#flyboy gifs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callsignthirsty · 3 months

Text

Stuck at the Navy Ball

So… I decided I wasn’t done playin’ with the boys.

As this is a continuation of the original Stuck in the Middle fic, I highly recommend that you read through that before diving into this. Could you dive headfirst into this? Yes. There might be a little confusion, though.

Inspired by a comment someone left on SitM over on AO3.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: You, Ice, and Sli haven’t lost that loving feeling. So when the flyboys are reunited at the 1986 Navy Ball, it's only natural that they bring a bit of chaos with them. Word Count: 4200 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, under-negotiated situations (but everyone involved is fine), fingering Chapter: 1/4 Minors DNI

gif originally posted by neuromancer1888

Chapter 1: Under the Table

The invitation arrives early in September, printed on thick cardstock and addressed to your brother. But if Viper’s words are to be believed—and you’ve yet to hear of a situation in which they aren’t—Pete’s attendance isn’t exactly optional. So the summons finds its way from the trash onto the fridge, rough edges taped back together.

Please Join Us For the 211th Navy Ball. Monday, October 13th Washington D.C.

Cocktail Hour 1700 | Ceremony Begins 1800 Live Music. Food. Dancing.

The same invitation has Carole positively giddy. Born and raised in Virginia, she’s been looking for an excuse to fly east to visit her parents. And for a party? Isn’t that swell! Arrangements are made for Bradley to sleep at his grandparents on the night of the ball before Goose—whose PT-mandated wheelchair has landed him desk duty—is home from work.

Which is how, roughly one month later, you find yourself in Goose’s room at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, sharing precious mirror space with Carole. Breathing in Aqua Net while putting the finishing touches on your looks.

The hotel calls the four of you a taxi, Goose’s wheelchair is stuffed into the trunk, and then you’re off to meet your date.

Singular.

There hadn’t been a question of if you’d attend or whose arm you’d decorate once Pete’s invite arrived. Officially, you’re at the ball with Ice. After Layton, Ice had made it a point to be seen with you while he was off-duty. Your relationship, which you’d tried to keep on the down-low, was worth showing off publicly after he and your brother had dropped their rivalry in favor of mutual respect. Friendship.

But the other half of your relationship was still very much under wraps.

That fact hadn’t stopped you from nodding eagerly when Ice pulled you close to ask you to attend the Navy Ball with him. Ice wants to climb the ladder, and earning stars is more than clambering into the cockpit every morning or disappearing on a carrier for the better part of a year at a time. It’s politics. It’s achieving perceived milestones on or ahead of schedule. And in October, for Lieutenant Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, naval aviator and promotion hopeful, it’s attending the Navy Ball with a woman on his arm.

Pete wrestles the wheelchair out of the trunk while Goose pays the cab driver. As you step into the crisp October evening, you marvel at the palatial, white-stone building that is to be the backdrop of your night. A steady flow of servicemen and women crossing beneath grand archways with their dates for the promise of a good night.

You aren’t left alone to gawk for long before you catch sight of them chatting with someone or another: decked in their whites, Slider leaning against the wrought iron rail and Ice to his side. Ice’s gaze flicks to you instantaneously, as if he’d felt your eyes land on him. The natural pout of his lips morphs into a grin as he excuses himself from the conversation and moves toward you against the flow of the crowd. Slider follows close behind, ultimately making his way to Goose, Carole, and your brother. But you catch the hesitation in his step. The course-correct.

Events like these will be challenging for the three of you—that had been a foregone conclusion—but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. It feels all sorts of wrong to have Slider keep himself at such a purposeful distance when you’re used to his proximity. Even at the O Club, he manages to stand close. Doesn’t shy away.

Before your mood can be irreparably embittered, Ice takes your hand in his and coaxes you into a slow spin. “You’re beautiful,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, and a delicate smile lights your lips.

The dress had been a surprise. Something you’d insisted on buying yourself despite Ice and Slider offering to pool their money for something truly extravagant. But after years spent in the foster system, even the thought of spending money on something so frivolous left a bad taste in your mouth. Instead, you’d taken Carole, your more comfortable budget, and found an old gala dress at a thrift shop. The sleek, black velvet gown up to your collarbones with the slightest sparkle as the fabric shifted beneath the store’s old lights ticked all your self-imposed boxes. A dress fit for an aspirational young officer’s date, even after Carole added a slit up the left side to show a little leg and “bring the dress into this decade.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, squeezing Ice’s arm as it’s offered to you. Typically, the change of season calls for blues, but the Navy Ball is an exception to the rule. You wonder whose wife you have to thank for that because although your boys look damn fine in both, you have a not-so-hidden preference. “And Kerner didn’t clean up so bad, either,” you shoot in Slider’s direction with a playful grin.

“Surprised?” Slider asks, brow raised. You shrug because, no, you’re not surprised, but you aren’t sure what to say that will fly under the radar. And that’s the name of the night’s game. That doesn’t stop Pete from rolling his eyes as he passes you with Goose and Carole on their way to the building’s ramp.

The closest you ever got to a ball before tonight was prom—not yours; you’d been on staff at the venue. Frankly, you’d half expected you and Pete to have been blacklisted, given your father’s ill-gotten reputation, but they let you in without issue. You wonder if Pete’s face appearing on the front page of every magazine in the English-speaking world has anything to do with it, but you keep that to yourself while Ice, ever the gentleman, escorts you further into the event.

If the outside of the building is beautiful, then the inside is magnificent: all barrel vaulted ceilings decorated with Romanesque gold leafing and warm mahogany. A vast hall that steadily fills as guests arrive for cocktail hour and to mingle before the evening officially kicks off.

Slider spots Carole’s shock of blonde hair by a table with easy access for Goose and herds Ice in her direction. They aren’t alone at the table. “Merlin,” Slider barks, bounding over to shake his fellow RIO’s hand. “I thought you were stationed over the Atlantic. What’re you doing here?”

“Turned out to be an exercise. Over and back in sixty-two days.”

“And just in time for the party,” the woman at his side chips in, and Merlin wraps an arm around her to pull her close.

