#cowboy brandon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shutupptara · 2 years

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cowboy like me - Brandon Tanev

six - your booths beneath my bed**

word count: 6,507

warnings: explicit language, descriptions of anxiety, explicit sexual content- minors, DO NOT INTERACT

masterlist

The day of your first official date with Brandon, you’re an anxiety-riddled mess. While you’d gotten to know each other decently well over the last few weeks, there was still so much to learn, so many conversations to be had. Right now, you’re working off pure attraction alone; you assume the same for Brandon, and you know that’s not sustainable. Would he still want to pursue whatever this is when he knows everything about you? Was he someone you could trust, someone worth letting your guard down for? Would you have enough time to even figure that out? Your near-sightedness is keeping you from acknowledging the obvious: dating Brandon, making an actual effort, calls everything you’d planned for yourself into question. It’s become obvious to you Brandon won’t be leaving Montana, so that puts the ball in your court. If you do this, if it works out, could you give up Seattle for him?

It’s a huge what if, one you know that will remain tucked in the back of your mind, regardless of how much you try to ignore it. And try you do. You tear through your suitcases until you find a flowy, white sundress. It’s comfortable and flattering, a combination you’re grateful for as the weather starts to grow increasingly warmer. Plus, Brandon had insisted everything was completely casual. The fair he invited you to has live music, a few food trucks and a couple exhibits he was interested in checking out, but overall he just wants to spend time with you.

After you’ve tamed your hair, you head out to the living room. There, you find Brandon sitting on the couch, his hands running up and down his thighs. You can see the way he’s biting his lip, and oddly enough, knowing he’s nervous brings you comfort. This clearly is as important to him as it is to you. “Hey,” you say calmly, voice even.

“Hi!” He’s on his feet in a second, making his way to you. His trusty cowboy hat is, of course, resting on the top of his head, but as your eyes slip lower, you feel your mouth go dry. A short-sleeve white button down is straining to cover his shoulders, the top few buttons undone. It leaves far more skin exposed than you’re used to, and you take in a shaky breath. His regular light wash jeans hug his legs like they were made for him, boots peaking out just under the hem. Your attention, however, is drawn to the large belt buckle in the middle of his waist. It’s just a silver oval, but you can’t stop staring at it. You know it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him wear it, and you’re thankful for that now. This silly piece of metal has broken your brain, the mere sight of it clicking everything into place: Brandon looks like a true cowboy. A calls you ma’am, holds the door, saves the damsel in distress, cowboy. God, today was going to be the death of you.

“You look wonderful,” Brandon compliments, bashful.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He nods toward the front door, holding his arm out for you to take. Trembling fingers wrap around his bicep, and he pats your hand gently, as if reading your mind. He leads you out to his truck parked in its usual spot beside the house, immediately grabbing your door for you and holding it open. You slide inside as casually as you can, waiting patiently when he shuts the door and makes his way around to the driver’s side. He sets his hat down on the dashboard in front of him when he’s seated, fingers smoothing through his long locks. After a minute, you have to direct your attention in front of you, keep your eyes on the windshield. With your hands itching to be buried in his hair, you know distraction is necessary to keep you from embarrassing yourself.

Thankfully, Brandon seems to sense that. Or maybe he’s experiencing some inner turmoil of his own. He turns the radio on low, letting some country music station drift through the speakers, and wordlessly pulls off of the ranch. The fair grounds are thankfully close by, so it isn’t long until you’re pulling into the crowded parking lot. Brandon grabs the first space he sees, turning to smile at you when the truck’s in park and the engine is off. “If you don’t want to stay long,” he begins, “we don’t have to. I know it may be kind of lame…”

“Brandon,” you cut in, boldly reaching a hand out to rest on his forearm. You give a gentle squeeze in reassurance. “It's going to be so fun. Come on.” His bright smile mirrors yours, and he gives a small nod, once again coming around the truck to get your door for you.

He holds his hand out to help you down, though he doesn’t drop yours once your feet are on the ground. Instead, his fingers curl around the palm of your hand, sliding until he’s able to lace his through yours loosely. His skin is tough, but it’s warm where it’s pressed against yours. His fingertips reach almost an inch down past your knuckles, and as you start walking through the crowds, you feel his thumb smoothing over your skin slowly. It’s calming - a welcomed comfort, especially as you navigate through the throngs of people. Brandon seems to know exactly where he’s headed, walking quickly like a man on a mission, and you’re content to let him bring you alongside him.

