly through the phone, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“No, no. That’s okay. Do what you gotta do.” you pulled the most chipper voice you could.

“I’ll make you proud.”

You slouched your shoulder against the wall, “You always do, Andy.”

“Tell Ritchie I say hello and I love him. I won’t be back before his bedtime.”

“Of course. Be safe, okay?”

“I will. I love you.”

You nibbled your bottom lip for a half second before answering through the guilt that burned within you, “I love you too, honey.”

It was almost 11pm when you heard the front door open. Richard had long been put to bed - although not without asking for Andrew a half dozen times and trying to stall bedtime so he could see him before he slept - and even you had retired to bed yourself. With a book in hand, you were in your nightgown on your side of the bed in the warm light of your bedside lamp, trying to look as nonchalant as possible for when your husband would return home. He didn’t need to know a single thing and especially not how often you had been thinking of how George’s night was going since you had parted that afternoon.

Each quiet footstep on the stairs had your heart racing but you had all evening to calm yourself so you had belief that you were definitely able to play it cool. So, when the bedroom door opened and Andrew stepped inside in his black work slacks and pale blue button up, you offered him a loving smile. He closed the door behind him again so as to not wake your son and it was then that you noticed the small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your smile faltered for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable weight settling in your chest.

Andrew just kept his warm grin and he walked over to your bedside to lean down to greet you with a kiss and the flowers, “Happy anniversary, sugar.”

You didn’t know what to say for a moment, using all your willpower to keep the smile on your face despite the fact that you completely forgot it had been your wedding anniversary of all days. But you closed your book and set it on your bedside table, “Aw, thank you, my love.”

“I’m really sorry I missed most of the day.” Andrew said, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“That’s okay.” you brushed it off easily since you did much worse that day, “You’re here now.”

“Finally.” Andrew took the flowers across the room and set them on the dresser still in their cellophane so he could get ready for bed. “And it’s Friday, thank God.”

You watched him loosen his tie and then slide it off from around his neck and he dropped it on the dresser before starting to unbutton his shirt.

You tried to keep casual conversation, “How was the dinner?”

“It went really well actually.” Andrew said, “Got them on board and they will be signed with us on Monday.”

“That’s great! Although I didn’t have any doubts; you’re their best guy anyway.”

“You flatter me,” Andrew glanced over at you with a sweet smile as he walked across the room and draped his shirt over the back of the armchair. He then unbuckled his belt before it, too, was joining the forming pile on the chair and he dropped his slacks, “But now I don’t want to think about work because it’s now the weekend and it’s our anniversary and all my attention is yours. I told you I’d make today up to you.”

“That’s okay.” you assured him softly. “I’m not upset.”

“I am.” he protested gently and your eyes followed him back across the room and around to his side of the bed. He pushed back the sheets and climbed in beside you in only his underwear, telling you honestly, “I’ve felt so badly saying no to you so much the last little while.”

“It’s really okay, honey.” you promised, lolling your head to the side to look at him.

“Nope, not accepting that.” he tapped your nose, “I can tell I was doing nothing but disappointing you and I don’t like doing that. Not that we need an excuse but I think our anniversary is the best time to get back at it, you reckon?”

You didn’t realize how hard you were biting your bottom lip until the pad of his thumb gently swiped over it to get you to let go and then he slid his hand around the side of your face and guided you in for a soft kiss. You tried to push the guilty thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on your kind-hearted husband at your side who, even after an insanely long work day, still wanted to give you what you wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that you were still in love with him, but you kept your new secret locked away in order to prevent hurting the man you loved.

Andrew was obviously clueless to your internal affairs and his kisses were just as passionate as ever, still managing to erupt butterflies in your stomach with every lingering lock of your lips. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist of the hand that cradled your face and the fact that he didn’t have an ounce of suspicion from the taste of your lips that had kissed another man made you sure that you could have your cake and eat it too. It was almost thrilling.

Your husband broke your kiss and reached under the sheets to tug at the hem of your nightgown, “Wanna take this off for me?”

You gladly pulled it over your head and tossed it to the carpeted floor beside the bed and he moved in again to kiss your neck while his hand trailed down your naked body and traced the shape of your breasts and the peak of one of your nipples. He definitely knew where to touch you and that was never a question, proven by the way your eyes fluttered shut when his lips grazed just the right spot under your ear and his tongue against your skin pulled shivers down your spine.

You took the initiative to shuffle yourself on the mattress so you could lay yourself down properly against your pillow and Andrew was following after you gladly, laying half on top of you with his forearm holding him up at your side. Your hands guided his lips back to yours and you shared deepening kisses in the warmth of your shared bedroom. With your fingers tangled in the back of his short brown hair, you shared the responsibility of guiding your kisses until his tongue was nudging against yours. Opening up for him was easy but there was that tiny worry in the back of your mind wondering if somehow he could tell who else you had been kissing in his absence.

In reality, Andrew was perfectly clueless, and he trailed his hand down your bare body and under the sheets and right over the front of your panties. You hummed pleasantly into his kiss and spread your legs a little more for him, urging his hand to rub strongly across your clothed pussy. After a few seconds, he was pulling away from your lips with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and you met his gaze with your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Andrew chuckled breathily, his hand still helping itself between your legs, “You’re so wet.”

You could only offer him a soft giggle that he kissed away greedily.

“I’ve kept you waiting that long, hm?” he teased against your mouth.

You could only manage a faint nod into his kisses.

He didn’t need to know that most of that wetness he was feeling was thanks to your neighbour.

Andrew pulled away from your lips for a moment so he could focus on shoving down your underwear under the blankets and you blindly helped to kick them off to get lost under the sheets. Once his fingers found your cunt again, you were pulling his lips back on yours by the back of his neck, silently praying he couldn’t feel the remnants of George’s cum still leaking out of you. But he was blissfully unaware as he touched you like that, fingers rubbing at your clit and then sliding between your glistening folds and back up, his lips pulling hungry kisses from your own.

When he finally pulled away from your lips, you followed his lead to hold up the sheets to let him shuffle himself underneath them, sharing soft laughter at the ungraceful nature of it as he got himself between your legs. You let the bed sheets fall overtop of him and you adjusted your pillow under your head with a nervous lick to your lips as you stared up at the ceiling. You were sure there was no way he could know - it had been all afternoon and evening after all - but a part of you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

The first touch of his tongue against your pussy had your eyelids fluttering and your breath shuttering in your chest. He nudged your legs open wider and his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you open for his mouth and the gentle caresses of his tongue. Your eyes bore into the ceiling, focusing on the touches of your husband beneath your bedsheets, shamefully thinking back to that afternoon when George had you up on your kitchen counter and ate your pussy like it was his last meal. Andrew’s lazy and gentle strokes weren’t bad, just…different. Familiar. Expected.

He moved as if he were cleaning you up rather than aiming to make you messier and although it felt good, it still fell short. You shut your eyes and tried to focus on it a little more, offering a soft hum to the dimly lit bedroom as your fingers grasped the pillow you were lying on. You exhaled to the ceiling, trying to relax yourself into the mattress without thinking too hard about the fact that your husband was pretty much eating another man’s cum out of you at that very moment.

After only a few more seconds, Andrew pressed a sloppy wet kiss to your clit and then started to move back. Eyes snapping open, you set your hand on top of his head over the sheets, holding him in place as you requested quietly, “Can you put your fingers in me too?”

“Sure.” he chuckled faintly, words muffled by the sheets and duvet.

You felt him glide his fingers across your slick pussy and then he was sinking two inside you slowly, right down to the knuckle. His tongue followed again and he lapped at your clit while his fingers pushed strongly inside you all the way and back out in slow thrusts.

“Yeah,” you breathed, keeping your hand on the back of his head, “Faster.”

He followed your demand with fingers and tongue, ravishing you a little faster until his jaw was starting to ache and his hand was cramping up from those quick thrusts. Andrew hummed flatly against you and slowed himself down after a few seconds and before he could stop completely, you were squirming slightly underneath him.

“Can you only go, like, halfway with your fingers?” you requested quietly.

There was a pause and then movement as he shuffled his way out of the sheets to let them fall to the end of the bed, exposing your naked body to the air conditioned bedroom. He caressed your hip gently with a quiet, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” you replied almost too fast, “Why?”

“It’s just…you’ve never had to tell me what to do before. I always usually make you cum.”

“I know, I know.” you assured him quickly, wracking your brain for an excuse, “Was just wanting to try new things.”

Andrew smiled faintly at you and nodded, “Okay.”

You returned his soft smile and he leaned down to kiss your lips, once, twice, and a third time before he was sitting back on his knees and shuffling out of his underwear. You tried to hide your disappointment that he wasn’t going to go down on you some more behind a tightlipped smile as he met your gaze and pulled the sheets up around you both again. Habitually, your legs went around his thighs as he situated himself on top of you and his lips locked with yours again in slow sensual kisses, tangling together as husband and wife in your shared bed like how it was supposed to be.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

“Mhm.” you slid your hands up his back and scratched your fingers across his shoulder blades lightly as he got himself situated.

The head of his cock nudged against your dripping pussy and your muscles fluttered at the sensation, naturally waiting for him to finally push inside you. And, when he did, his eyes stayed focused on yours without breaking away for even a second, watching your expression as he filled you completely. Your hands rested on his back as you stared right back at his face, taking in his dark and handsome features that you loved so dearly, and yet part of you was already missing George’s blue eyed gaze.

The flicker of a guilty wince across your expression was covered with ease by the first thrust from your husband as he started to make love to you properly. He kissed your lips sweetly, sharing single little fleeting kisses and soft breaths as you tangled under the sheets together. His thrusts were slow and deep and so incredibly loving, something that had been so comforting over the recent few years together. Something you didn’t realize mattered much. Not until George came over that afternoon and shook your very knowledge of reality and pleasure to its core.

Andrew broke away from your kiss to tuck his face into your neck and your arms wrapped entirely around his back to hold him on top of you, whimpering softly against his shoulder as he took you over like that. Your eyes scrunched shut and you desperately tried to stay in the moment, clinging onto your husband’s beautiful caramel skin and the scent of his office that lingered on him; copy ink and paper. His warm breaths fell against your neck in gentle pants in time with his precise thrusts, your bed squeaking faintly beneath you.

But your mind was straying again, drifting to the house next door and the man who had his way with you that afternoon; the one who somehow made you see stars for the first time in years. That used to be you and Andrew or so you recalled as the memories faded with time, but now it was all so fresh with George and you were drunk on the newfound adrenaline of it all. You tried to hush your mind from begging you to do it again and again and again with the man who had his own wife and his own family and who wasn’t legally bound to you in any way.

Just because you couldn’t have him didn’t mean you couldn’t think of him. With your eyes closed tightly and your husband’s face still tucked warmly in your neck as he made love to you gently into your bed, you shamelessly imagined him to be George instead. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and your mind swirled with memories from that afternoon and the dirty words that your neighbour spoke to you. You imagined him saying such things to you now, holding you down on your bed, fucking you like you never knew you needed.

As you clung onto your husband, your lips formed the words without thought, mouthing them silently to the ceiling, “Yes, sir.”

George took up your mind until your thoughts were so vivid that you swore you could smell him right there with you, taking the place of your husband. Even Andrew’s soft sounds were that of George and you were buzzing off the fresh memory that burned within you, completely encapsulated by the man that wasn’t yours. You could do nothing else but picture him on top of you instead, mouthing his name to your bedroom ceiling over and over as if speaking to him in your mind.

“That’s it.”

The breathy faint voice that ghosted across your ear tore you from the strength of your imagination but the power that George still held over you kept you going just that little bit longer.

“Holy shit, you’re gonna cum already?” Andrew chuckled against your cheek, “I can fucking feel it.”

“Shh.” you pulled his face back into your neck, playing it off effortlessly that you were too close for casual conversation. That wasn’t entirely a lie because the words that George spoke to you in your memory were certainly bringing you closer by the second, urging your muscles to tighten up around your husband’s dick.

Andrew kept his pace going even as your nails pressed into the muscles of his back and your body fell into pleasure beneath his. Your orgasm certainly wasn’t as strong as the two you had that afternoon but it was still real and it still felt good, regardless of the slight disappointment that filled your guilty conscience.