“Oh! Tom Kazansky, Ron Kerner, my wife, Laura.” Ice takes the opportunity to introduce you in turn. The conversation is easy-going, Ice and Slider filling Merlin in on their time instructing at Miramar.

Slider gets in several quips about Ice having a list of officers whose asses he needs to kiss to speed up a promotion when Ice spies one of said officers. He gently tugs you in the right direction so you can play the part of the doting girlfriend. The officer—a captain—quickly introduces you to his wife before he and Ice talk shop.

You manage to pluck a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, sipping daintily and nodding along with the captain’s wife. Considering most of your knowledge concerning the Navy revolves around the planes your brother flies and the stunts he’s pulled in them, the conversation goes in one ear and out the other.

Not that it matters. Your role tonight—thankfully—is just to follow Ice around and look pretty.

The captain’s wife finishes her champagne in record time, and though you’re hesitant at first, you aren’t too far behind her. It is at this point, glass empty, that Slider appears like your guardian angel. “Captain,” he nods. “Ice.”

“Captain Reid, have you met my RIO?” Ice asks, knowing full well that Slider has no interest in schmoozing. Much like your brother, Slider is there because it is expected of him. Unlike Pete, Ice doesn’t need his friend’s emotional support or commiseration to make it through such events, mandatory or otherwise. Every opportunity like this is one Ice can use to his advantage.

Slider offers the captain a firm handshake. “Lieutenant Ron Kerner, sir.”

“Your RIO? I thought you were stationed at Miramar?”

“The perks of winning the trophy, sir,” pride leaks through as Slider says it. He and Ice worked damn hard to finish at the top of their class. “We’ve been together since flight school. When Ice took a teaching position at TOPGUN, I followed.”

“And how does a man of your stature fit in the cockpit, lieutenant?” the captain’s wife asks from beneath heavily painted lashes.

The grin Slider offers her is loose. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but no complaints so far.” The minute narrowing of Ice’s eyes says behave. You nearly avoid snorting, hiding the unladylike compulsion behind the rim of your empty flute, a reflection off the crystal drawing Slider’s eye.

“Actually,” Slider says, hand twitching as if he’s had to stop himself from resting it against your back, “I noticed your glass is empty.” Sli nods toward the bar, an invitation to refill your glass. You look up at him with a grin—a genuine one, not the soft smile that’s grown stale throughout Ice’s conversation—acceptance on your lips when–

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ice’s brow wrinkles, noticing for the first time that you’ve finished your drink.

”I didn’t want to interrupt,” is your bashful answer.

”Don’t be ridiculous,” Ice says. “I’ll come with you.”

”You don’t have to leave.” Slider will take care of me, you don’t say.

Ice picks up on the silent part but blatantly ignores it. His eyes take on that warm, charmed look, tongue peeking out before his lips curl into that honeyed smile you love so much. “You’re too good for me,” he says as if it’s a secret meant only for you. There’s no doubt he means it, but something about the way he’s playing the sentiment up for the brass makes it feel different in a way you’re not entirely comfortable with. No mistakes. “If you’ll excuse us, sir. Ma’am.”

Captain Reid is already turning to walk the room with his wife when Ice’s eyes narrow into what can only be described as a glare at Slider, his arm cementing itself around your waist in a way that probably looks far more relaxed than it feels.

”What?” Slider asks, shooting for casual, but now you’re not sure you’re buying it, either. “I’m just trying to do my part so you can talk to everyone on your list.” The subconscious flex of Ice’s jaw, as if he wishes he could chew out his frustration on the butt of a cig or some gum, doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does go unheeded. “Admiral Benjamin is on your list, right?” You perk up. As in Penny Benjamin? “I think I saw him by the corner with wife number three and Commander Johnson.”

“You know,” Ice says, his grin glacial, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you rubbed elbows at an event like this.”

Slider scoffs, though it’s affectionate. “Why bother? We both know my military career ends when you take a desk job. Besides, I think my time is much better spent keeping your date’s cup full.” You’ve all agreed to go to the bar, but no one is moving. The tension between Ice and Slider is palpable.

”Okay,” you interrupt. There’s something off about their banter tonight. You’ve seen Ice stare down many a handful of people since landing in Miramar, but never Slider. It’s enough to raise a sculpted brow. “What am I missing?”

Slider senses blood in the water. Sees the smoke in the air. The grin he gives you is far tighter than the one he gave the captain’s wife. He opens his mouth, but Ice beats him to the punch. “You said something about grabbing my date a drink.”

Slider’s jaw clicks shut, but his grin isn’t so easily wiped away. “More champagne?” When you nod, Slider picks his way toward the bar while Ice escorts you to the side of the room where there’s more room to breathe and a lesser likelihood that someone will overhear when he presses close. “Sli’s upset that you’re with me tonight.”

That’s it? You hadn’t thought the arrangement would bother Slider so much. The three of you had discussed it and mutually concluded that you should go with Ice. That you had to go with Ice. Was Slider having second thoughts?

“Well, not upset,” Ice concedes at the concern that drags your lips down. “But he was talking a big game.”

Color you curious. “What’d he say?”

“Well,” Ice pulls you closer so his breath tickles your ear and you can smell the mint on his breath, “he thinks he can get you off before we leave the building. Steal you away while you’re being my pretty little girlfriend for the brass.” You gulp. Where is Slider with that drink?

”Oh.”

Ice chuckles. “Yeah. Oh. But I’m not worried.” Two fingers find their way under your chin and lift until your eyes meet Ice’s. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

“What’s the winner get?”

”Bragging rights.”

”And?”

It’s impossible to miss the way Ice’s eyes flit to your lips and linger there because he can. Those are the perks of being your date out in the light of day. “Can’t that be it?”

“Could be,” you breathe and slowly wet your bottom lip with your tongue, delighting in the way gray-blue eyes track the movement, “but it isn’t.”

Ice double-checks that no one is eavesdropping on your conversation. “You remember what got delivered the other day?” Your breath hitches. Yeah. You remember the catalog order you’d put in for a remote-controlled toy. The excitement and disappointment that had come with unfortunate delivery schedules. “Single-night, exclusive access once we’re all home.”

”That’s quite a lot on the line.”