The atmosphere is decidedly cheerful: there’s so much laughter, bright lights, music blaring. You can smell the fair foods regardless of the area you’re walking through. For the first time in a long time, calm settles over you- you feel free to let go, to just enjoy yourself and the unexpected joy you’ve found yourself in. You hadn’t really ever believed in serendipity, but life was certainly enjoying proving you wrong. You’re admittedly wrapped up in that feeling, enough so that when Brandon stops suddenly, you keep walking. A gentle tug on your arm has you right beside him again, a gleam in his eye and a grin on his face.

“Wha-”

“Let’s go on,” Brandon insists. It takes you a moment to process that you've stopped in front of the ferris wheel, and that he’s looking up at it hopefully.

“On the ferris wheel?”

He nods, trying to make his way there, but you plant your feet. Your eyes are wide, mouth gaping as you search for words. “I can’t go on that.” You have to crane your neck to take in all of it, your stomach dropping to your feet. Under absolutely no circumstances will you be setting-foot on that. “That’s like a hundred feet in the air.”

Brandon grins. “It’s seventy, at best.”

“At best,” you scoff. “I don’t care! No one is supposed to be that high off the ground. It’s unnatural.”

The noise continues to buzz around you, crowds parting as you stand there, looking up. Your mind has zeroed in on it now, unable to process anything other than the anxiety crawling through your limbs, making you grip Brandon’s hand that much tighter.

“Are you afraid of heights?” His voice is so soft, and it's truly the only thing keeping you from bolting right now. He’s obviously keen on riding this monstrosity with you.

“Terrified,” you supply.

“What exactly were you going to do in Seattle when you got to the Space Needle?” He asks. Honestly, the thought had never crossed your mind. Of course it was a landmark in Seattle, popping up on every google search you’d made when looking into the city. That didn’t mean you had to partake in the activity. “You have to go to the top. That’s a right of passage.”

You know your face is incredulous. No, you certainly did not have to go to the top of the Space Needle - nor would you be. “I’m going to avoid it, like a normal person who values their life.”

It makes him laugh, that breathtaking, earth moving sound that warms your whole body. Armed with this feeling, and the puppy dog eyes Brandon is working on you, you feel your resolve slip. If it really means that much to him…

Sighing, you nod, squaring your shoulders and sucking in a breath. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrow lifts. “Alright! It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.” It won’t, but you don’t tell Brandon that. Instead, you let him lead you to the base of the ride, to the vacant ticket window. He takes care of the tickets then leads you up the few metal stairs to the loading area. It’s far more rickety than you’re comfortable with; you unconsciously step closer, your shoulder bumping against his, anchoring you. It will be fine, you tell yourself.

Seconds pass before the car in front of you stops, and the ride attendant is lifting the bar to let the passengers out. You’d think seeing the small children scramble off laughing would make you feel better, but it’s to no avail - that sinking feeling has taken hold, and you’ve got to face it head on. Brandon nudges you slightly, letting you walk in front of him and slowly take a seat. The car swings when you sit down, and you have to drop his hand to let him take his place beside you. He’s watching your every move, eyes locked on your face to make sure this really is okay, that you can handle this. You’re able to force a pained smile, and his chuckle fills the air, a comfort.

The sound of the attendant telling you to ‘have fun’ is muffled in your ears. You register that that was your warning, as the car begins moving immediately after. It’s not unbearably fast, though it is fast enough to make you gasp. You focus on taking in a slow breath through your nose, and holding it in to try to calm your racing heart.

Eventually, you’re able to get used to the sensation. Your eyes, though fixed straight ahead of you, take in the bird’s eye view, and it’s mesmerizing. You can see the entire fairground from up there: crowds of people, tops of tents, lights, rides, everything. Off in the distance, the sun is starting to set behind the mountains: the purple sky tapering off into pink, orange and yellow. It’s stunning, and it actually does help to calm you, just a little bit.

“See, you’re alright, darlin’, it’s not so bad..” Brandon coos. As if on cue, the car jerks suddenly, then stops. You scramble closer to Brandon on the seat, nearly curling yourself into a ball your limbs are pulled in so tightly. Shaking hands have a death grip on the lap bar, and your eyes are squeezed shut, willing away the anxiety swirling in your stomach.