“Yes.” you squeaked out, tangling your hand in the back of his hair to grip tightly to his soft brunette roots, “Fuck-”

“Oh my God.” Andrew groaned from over top of you, shifting away from you a little to get a better angle with his hands pressed onto the pillow on either side of your head.

Panting softly underneath him, your hands slid down to his biceps and you held onto him as he thrusted into you a little faster, those big brown eyes staring right into your distracted gaze. He was still as beautiful as ever to you and the expression of pleasure that spread across his face was just as breathtaking as the first night you shared together six years earlier. Only seconds later, he was pulling out of you and coming right across your abdomen with the added help of his own hand, offering quiet moans to your bedroom walls as he finished himself off. You watched him closely, tearing your eyes away from his face to glance down between you under the sheets to get a glimpse at the mess he made across your flushed skin.

“Shit.” he huffed and carefully shifted off of you.

You took the sheets from him to hold them up and out of the way as he rolled over to grab a few tissues from the bedside table. He helped to clean you up like the gentleman he was and then you let the blankets fall gracefully over the both of you as he leaned in for a few breathless kisses.

“How was that?” he asked teasingly.

You bit back your smile, “Good.”

“Good?” he laughed lightly, feigning offence, “Just good, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” you swatted his chest playfully.

Andrew tossed the sheets back and swung his legs off the bed, “I’m gonna throw this out. Did you want water or anything?”

“I’m okay.”

He leaned back down towards you for one more kiss, “Okay. Be right back.”

You tucked the sheets up to your chin as you watched him stand up and shuffle his underwear back on before he was patting across the carpeted floor to the ensuite bathroom. When he was out of view, your eyes drifted to the flowers still resting on the dresser across the room and you nibbled at your bottom lip to try and keep the guilt at bay. Then, you looked straight up at the ceiling instead, trying to settle the rapid beating of your heart over the realization that you had to think of another man apart from your husband to get off. That had never happened before.

Andrew’s gentle humming came from the bathroom as he brushed his teeth and finished getting ready for bed and you tried to let the familiarity of his voice soothe you but it didn’t do much. Instead, you just kept wondering what George sounded like when he sang or what music he played when he baked or if he was thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him. How ridiculous. How absolutely teenage of you.

“Alright,” Andrew emerged from the bathroom and joined you in bed once more, “all set.”

You reached over to your bedside table to turn off your lamp before laying beside him again, habitually wrapping yourself up under his arm. He kissed your head and sighed as he settled, holding you close under your shared sheets.

“I love you.” he said through the dark.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, “I love you too.”

Andrew was drifting quickly after a long day but you were still wide awake, staring blankly across the room to the front windows and their shut curtains. You aimlessly trailed your fingertips over your husband’s chest and the faint dusting of chest hair that grew down between his pecs, wondering to yourself that if Andrew still felt like home to you, why did your mind crave to be elsewhere. Mostly, you tried not to think of George.

You really tried.

Part Two

My Very Extensive Tag List™:

@wetforwolff

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

Note

Clone^2 question! How's clone Dami and Tim here? I mean Tim's terrified of getting re-stabbed, but this Damian is infinitely chiller, and skateboards like him! Maybe there's a chance!

For sure! I like to imagine that baby dames after chilling out with Danny would be so bratty towards the Waynes if they found out about him while he was still little - but the chance of him stabbing Tim would be so much less. He'd be like, regular little sibling bratty. Not "i'm going to stab you at any moment" bratty.

(If you've seen the solo clone damian post, tim shows up with batman at the end and Damian's a little shit to him - but that's only because he's asking a lot of questions towards Danny, and Damian has been perfectly content with his awesome older brother, and doesn't like that father and co have now found out about him. His entire internal monologue is essentially "what are YOU doing here?!? >:(( Go Away!!!")

But as teen? There's for sure a chance for them to get along. I think he'd remain a little shit to them to an extent, just because I think it's funny. I have this image superimposed in my brain of teen Damian - wearing ripped jeans, a band tee, and a flannel, his hair slightly shaggy but still maintained - leaning against a piece of furniture lazily and saying to DW; "You need to get that stick out of your ass, dude."

Like, Clone Damian as a teenager is so funny to me to think about because he's so... American teenager to me. It's a testament to how different his upbringing was since he moved in with Dany (and Danny and his friends' influence on him). He uses slang, he speaks casually, he wears grunge. He skateboards and spray paints, he volunteers at an animal shelter and uses specialized ghostified spray cans to spray glitter and paint in the eyes of the ghosts he fights. He still uses his swords, that's not something he'll ever give up, but like, he has all of these other things too.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dp crossover #dpdc #danny fenton is a clone #clone^2 #dpdc crossover #dc x dp #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp dc crossover #his graffiti tag is like a stereotypical scary black blob ghost with jack-o-lantern face and knife-like hands in a neon green outline #with the bubble letters 'WRT' in the middle and surrounded by star-like flecks. bc damian puts stars in everything as an homage to danny #im not sure what c!damian would call bruce so i've just been sticking with 'father' because its not TECHNICALLy wrong #also clone danny gains a whip in the future because hey this is REALLY handy for long ranged combat!

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter two: manhattan

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.9k

chapter 2: manhattan

Furniture-building and bonding.

Two of your housemates are perfectly pleasant. Liam, however, is… peculiar.

The house itself is just fine. It’s attached to others on the quaint street, a shotgun-style thing with plain grey paint and white trim. It’s situated right near campus, and there haven't been any problems with the landlord nor the house itself, so you're happy. It’s bigger than your studio apartment in New York, and you're paying less, considering you now have others to chip in for the lease.

You met Leigh and Sonya in the bathroom of a bar downtown while acquainting yourself with the city and deciding to get a little too drunk. In front of the mirror, the three of you became best friends, the way drunk women do in bathrooms, and they mentioned they were looking for a couple roommates over the school year. You greedily accepted.

You’d like to think they're good judges of character, and Liam isn't terrible. Truly, he's not. He’s a handsome young guy, he’s on the rowing team, and he gets good grades. He knows how to cook, even though he's a bit of a health nut, and the four of you have eaten a few meals together at your little dining table. Still, he sits a little too close when he’s next to you on the couch, and he asks you where you're going every time you leave the house.

With all of your shifts and classes, you still haven't had time to unpack all your things. Your dad’s offered to help you on his time off, but you refuse to let him work without you. So, your many boxes sit around a mattress on the floor until you find the time to set up. On your way down the stairs to the foyer, your bag on your shoulder, you rifle around for your keys.

“Where are you going?”

You stop in your tracks and roll your eyes before you turn around to face him. “Class,” you say evenly.

You're frankly surprised he hasn't memorised your schedule already. “Bio?”

Okay. Maybe he has. “That’s right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you later on.”

“Yeah.” He gives you a charming smile and leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “See you later.”

You hurry out the door without making it look like you're hurrying, and slide into your car. It takes two turns of the key to start up, but you’re glad you didn't have to endure a question-and-answer session with a guy who has no business knowing your business.

Leigh’s already there when you settle into your seat. “How was American Lit?” you ask her. She had a free block just before Biology, and decided—for some reason—to fill it by studying the transcendentalists, free-thinkers, and racists of the world.

She gives you a good-natured eye roll. “Overrated as always. Hey, did Liam give you a tough time this morning?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Not as much as usual. Why? Did he harass you?”

“He doesn't give a shit what Sonya or I do,” she says with a laugh of mirth. “Maybe because we aren’t single—or into the male of the species. He probably wants to know you're not going to see a boyfriend.”

“Ah. Well, luckily for him, Bio is all the action I can manage to get these days.” You flip open your notebook and eye the clock. Your professor strolls in just on time. “And Liam isn't my caretaker. He shouldn't care if I have a boyfriend.”

“He does if he wants to be the lucky guy.”

You nudge her gently with your elbow. “He should have told me that before he served me plain tofu last week. For breakfast.”

Leigh giggles, stifling it with her hand, and the lecture begins.

Your dad opens the door a few seconds after your soft knock. “Thank God you're here,” he groans. “I was gonna eat this whole steak myself. Joel would've had to fend for himself.”

Oh, that's interesting. “Joel’s here?” you say casually.

“I hope that's okay.” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Was hoping I could ask you a favour in exchange for food.”

You step inside and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Of course. As long as you don’t make me eat plain tofu.”

He makes a face, but you just shake your head. “Don’t ask. What’s your favour?”

“I want to help you get your new place in order,” he tells you, “and Joel’s volunteered to help.”

“Your favour… is that I let you help me unpack?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He shrugs. “We don’t mind, kiddo. Really. It’ll make things go a lot faster.”

“But…” You know it’s a beautiful deal, and you should take it, but something in your gut twists at the idea of using your new family for manual labour. “I… I can’t let you do that for me. Let me pay you, at least. Let me—”

“No.” He wraps his hands around your arms. “Let me do this for you. I’m your dad. Dads are supposed to help their kids put together furniture and shit.”

You don’t remember being such a teary-eyed person, but you wrap your hands around his middle and blink away the wetness. “Thank you. But I’m not letting you do it for free.”

“I’m sure Joel will have something to say about that, too.”

Sure enough, Joel Miller is in the kitchen, pulling three plates from a cupboard. When he turns around and meets your eye, your stomach turns upside-down. “Hey.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” You give him a smile and take the plates from his hands, since he hasn’t even managed to close the cupboard since you walked in. “I was under the impression you had a bad back, Mr. Miller. Don’t do too much heavy lifting.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” Joel narrows his eyes at your dad. “You tellin’ your daughter I’m incapable of doin’ my job?”

“Nobody ever said that.” You set out the plates and give Joel a reassuring look. “But if you think I’m letting you both put together my space for free, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“I’m family,” says your dad. “And Joel’s my business partner, so he gets roped into my shit no matter what.”

You stare expectantly at Joel, who just folds his arms over his chest. You look sharply away when you find your eyes catching on the bulge of his biceps. “It’s true,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

When he sees you worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, Joel looks down at the counter and blinks hard. Jesus, he thinks. The fuck am I looking at? Mike’s kid. Mike’s fuckin’ daughter.

He scratches his jaw and slaps Mike on the back. “You want me to start the barbecue?”

Mike waves a hand. “Nah, man. I’ll get it.” He looks toward you. “Can you cook something other than boxed macaroni?”

You scoff indignantly, pointing at him with a fork from the table. “You listen here, old man—”

Mike lifts his hands in surrender and backs out the kitchen door. “Get the potatoes ready.”

With that, you're left alone with Joel.

Shit.

“You heard the man. Do you know where his masher is?” Moving around the dining table, your hand ghosts over his back to put some distance between you as you shuffle past him to the stove. The gentle touch fuses every knob of his spine together and echoes through his bones.

Joel stiffens, shutting his eyes, his knuckles white around the counter. “It’s, uh—” Fuck. Where is the masher? He’s been in this kitchen a hundred times. He’s held the masher plenty. “It’s in the…”

He can vaguely hear some rattling in the cupboards behind him, but it’s only when he hears his name that he manages to unstick himself from the counter and move aside. You're on your knees, staring up at him with an apologetic smile. “I need to look in this cupboard.”

Joel staggers backward so suddenly he almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry,” he croaks. Holy shit. He can see your tits perfectly in that little white tank top, the swell of your ass in those godforsaken jeans as you bend over and scour through the cupboard. Joel’s mouth feels dry. He rubs two fingers across his mouth, feeling fucking filthy as he imagines tugging your pretty tits out of that shirt, shucking down your jeans, spreading your thighs and tasting the sweet—

“Found this instead.” You stand up, a little flushed in the face, holding up an electric beater with a huge smile on your face. “Think it still works?”

“Uh—” Joel clears his throat. “Yeah.”

You frown at him, setting the beater aside as you begin to peel the potatoes at the counter. “Are you all right?”

As if you don't know what you're doing. As if every single man who walks by you in the street doesn't do a triple take just to take in that body. Jesus Christ. “Fine,” he says tightly.

Soft skin. Lips. Teeth. Kind, expectant eyes, peering up at him from—

He’s completely fine. He's never been fucking better.