”It would be,” Ice concedes, one large hand spanning the small of your back, warming you and holding you close enough you can breathe in his cologne, “but you can be good for me, right, baby? I’ll make it worth your while.” You nod, a little dumb as you inhale teakwood, sage, and sea salt.

It’s sure to be a profoundly satisfying night as long as you can stick to the script.

“I’m not going to make it easy on you,” Slider promises, appearing by Ice’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” Ice’s smirk is all cocky confidence, cracking only when he notices Slider has only fetched two flutes of champagne.

”Only got two hands, Tommy,” Slider says with a toothy grin, “but I’ll keep her company while you grab yourself a glass.” The crystal buzzes with the steady fizz of bubbles, your fingers brushing Sli’s ever so slightly before Ice pulls you back into the throng.

The room becomes more difficult to navigate with each new attendee, but Ice only seems more in his element as cocktail hour drags on. He introduces you to a flurry of officers and their wives whose jewel-tone dresses all start to blend together, brushing shoulders with the men who ultimately control his upward trajectory.

On his arm, you smile and nod, interjecting where appropriate because, despite the smattering of female officers present, the Navy remains very much a boy’s club.

Still, it’s nice to be shown off so publicly. To delight in the knowledge that Ice’s attention never strays far from you despite his planned schmoozing. You preen each time he introduces you to someone new with a tender look—there are many things tonight that may be manufactured, but that look isn’t one of them.

An ache blooms in the ball of your foot as Ice delivers on the same script over and over to increasingly dismal company. The throbbing is nothing compared to the pinpricks in your cheeks, though. Beauty pageant smiles are their own form of torture. But this is important.

It’s all for a good cause.

Tonight is important to Ice, so it’s important to you.

You’d do anything for your boys: ignore every sour expression at your last name, force a pleasant laugh along with each rear admiral’s wife, stifle a relieved sigh when everyone is invited to find their seats for dinner.

The flyboys have claimed three closely clustered tables during your absence, forcing others to walk around them as they spill into the spaces between each table, leaning close to make up for the distance forced by post-graduation reassignments. Viper is curiously absent, or perhaps Jester had pulled the short straw and been stuck with babysitting duties.

But there’s someone you don’t recognize at your table, sat between Merlin and Slider, a stranger in your midst. A smile splits Ice’s face when he spots him. “Cougar?” The man stands and pulls Ice into a quick embrace, Ice’s hand on the man’s—Cougar’s—shoulder. Ice makes quick work of introducing you to Bill Cortell and his wife, Maria. “Cougar and I were like brothers in flight school,” Ice beams. “We were supposed to meet up at TOPGUN, but–”

”It turned out for the best,” Cougar cuts Ice off goodnaturedly with a quick nod toward Pete. “Besides, desk life isn’t so bad.” Ice raises a brow at the assertion while Goose lets out a ‘bullshit!’ “Okay,” he cedes, “it’s pretty bad, but I wouldn’t give up being at home with Maria and the kids for the world.” Maria, who is heavily pregnant, rests her hand over her bundle of joy.

The lights choose that moment to dim, commanding stragglers to find their seats, but neither man moves. Slider stands up. “Here,” he offers Ice his seat on Cougar’s left because the two clearly have some catching up to do. Ice takes the seat while you slide over to stay seated next to him, and Slider takes your spot as the lights come up on the stage for the opening ceremony.

By the time everyone is seated and some speaker makes his way to center stage, Ice is only half paying attention to the night’s program. He and Cougar have a lot to catch up on in appropriately hushed whispers. You’re about to zone out when you’re yanked back to the present by a hand on your knee.

Above the table, for prying eyes, Slider doesn’t give anything away. Attention seemingly focused on the stage. Below the table’s skirt, however, you press your thighs together as Slider’s hand massages the skin exposed by the modified slit in your dress. Familiar callouses drawing senseless patterns above your knee. His hand stays there, occasionally giving you a comforting squeeze, like he knows you crave reassurance through gentle touches after being dragged so far out of your comfort zone. It’s nice. Before long, between the buzz of quiet conversation and each soothing caress, you relax back into your chair.

Polite applause fills the room as the admiral gives the podium to the next presenter. Pete and Carole chuckle at something Goose murmurs. Wolfman yawns. Someone coughs. A waiter comes around to top off champagne.

You wrap your fingers around the delicate stem of your flute, raising it to your lips in the same instant that Slider’s palm shifts so it’s wedged between your thighs. Your sharp breath is lost in the crowd as nimble fingers creep higher, never once pausing their massage.

The corner of Slider’s lip tugs the slightest bit up. Smug bastard. When you’re sure no one is paying attention, you give his wrist a tug, but instead of retreating, Slider brushes a finger against the flimsy fabric of your panties.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you become hyper-aware of how loud your breathing is, and your brain kicks into overdrive. Can anyone hear you over the clink of glasses? Your nails dig into the meat of Slider’s wrist in surprise, but you’re fairly confident that the rest of you looks normal—suddenly, you’re not sure what that means.

Is this the way a normal person’s mouth rests? The way a normal person sits in their chair? You need to leave, but you can’t. Being good for Ice, among other things, means not causing a scene. Not fleeing the room in the middle of a presentation. Not letting anyone know that while your boyfriend dutifully splits his time between the podium and his colleague, his RIO is pushing your underwear to the side for better access to your cunt. How you’re responding to his touch.

“Hey.” Pete’s giving you a strange look from across the table. “You okay?” From the way he’s pulled a face, you missed the bar for normal, and now Goose and Carole are also looking your way.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “I-” need a distraction. You mentally stumble as Slider continues to stroke up and down your slit, his fingers spreading the wetness until they glide effortlessly through your lips.

The universe grants your wish when the crowd bursts into polite applause and the mic is turned over to the next speaker. “Isn’t that Admiral Benjamin?”

“As in Penny Benjamin?” Carole perks up, sitting tall in an attempt to get a better look at the stage while Pete bangs his head onto the table. Probably. You’re admittedly not paying attention.

Pleasure zings up your spine as thick fingers nudge your clit. A reward for redirecting the eyes on you. It’s everything you can do not to press your hips into the pressure or let your head loll back with a gasp. And with Penny’s father keeping attention off of you, Slider hooks an ankle around yours to encourage your legs further apart.