You can feel Brandon’s arms coming around you, holding you to his chest, fingers smoothing down your arm. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he coos. “I’ve got you.” He keeps you there as the ride finally starts moving again, talking about anything and everything that pops into his head. You know he’s trying to distract you, and thankfully, it’s working. You mind can’t race when he’s so close, when you’re inhaling the clean scent of his shirt. His arms anchor you in your reality; there’s no reason for alarm, Brandon is here. Brandon will take care of you, he’ll keep you safe. The peace that thought brings you is addictive.

It’s enough for you to almost enjoy the rest of the ride on the ferris wheel. The jerking of the car is still uncomfortable, still makes your stomach drop, but it’s not as hard to manage with Brandon there. You can take in the views, let everything bombard your senses, protected under the weight of his arms, of his concern.

After disembarking the ferris wheel, you and Brandon make your way inside the exhibition hall. It’s crowded, slightly overwhelming, but then Brandon’s there, taking your hand and grounding you. You wander from exhibit to exhibit with a smile on your face, making light small talk with Brandon as you go. He’s so attentive to you, always looking for your feedback, ensuring you’re enjoying yourself. Really, you’re enjoying the excitement just emanating off of Brandon. He’s absolutely in his element: getting to explore the newest equipment for the ranch, meeting other local ranch hands, swapping stories and tricks of the trade. He’s adorable, and it’s making your heart really happy to experience this side of him.

After you’ve walked away from what might be your fifth booth offering the latest in herding technology, Brandon turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Thank you for humoring me. I know this isn’t all that exciting but-“

You’re shaking your head immediately, jumping to reassure him. “I’m having a great time.”

“Yeah?” His eyes are hopeful, and you chuckle softly.

“Yes. I promise.” You stop suddenly when you hear a familiar song coming from the tent just off to the left ahead of you, processing you’ve finally found the live band. “Oh, I love this song,” you muse.

Again, he cracks that gorgeous smile. “Well c’mon then,” he insists. He tugs on your hand, leading you up the pathway and right into the tent. The music’s much louder there, the crowd far more dense.

“What are you doing?”

“Dance with me,” he insists. There’s quite a few other people with the same idea, the open area in front of the stage filled with various swaying couples. Brandon doesn’t wait for you to respond, just walks the two of you out into the middle of the floor. He rests his free hand on your waist, lifting your entwined hands up a little higher and stepping in close. “This alright?”

“Yes,” you breathe. You’re so close your cheek is brushing his chest. There’s a heady scent filling your nose: woodsy, but fresh, like stepping outside on a crisp morning, the remnants of an extinguished bonfire lingering. It’s lovely, and so distinctly Brandon. You’re probably not subtle about the way you inhale deeply, taking him in, savoring.

Ever the gentleman, he grants you your stolen moment, opting to ignore it. He just takes the lead, swaying the two of you around the makeshift dance floor, keeping you close. His palm is warm where it rests against you, his fingers gripping you a tiny bit tighter each time you accidentally step too close to someone else. Eventually, he draws you in even tighter, until you’re standing chest to chest. You sigh in content, letting your temple rest against his shoulder, eyes locked on where your hands are clasped. After a few moments, you feel him speak more than you hear it: the soft rumble buzzing.

“Mm, what was that?” You mutter, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“I asked if I could kiss you…” his low voice trails off, and you nod your head eagerly, tongue flicking out to wet your lips subconsciously. Brandon’s eyes follow your every move, hooded. He leans in, breath coming out in soft puffs against your cheeks. His eyes fall shut when he closes the distance, warm lips landing on yours. It’s slow, tentative, but you feel like you’ve been lit on fire. You reach a hand up and grip his shoulder, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. You’re desperate to curl them into his hair, but you don’t want to overstep and risk shattering this moment.

Brandon breaks away, nose bumping yours as he trails little kisses against your mouth. He’s so gentle, rhythmic in all of his movements. Your name falls from his lips in a sigh, and he pulls back slowly, lips brushing your skin as he goes. “Darlin’,” he breathes, “you’re gonna be the death of me.” It makes you chuckle, and you finally blink your eyes open.

“I could say the same for you,” you jeer, matter-of-factly. And god, if it isn’t true. If you weren’t in too deep before, you’re barrelling toward head over heels now, heart enamored by this charming man.