Joel doesn't miss the flash of hurt that passes through your eyes before you focus on your task. “I know it's strange,” you say softly, kindly, “having someone else here. In Austin, in this house. I know you're best friends, and I don’t ever want to get in the way of that. I definitely don't want you to resent me. So, if there’s anything I can do”—you draw in a small, shaky breath, and it sounds so fucking sad that his heart cracks down the middle—“just let me know. Okay?”

Oh. You think he doesn't like you?

“Fuck. Wait.” Joel steps up next to you and places his hand on your arm. You stop your peeling and look up at him, your eyes so fucking buttery and sweet. “Wait. I… I don’t mean to be an asshole. Mike says I do that sometimes.”

You let out a genuine laugh, and Joel wonders if you're used to having people fall under your spell. If you know that a mere smile from you will make a man walk a tightrope between two mountain peaks. “It ain’t strange,” he tells you. “I’m happy for Mike. I’ve never been happier for him. If you knew how long he's been talkin’ about you…” He scoffs, his hand falling from your arm, even though he indulges a little when he lets his fingers lift goosebumps on your skin along the way. “Don’t… Please don't think for a second that anyone couldn't like you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and his heart spikes in panic that he's said something wrong. You quickly swipe your thumbs under your watery eyes and sniffle. “I’ve been crying a lot,” you tell him with a weepy laugh. “It’s not you, Joel. Fuck, I think—I think I really needed to hear that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he says, “if you want.”

The sight of that crooked smirk imbues your knees with a unique weakness. “I’ll let you know the next time I need it.”

His fingers linger a little too close to yours, but he backs away, flexing his hand to shake the imprint of your softness under his palm. The perfume you wear is fucking intoxicating—his nostrils flare when you shift your attention back to the potatoes and the subtle turn of your head makes him inhale the smell of your flowery shampoo. “What can I do?” he asks you, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended.

You give him that wicked smile again, and it strikes him hard. “It’s about time you asked. Use those big muscles and fill this pot with water for me.”

Big muscles, huh? He'll fuckin’ show you. He doesn’t give a fuck about his back if it means carrying boxes and putting together furniture will make you happy. Joel does what you tell him, filling the pot, draining it again, then refilling, poking the potatoes when you ask him to, adding milk and butter. You work quietly together apart from the guiding hand of your soft voice, and thank God the beater works, because he cannot handle seeing you bent over in Mike’s kitchen one more time.

“This is so fucking good.”

Across the table, Joel watches you cover your mouth as you chew, a little moan rumbling in your throat, and he immediately returns his attention to his own cut of medium-rare, ordering his hand to manually unclench around his knife.

“I told you,” laughs Mike. “No more eating that shitty boxed macaroni. Or plain tofu, whatever the fuck that is.”

Plain tofu? What the hell are you eating at home? “Liam thinks he’s allergic to sugar. It’s the only explanation.”

Both Joel and Mike speak at the same time. “Who the hell is Liam?”

They share a glance, but you interrupt the brief silence. “My housemate,” you reply. Neither of them miss the distasteful tone in your voice.

“Is Liam… nice to you?” asks Mike. It’s a careful question, tediously making sure he doesn't overstep too fast, even though Joel wants to know the same thing.

You, of course, see right through him. “Liam is perfectly fine,” you tell him, taking another cube of steak between your teeth.

Yeah, Joel’s not convinced. Neither is Mike, judging from the look he sends Joel’s way. But they both drop the subject, for now. It’s one thing to find his long-lost daughter and welcome her into his home—it’s another to inadvertently scare her away with overbearing questions. You're independent. You're used to caring for yourself.

Though, judging from how you devour your steak and potatoes, Joel’s not particularly convinced you’re taking enough care of yourself, either.

“So, this Daily Texan thing.” Mike swallows a mouthful of cooked carrots and looks at you expectantly. “Did it pan out?”

Your eyes glint with excitement. “Yes! God, I forgot to tell you—I’ll be starting next week.”

Mike grins, and you try, truly and deeply, to stop yourself from crying again. “That’s my girl.”

“Congratulations,” says Joel, lifting his beer in toast.

Your flushed cheeks are so damn cute. “Thank you.” You hide your growing smile behind a bite of steak. “So, what's your next job?”

“Client is looking to fill in their pool,” says Mike. “Wants a gazebo over it.”

Your mouth drops open. “So you're pouring concrete and filling holes?”

Joel snorts. “Ain't always like that. Finished the scaffolding on a house last week. Sooner than we expected.”

He doesn't know why he cares about sounding better at his job than he is, or more exciting. It’s not like carpentry is thrilling. Not to a young, pretty, smart girl like you. Still, you beam like it’s as much of an accomplishment as being elected president. “Looks like a tight ship you both run. Does it ever get difficult?”

“It’s difficult every goddamn day,” says Mike, “especially with this asshole.”

Joel smacks him upside the head as you take a passive sip of water. When all the plates are cleared, and you practically race your dad to the kitchen to clean up, Joel decides he doesn't want to go home yet. It’s rude to dine and dash, after all. It's what his momma told him.

So, he helps you wash the dishes while Mike decides to walk two blocks over to the closest variety store for a six-pack. “Wet or dry?” you ask Joel.

He’s already fixing himself in front of the sink and scrubbing the first plate clean. You huff, nudging him playfully with your elbow. He gives you a mock-injured look with those big brown eyes, like a kicked puppy. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You blink up at him and pout, and the air, unfailingly and familiarly, flees through the open window. His blood surges down to his cock, which twitches, deeply interested, in his jeans. “I’ll kiss it better once you're done,” you tease.

Jesus Christ. No wonder your roommate wants in your goddamn pants. Joel’s never wanted to fight a college boy until now. “Looks like you're already fallin’ behind,” he manages to tease back, indicating the two plates he's stacked up next to the sink.

You grab a clean cloth and begin to dry the dishes in silence, accomplishing your tasks at the same speed he does, entering a plain and effective routine. There’s no push or pull. It’s easy. It isn't awkward. The wind whistles gently outside, but Joel still feels hot around the collar, and wonders if you’re checking him out as often as he’s raking his eyes up and down your body.

He’s going to hell.

“I don't know much about him,” Joel says gruffly, “but this Liam kid is bad news.”

You laugh mirthlessly. “I could’ve told you that. You know he asks me where I’m going every single time I leave the house? He might think he's coming up with the same clever excuse to talk to me, but he’s embarrassing himself. I…” You press your lips together then part them again, and Joel swallows at the sight. “I can’t ever seem to find luck with guys. I mean, uh… guys my age. They all feel too much like boys.”

It strikes him like a slap to the face. He knows it's not pointed, he knows, and yet his mouth curves up in a smile he can't suppress. He feels something like vindication. That scrap of a college kid doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve the same fucking air as you. But they're all entitled. They don't earn what they get. You’ve earned every victory you've won.

And you like men. You like men who will show you how you deserve to be appreciated.

“Joel.” Your soft voice wriggles from his ear to his brain and sticks firm to the grey matter. “You’re the one falling behind now.”

You're right. He rips his gaze away from your face and focuses on washing the dishes. And like that, the pair of you dissolve into a pleasurable silence once again.

The next time it breaks, you're the one who speaks first.

“Are you happy?”

He’s working a particularly tedious spatula, one filled with holes, so he can stall a little while he meets your gaze again. The look in your eyes gives him pause: it's like you're afraid of what he has to say.

He shifts his body to face you better, and you do the same. “What kind of answer are you lookin’ to hear?”

It's a gentle question, but it makes you frown. “I don't want you to change your answer to please me.”

He knows that. He also knows there are plenty of things he'd do to please you. “I don’t think I know what happiness is.”

“Good,” you sigh, “because I don't either.”

“What's wrong with that?” Joel wants to brush aside that stray piece of hair hanging in your eye. He doesn't. “You're young. You've got a lot of life left to figure that out.”

“You’re not old, Joel,” you scold. “And sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes, I think I missed my window.”

At some point, he stopped washing the spatula. “Why?”

“Because I made a lot of sacrifices.” Your voice breaks, and he’s overcome with the need to help, to pull you in and ground your body with his hands. But he doesn't. It will cross a hundred lines. He will not. “And I feel terrible for wanting that. Happiness. I just feel selfish.”

“You know, I was almost married.” Your brows lift at the admission, and Joel chuckles. “Yeah. I know. Proposed and everything. But somewhere along the road, we both realised we wanted lives that didn't mesh. She wanted the life of a world traveller, and I was just ready to settle down. Maybe even have a kid.” He shrugs. “Wouldn’t have worked. Not with each other, at least.”

“You don't regret it?”

“Maybe…” He clears his throat, backing away just a step and focusing on the godforsaken spatula. “Maybe it's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

A hand, soft and small, is on his upper arm. It’s the simplest touch in the world. But to Joel, it’s a match that lights up his whole body from hand to gut to feet. It’s a pair of shackles that lock him in place. He refuses to breathe for fear that the slightest movement will shrug your hand away.

“It’s not my place,” you say, “but I’m glad you made that decision. I’d hate to ever see you unhappy, Joel Miller.” Your lips quirk up into that smile again, and his nerves twinge like violin strings. “Might have to start running for the hills.”

You can tell Joel and your dad are carefully scanning their surroundings when they enter your home on Sunday night for any sight of Liam Baker. “He’s at work,” you reassure them. “Sonya and Leigh are out for date night. Thank you both. Seriously. I can’t repay—”

“You don’t need to,” says your dad, kissing the top of your head. “Let's see the damage.”

You lead them to your room, and Joel focuses his gaze on the creaking wood under his boots so he doesn't have to look at your ass in those tight fucking yoga pants. Do you do yoga?

Jesus, he's losing it. You let them into your room, your face a little flushed. There’s a yoga mat unrolled on the floor, and Joel’s got his answer. He tries very hard not to imagine you with your ass up in the air, grabbing a handful of your flesh as he gets up close and—

“You don't have a bed frame.”

You try to wave off Mike’s gentle scolding. “I needed another person to help put it together. It's been perfectly fine—”

“—sleeping on the floor?”

Joel can tell you're getting uncomfortable with all the focus on you, so he smacks Mike on the back and asks, “What do you want done first?”

Mike gets it, backing off and letting you take the lead. The three of you make quick work of assembling the bed frame and lifting your mattress onto it. When you crawl onto the bed to test that it won't collapse, your limbs resembling a starfish and that tight shirt and those tight pants, Joel looks away.

Next is your dresser. It’s a fucking breeze for two carpenters, who have it assembled and placed precisely where you want in a half-hour, without looking at the instructions (“Men,” Joel hears you scoff under your breath). You busy yourself with putting together your bedside table and, afterward, folding your clothes neatly in the drawers of the dresser. Sitting on the floor cross-legged, you fold up all your pairs of jeans and your goddamn yoga pants in such clean piles that Joel wants to ask you to help reorganise his closet. “The track work okay?” he asks you.

“Like a greased wheel.” You grin at him when he kneels to test the drawer himself. “I trust you, you know. You do work with wood for a living.”

“Can’t have this fallin’ on you as you walk by.” He matches your smile, deciding that the track works just fine. It’ll do you good. His chest feels a little bigger for knowing he’s helped you out.

“Where’s my dad?”

Joel gestured with his chin toward the window, which looks out on the driveway. “Lookin’ at your car,” he replies. “Apparently, he doesn’t trust it.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say nonchalantly, folding your pairs of socks as fast as lightning. “The guy I bought it from only snorted two lines while I was there.”

“All right, smartass.” His smile drops when he sees what’s in the bag you haven’t yet unpacked: a haphazard pile of panties. Lace. Jesus Christ, there’s so much lace. Pink, blue, white. Joel’s jaw ticks. There’s a black fucking thong in there, and he hasn’t had enough time to put up a shield. All he’s doing is picturing that pathetic scrap of black lace as you get on your hands and knees, as he bites into the flesh of your ass, as he sucks bruises into your thighs that will smart for days, as he shucks down that fucking thong and fits himself—

Joel’s back pinches a little when he stands up so abruptly, and you’re the first to notice his wince.

“Hey,” you say with a furrowed brow, standing up to close the distance between you, “you need to go home? You’ve done enough.”