You shouldn’t, but Slider has always been convincing.

Ice won’t be particularly pleased with how promptly you gave into Slider’s suggestions, how readily your legs fall open, but that’s barely a blip on your radar as firm circles rub into your clit. The devil on your shoulder whispers that if Ice had really wanted to win, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so easily distracted.

None of that matters nearly as much as it should when your heart pulses between your legs.

A hand lands on your velvet-covered thigh. Ice. “Sweetheart.” You whip your head around too quickly for the move to be anything but suspicious. Like you’ve been caught with your hand—or someone else’s—in the cookie jar. You try to focus on the cool, grounding pressure of his touch. It’s working, you think, but your leg is still trembling from the effort it takes to keep still. Keen eyes move from your face to your leg, trembling under his touch, to your lap, and then to Slider, where they narrow almost imperceptibly. “You alright?”

With a nod, you reach past your champagne for water to wet your dry throat. “Just taking it all in.”

A poor choice of words. Ever the opportunist, Slider presses a finger into your hole, the stretch delicious and unexpected enough that you almost choke. If anyone catches the color on your cheeks, you hope they’ll blame your earlier drinks.

“I was just saying I didn’t know Maverick had a sister,” Cougar says, this time loud enough for the table to hear him.

“He doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Yeah,” Pete scoffs, “because when people find out about you, this–” he gestures between you and Ice “–happens.”

“You got any other sisters, Mav?” Chipper’s question from the next table over prompts Pete to load a pomegranate seed onto this salad fork. He’s ready to launch, but a disapproving look from Jester dissuades him. Goose flips Chipper the bird in a show of solidarity.

“So when did this happen?” Cougar asks, eyes flitting from you to the blonde on your right.

Slider chuckles and leans into the conversation at the same time as he crooks his fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek. The circles Ice is rubbing into your knee aren’t as distracting as either of you wants them to be. “He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of her since we made it to Miramar.”

Hypocrite. You clear your throat. “About five months?”

“Aw,” Maria sighs in that way so many in long-term relationships do. You try and fail to focus on that as a second finger prods at your opening before pushing in slowly. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.” Thankfully, Ice steps in with a reply because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears when Slider rubs his fingers against your sweet spot, thumb applying steady pressure to your clit. Your nails dig crescent moons into Ice’s wrist in a last-ditch attempt to ground yourself because if Slider keeps this up, it’s going to take a miracle to keep you from causing a scene.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Viper’s unapologetic quip appears from seemingly nowhere. Your own personal savior. “I need to borrow Iceman and Slider, Maverick and Merlin, Hollywood and Wolfman.”

You shiver at the abrupt emptiness. Slider wipes his fingers, dripping with arousal, off on the tablecloth, eyes locked on Ice.

Next Chapter

101 notes · View notes

kryptonitejelly · 2 years

Text

Flyboy (Part 3) | Jake Seresin x Reader Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers Warnings: tw: getting drunk; tw: mentions of alcohol; tw: mentions of cheating in a past relationship; general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies. Length: Mini-series, chaptered - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue

Summary: Jake gets called back to TOPGUN the same time you’ve been granted a sabbatical from work. He invites you, his purely platonic best friend of years, to live with him for 6 months and you accept. Just two best friends kicking it back for 6 months in San Diego, Fightertown USA, right?

A/N: I am sorry this is so long, it just wrote itself. We’ve hit some cliche tropes in here i.e. one bed, fake relationship (I just love them though). As usual, thank you everyone for the love on Flyboy. Your comments, reblogs, likes all have been really encouraging and mean the world (I read them all), please do leave them <3

Also, can someone just talk to me about how Jake is most definitely from Texan money - I firmly headcannon this.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist

(If you haven’t already seen them - blurbs and asks (one-shots coming soon) are also listed on the Flyboy masterlist!)

Flyboy - Part 3

PART 2 <<

Approximately 7.5k words

“I hate when flying makes me queasy,” you shudder as you step off the airbridge and into the terminal.

“Queasy,” Jake scoffs as he steps off the airbridge after you. “We’ll need to fix that.”

“I don’t need fixing,” you groan as you welcome the feeling of stable and solid flooring beneath your feet.

“Mhm.” He makes a non-committal sound and you can almost hear the gears in his mind whirling with ideas.

“I am not letting you take me up in the air.” Your face is a mixture of extreme apprehension and horror and it causes his face to split into a wide grin, amusement clear on his features.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He nudges your side gently with an elbow.

“I’m never getting into a jet with you.” You shudder your stomach lurching at the idea of slipping around in a tiny fighter craft.

“So, remind me again, why we are not staying at your apartment?” He asks, staring out of the window of the cab.

“Because Annie has us booked into the hotel she’s having her reception at.” He looks at you, brow raised quizzically. “Her husband to be owns the place.”

“Well hello moneybags.” He lets out a low whistle, both brows raising an inch above his shades.

“You’re one to talk,” you tease, and it earns you a dismissive snort from him. Jake had never shown a hint of it, but an invitation from his mother to your family, along to the family Christmas gathering her side of the family was hosting, the first year you had known Jake, revealed to you that despite the modest home life the Seresin’s kept, Jake’s maternal side of the family came from Texan oil. It was, you figured, part of the upbringing which had pushed out his confidence and extreme self-assuredness came from. His mother, as Jake had told you after that Christmas, had gone the odd route of marrying his father, an average guy, but one whom she was truly, madly in love with, and had kept a more simple life than the one she had been accustomed to growing up - but it didn’t however change the fact that Jake, had generations of old money running through his veins. You had never probed further than what he had volunteered, because money or no money, he would always be just Jake to you. It had however, always made you suspect that apart from loving flying and the thrill of it, Jake’s chosen career path was him fighting against the grain of what his maternal side of the family expected of him, the return to the fold.

“Doris asked about you.” He does however bring up his maternal grandmother, and your eyes light up. She had taken to you like one of her own grandchildren after Jake had introduced you both to each other that first Christmas.

“I miss her,” you admit, smile on your face. “The last time I saw here was when she came down to New York with your mom.”