___

Eventually, you do make your way off the dance floor. You’d both worked up quite the appetite, and Brandon insists he’s doing this “the proper way”. That results in him buying your meal, which you happily enjoy together on a picnic table in the setting sun. Since the kiss, it’s like an invisible barrier has deteriorated. There’s far more touching: soft brushes of fingers over skin, shoulder bumps, a far too sensual swipe of Brandon’s thumb over the corner of your mouth when he notices a splotch of lingering sauce there. It’s setting you on edge, but in the best way. And though you can’t be completely certain, it seems to be having the same effect on Brandon.

After you finish eating, you return to wandering the exhibits, hand in hand. But the air has shifted now. Your mind keeps playing back that kiss, his lips against yours, his shoulder beneath your fingers. Your head is reeling with countless scenarios, potentially jumping to conclusions enough that you finally speak up. “You ready to head out?” You ask, voice low. Peering up at Brandon through your lashes, you see him nod, jaw set.

From there, the world moves in fast forward. You remember making your way off the fairgrounds, to Brandon’s waiting truck. You remember climbing inside, the way he was immediately reaching for your hand across the console. Neither of you say much as he drives, perhaps afraid to shatter this moment. Of course you’re thinking about what will happen when you arrive at the ranch, what the kiss meant, what you want it to mean. There’s an important distinction there, one you’ll have to give considerable thought to, later. Now, Brandon’s pulling the truck up alongside the house, killing the engine and racing around to get your door for you.

He’s just as much a gentleman as ever when he walks you to your room. It’s clear he has no expectations, but he’s wringing the edge of his hat in his hands like he’s nervous. “Bran-“

“I’d really like to kiss you again, darlin’,” he drawls. “Hell, I’d like to do a whole lot more than kiss you.”

Two steps it all it takes until you’re chest to chest, your eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him. “Brandon... Please.”

He takes his time- slow sensual kisses, his hands tentatively touching your body, modestly at first, just your shoulders or your arms. His hat dropped to the floor, long forgotten in favor of ghosting his fingers over your skin. The anticipation is driving you wild, your heart beating out of your chest. He grows bolder with each swipe of his tongue over your lips, in your mouth, until he’s finally cupping your breast through your dress. He grins at the little choked off sound you make, pulling away to watch you. His eyes are hooded, never leaving your figure when you walk backwards to your bed, pulling your dress over your head and dropping it to the floor in a heap.

His gaze races over every inch of your skin, drinking in your body- your breasts, your thighs, all perfect smooth skin just begging to be touched. His hands tremble when he reaches out for you, but you just smirk and step further out of his reach, laying back on your bed, legs spread, eyebrows raised. It’s an invitation, unabashed, desperate, aligned with your need for him.

He’s hasty in pulling off his own clothes, shirt going first, and you moan out loud at the sight of his shoulders. You’d felt them, but seeing the cut of them, his tanned skin, up close like this, nothing could’ve prepared you. Your eyes trace down the deep cut of his abs, his v-line as his fingers pop the button of his jeans. He lets them hang from his hips as he clambers onto the bed, crawling on his knees until he’s between your outstretched legs. One hand tangles in your hair, the other reaching around to unclasp your bra as he busies your mouth with his tongue. When your breasts spring free his mouth is on them in an instant, kneading, kissing, sucking, biting…

He trails his hot mouth further, your skin scorching under his touch- low enough for his teeth to grip the hem of your panties. He watches your every move as he drags them down, kissing your ankle then sliding back up. “Open these pretty legs for me darlin’, please?” He whispers.

“Brandon,” you whine, breathless.

He shushes you, running a soothing hand up and down your bare thigh. “I’ll take care of you,” he promises. Then, ever so slowly, he presses your legs open even wider. Your eyes squeeze shut, the chill in the air mixed with the feeling of being so exposed all hitting you at once. Brandon soothes you with a kiss to your temple, his lips dropping down to whisper in your ear. “So beautiful, spread open for me like this,” he begins. He teases his pointer finger over your entrance, gathering the wetness and dragging it along your lips. “And soaking wet for me. God, look at you…” He starts to circle your clit, teasing, eyes glued to where your mouth has fallen open in a gasp. Steadily, your breathing starts to deepen, and Brandon can see the strain on your face.

Without warning, Brandon brings his hand down and slides a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out quickly. He revels in the gasping breaths you take, the sight of you biting your lip sending all of the blood rushing to his cock. He’s hardening quickly, his dick pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans. Right now, though, his focus is on you. He’s desperate to get you to see stars, call out his name while you throw your head back. So he slips another finger inside of you, angling his hand so his palm is brushing against your clit each time he presses back in.