Joel cocks his head at you and opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of the door opening downstairs diverts both your gazes. It isn’t your father’s voice calling out to you; it’s Liam’s. You glance at the clock and curse. He’s done his shift.

“Hey,” he says, slapping his palm above the doorway of your bedroom to signal his entrance. His gaze finds you immediately, but when it flickers to the other man in the room, his eyes narrow. “Who’s this?”

Joel puts his body in front of yours instinctively. Doesn’t this asshole know how to knock? “This is Joel,” you say politely, keeping things nice and civil, “my dad’s friend. Joel, this is Liam—my housemate.”

Liam stretches his hand out, but Joel sizes him up first. He’s clean-cut and clean-shaven and looks like he hits the gym, but he’s scrawny compared to Joel. He could knock the kid clean out if he wanted to. He sort of wants to. He reaches forward to shake his hand and squeezes a little harder than usual.

“Good to meet you, Joel,” says Liam.

“Yeah,” is all Joel says in reply.

You clear your throat and step out from behind Joel’s broad shoulders. “Is there something you needed to talk about before I call it a night?” you ask Liam.

“Actually”—Liam eyes Joel warily—“I was wondering if you wanted to go out. Hit a bar or something.”

Oh, this kid is bold. Joel lifts his brows, folding his arms over his chest. Who the fuck goes bar-hopping on a Sunday night? You’re visibly uncomfortable at the proposal, your eyes darting between the two men in the room. “No,” you finally say, “not tonight, sorry. I have class pretty early tomorrow before my shift.”

“Right,” says Liam, shaking off the invitation just as easily as he offered it. “No worries. Maybe next weekend.”

“Yeah,” you say, and Joel hears a sigh of relief threaded between the letters. “Anyways, we’re all done here, so…”

Something like panic settles in for a restless sleep in Joel’s chest. He can’t just… leave you here. He can’t, on good conscience, walk out the front door knowing you’re a couple doors down from this asshole. There isn’t a lock on your door. He could—

“Joel.” Your hand, again, gently squeezing his bicep. “I’ll walk you down.”

Liam only leaves when you do, and it pisses Joel off even more. He doesn’t follow you downstairs, thank Christ, but it still means Joel has to leave. You keep holding onto his arm as you guide him outside to the front porch. “No fuckin’ way,” seethes Joel, finally letting himself speak far out of earshot, “can you live with him.”

“I never had a choice, Joel,” you reply, calm as ever, your hand doing all the heavy lifting—seeping into his bones, helping his shoulders relax a little.

“You haven’t seen how this asshole looks at you—”

“Joel,” you cut in. “I’ll be fine.”

Joel’s fingers flex into fists and uncurl repeatedly. “Has this kid tried anything on you?”

“No. He hasn’t touched me, said anything out of line, or done a single thing that warrants this.” You smooth out the tension in his brow with your thumb, and Joel’s heart kicks up five notches. “I’ll be okay. Can you trust that?”

It feels illicit to have you touch him like this. You’re strictly off-limits. You’re not his. You’re not here for him. Joel scolds himself for all the pretty pictures he conjures in his head when you smile and laugh and show off that fucking body. He scolds himself a little harder for not caring enough to stop.

“Yeah,” he says with a pout you want to bite right off his pretty mouth. He’s gorgeous in the light of dusk, softened around the edges and still grumpy as hell. He’ll never touch you like this, like you’ve imagined in your nicest little daydreams.

“But if he does…” That muscle in his jaw feathers like it tends to do, and all you want is to climb onto him and suck all that tension away.

“If he does…” Your voice sounds like midnight, velvety soft. “I’ll run to you.”

He still can’t decide, hours later when he’s staring at the ceiling and feeling anything but sleepy, if you were joking.

He’s trying to be careful about the time he spends alone with you. It’s just that you make it very difficult.

He’s in Sandy’s Bar again. Without Mike. When he walks in, you’re chatting up with an elderly couple who are both drinking strawberry gin and tonics. Joel can’t help but smile. You’re so fucking sweet, leaning in close to hear them properly and being patient with their repetitive questions whenever it seems their memories aren’t availing them. They’re asking you about school, it seems, when he gets close and sidles up at the bar.

Your eyes meet his, and they glimmer when you smile. Joel’s chest feels tight. “Hi,” you say, your voice a little breathy when you finally get away. It’s such a sexy fucking sound that his head goes a little fuzzy. “Sorry about that.”

“Charming the locals?” he asks.

“Apparently so.” You give him a humble shrug. “Complain about the current state of politics or the economy and you can charm the pants off anyone over fifty.”

Joel chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You drinking?”

“Just coffee, if you have it,” he replies. “I’m… here alone.”

You don’t frown for very long. In fact, he isn’t certain you were ever frowning at all when that wicked smile is twisting your mouth again. Cloying, black, filthy heat courses through his bloodstream. “So you came to see me. Whatever did I do to deserve the attention of Joel Miller?”

Fuck if I know. God forbid he get a restful goddamn sleep since he met you, since he mostly spends his time imagining your tight, soft body underneath him. He pictures sweat and sighs and wet, gasping moans that jerk him awake even when he manages to fall asleep for a moment.

He needs to get laid. He needs to bury himself in a woman’s body. It’s been too fucking long. That’s all.

It’s not you.

“I came for the discount,” he says instead, holding up the chipped mug of coffee you’ve handed him.

You give him a challenging glare. “What discount?”

You've got him there. “How's the car?” he tries instead.

“Dad thinks I need a new alternator.” You blow out a breath as you shift to pour a beer for another patron. “Another thing I can’t afford. I’ll pick up a couple extra shifts next week. And here I go, complaining again. I’m sorry, Joel.”

He wants to shake his head and tell you to complain all you fucking want. It means you like talking, confiding, untangling your brain from those knots it gets itself in, and giving him little bits of your life.

“Alternators ain’t cheap, but I know a guy,” he says. Ken will fix up your piece-of-junk ride if Joel has anything to say with it. “I can give him your number if you want. Tell him you’re Joel’s friend.”

“Sure that won't make him hang up on me?”

Smartass. “Almost sure.”

The gratitude in your eyes is an addictive substance. “I’ve accepted way too much help from you already,” you say, “but God, I need that car.”

Joel scratches his beard and laughs. “If your car guy only snorted one line of coke, you might not have had that problem.”

“I may have to give him a piece of my mind.”

He’d certainly like to see that.

“Listen.” You lean forward. Joel can see the winding shapes in your irises and the curve of your upper lip, the way your tits press together in that shirt. “My shift will be over at eleven, and I have a paper to write. But I have something to show you.”

Joel lifts his brows. “I can’t edit papers for shit. I can barely read ‘em.”

“No!” You wave your hand, your cheeks flushing a bit. “I… I know you like the stars, out in the country. I was wondering if you'd like to take a drive.”

A drive.

A drive? You want to go stargazing with him? You want to drive out, alone in a car together, out of the city, and watch the night sky? Joel is momentarily dumbstruck; he can't fathom that a girl like you would want to spend her Friday night with an old, grumpy asshole. You should be out at a club in a tight little dress, conning free drinks from idiot college boys and dancing with your friends. You shouldn't want… him. This.

“It was stupid,” you blurt out, casting your eyes down at the bar top. “If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Joel shakes his head. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes lift, wide and sad, and he’s going to slap himself for being the one to make you look like that. “What will your dad say?”

You blink slowly, catlike. “Dad won't complain about me spending time with his best friend.”

“He will if his best friend’s much older than you.”

“Joel.” Your syrupy voice makes him want to reach out and wrap his hand around your hair just to hear what kind of noises he can get you to make. “You’re a family friend. If Dad has a problem, I’ll make sure he takes it up with me.” You squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve known him a lot longer than he’s known me. I wouldn't do anything to screw up your friendship, or make him angry with you. You know that, right?”

His heart aches a little for your compassion, how you're willing to take the fall for him. He doesn't want you to have to make another sacrifice, ever again.

“I know,” he says softly.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, a pleasurable hum in your head at the sound of his gentle voice—like a hand at the nape of your neck, holding you firm. “How d’you know I like stars?” asks Joel.

“Just…” You watch his eyes flit down to your mouth. “Just don't laugh.”

“I won't laugh.”

“Promise me.”

“Baby, I’m not gonna laugh.”

You take a deep breath. “I asked my dad what he gave you for your birthday last year, and he told me you really loved the telescope.”

You watch his brows curve upward in the middle, his warm eyes glimmering as his face softens. “This is my birthday present?”

“This is your pre-birthday present.” You poke him square in the chest with a finger. “Don’t think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me.”

“I don’t need—”

You cut his protest short. “I get off at eleven.”

Joel, of course, goes with you.

#kiwisbell's fics #whiskey sour #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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mybeingthere · 2 months

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Mose Tolliver (1918/20 - 2006, American artist) was born one of 12 children to sharecroppers Ike and Laney Tolliver in the Pike Road community, near Montgomery, Alabama. His exact year of birth is unknown, though it is known he was born on the Fourth of July as well as between the years 1920–25. He attended school only until the third grade due to a self-described lack of interest in education. In the 1930s, the family moved to Montgomery, Alabama where he helped support his parents and their large family by doing odd jobs.

In the early 1940s he married his childhood friend, Willie Mae Thomas, and had 13 children, 11 of whom survived to adulthood. During the late 1960s, while working at McLendon's furniture factory, he had a severe injury where his legs were crushed when a half-ton load of marble shifted and fell from a forklift as he was sweeping in the furniture factory. After this incident, he turned to painting to combat boredom, pain and long hours of idle time. Although many say that his career started after the accident, Tolliver claims he painted beforehand. He would often turn his paintings upside-down and paint the picture of perhaps an animal and landscape positioned from various directions. Tolliver's titles are wildly divergent; e.g., "Smoke Charlies," "Scopper Bugs," or "Jick Jack Suzy Satisfying her own Self".

On October 30, 2006, Tolliver died from pneumonia in Montgomery, Alabama.

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pwlanier · 1 year

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A painted and decorated architectural blanket chest

Lancaster, Pennsylvania, dated "1774"

Flat lid with tulip-form hinges, having faint chalk inscription to interior, "Sprolley," (?), interior till, the arched reserves with painted pinwheels and flower baskets, inscribed, "1774," with waist molding over two drawers, molded base on bracket feet.

Freeman’s

#american painted furniture #Pennsylvania #american folk art

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vintagehomecollection · 2 years

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If uncomplicated country living is your dream, a primitive kitchen might be for you. Authentic color on this cabinetry approximates early buttermilk paint; base cabinets and the free-standing cupboard are Shaker in their simplicity; Shaker-style pegs near the ceiling hold a variety of kitchen items.

The Good Housekeeping Complete Guide to Traditional American Decorating, 1982

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months

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If you look at the trademark application for American Riviera Orchard, you’ll see that she’s trademarking it through a newly registered in Delaware company called Mama Knows Best, LLC.

Infact when you dig into the domain names etc, it seems this was thrown together last minute aka 2months ago after KC3/ PssoW C’s illnesses were announced. They are using PR to pretend they were working on it for an entire year, but even Scobie said they had nothing or whatever they had was all over the shop and he had no idea what it would be.

His comments don’t speak to a focused vision that is researched into whatever this is.

And what’s glaring about this launch is the lack of anything to sell. Not videos or actual products which speaks to the theory that this wax thrown together very quickly.

Russell Myers from the Mirror says if you sign up to the website, you get a respinse telling you that you’ll be notified of products when they are created/ available……if this was a year in the making and with proper marketing/ PR people, they’d have products ready to go. What it is right now is a landing/ holding page ( comments turned off on IG) until it produces products.

It’s also interesting that the video is showcasing cooking which Markle tried to manifest for years while dating Corey. She auditioned and or popped up on varioys cooking shows/ fashion segments hoping to be hired. Acvording to people magazine, this launch of a lifestyle brand will have a companion show on Netflix. If Network tv won’t hire her for dream job then she’ll use her distribution deal to make it happen aka pay herself to make it happen!!!

However, one thing she revealed which tells me she has no clue about aspirational lifestyles/ branding. Her home kitchen hasn’t been updated from the dated 2000s/ early 2010s decor. It’s tye same kitchen from the sales brochure.