“She sent pictures,” the smile tugging at his lips matches yours, recalling the day. He had just landed, from being scrambled for a mission with the VFA-151 Vigilantes, that day marking his first confirmed air combat kill. He had flipped open his phone after the adrenaline, congratulations and debrief, finding himself wanting to call you, to tell you about his accomplishment of the day, only to find photos of you, from his grandmother on his phone - her having forced you to model the jewellery of the moment which she was lusting after. The message which had accompanied the photos had read “Isn’t she gorgeous Jake?”. He hadn’t cared for how you looked with his grandmother choice of diamonds and glittering stones that adorned your ears and neck, but he had found himself smiling at the genuine, slightly bashful smile you had on your face, and had saved those photos of you to his photo album.

“Was it Doris and her trinkets?” You groan, using the name Doris herself used to refer to her jewellery.

“Doris’ taste has always a bit… opulent.” He admits, and you sink back in the seat of the cab with a nod of your head.

“It’s a lot of sparkle.”

It makes him barks out a laugh as the cab rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building. You both weren’t staying here, but as you had informed Jake, you had to make a stop to retrieve wedding appropriate dresses for the weekend ahead.

“She calls it her dazzle.”

“I don’t see how you left them all here.” He bemuses, leaning against the doorway of your bedroom, arms folded loosely over his chest, watching you rustle through your closet.

“Because I’m sure I would have been entirely needing of a floor length gown or fancy cocktail dress in Fightertown USA.”

“Could always wear one for a run around the compound. Might help you run faster.”

“Black or green?” You ignore his jab at your running and pull two dresses from the rack, holding each in one hand in front of him.

“Black.”

“Jake Seresin going for the more conservative option.” You feign a gasp, as you toss the black gown, plain, long and strapless, which would cut across the front of your chest in a tube like fashion on the bed, heeding his selection, while reaching up to slot the green dress, of the same length but with a plunging neckline back into your closet.

“You don’t need to show skin to look good” he says nonchantly with a shrug of his shoulders, and for some unusual reason, it makes you feel a flutter in the pit of your stomach. You busy yourself for a few seconds more than necessary, flipping through your closet, your figure hidden behind the open door as if to consider more options, as you let the strange feeling settle. It makes you miss the searing look that flickers briefly across the greens of his pupils as he watches you.

“Trinkets?” He asks, eyes meeting yours as you finally shut your closet doors to face him. “Doris would be very disappointed if you didn’t sport any.”

You raise your hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, showing him the modest pair of diamond studs you never took off, they were the one nice piece of jewellery you owned. There had been a few other pieces that you had, once that you were sure Jake had seen on you over the years, but you had donated to goodwill post break up with Dan, dump the guy, dump the jewellery he had given you.

“All I need.” You gesture to your ears.

“No others?”

“Nah,” you shrug, avoiding bringing up the reason behind the lack of your other pieces, knowing that it would cause irritation to colour his face. “Let me grab a pair of heels and we can be on our way.” You busy past him, picking up the gown in hand.

“A Queen?” You stare at the receptionist that is sliding the set of keycards across the counter to you.

“It says here that Ms Annie Jacobs has you booked for a queen.” You sigh inwardly, the booking must have been from your original RSVP with Dan.

“Do you have any other available rooms with two singles?” You throw a glance over your shoulder towards Jake who is standing a distance away, phone to his ear and hand in his back pocket.

“I’m afraid not,” she shoots you a genuinely apologetic look, “We are maxed out for the weekend.” She explains and you nod in understanding. The wedding, as you had been told by Annie herself, was going to be a massive affair because of the sheer number of people her future in laws just had to invite, family, society friends, business associates.

“Alright,” you shoot the receptionist a smile as you gather up the keyboards, hoisting your handbag higher up your shoulder, “thanks.”

You see relief flutter across her features, and you shoot her another smile, warm and sympathetic.

“Looks like we’ll be sharing a bed.” You walk up to Jake, hand extended to hand him a keycard, as he drops his phone from his ear.

“Sharing a bed?” He echos, and you see an expression that you’ve never seen before pass his features for a split second, before he breaks back into his trademark smirk. “Well aren’t you lucky.”

“More like unlucky.” You reach out to grab the handle of the suitcase, but Jake’s hand beats you there and your palm lands atop of his. He takes the chance to capture your hand in his, his warm, calloused palm against your skin.

“Can’t keep your hands off me already?” He asks, keeping a hold of your hand. You feel his thumb stroke a line up the back of your fingers, and the simple gesture makes your breath catch in your throat. It has you staring down at your combined hands, wondering if that was a habit from the moves he pulled on women.

“Is that one of your mov-” you start to ask, only to be cut off by a loud voice shrieking out your name.

You rip your hand from his, spinning around just in time to be engulfed in a hug that is all Annie. You stumble backwards slightly at the impact of Annie throwing her arms around you, and you return the gesture, but not missing Jake’s hand which reaches out to anchor you steady by the small of your back, preventing both you and Annie from tumbling back across the hotel lobby.

“Hey,” her excitement is infectious and it makes you laugh as you greet her.

“I was afraid we lost you to San Diego for good.” She gushes as she pulls away from your, her eyes wide. “It’s been forever.”

“It’s only been weeks,” you correct her.

“Reaching two months,” she whines back as she looks behind you, finally picking up on Jake.

“I know you,” she sticks her tongue out the corner of her mouth as she takes him in, appraising him from head to toe. To his credit, Jake doesn’t flinch, his stance casually confident, and unbothered as he lets run through her assessment of him. “You’re picture frame boy.”

“Picture frame boy?” He looks from Annie to you for an explanation.

“You’re in one of the photos she keeps in her office, on the shelf behind her desk.” Annie cuts in, explaining for you before you can open your open. “It’s the photo of you carrying her on your back. You know, the close-up shot with both of you laughing, wind in your hair.”

Jake knows the photo because it’s the same photo he has taped to the inside of his locker back at his home base - something he has never told you about. It surprises him that you have the same photo, out of the many you both have together, put up in your office.

“The interns thought it was adorable,” Annie continues to gush, not allowing either of you a word in, her eyes shining with excitement. “They kept asking her if it was her boyfriend in the photo.”