Your body responds beautifully to Brandon’s ministrations. You open up for him so easily, your walls clinging to his fingers, greedy and desperate for more. You whimper when he pushes in deep, his eyebrows shooting up in question. He pulls his hand back, and slips a third finger in, this time pressing in and holding, keeping pressure on your sensitive walls.

Above him, you let out a long moan, your eyes flying open. “B-Brandon,” you groan, your hands twisting tightly into the sheets.

“That it, baby girl? That your spot?” He mumbles. He tests the waters even further, stroking his fingers against you. Your entire body shivers and you whine. Your hips start grinding down against him, craving that friction against your clit. He can feel how close you are, your body tightening around him, locking him in place so you can chase your pleasure. “Go ahead, darlin’,” he encourages. “I’m here to please you. Take what you need.” His lips once again press to your neck, this time, his tongue and teeth entering into the mix. As he nibbles against your skin, you work your hips against him, grinding down quickly. Brandon rewards your efforts by sliding his thumb up and pressing it flat against your clit. He holds it there, while you thrash against him, whimpering his name over and over like a mantra. He bites down, hard, and flicks his tongue out to soothe it, and that’s enough to push you over the edge.

Your back arches even further as you come, your eyes squeezed shut as pleasure overcomes you. Brandon strokes you right through it, keeping you stimulated as you come down. After a moment, it’s almost too much for you to handle, and you reach down to grab his wrist. A whine of protest leaves your lips when Brandon doesn’t budge, an infuriating smirk on his face when he brings his head up. “Easy, easy,” he coos. His free hand reaches down and shoves at his jeans. It takes him a moment and some awkward maneuvering to get them down his legs, his tight boxer briefs leaving nothing to the imagination. You can see how hard he is, and you feel arousal seep from your entrance, over Brandon’s fingers and onto the sheets beneath them. You know if you were in your right mind, you’d be mortified, but right now, with Brandon looking at you like he’s never seeing something so beautiful, you couldn’t care less.

Brandon manages to kick his briefs off, his hand stroking his cock slowly. His fingers are still inside of you, pumping in and out, prolonging the floating feeling. Your legs are starting to feel like jelly, but your mouth is practically watering at the sight of him. He’s long, and thick, and a beautiful shade of pink. You can see the thick vein wrapped around him throbbing, and your pussy aches with the need to be filled by him. He moans your name, “darlin’, can I- do you want to?”

“God, Brandon, yes,” you groan. “I need you, please.” Your eyes are blown wide, hair strewn about wildly, and Brandon has to grip his base tightly at the sight.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, and maintains eye contact with you as he brings them to his lips. He flicks his tongue out and swirls it around each one, cleaning every lost drop off of his skin. Then, he moves up the bed, his hips once again pushing your legs even further open.

“Condom,” you breathe. Your limbs are so heavy, but your body is thrumming for him, slick dripping down your thighs. As Brandon grabs for the wallet in his jeans, your teeth latch onto his collar bone. His fingers are shaking as he comes up with the condom, a triumphant look crossing his features. You suck a mark into his skin when he rolls it on, his throaty groan filling the room.

With a steady hand on his cock, he guides himself to your entrance, his lips seeking out yours desperately. You’re sucking his tongue into your mouth when he finally slips inside, the warm, firm nudge of his cock against you already making you see stars. Brandon breaks the kiss with a drawn out moan, dropping his forehead against yours. He stays there, panting against your lips until his hips are against your ass, cock fully sheathed inside of you.

It feels like a punch straight to the gut. You’ve never felt so full, so split open before. Brandon is just so big- his shoulders, his hips, everything. His body looms over you, trapping you against the mattress. His hips roll slowly, just testing the waters, and your eyes roll back. He’s overwhelming every one of your senses.

“You’re so perfect-“ He groans, “feel so good. Can I move? Wanna bury myself in you so deep.”

This is a side of Brandon you had never expected to see, but you’re already so desperate for it. You nod your head rapidly, unable to get the words out. Brandon takes the green light and draws his hips back, thrusting so deeply inside of you. He sets a toe curling pace, making sure you feel every inch of him drag against you. When you arch your back again, he gets an arm around your waist, holding your body tightly to him. This new angle lets him force himself even deeper, and you grip onto his shoulders tightly.