Infact, glimpses of their home show a distinct lack of updating from the sales brochure. The onpy room thry updated is the one with the dining table as desk and their two side by side chairs. They removed all furniture and painted it white and addedva jute rug and that california bear poster over the fireplace.

The current trend in kitchens for the wealthy is marble counter-tops and sleek designs meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s.

The women she is cosplaying eg GOOP, Martha and Ina Garten have upgraded to the current trend in kitchens. GOOP showed off her new kitchedn in AD. Heck, JLO is showing off her sleek kitchen.

*****************

That they haven’t updated their house to their taste is what I laugh about the most. Are they really that cash-poor? Do they really have that much debt that they can’t afford to redo anything? Surely Markus and Soho House can cough up a few million to keep her happy, and when the Sussexes default on the loans, they can make Soho Olive Garden, a Californian spinoff of Soho Farmhouse. Win-win, if you ask me.

meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. ➡️ Remember, Meghan’s whole aesthetic is 90s. Of course she wants the Italian Country kitchen.

And thanks, anon. You’ve just reminded me of a house I looked at when I was moving back in 2022. The homeowners were so into that Italian Country Kitchen theme that they PAINTED the entire kitchen like it was a rustic Italian restaurant. You know you go into a family-owned Italian mom-and-pop place (not a chain like Olive Garden or Maggianos, but something like your neighborhood Italian pizza place) and it’s got that orangey-beige sponge paint that’s supposed to mimic sandstone and there’s a huge wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mural of Italy and dusty fake vines hanging from decorative columns? Yeah, that was how this kitchen was painted. Even the cabinets. And that was not even the weirdest house I looked at by a mile.)

#submission #ask #sussexes #roop

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wardenparker · 3 months

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The King's Queen - chapter 9

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Lots of mystery related content this chapter, so no warnings in order to guard against spoilers! Summary: As the weeks progress, the investigation into King Miguel's death is stalling out. Until an unexpected conversation renews your suspicions about a particular member of court. Notes: We're winding down toward the end of this story, folx and thank you all so, so much for reading! It will probably be one more chapter and an epilogue -- so for now have a gif of Lucas and Javi for ✨atmosphere✨

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

In the weeks following, the palace falls into a rhythm. The ongoing investigation is the dark cloud that covers the planning of the royal wedding and coronation, but life goes on. You've accompanied Javi on multiple public outings as Crowned Princess now and the press coverage does seem to be reasonably positive. Maisie and Gabriela have made a few gossip headlines along with you, including one tabloid photo of the three of you visiting a recently opened café owned by two young women in downtown Palma. The photo op had been chosen very strategically by your brother working together with the palace's security team, and you had insisted that the business they selected for the three of you to patronize needed to meet certain standards. The small shop had served you one of the most fantastic lunches you had ever had, and you were sure to tell the women so. The photo of you savoring your crema catalana had gone up on your official royal Instagram account that night.

You're settling in, is really what it comes down to, and at Javi's encouragement you've decided to clean up a room in the palace that hasn't been used much in the last few decades to turn into your receiving room. The Queen's office is one thing. That's a separate space in the working wing of the house, and your brother's office is adjacent to it. But a room for you to receive guests in or have meetings in...it's something that the palace hasn't needed since Javi's mother passed away.

“Your Highness, the furniture movers have arrived.” Despite having an abundance of nicknames for you growing up, and being your brother, Sebastian insisted on making sure that during working hours he addresses you by your title rather than any nickname. Wanting there to be no slip ups in protocol, or for visiting dignitaries to believe that they could also address the future Queen so informally.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” The room had been emptied of its former furniture set and divested of its previous rugs and trinkets. The fireplace had been scrubbed and all of that. Curtains taken away to be replaced with the set that you had chosen. Now the team from the palace steward’s office will be bringing in that expansive set of blue velvet upholstered walnut wood pieces, with their silver accents and silver-embroidered curtains to match. It will be your space and yours alone, just the way you like it. Even the paintings that are going up for decor were your choice, and the collection of Spanish impressionists that will hang on the walls is stunning.

"Of course." He smiles slightly and nods his head in deference to your position. "They have also located a rug for the space, I have told them to bring that first for your approval." The storage for the palace holds all of the furnishing through the years.

Just as he defers to your title during working hours, you’ve kept yourself to using his full name during those times as well, not wanting any rumours to build around why you hired your brother for this position — or even fuel the incredibly stupid theory that went around at first that he isn’t your brother at all. Some tabloid had printed that they thought he was your secret lover but thankfully that had gone nowhere with the people. You look far too much alike for anyone to not realize you’re related. “Do we know when Maisie and Gabriela are due back from their appointments?” Your ladies had gone into Palma for something that you hadn’t quite caught the explanation for but you’re hoping they will be back before dinner. The two women really have become you close friends in almost no time at all. And you’ve noticed a little bit of flustering on your brother’s part around Gabriela that is very sweet.

Sebastian looks down at the tablet in his hands and checks the calendar. Any appointments your ladies in waiting have are also kept by him so he can inform you. "They will be returning to the palace in thirty minutes."

“You are a font of useful information.” And you’re so incredibly glad that he’s here. Having someone nearby who just knows you as a person — what makes you tick and what makes you anxious — on staff is so helpful.

He smirks and holds up the tablet. "You just like me for my schedule." He teases playfully.

“Honestly?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, aware that until the movers from the steward’s office come into the room, the only people who will see or hear this interaction are the security officers watching the cameras that have been discreetly installed around the room. “I’m starting to see why so Dad was mad that I stole you away.”

"You understand and appreciate my work." Sebastian smirks, preening slightly. "Dad's new assistant isn't completely incompetent, but apparently he's not me and that infuriates the old man."

“C’est la vie, I guess. That’s why you should always appreciate the people who make your life easier.” As if on cue, a set of four workers from the steward’s office appear. They’re toting an enormous rug with them and look a little apprehensive.

“Y-Your highness?” The first man holding the rug bows his head. “This was – for your approval? If you do not approve, we will carry it back to the storage.”

“I’m sure you’ve made a wonderful choice.” And considering you know next to nothing about rugs, you’re willing to bet that they made a decision far more educated than yours would be. “Will you let it out, please? I’m very excited to see your choice.”

There’s a grateful smile on the third man and they begin to quickly unroll the rug. “It, uh, the blues and silvers in the rug could work with the furniture.” The first man explains.

"Then it will be perfect." You and Sebastian step back to give the men room, and soon enough the enormous Turkish carpet is rolled out to reveal its intricate patterns and subtle colors. It's exactly the right thing to bring warmth to a room that was once stark whites and ladylike pinks and pale greens, and you smile gratefully. Your color palette is slightly more robust than the last queen's, but there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, this piece will be what ties the room together. "Que maravillosa," you hum, seeing it all laid out. "Gentlemen, you have made the perfect selection. I could not have done better myself."

The pride that filters out from the men's faces would make Sebastian think that you had just knighted them. He hides a small smile and nods, stepping forward. "I think that it is safe to say that the Queen will keep the rug that you have chosen with her upmost gratitude." He tells him.

“We will return shortly with the first truck of furniture.” The seeming leader of the group tells you, bowing his head politely before he herds the others out to the hallway. They have two large, motorized hand trucks to bring down the king palace hallway and then they will arrange the pieces to their princess’ satisfaction.

"They chose well." Sebastain comments as he examines the plush rug. "Almost as if they were eager to please the crowned princess or something." He has felt the love the palace staff have started to extend to you, finding less pushback on his requests than he had once expected.

“I’m grateful it hasn’t been difficult,” you admit, smiling softly as your engagement ring winks in the late morning sun. “Javi is already having a hard enough time with the investigation still ongoing. I can’t imagine if he was fighting pushback in the press, too.”

"They still have found nothing substantial, and the King is growing impatient." He nods. glancing around to make sure no one else has come into the morning room.

“Remarkably, the investigation seems to conclude that it may have been accidental.” You keep your voice low as well. “But I still find that conclusion…unsettling.”

"As do I." Your brother hums, even if he agrees quietly.

The men from the steward’s office stay with you for the better part of an hour. It turns out that moving the furniture about takes seemingly no effort at all when it’s done by four men who could probably bench press you, and soon the seams of 1920s artisan-made study furniture is set precisely around the room in the perfect way to make it look nonchalant yet elegant. You didn’t even know furniture could look nonchalant, but now there is an art deco chaise lounge in your morning room ready to prove you wrong.

"Should I have tea and a light snack brough in?" Sebastain asks, knowing that you would want to settle into the room, get a feel for her. "I have some paperwork that needs attending, and you have nothing on your schedule until after lunch."

“Bring me everything you need me to sign,” you sigh dramatically in resignation but flash your brother a grin. “And if you could ask the kitchen for a tea tray, I would be eternally grateful.” In the last few weeks, the palace chef has gotten the contents of your personal tea tray down to a science, and you swore up and down to Javi that night that this is true luxury. Having your favourite snacks on hand at all times is what it’s all about.

"As you wish, your highness." Sebastian bows gracefully and sends you a small wink before sailing out of the room.

The room is better than you had envisioned it would be. The paintings are light and bright and bring a sense of invitation to the art deco furniture. It's a mix of styles so it doesn't feel too stuffy, making the room feel a little bit more personable. You sit down at the writing desk by the fireplace, admiring the elaborate carvings and the personalized touches. The men from the steward's office had also come in with a case of your personal stationary and a set of the pens that had been ordered with the emblem of the Crowned Princess of Mallorca on them. It had all been very overwhelming at first, but you're starting to settle in to it. One sheet of stationery and one of the pens find their way out of their cubbies in and into your hands, deciding that you'll write a note to be delivered to Javi as he goes about his work during the way. Your little notes make him smile, and if even a moment of smiling eases some of his burden, then they are well worth the few minutes they take to write.

He watches you from the shadow, frowning and furious. About to step out and speak when the silly little maid arrives with a tea cart. Making him curl his lip in disgust. You would have everyone believe you were an English queen with your teas and little treats.

You thank the girl and smile when she curtsies, knowing that being on your best manners with the palace staff is everything. The tea tray is laden with a mix of things and you sip your cup with a happy sigh. Until Sebastian comes back with your paperwork, it's just you and your tea and your love note to Javi.

"Well, aren't you just settling in nicely?" The voice comes from the far exit, carrying across the room. "Already changing things, causing disruptions."

If his voice causes a slight twitch in one eye, it isn't your fault. It's just that Lucas has been a needle in your side since the day you met him and there is nothing you can really do about it except be overly kind to the point of making him uncomfortable. "Lucas." You turn your head, setting down your teacup and folding your hands in your lap to offer him the most witheringly perfunctory smile you can manage. "Or shall I start to call you cousin? After all it won't be much longer before the wedding."

“Yes…the wedding.” He walks into the room as if he owns it, sniffing as he looks around the room. “Very…quaint.” He decides. “How fitting.”

"Is there some reason you have sought me out this morning?" He has a tendency to try to bait you into debates or arguments with polite insults, but you are in far too good of a mood today to be bent out of shape by petty words. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

“No.” He scoffs the word, almost close to a chuckle as he strolls around the room. Taking pains to touch different things, adjusting them to his own liking. “I have to admit that I’m surprised you are still here.” He glances up at you and then down the small Tiffany music box on a table. His finger running over the gilded lid. “Perhaps the prize is too large to let go?”

“Whatever gave you the impression that I might leave?” There hasn’t really been a serious moment since meeting Javi where you’ve considered it. Is the job difficult? Of course. But Javi makes every single second worth it. And you would never disappoint him by leaving — or so coarsely abandon the man you love.

“The king is dead.” He shrugs slightly. “Unless an arranged marriage is something you actually wished for.”

“King Miguel is dead; may he rest in peace. But King Javier is very much alive and well.” His refusal to accept that his cousin has ascended the throne is something of a curiosity to you. Like there is a full block in his mind that prevents him from accepting it. “And happily I will tell you, as well as anyone else who wishes to hear, how very much in love with my fiancé I truly am.”

“Come now.” He tuts and sends you a pitying look. “No one would be in love with Javier. Expect perhaps my wife.”