“Did they now,” Jake sidles closer to you as he throws an arm around your shoulders. You glance up at him, and he simpers down at you, looking an ounce too smug. “We are adorable.”

You both miss the glance Annie throws from you to Jake, and back to you. She notes you scowling, sees your nose wrinkle as you poke your tongue out at him, but she also registers just how at home you both look, you tucked under his arm, and him holding you just the right amount of close against his side, like you were both made for each other. She had never seen you look that way with Dan. It is, she thinks, something neither of you are even aware of. She manages to hide a knowing smile as she clears her throat, causing you to snap back into the present. Jake’s arm continues to hang loosely from your shoulder, and you don’t bother to shrug it away.

“Let’s get your suitcase put away,” Annie announces as she looks around for a member of staff, “and me drunk.” She says, words clearly directed at both you and Jake. “I’m Annie by the way.” She remembers to introduce herself.

“Jake.”

“And I told her, that she could shove her opinions up her ass.” Annie roars and you both collapse in a heap of giggles at the table. You’ve lost count of the number of drinks you’ve had, but a look through the floor to ceiling windows that dot the side of the hotel bar tells you that you’ve been drinking for hours. Your insides and skin are overly warm from the flush of alcohol, and the tips of your fingers feel slightly numb.

“Annie?”

“Charles!” Annie calls out as her fiancé comes into view. She attempts to stand, but stumbles, falling back into her chair.

“You’re drunk.” You giggle, as you and Annie lock eyes across the table, and it has both of you gasping with laughter. “Hi Charles.” You raise your hands in a little waggle, and he returns your hello, offering you a smile despite your drunken state.

“He sees you.” Annie hisses and you both burst out into another fit of giggles.

“How long have they been drinking?” Having identified the only non-inebriated person at the table, Charles looks to Jake who is seated beside you, his hand casually slung around the back of your chair.

“Since 6.” He glances down at his watch. “So 4 hours give or take.”

His response makes Charles exhale in a sigh that is both defeated, yet understanding of his fiancé need to let loose.

“Thanks.” Charles takes in Jake’s sober state, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that he had hung around for both your and Annie’s sake and safety.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tips his head in a slight nod, before tilting his chin towards Annie. “Might want to get her to bed though, I hear you both have a final rehearsal tomorrow before the big day.”

“We do.” Charles reaches down, anchoring an arm behind Annie. It isn’t too much of a struggle, as his fiancé willingly throws her arms around his neck, allowing herself to be helped up and supported.

“Byeeeeeee.” Annie calls out to you in a singsong voice as she begins blowing sloppy kisses towards you with her hands. It makes you return the action. “Byeeeeee picture frame boy.” She doesn’t forget to turn her attention to Jake.

“Thanks again.” Charles shoots over his shoulder again as he begins the slow walk with Annie in his arms to the elevator. Jake nods his head lightly again in response to Charles, before watching them both walk away.

“Jakey.”

He feels your head thump down on the portion of flesh below his shoulder your cheek pressing down against the material of his shirt. A glance down reveals you staring up at him, doe eyed. You have pressed yourself against his side, your body teetering at the edge of your chair, your hands spilling into his lap.

“Yes sweetheart?” His gaze searches your face, lips slightly parted, eyes glassy from alcohol, hair slightly mussed. There is something so vulnerable about the way you look, and he can’t help the hand that moves from it’s position on the back of your chair to hold you around your shoulders, fingers clasping at the top of your arm that is further from him.

“I’m tired.” You slur your words, as you let your head loll against him and he finds himself rubbing a thumb up and down your arm in a comforting stroke.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He notices your eyes beginning to droop close.

“Okay, up you go.” Jake unwinds your arm from around his neck, and his hand from your side as directs you towards the bed on which you collapse on, your head hitting the pillow, body stretching out on the mattress. He rubs the back of his neck, flexing his shoulder blades slightly in a small stretch.

“Jake,” your voice calls out in a whine, and he can’t help the chuckle that falls from his lips at the sound. It wasn’t something that he typically heard when you were sober.

“Yeah?” He looks to find you staring up at home, pout on your face.

“I need to shower, can’t sleep in these clothes.”

“Darlin,” he starts still amused, “I’m not letting you into the bathroom unattended when you can’t even walk. You can shower tomorrow.”

“But its gross.” You wail as you manage to push yourself to a sit, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “Change? At least?” You tilt your head at him and he relents with a sigh.

“Alright.” He says as he turns to unlock the suitcase which Annie had arrange to have brought up to your room earlier. He scrambles in the code and pulls out the sleep shorts and tshirt you have sitting on top of your half of the suitcase. “Here you-”He turns back to find you tugging your top off your head before throwing it to the ground.

The sight makes him freeze, much to his confusion. He has seen you in equally less before, in two piece swimsuits at the beach, so seeing you in a bra, shouldn’t have been anything new, but the sight of you, glassy eyes, messy hair, sitting in bed against white sheets, in a black bra, trying to shimmy yourself out of your jeans - it knocked the wind out of him. Jake clenches his jaw, as the sight of you makes his blood rush south.

“Here.” He doesn’t take another step towards you, and opts for tossing the garments at you while fighting the urge to let his gaze trail down below your neck. If it had been any other woman, he would have let himself look, it would have been the only reason he would have been sharing a room with another woman anyway, but because it’s you, Jake wants to look, and yet, he doesn’t. He exhales audibly as you tug on the shorts and shirt, both thanking and cursing the heavens that you had decided not to pull off your undergarments in your drunken stupor.

“Bed,” he directs, a gruffness to his voice that hadn’t been that prior.

Jake Seresin was just a man, and this - this was killing him.

You smell like a bottle, but all he can think about is how soft you feel pressed up against him, your body curled into a fetal position, your face against his bicep, lips featherlight against his skin, and hands clutching his forearm like you need him. You shift, pulling his forearm closer to your body. It makes the swell of your breasts press against his arm, and Jake exhales loudly. You were his best friend, and he wasn’t supposed to feel the way he felt, but he did, more astutely for months now, and as less so for years.

He wasn’t entirely sure you felt the same way, but he had seen your last break up with Dan after waiting a full three years, and it had only strengthened his resolve to try something, anything because he didn’t want to have to wait another three years for his next chance. Jake’s breathe catches as you nuzzle your face against his bicep.