You can feel your hardened nipples dragging against him, catching on the muscles in his chest and his stomach. He’s grunting lowly in your ear, the sound making your clit throb deliciously each time it leaves his lips. Without warning, Brandon hits that spot inside of you, and you dig your nails into his skin. You cry out for him, raking your fingers down his back, and Brandon hisses. “Feel what you do to me, sweetheart?” He grunts. “This is all for you. Fuck, so beautiful.”

“Brandon- I’m- god, I’m so close,” you croak. You kiss every inch of him you can reach, drag your soft cheek against the stubble on his chin. It makes your whole body shiver, and your toes curl against the sheets.

“Let go,” Brandon instructs. “I’m right behind you. Let me feel you come on my cock.” His hushed words are what do you in- you come for the second time, clinging to Brandon like he’s your only lifeline. Your voice cracks as you shout his name, a sob heaving from your chest.

Brandon fucks you straight through the euphoria, his hips slapping against yours as he chases his own release. His thrusts grow erratic, and you feel him throb inside of you before he’s coming. His face gets buried into your neck, his body pining you to the mattress. All two hundred plus pounds of glorious muscle is resting on top of you, his cock pulsing as he floods the condom.

You stay this way for a while, until Brandon goes completely soft inside of you and your breathing is nearly back to normal. You wince when Brandon pulls out, your walls clenching around nothing. The empty feeling makes your whine, and Brandon placates you with a kiss to your lips. “Wait here, darlin’,” he mutters.

Clumsily, he rolls off his bed and pads to the bathroom. There, he trashes the condom, grabs two towels and runs them under the tap before turning and heading back to the bed. He cleans himself off quickly before climbing back between your legs. You hiss when he runs the towel over your folds, gently, with so much care. When he’s finished, the towels too get tossed over his shoulder, and he takes you into his arms with a sigh.

You cuddle in close to his chest, pressing your nose against his skin and breathing him in deeply. You’re sated, and so, so happy your body is nearly thrumming with it. Brandon’s fingers are stroking slowly through your hair, his heart beating steady against your chest.

As you take in a deep breath, the blissful moment seems to shatter, and you’re left with that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. You can’t shake its insistence, particularly now that you’ve been intimate with one another. Brandon had been so exposed, so raw and candid with you, and you aren’t being completely honest with him. This isn’t meant to last. How can it? Staying in Montana has never been an option. This is not the kind of life you ever envisioned for yourself, and even with the belief that it could be creeping in, it’s not sustainable.

Brandon’s voice cuts through the silence of the room, raspy and deep. “You know, I never thought I could feel like this again,” he admits. He sighs, pecking the corner of your mouth quickly. Your heart aches in your chest, remorse flooding you. How could you allow this to happen? How could you do this to him?

“Brandon…” you choke, throat constricting. You can’t look at him, terrified of the expression you know you’ll find on his face. He’s too understanding, too kind, too good. You haven’t been fair to him; selfishly leading him on, sleeping with him, falling for him- No. It’s just circumstantial, you tell yourself. It can’t mean anything more than that. Your car will be fixed soon, and you’ll be off to Seattle. That’s the way it has to be. “We can’t.”

You hear him take in a deep breath, his chest expanding as it fills. Seconds pass, silence growing tense. He doesn’t say anything, and you know you have to fill the void, it’s excruciating. “You know we can’t do this.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Brandon’s face is evidence of that. He sits up beside you, deep eyes locked on your face. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”

You gather the sheet over your chest and sit up too, hands shaking. “I’m sorry, we’re just-”

“Stop saying ‘we’,” he cuts in. “Because this isn’t a joint decision.”

He’s right. Maybe it's easier to justify to yourself if you also put this on him. We can’t be together, we met at the wrong time, we’ll never make it. It doesn’t matter if you believe all of that to be true - it isn’t Brandon making that decision with you. You’re making it for him, but there isn’t any way to separate yourself from this; at least, you don’t want to.

You know that taking ownership over this means facing the consequences of forcing an ending before there’s ever truly been a beginning. But can’t it also be true that you shouldn’t give up your life for a ‘maybe’? For something that could amount to nothing more than a fling, when everything is waiting for you in Seattle? Why does that risk have to be yours alone?

“I just mean-”

He shakes his head. “You’re afraid.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, with such conviction it’s like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. There’s so much truth in that. Intimidating truth that has you cowering and protecting yourself.