“I think it would be more difficult to find someone not at least a little in love with him.” A pinched, derisive smile makes you tilt your head. “The only exception seems to be you, cousin.”

“I have known Javier my entire life, believe me, there is nothing special about him.” Lucas sneers.

"I'm very sorry that you believe that," you reply placidly. Lucas truly has a talent for getting under your skin — and it's really all to do with his attitude toward Javi. He seems to think his cousin is the least remarkable man in the world, which is a thought process that you just can't wrap your head around. Javi's goodness is what will make him a kind and sympathetic leader. "Javi's ability to be kind in the face of an unkind world is one of the most special things I have ever witnessed in a human being. It seems to me that you might not know your cousin as well as you think after all. But that is merely an observation."

There’s a mean little grin on his face, making the classically handsome exterior appear almost rotten because of the evilness inside. “I think you might actually believe that load of horse shit.”

He truly seems to have come to see you just to be cruel today, which is rare, but it isn’t the first time. Lucas taunts and intimidates and spits venom as his surest means of communication. It is who he is. But he is also exceptionally talented at hiding his true nature, which leads to unfortunate circumstances like the group of loyal followers he still has here at the palace. Allowing yourself one more sip from your teacup, you set it down again and give him your patented Senator’s-Daughter placid smile. “Is there something that you needed, Lucas?”

“I was wondering if you had heard anything about the investigation?” He picks up a book that has been strategically placed and smirks as he opens it, glancing up and you and snapping it closed loudly.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation," you remind him, interested in what he might have to say about it. Lucas has been relentlessly present during the investigation.

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “There’s no one here.” He huffs and lifts a brow. “I’ve heard your investigators have been probing, asking very pointed questions.”

“Well of course they are, a king has died.” You don’t say that he was killed, always very careful about your wording with Lucas — but something about his wording strikes you a moment later. ‘There’s no one here’ he says, blatantly encouraging you to speak liberally with him. As though you are entirely in private. Lucas…does not seem to know that your morning room has already been wired for security. “Of course…” you venture, keeping your breathing even and your voice steady so he doesn’t sense any change in your whatsoever even though your heart rate is now racing. “We will all be very glad when the matter is resolved. The country deserves to heal. To move forward.”

“It will, with a new king.” He is very certain of that and straightens slightly. “I understand the pressures of the throne might be too much for my cousin. He has always been a follower. Meek.”

Not so long ago, insulting the king so overtly would have been enough to have Lucas censured or even stripped of his title, but you bite your tongue on that point and simply tilt your head. "Do you really think so little of your own flesh and blood?"

“It is more that I know my own flesh and blood.” Lucas chuckles. “He is not the brightest Gutierrez, unable to figure out what is right under his nose.”

It's like Lucas wants to keep talking. Now that the topic has been breached and you are not shutting him down immediately as you usually do, he seems to be as unstoppable as the enormous boulder that chased Indiana Jones. "King Miguel believed in his son. He named Javi his heir and paved the way for him to take the throne. You think you know things about Javier that his own father did not?"

He smirks and shrugs slightly. “Miguel had to have faith in his son.”

"Had to?" That piques your interest, and you fold your hands in your lap even as you turn toward him a little more fully. There is a camera and microphone built into the clock above the mantel of the fireplace and you want to make sure this entire conversation is very firmly in the line of sight and sound. Though you doubt Lucas would ever overtly incriminate himself, he is being fairly damning if anyone ever called his loyalties into question. "King Miguel could easily have named another heir if he felt it was the best course of action."

“That would never have happened.” He hisses, face twisting into an angry scowl. His fist tightening in fury.

It might be the first time you've ever wanted to reel back from one of Lucas's outbursts, but you hold yourself steady in your chair and try not to make it obvious that you've just swallowed hard out of discomfort. "Never? Then King Miguel must have believed in Javi quite a lot."

“Not because he believed in him.” Lucas sneers. “But because the old bastard wouldn’t stand the shame, the humiliation of having such a weakling for a son.”

There will be time to take umbrage with Lucas's characterization of Javi later on. Right now, you have to stay laser focused on what is being spit out right in front of you. It is absolutely no secret between you and your fiancé that you both believe Lucas had something to do with King Miguel's death. But you still have no idea how to prove it. "And so...you believe that the late king would rather...gamble with the future of his country? Surely he would have wanted Javier to have help if he thought it was necessary."

“He had changed it.” Lucas growls, the fervor in his eyes nearly manic. “I saw. He had changed his directives – but the bastard guarding him refused to let me read it.” He curls his lip in disdain. “More of a lap dog than an assistant.”

"You think that Julius had something to do with the king's death?" That would be a grave accusation if it were true. Or, hell, it's a grave accusation anyway. Thankfully it will never be given any credence because of how hard Julius has worked for Javier.

Lucas barks out a rough laugh, throwing his head back. “You are made for my cousin!” He chortles. “Just as dim witted.”

You have no choice but to swallow the insult, finding your heart beat faster every second you are more and more hellbent on getting himself to cough up something that you can have to the investigators that will incriminate him. "It seems obvious that my mind does not work the same way yours does."

He chuckles, sending you a pitying look. “It’s a shame that you are so wrapped around my cousin’s thumb.” He tells you, “it would be fun to take another of his toys away from him. He’s already lost so much to me.”

"He already has the throne, Lucas." Not dignifying that idle threat with a response is causing you actual physical pain but sitting in your chair is currently taking enormous concentration. Anywhere else in the world and you would rather be wringing Lucas's slimy little neck. "Everything else is a trifle."

“Does he?” Lucas tilts his head and smiles. “Perhaps. Long live the king.” He intones sinisterly.

The irrevocable shiver that his tone sends down your spine is withering, and for a second you almost close your eyes against it but you are somehow convinced that taking your eyes off of him physically for even a second would be a terrible mistake. "He does," you state again, watching Lucas carefully. "And our child will have it after him. That is how the line of succession works. I know that you know this."

“Unless my dear cousin suffers the same fate as his father.” Lucas counters, waving his hand as if offering a solution. “Before you make that child.”

"How do you know we haven't already?" The surety in his voice is chilling, but you have to keep your own tone even.

“Because any child before your vows would be a bastard.” He hums. “Ineligible for the throne. Then the line of succession falls to…” he perks up and feigns excitement. “Well, me.”

"That is only true up to a point," you challenge, pressing the point if only gently. "Javi will not be dying of a heart attack anytime soon."

Lucas only stares at you, his dark eyes lifeless as he stands there quietly for nearly thirty seconds. “Of course not.” He says after that silence is up, his body relaxing and his face shifting into an innocent expression.

It might be the most unsettling and least reassuring ‘reassurance’ of all time, and the sinking feeling in your chest and stomach makes you feel positively sick. “In time,” you swallow bile as it rises in your throat. “You’ll see. Javi’s goodness is what will make him a great king.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs as if the past few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened, and he shoots you a charming smile. Or it would have been if there wasn’t malice layered under it. “I will leave you to enjoy your new room then. Princess.”

“Good morning, your Grace.” You don’t stand, nod, or give him any other formal acknowledgement, but you definitely breathe easier when he turns and strides from the room. It’s like being in the same space as a cartoon villain, and you’ve found out that that is much more disturbing than you ever imagined.

“Your highness?” The maid who had been sent to check on your tea hurries into the room and her eyes are glancing around worriedly. She had seen the man most of the staff loved but she loathed walk out with a dark look on his face, one she is well acquainted with, and was concerned.

“Ah, Beatriz.” There is no choice but to shake off your unsettled nerves and pretend everything is fine, even though the sinking feeling in your stomach is sinking that much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you—” she bites her tongue, knowing the question is inappropriate for the Princess. “I am checking to make sure you did not need anything, your highness.”

“I suspect that is not the only question you wish to ask me, Beatriz.” There are some members of the staff who have been more or less assigned to you, like your ladies’ maid and a few of the stewards or other staff, and you have generally been trying to get to know them and have them be comfortable with you within the bounds of what is considered proper. Probably being American fosters some of that in your mind all on its own, but you don’t like the idea of anyone being frightened to come near you in the palace.

“I— the count—” she starts before she stops again. “I saw the count hurry by me looking very unhappy.”

“I’m afraid the count is feeling a bit worse for wear today,” you lie, gracefully not indicating whether you mean he’s in a bad mood or that he’s actually ill. “I’m sure it will pass.”

“He- you are feeling well?” She asks, eyes searching you worriedly.

“I am perfectly fine.” The last thing you or Javi need is anyone on the palace staff spreading word that you might be ill, so you dispel the maid’s fear immediately. “And my tea is wonderful. Thank you for checking. If you would not mind waiting a moment, I am just finishing a note that I would like delivered to the king.”

“Of course, your highness.” She bows her head quickly. It was expected that you would never take her into your confidence, but it’s enough to find that you are…undisturbed. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she waits for you to finish writing your missive.

What was once a love note full of encouragement to your fiancé has quickly transformed into a gently coded indication that you have something you need to talk to him about privately. As soon as it is written out you fold the card and slip it into an envelope, sealing it with a small sticker bearing the royal seal of the Crowned Princess. "Please deliver this directly to the king," you instruct her, handing the maid the sealed card. "From my hands, to yours, to his. Is that understood?"

“Yes, your highness.” She nods solemnly, feeling very proud of being tasked with something of such importance. “For the king only.”

"Gracias, Beatriz." She curtsies and you nod, turning back to your desk as she hurries from the room. It's not exactly that you have evidence against Lucas, but at least now you have something solid to hand to the investigators to prove Lucas has a vendetta against Javier. There hasn't been anything besides hearsay until now.

Hurrying through the halls, Beatriz nods at different personnel but doesn’t stop. Not allowing herself to be waylaid on her mission. Once in front of the door to the king’s office, she stops and smooths her uniform out before knocking.

The door to the king’s office opens with a distinct click, and Julius steps out into the hallway. “Sí?” He knows Beatriz, of course, and knows that she tends to you, but does not know why the maid has come here of all places.

“I have a message for the king from her highness.” Beatriz tells him, shaking her head when he holds out his hand for the message. “The Princess said from my hand to King Javier’s.” She insists.

“I see.” Julius purses his lips in amusement. Normally when the king receives a note of that nature it results in copious blushing and clearing his throat. “Very well. You had best deliver it, then.”

It’s an honor to be allowed into the king’s office and she’s well aware of it. Bowing her head, she waits for him to open the door and follows him inside.

“Your Majesty.” Julius hums softly, breaking the king’s concentration as he bends over his desk. “A note from Her Highness.”

“Oh?” His head pops up and his brow furrows as he sees the maid in front of him.

“To be delivered from her hands to yours.” Beatriz tells him, barely stepping up to his desk and curtsying while she holds out the envelope.

“Thank you…Beatriz.” He finally comes up with the maid’s name, having a flurry of new staff being changed around with your arrival, his father’s death and the upcoming wedding.

The maid curtsies and exits promptly once the envelope is in his hands, blushing over the fact that the king knows her name. Julius, for his part, smiles and nods to the door. “Shall I leave you?” He asks, hoping to offer privacy if it is wanted.

“Please.” Javi nods, barely looking up from the closed note in his eagerness to see what you have written. “Give me just a minute and we will continue.”

With a nod Julius is gone, leaving Javier to his reading.

Mi amor, A very interesting conversation with someone we are both interested by may pique your curiosity. If you would like to relive it for yourself, I will show you this evening. M

Javier frowns at the paper and wonders what the hell has happened today. A mystery would once have thrilled him, but he knows this is concerning one particular person and he feels a sense of dread.

******

His busy schedule keeps him occupied until dinner time, but the now-designated one night a week that you and Javi eat alone is proving to be a blessing. The serving cart is wheeled into your chamber and the table on your balcony set with candles, and you’ve taken off your heels to let your aching feet rest for the night in comfortable slippers when the door to your suite opens to let him inside.

Javier feels the mantle of responsibility seemingly lift. Even if he could be interrupted by any manner of emergencies, the idea that for tonight, he’s just your fiancé is a comforting one. The guise of not being responsible for a country needed as he has worried about your note for the rest of the day after receiving it. “Margarita?”