Using his free hand, he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes looking up to the sky, as if asking for strength as one of your legs hooks over his in your sleep.

You wake to the blaring of your phone alarm, the harsh sound drilling through your addled brain. You roll over, burying your face in the pillow as you reach out, hand feeling blindly around the bedside table for your phone. In a fumble, you manage to snooze your alarm. Keeping your face planted in your pillow, you groan as the dull throbbing in your head creeps up on you, faint memories of the number of drinks you and Annie had pounded into your systems floating back through your recollections. Your phone blares again, and you groan again, louder this time as you smack a hand down on the screen, fingers pressing down on the flat surface until silence befalls.

“Are you just going to keep fighting with your phone?”

“Yes.” Your voice is a croak.

“It’s 10.30.”

You sigh deeply, flipping yourself onto your side as you pull the covers up to your chest, groggily tearing your eyes open. You had Annie’s rehearsal at noon - you weren’t part of the bridal party, but you had promised you would be there to help her make sure everything went by without a hitch.

As your eyes open, the blurry figure in front of you sharpens into focus and despite the haze of your hangover, the sight in front of you makes your eyes widen further. Jake stands before you, white towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist, droplets of water dripping from his head of wet hair sliding south down his chest, abs, and adonis belt to meet the edge of the towel clinging to his waist. You let your gaze linger, just for a moment, on the sprinkling of hair that vanishes past the towel, your core clenching. You’ve seen him shirtless multiple times in your life, but never fresh out of the shower, never like this.

He picks tablets and a glass of water up from the table in the room and crosses the space to you.

“Open.” His hands are beside your mouth and you obey, parting your lips. He pushes the tablets in, gently, one by one as, his fingers skimming your bottom lip, before handing you the glass of water. Holding the painkillers between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, you come to a slow sit, before receiving the glass of water from him and sipping to swallow.

“I got you a bagel,” he points to the brown paper bag sitting on the table, “bacon and egg. Figured you wouldn’t have time before the rehearsal.”

“Thanks,” you say between sips of the glass of water. “Did you go for a run?” You eye his pair of running shoes which lie in the corner of the room.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs, still standing in front of you. The shrug of his body causes the towel to slip, just slightly, and your gaze shifts from his face, back to its edge.

Jake doesn’t miss the shift in your gaze, and the subtle but sharp inhale.

“See something you like?” You flexes the muscles in his core, and watches as your head snaps back up to his eyes in a movement that is far too fast for your current hungover state to tolerate.

“Ow.” You raise a hand to the side of your head, eyes closing as you let your brain which feels like its floating around, steady.

“No need to hurt yourself darlin,” his voice is silky smooth as he brings his hand against the other side of your head, his four fingers brushing lightly against your forehead, thumb gently kneading your temple in a soothing motion. “Just gotta ask any time you want to look.”

“Shut up Seresin.” You bring the glass back up to your lips and chug.

“Meeting a friend.”

You glance sideways at him, you both standing in the lift as it descends towards the lobby.

“A friend?” You ask, the inflexion in your voice making the right side of his lip go upwards.

“Yup.” He says a bit too loudly, and you can hear the mirth in his voice.

The lift doors slide open with a ding and he allows you to step out into the lobby before following behind you.

“Who?” You opt for asking him outright, finding yourself wanting to know more than you should.

“A friend.” His answer is vague, unlike his usual candid self, and it makes your brows dip into a frown.

“I don’t want to come back to a third person in my room.” The tone of your retort coming out sharper than expected, you fighting against his vague responses with a worded implication.

“I’m not bringing anyone back.” He faces you as you both stop in the middle of the lobby, noticing Annie in a distance engaged in conversation with a group of women. You can’t see his eyes behind his shades. “That bed is far too small for a third person.” He lifts his glasses off the bridge of his nose, giving him enough time to throw you a wink before dropping them back down. “Besides, I think it’s the right size for just you and me.”

The tone of his last sentence is like honey, his words dripping with suggestion and you feel a heat creep up the sides of your neck, tinging across your cheeks.

Jake notices Annie striding forward towards you both, her heels clacking against the marble floors. “Incoming.” He warns and you turn your head, hand raised in a small wave at your approaching friend. “I’ll see you later.” He throws a quick wave at Annie and you feel his lips press against your cheekbone in a kiss so brief and light that you barely have time to register it.

The rehearsal the day before had passed in a flurry of activity, with Annie dragging you, along with her bridal party to a celebratory dinner after. You had texted Jake to let him know that you would be late coming in for the night, he had responded with a text that had simply read “Don’t get drunk again. If you do, call me.”, and you had come back to find him fast asleep, his phone half shoved under his pillow.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, a hand clutching the front of your dress to your chest, and the other bent awkwardly behind you as you try to zip yourself into your dress. Throwing your hands up in their air with a huff, your posture slumps slightly in defeat, it was a near impossible task for one person to do alone.

Twisting the handle, you open the bathroom door, venturing out into the room to seek help.

“You need to zip me up, I can’t zip myself up.” You find Jake lounging back in an armchair, the television blaring in the background, as he types on his phone. In the time it takes for him to look up from his phone, you let yourself drink in the sight of him hair gel free and brushed back, face cleanly shaven, bow tie hanging around his neck but still undone against the cloth of the crisp white shirt he had paired with a black suit jacket and pants.

Jake looks up to you standing before him, a light dusting of make up on your face, hair swept up into a loose updo, locks framing your face, both hands clutching the front of your dress to your chest.

“Turn,” he directs as he stands and you feel him anchor his left hand on your waist, fingers splayed out on the material of your dress as his right hand pulls the zip of your dress up. You look up to meet his eyes in the mirror of the dresser. “You’re missing something.” His voice is a murmur in your ear and you tilt your head in question. “Close your eyes.”

“You better not be doing anything weird”

“Trust me.”

You eye him in the mirror in warning, before closing your eyes. There is a rustling, the soft pop of a box being opened, and you feel his hands go around your head. You can feel cool metal against your skin and his fingers brushing the exposed nape of your neck.

“Done.”

You open your eyes to find your reflection, but with an added silver coloured chain holding a single solitaire lying against your collarbone.