“I’m being realistic,” you try. Your voice cracks. His expression is hard, jaw set. Disappointment has replaced the compassion you’ve grown so accustomed to: the soft look of reverence he usually wore when his eyes were on you has waned. That might hurt you the most.

“You’re not,” he insists. “You’re afraid, and you’re running.” His tone remains even, but his fingers flex where they’re resting in his lap. You can tell he’s struggling to remain calm. “What changed? Between this moment, and when I asked you on a date? You wanted this…” The way he hesitates over those words makes your stomach lurch.

“Of course I wanted this,” you assure. You’ll never allow him to feel he’d coerced you in any way.

He nods. “Then why?”

“I’m moving to Seattle. I never should’ve given you the impression this could-”

He shakes his head, huffing out a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t an impression. I know you feel what I feel. I know there’s something here.” It’s the first time he’s explicitly said it, and you curse the warmth that blossoms inside you. There’s no denying he’s right, but this can’t carry on. Not for a ‘let’s see where this goes’. It will leave the two of you broken, resenting one another and yourself for daring to believe otherwise.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whisper.

“It does.”

“It can’t.” You blink harshly, trying to will away the tears that have formed in your eyes, but it's hopeless. They fall freely, dropping onto the sheet draped over you. Your grip tightens, pulling the fabric closer, clinging to it. “Brandon, this is foolish. Nothing is going to come from this.”

“You still haven’t given me a reason why.” He’s speaking slowly, enunciating each word, as if he believes he’ll be able to change your mind if he approaches this carefully, clearly.

You’re quiet for a long time then, processing. His words hang in between you like an early morning fog: willfully ignored, but desperately trying to be perceived. They give you pause, not enough to make you reconsider, but to allow for the ache to grow in your chest. “I can’t give up everything for-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head.

“For me?” He mutters.

You chance a glance up at him, taking in his forlorn figure. His shoulders are slumped, gaze empty. He doesn’t wait for you to reply, just throws the sheet off his body and stands up from the bed. “Brandon, no. That’s not what I was going to say.”

He isn’t listening. He’s focused on tugging his clothes back on, eyes glued to the floor beneath his feet. His back is turned to you, but you can see the tension mounting, the anger taking form in his body. Fully dressed, he turns on his heel, staring straight through you. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you think I’m not worth it.” His words flatten you. It’s all over him how devastated he is. You’d selfishly indulged, had neglected to set the boundary from the beginning; his thinking is logical, but it destroys you.

You shake your head. You can’t tell him that, because it's simply not true. You do want this, maybe more than you’d let yourself admit, and it’s been lurking in the back of your mind for weeks now. But it’s a risk; uncalculated, with the potential to destroy everything in its path. It’s not about wanting this. That would be easy. You just can’t have this.

“You are worth it, Brandon,” you tell him. You’re scrambling off the bed now, struggling to find your own clothes and pull them back on. When you get close, he backs away, toward the door. It hurts, god it hurts to have him looking at you like you’d slapped him across the face. But there’s no way to make this better. You can’t give him what he wants, as much as you wish you could. Your life is waiting for you in Seattle: the apartment you’re continuing to pay for, the job you’ll start as soon as you arrive. You can’t give up everything for a hope and a prayer.

You reach out for him, only to have his hand snatched away. “I’m sorry.” This opens the floodgates for you. Tears come much faster, your shoulders shaking with it. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t give up my entire life.”

He just stares at you, eyes blinking slowly. You can almost see the gears turning in his head, everything clicking into place. Eventually, he nods. “Won’t be long until you’re back on the road now. Off to better things.” He’s sour, resentful, and his words sting like you’d been gripping something too tightly. You hate that he feels you think so little of him, but that’s exactly how it looks. You’re walking away for a chance at something that what? Could be better? Could make you happy?

“Please don’t-'' you try, but your voice cracks. It’s impossible to get the words out, but you’re desperate to communicate with him. This is the last thing you’d ever wanted.

“I’m just giving you what you want,” he shrugs. “I was just a way for you to pass the time. I won’t hold you back.”

Anger drips from every word. You see him gripping the doorknob, just waiting for the moment to throw it open, to walk away. “This’ll never be enough for a big city girl like you,” he continues. “So if you want your excuse to run again, here it is.” With that, he opens the door, backs out of the room, and slams it hard behind him.

#Brandon tanev #brandon tanev imagine #brandon tanev x reader #cowboy Brandon #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #hockey smut #nhl smut #shutupptara writes

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