“Javi!” It would be a lot to pretend you aren’t excited to see him, and why would you pretend that at all? Instead, you pad across the sitting room of your suite eagerly and wrap him up in your arms. “How was your day, querido?”

“It was good, but it is better now.” He accepts the easy affection and snuggles close to you, burying his nose in your neck. “How was yours? Beatriz gave me your note.”

“Lucas paid me a rather interesting visit today.” It’s a shame that your dinner together has to be overshadowed by this but there is no way around it. “In the morning room.”

“You just set that up.” In fact, Javi had been put out that there had been no wiggle room in his busy schedule to allow for a visit to the room to see how you had redone it. He had planned to see to it tomorrow, but now he is wondering if it’s been tainted by his cousin.

“It seems he disapproves of my choice of decor.” You roll your eyes to show it does not bother you and place a kiss on his cheek. “Come. Eat with me. I’ll tell you what happened over our supper.”

“It is your space, like my mother’s.” He huffs, but he eagerly lets you lead him out onto the balcony. “The staff loves to make sure our private dinners are romantic.” Javi smiles at the candles on the table.

“They do wonderfully for us.” Tonight there are pink gin tonics in the cocktail pitcher that awaits you, and a beautiful seafood supper with fresh bread and bright vegetables. A feast that won’t make you feel over full or too tired afterward is a gift in its own right.

“Perhaps we should have a party for them.” Javi suggests. “Catered food, nice drinks. They can relax and be served.”

“That would be a very kind thing to do, I think.” You’re not sure if there’s precedent for that kind of thing, but you have to think it’s been done in some form before. “Maybe I can look into what it would take? And include the clean up being done by someone else, of course. It would be useless to give them a party that they have to clean up after themselves.”

“Of course.” Javi nods seriously. “Everything taken care of.”

“But…” You take it upon yourself to pour two glasses and hand him one, inhaling the wonderful scent of the plates he has set down on the table. “Lucas seems…more devious than usual.”

“Is that even possible?” Javi asks, rolling his eyes slightly. Ever since you arrived, it seems as though the blinders have been pulled away. Showing Javi how rotten his cousin’s soul really is.

“I hadn’t thought so.” It’s unfortunate to be wrong on that front, but here you are. “But he came the closest he’s ever come to incriminating himself today and we were standing right in front of the fireplace in the morning room while he was doing his…I hesitate to call it an interrogation of me, but it wasn’t comfortable. Either way he was very candid, and I watched the footage after retrieving the file from palace security. I think it’s damning enough to encourage the investigators to look into him again.”

“Really?” Javi has just sat down, leaning forward and his eyes narrow. “Tell me what he said, Margarita. I want my father’s death explained. I want to know why we lost our king too early.”

As you eat your recount every detail. The conversation is burned into your brain from this morning and though you’ll show the footage to Javi later so he can see it all for himself, you’re confident in your ability to tell the encounter to him completely. “I can’t help but think it all seems…sinister. But that may be my own bias against him showing. It might m be best just to let the investigators decide.”

“That’s what we will do.” Javi nods. “Although, I don’t want you to be alone with Lucas again.” He admits. “Will you keep Sebastian or one of your ladies with you?”

"A rotating witness along with my security detail?" Of course, to Javi's point — the guards who are meant to protect you are usually some small distance away so that you don't feel smothered. Today they had been at the door to the morning room while you were inside. Perhaps it is time to make better friends with them after all. "If that will make you more comfortable, querido, then I will make sure I keep someone with me."

“I just do not wish for my cousin to do something.” Javi admits. “I cannot banish him for any reason, and I cannot risk your safety.” If Lucas is plotting something, he would rather he not have access to you.

“I am not an enormous fan of your cousin trying to do something to either of us,” you reason. It is plenty enough work to run a country without having to worry about your own family trying to sabotage you or worse. “I will keep someone around me and so will you. The only time we should be alone is to be with each other.”

“I can agree with your logic.” Javi nods as he spears a stalk of broccolini. He doesn’t mention that it will give plenty of alibi for anything Lucas tries to cook up. Especially with the extra surveillance that has been discreetly installed under the guise of ‘redecorating’.

"I will have Sebastian contact the investigators first thing in the morning and hand the footage over to them personally, with a full explanation of what they are watching." It won't be fun, but at least it's some kind of progress. And progress desperately needs to be made.

“Perfect.” Javi nods even though it’s painful to admit that this can come from inside his own family. “Make sure that the investigators know that we are more than willing to be interviewed again.”

“I will.” A short reach across the table is all it takes to fit your hand in his, and you squeeze his fingers gently. “We will see this through. Your father deserves to be able to rest peacefully.”

He doesn’t want to monopolize the dinner with talk of his cousin, or his father. It pains him in a way that’s indescribable. “How has Sebastian settled in?” He asks curiously. “Has he had time to explore the country? You should take him, have a driver give you a complete day.”

“It’s probably asking too much to think you could get away for a day?” You know it is, but you still prefer to spend as much time with him as you can.

“I might be able to take half a day.” He would have to double check with Julius, but his schedule wasn’t too taxing the next few days.

“I don’t want to crowd your schedule with more things,” you assure him. “But it would be nice to spend time together.”

“I have relatively light days.” He promises. “I can try to combine the days to block out an afternoon. Or would you rather a morning?”

“I suppose it depends on what you want to show me.” The prospect of spending time together — even in public with cameras flashing and admirers stopping to spot him on the street — is a bit thrilling. While the investigation is ongoing, royal security isn’t keen to let the two of you eat at establishments they cannot control. Very few exceptions have been made and you haven’t been able to begin your date night idea quite yet. “Maybe we ought to consult security if we plan on doing anything besides going for a drive.”

“I will talk to Julius and send you a note?” He asks, knowing that it can’t be tomorrow. “Unless you have some appointments to plan the wedding?”

“Julius and Sebastian share our schedules for exactly this kind of reason.” They’re miraculously well-coordinated, actually, and you continue to be impressed with your brother’s work the longer he is with you. “We’ll ask them to find the day that works best.”

“Perfect.” He nods and smiles. “We are getting closer.”

“We are already very close, mi amor.” A smile even wider than his graces your lips and you hum happily around a bite of your dinner. “Would you like to hear about the wedding preparations?”

“I would love to hear.” He leans forward eagerly. “And anything you would like for me to help with, I will.” He assures you. “Even those little gift bag things. We are having those, right?”

“If you would like to have them, I will make sure they are included.” Javi always lights up when wedding plans are mentioned, so it seemed like a very good topic for lightening the mood of your meal. “I can ask our wedding planner to put together a list of ideas she suggests to fill them and you can pick whichever you like best?”

“Yes.” Javi nods. “Something local. Show off the art and craftsmanship of our people.” He tells you.

“I completely agree.” The more locally made everything at your wedding, the better it all will be. This is going to be a celebration for many more than just you and Javi.

“Local sweets. A handcrafted piece of jewelry that commemorates our day?” He suggests. “I want that to come from my personal wealth and not the budget.”

“Maybe a small pin, as the jewelry?” Something universal would be best, so it does not matter which bag goes to which guest. It will relieve an enormous headache on your wedding planner’s part. “Something symbolic, rather than the typical image of us smiling out from a white background.”

“That would be perfect. Maybe our flag? Made from local stone? Or gems, whatever you think is best.” Javi tells you. “I’ve just always loved the gift bags in wedding movies.”

"I'll see what the wedding planner thinks is doable in a fairly short amount of time and then you'll get a list to choose from," you promise him. After a few more bites in relative and enjoyable quiet, you put your fork down again and take a sip of your drink. "I've...been thinking about something. And I was wondering if I could talk to you about it."

“Anything.” It sounds serious and Javi is immediately giving you his full attention. Fork down and looking into your eyes. “You can talk to me about anything, Margarita.”

“That is actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” You reach across the table to take his hand and leave a kiss on his knuckles for good measure. “I’ve been doing some reading, and I had Bastian pull records. And it seems to me to be a sort of…unofficial Balearican tradition for foreign born spouses of monarchs to take a regnal name.” The whole concept of taking a regnal name — a name you will be known as, as queen — seemed positively odd to you at first. But the tradition seems to stem from taking pride in leading the people of these lively, engaging islands. A way of embracing the place and the people and promising to honor them. “I wondered how you would feel if…I did that, too.”

“What would you like to change it to?” He asks curiously. “I would love whatever you do, but I will still call you Margarita.” He admits with a bashful smile.

“Well…” It seems almost embarrassing, or it would be embarrassing if it were anyone but him, and you feel your cheeks heat as you swallow. “I thought…Margarita might actually be the right choice. I looked it up and it’s not too uncommon of a name. I thought it might be…romantic is the wrong word, but loving.”

“Queen Margarita?” Javi hums as he thinks about it and nods. “It would be a beautiful tribute to our future.”

“I always knew I would come here eventually.” For your whole life, you’ve waited for it. Waited to be summoned, and waited to be married, and waited to be with him. “But I only truly fell in love with this place after I met you.”

“It is easy, no?” He asks with a grin. “Our country is easy to love.”

"Very easy." You can agree to that easily. "But not as easy as it is to love you, querido."

The way Javi blushes makes you smile and he’s happy about that. Nothing is forced, nothing is put on with you and that’s what he loves. If you were just normal people, there would still be these tender affections between the two of you.

“Anyway, I just… I wanted to ask you how you felt about it.” He is blushing and he is adorable when he blushes. You shift a little in your seat and a pleased smile curls your lips. “Because ‘Margarita’ was just your name for me, and now I’m thinking about sharing it with the world. If you aren’t okay with it, I will choose something else.”

“I don’t mind.” He admits quietly, leaning in and staring into your eyes. “As long as we are together, I will happily share you with my country.”

“I’ll always be with you.” That is a promise you will make to him without hesitation. Now that you’re with him, the last thing you want is to be separated from Javi in any meaningful way.

“Hopefully your interaction with my cousin did not ruin your day?” He asks quietly. “How are your ladies doing?”

“Gabriela sat with me for some time this afternoon.” A small, mischievous smile curls your lips as you finish your meal. “My brother mentioned that it might be helpful to have some help in learning the geography and history of the country, as well as cultural tradition. Gabriela volunteered to be my tutor, essentially. And she’s been wonderfully helpful.”

“Good.” His affection for Gabriela will always be there, but it has shifted to a more brotherly love than anything else. Or perhaps it was always meant to be that way and he had been rebelling against his fate. Regardless, he’s happy you and Gabriela have formed a friendship. “She was much better in her studies than I.”

“She and my brother are also getting along very well,” you venture, wondering if that is too sensitive or inappropriate of a topic. True that Gabriela is married, but it’s abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that they are miserable, and she did not make the choice to marry Lucas willingly.

“Do you think there could be something there eventually?” He asks softly, knowing that it would be unlikely unless Lucas were out of the picture. Gabriela was loyal and would never shame the royal family with a divorce, even though she should divorce her husband.

“Maybe?” It’s just theoretical right now. Just a little gossip. But you know that Javi’s comfort level with the situation means a great deal to everyone involved. “Nothing will happen, of course. Not with Lucas in the way. But I think it’s sweet.”

“I want her to be happy.” Javi tells you. “As happy as we are.”

“That’s very admirable.” You admit, knowing that there are a lot of complications in the way of anything realistic. Still, you offer him an encouraging smile. “But I don’t know if anyone is as happy as we are.”

“It is quite a lofty goal.” He teases with a smile. “Perhaps it can be achieved.” He still marvels over how lucky he is and is grateful for it.

“Perhaps.” Just knowing how much he loves you makes your heart soar, and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. “Although it is a very lofty goal.”

Javi pauses for a moment, and he frowns as he reaches for your hand. “As long as you are never uncomfortable.” He shakes his head, aware that it’s coming out wrong. “As long as you know my feelings are genuine and I no longer will ever think about any woman the way I think of you.”

“I think the fact that you’ve stayed friends with Gabriela after breaking up speaks volumes about both of you as people. You’re good and kind and deserve to have those things visited back to you. And besides,” you reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Gabriela is also my friend. I want her to be happy, too. And my brother is a fantastic guy. She’d be lucky to have him.”

“Gabriela would be a wonderful partner to anyone who wishes a partner.” Part of Lucas’s problem is that he thinks he’s better than everyone. He had decided on Gabriela simply to hurt Javi.

“And Lucas deserves a good clobbering.” It’s mumbled, but only slightly, and you definitely mean it. In fact, you’d like a hell of a lot worse than a clobbering to happen to Lucas Gutierrez. A lot of people would.

Javi smirks slightly, hearing you perfectly but he doesn’t comment on that. “And what if Maisie?” He asks. “How is she settling into the role?”

“I think Maisie might have been born for it,” you chuckle. Javi clears away your empty dinner plates and you uncover the slices of Basque cheesecake smothered in cherry rioja sauce that the kitchen made for your dessert tonight. “Her husband is away on business as of this morning so she’s taking the chance to buckle down in helping with wedding and coronation plans.” Sending Javi a smile as you set out the smaller plates, you lean on the banister beside your small table while he pours out the last of your cocktail pitcher. “I think she deserves a very large ‘thank you’ after all this is finished. Gabriela does, too.”

“Perhaps a girl’s weekend on the royal yacht?” Javi asks, wondering what you had in mind.

“I was thinking of a getaway for Maisie and her husband. Something wonderfully romantic where they don’t have to worry about anything but enjoying themselves.” The first bite of cheesecake makes you both groan happily and break out into contented grins. “Maybe by that time Gabriela will be able to spend time with whoever she wishes.”

“Perhaps.” Javi frowns slightly. “If – if Lucas is as bad as we think that he might be, we will have to circle the wagons, as that American saying goes, around Gabriela. She will be distraught.”

“I would think she will be glad to be free of him.” You do shake your head, though, and nod. “If his true colors turn out to be as black as we suspect, we will take care of Gabriela. Make sure that she comes out of the thing unscathed.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “It will be good for her to be your lady if everything is as bad as we expect.” He admits quietly. “I am so sorry that you have been thrown into such a mess, amor.”

It might surprise him to hear, but the truth comes out of you alarmingly fast as you sit together at the little balcony table. “I don’t care,” you tell him truthfully. “I’m just glad that you didn’t have to go through all of this alone.”

He pauses, in awe of you and picks up your hand. “You are the most gracious and loving woman.” He murmurs softly. “I hope to never take that, or you, for granted.”

******

"Your Highness." Sebastian has been in and out of your office all morning, but this time when he steps inside he has a much more determined set to his face. "Inspector Jefe Blanco is here to see you."

"Oh, good. Excellent. Bring him in, please." Waiting for the Chief Inspector's arrival this morning has had you on edge. It will be good to get all of this out of the way and put the evidence into the hands of professionals. "And Sebastian, will you stay, please? While he's here. I would feel more comfortable."

“Should I order some tea?” He asks, knowing that it might set the tone from the grim talk into a more open conversation.

"I asked the kitchen to prepare a tray this morning. If you could just ring down and ask them to send it up?" His instincts are good and you appreciate your brother's attention to detail, especially in these moments. "I'm sure that will put us all a bit more at ease."

“Good. I will have Flores bring it in so no more staff than necessary needs to come into the room.” Sebastian decides. He will instruct the staff to leave it outside with your personal maid.

"Thank you, Bastian." For one more second, it's just you and your brother in a room, and you flash him a grateful smile before putting your official princess countenance back on. "Please show the Inspector Jefe in."

Sebastian nods and moves to the door, opening it and stepping back to allow the very official visitor in. It’s clear the man has taken special care with his appearance, every medal shined and his uniformed neatly pressed.

"Thank you for making time to come and see me this morning, Inspector Jefe." You stand from your desk and shake the man's hand. He has been very diligent and professional in investigating this case but you have to admit that you have now known the man quite a bit longer than you would prefer. In a perfect world, this case would have been over before it began. "I'm afraid I have some information to share with you, but I do not know how helpful it will end up being."

He frowns slightly, confused as to how you can have more information. “What do you have, Princess?” He asks curiously. “I must confess I am surprised to have been contacted by your office.”

"I had a conversation yesterday with the Count of Ibiza that...unsettled me." Polite wording is necessary here, so that you don't appear to be accusing Lucas of anything outright. "The conversation was videotaped by our security system here in the palace, and I would be very much gratified if you would consent to watch the footage with me and tell me if there is anything to it. If the count's manner seems suspicious, and his threats genuine, as I suspect they are. Or if I am perhaps too sensitive to the topic being touched so deeply by the late king's sudden death."

“The Count has an excellent reputation.” The inspector informs you, a little wary when it comes to potentially implicating members or the royal family. “However, he was slightly evasive during questioning.”

"It is my sincerest hope that my worries are unfounded," you lie as cleanly as you can. It is the only lie you have ever told the inspector and what you do hope is that it stays that way. "But I will not claim any kind of expertise in law enforcement or investigative technique."

“Even though you say there is video evidence of the conversation, I find that it is always helpful to have someone describe the interaction. Posture, tone, facial expressions cannot be accurately displayed at times through a security system.” He explains quietly, pulling out a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Princess, will you please tell me about this conversation with the Count?”

"Besides deeply insulting both myself and King Javier, the Count outright stated that he believed the late King Miguel made the wrong choice as to his successor and expressed anger over not being considered in the choice. Or, rather, not being chosen outright." You pause when Flores brings in your tea tray, thanking her as she pours out three cups and sets one beside each of the three of you seated in the room. "Thank you, Flores. We'll manage from here."

“Yes, your highness.” She bows respectfully as she eyes the inspector. There are many questions as to why he is here, but she won’t voice them.

“So, you see, Inspector,” you continue once the door is shut securely behind your maid. “When outright statements like that are made in the same conversation where the Count also voices his opinions that King Javier is not fit to rule, or that I have some ulterior motivation for being here and accepting my role in his country…it makes me quite worried. That perhaps the Count may not have the most honorable intentions after all.”

“I can see why that would raise your suspicions.” He frowns and flips back through his notes to look at the impressions he had jotted down from the interview with Lucas Gutierrez. While some of the men question his old-fashioned methods and claim that he wants to model his investigative style after American style gumshoes, he finds it good to have those notes easily accessible rather than having to go back to the system computers. “And you say that he felt like he was threatening you?”

“I felt that he was threatening the king.” The clarification is important here, you know that. But you’re very glad to have your brother in the room with you to be an emotional anchor so you don’t end up seeming distraught or too forceful with the inspector. “The Count made it very clear that he did not consider me worth threatening. He appears to regard me as an ornament to His Majesty. Which is insulting, but not threatening.”

“I hope that regardless of what I find, you informed his majesties security team?” He asks seriously. “Another king lost in a short span such as this would throw our small country into chaos.”

“It would.” Especially considering Lucas is the next in line to the throne. A horrible alternative that you can’t even begin to comprehend. “And I have. I informed His Majesty and he has taken it to his team.”

“Good.” Inspector Jefe might have some private concerns about the new king, but he would never dream of making them public.

“With this background, will you be willing to watch the footage that my security team gathered yesterday morning?” Convincing him that it is worth looking into Lucas again is the key here, even though you know it’s a hard sell. As the Count of Ibiza, the people have come to mostly love Lucas Gutierrez. But they do not see his true nature.

“I have learned in my time as an inspector that some people’s true nature is always concealed until they believe they are immune from reproach.” He picks up his tea and takes a polite sip. “Would you be able to provide a copy or would I need to view the footage here only?” Sometimes the security for the palace had certain protocols in place that he would not be able to change.

After discussing it with Javi, Julius, and the head of security, it has been decided that a copy of the footage could be handed over to the police for their own use, and you open your desk drawer to retrieve it. “The copy has been made for your use, but of course I expect you will want to view the original here as well so you can be assured that no changes to the footage have been made.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He nods his head slightly, grateful that you understand the delicate nature of these things. “Once I have reviewed the footage, I may have more questions. Would it be possible to request some time in your schedule if that is the case?”

“Of course.” In fact, you would be concerned if he didn’t have more questions for you. “My assistant will make sure you are afforded access to me when necessary. This investigation remains of the utmost importance.”

“I appreciate that.” He knows that you must be busy, the announcement of your wedding accompanying the coronation had been announced and it wasn’t too far away.

“Just as I appreciate you being available this morning.” The footage is already queued up on the computer display monitor on your desk, and you turn it to face outward so both the Inspector and Sebastian can see. “Cooperation is everything in these matters.”

“The tales of your wisdom have not been underestimated.” He hums, turning to the screen and leaning forward so he can watch.

This is the fourth time you've watched this conversation, not to mention the fact that you lived through it the first time, and while the Inspector Jefe listens to Lucas spit his vitriol, you sip your tea in silence. Every time you listen to him it makes you angry all over again. But you can't afford to show any kind of anger in front of the inspector.

There will be several notes that come from this video, and he frowns as he looks back up at you. “This is very disturbing.” He admits. “The count did not know that he was being recorded, yes?”

"That is correct." It's a relief to hear that the investigation will be taking your conversation into account, but you try not to show it too much. "But I did not make any effort to hide the fact from him. All areas of the palace that are in use by staff and the royal family are protected by surveillance."

“It almost seemed as if the count wished for you to accuse him of something nefarious or to reveal it himself.” Jefe looks around the room, and nods. “Please do not try to be alone with him, Princess, but let him talk if he comes back.” He tells you, standing up. “I will have to review this many more times, but I will be taking a closer look at the Count in my investigation.”

"If you need to speak with me again, please do not hesitate to contact my assistant. And if I have any other information to pass along to you, may I request for you to come in the same way you did today?" You stand along with him, showing the Inspector Jefe the respect that his position is due. "I have already made arrangements to ensure I will not be alone with the Count again. At the king's insistence."

“Absolutely.” He had been brought in through the tunnels under the palace to prevent speculation, and he understands that. “Whatever you wish, your highness.” He bows politely and thinks that you are also as gracious as you are beautiful.

"Have a good day, Inspector Jefe." That might be a fruitless wish, considering the task on his shoulders, but if anything? That is something you can absolutely relate to.

He nods again and quickly walks out of the room to leave you and Sebastian by yourselves.

Once the door shuts, you sit back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers and sigh. “That went better than I expected.”

“I don’t think the inspector wasn’t too surprised by your claims.” Sebastian admits, curious as to the man’s true feelings about the count. Not that he seems the type to ever say. He seemed to play his cards close to the vest.

“I think he was surprised that Lucas would admit to being so vile, but maybe that’s just me being too American and imagining all these nobles constantly play nice with each other. I can’t tell.” Now that the meeting is over, you refill your teacup and pick up a biscuit gladly. “Well, darling brother. We have an hour to kill before wedding planning overtakes my day.”

“What would you like to do?” He asks, aware that he had blocked out much more time than necessary for the meeting with the inspector.

“Javi and I talked about taking a little driving tour of the islands sometime soon. Do you think that’s something you could coordinate with royal security?” You’re not asking him to do it right now, god knows, but you do rummage in your desk with a mischievous grin on your face while you ask.

“Are we talking about an actual tour?” He asks with a laugh. “Or cordoning off lover’s lane so you can make out with the king like you’re teenagers?” He’s amused by the idea but also happy that you are so happy with your future husband.

“Say what you want, but my fiancé is ridiculously sexy.” And frankly, you’re exceptionally happy about that fact. Not just because you’re glad to be attracted to your partner, but because producing an heir is such a big part of what’s expected of you. It will not be a hardship to fulfill that duty.

He snorts and shoots you a grin. “Most of the world agrees with you.” He admits. “Which is why I’m so confused as to why his cousin is so harsh on him.”

“It’s jealousy, don’t you think?” At least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Javi was graced with looks, and charm, and privilege as well as so many other attributes — and Lucas simply couldn’t stand that his cousin was more beloved. “Lucas doesn’t see that cunning is not the only worthwhile intelligence in the world. That’s the other thing.” A moment later, you extract a travel Scrabble set from your desk drawer with a squeak of triumph. “Spanish Scrabble for an hour?” You suggest, shaking it at him enticingly. “Build that vocabulary like I know you want to?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but grins. “I don’t know why you claim my Spanish isn’t up to par.” He teases, nodding and sitting down beside you. “I’ll still kick your ass at scrabble, Princess or not.”

______

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