“Jake Seresin, you did not.” You lean forward to stare at your reflection, fingers ghosting over the the chain and pendant.

“Met a friend of Doris’ to get it yesterday afternoon.” He offers you his trademark Jake Seresin smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, pearly whites shining, revealing in the process just what he had gotten up to yesterday afternoon. It makes your heart skip a beat and your skin tingle.

“Jake,” you begin your protest as you shuffle around to face him, “it’s beautiful, but I can’t, it’s too expensive. I’ll pay you back.”

“Sweetheart,” he cocks his head to a side, “you’ll do no such thing.”

“But Jake-” he cuts you off with a firm shake of his head.

“What kind of southern gentleman would I be?” He teases, and instead tugs at the corner of his untied bowtie. “Do up my bowtie, and we’ll call it even.”

“That is hardly fair,” you purse your lips with a tut. “And besides, I don’t know how to do up a bowtie.”

“It’s easy, I’ll guide you.”

He moves like lightning, not giving you time to think and takes a few steps backward to sit on the edge of the bed, parting his legs and tugging you forward to stand in between his legs by your fingers. He places his hands over yours and guides you along, both your hands and his doing up his bowtie.

“And done, now you know how to tie a bowtie.” Your fingers are still grasping the edges of the bow around his neck and his hands are over yours. You find yourself staring into his eyes, the greens of his pupils piercing your own.

“Jake,” you breathe out, noticing just how close you both are, you standing between his legs, your head just inches from his. You can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Yeah?” He holds your gaze steady, and the world around you both quietens, you aren’t sure what you are you feeling, but you feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach, and the sudden urge to be even closer to him.

You drop a hand from the corners of his bowtie, not thinking, just feeling, and bring it to rest on the corner of his jaw. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but keeps his gaze slotted onto yours.

“Housekeeping.” The knock on the door makes you jump backwards, your hand dropping from his face. You glance at the clock, seeing the digits flash close to 3:00pm.

“We better go, or we’ll be late.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire New York is here.” You hold onto Jake’s elbow as you both tread along the crowd floating from the ceremony towards the reception. The wedding ceremony itself had been beautiful, set in a huge hall in the same hotel, fashioned to look like a church. You hadn’t shed any tears, but they had most definitely gathered in the corners of your eyes as you watched your friend exchange your vows up on the makeshift alter. Jake had placed a hand on your knee, squeezing lightly when you sniffled and you had welcomed the comfort, though the gesture had made your heart beat slightly faster, memories of the earlier incident nagging at the back of your mind.

“I’m pretty sure the entire New York high society is here.” He muses back.

“Moneybags.” You shrug, imitating his initial reaction from the other day. It causes the older couple walking in front of you both to turn and stare, and you duck your head down, stifling your laughter while Jake tips his head at them with a “hello”, in a pronounced drawl. It makes them exchange a look and take two steps further up.

“They must think we’re awful.”

“Too uncouth for the upper echelons of the city.” He winks at you, and it makes you laugh.

“What would Doris say.” You squeeze his elbow in jest.

“Give ‘em hell.” He deadpans, voice sliding into a rich southern accent, reminiscent of his grandmother, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter.

“I think this is us.” You stop at a table, squinting at the place cards, one with your name and the other with your name and the word “guest” after.

“That’s me,” Jake picks up the card, holding it in front of himself. “Guest.”

You open your mouth to respond, when a loud voice calling your name breaks through the hum of the crowd filtering into the ballroom.

“Lexi.” You turn, calling out her name, forcing a smile onto your face. Jake picks up on her name, and your conversation with Annie over the phone and drops the place card back onto the table. He eases himself close beside you as Lexi weaves past a group of people to come to a stand in front of you. She grabs you by the arms, air kissing the sides of your face and you oblige her.

“Guess we are the same table,” she gushes, her enthusiasm sky high, “I’m so glad.”

“How wonderful.” You grit out a smile at her words, the implications behind them on your company for the night ringing clear.

“Lexi?” You hear Dan before you see him, the once familiar voice grating across your ears.

“Over here cookie.” You watch Lexi coo back as Dan comes into view. The sight of him makes you grip your hand into a fist by your side and your shoulders go rigid.

“Oh… hey.”

You open your mouth to greet him in return, your shoulders squaring further when you feel a the gentle pressure of Jake’s palm on the small of your back.

“Dan.” Jake greets him, tone firm. You feel Jake step close to you, your back connecting with his chest as his hand travels from the small of your back to rest, relaxed, on your hip. You allow yourself to lean back into his hold, the tension in your shoulders seeping away as your fist relaxes. His fingers rub your hip, letting you know wordlessly that he’s got you.

You see Dan’s gaze flicker from Jake, to judge your proximity, and the hand he has on your hip.

“Jake.” He nods back in greeting.

“I’m Lexi.” Lexi assesses the situation, her eyes taking in Jake. You see her face break into a coy smile, as she extends her hand towards him. You have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the situation, with her knowing that you and Dan had been a couple, outrightly greeting you as if nothing had ever happened, all while deciding that the next best thing to do was to openly leer at Jake.

“Jake.” He offers, but not reaching for her hand. Instead, he chooses to snake his other arm around, letting it come to rest on the front of your body. “You’ll have to excuse me for not shaking your hand Lexi, got my hands full with this one.” He shoots her a patronising, apologetic grin and you watch as Lexi drops her hand immediately looking slightly abashed.

“Are you a couple?” She asks, her eyes widening, mouth dropping into a small o.

“Don’t we look like one?” Jake counters, as you place your hand over his palm that is resting on the front of your body. You interweave your fingers together with him, and he squeezes gently, his cue to tell you to play along. You squeeze back, in understanding.

“It’s not that, it’s just, I thought…” Lexi turns her attention to you, “that you were still single.” She looks back at Dan, slightly puzzled, “Dan said -”

“She is most definitely not single,” Jake’s voice slides across your ear, a low chuckle escaping him as he pulls you closer, pressing you to him. He bends his head slightly, and you feel his lips skimming the side of your jaw.

“Not in the slightest.” You manage to murmur, voice genuinely breathy at the contact of his lips against your jaw, and his body against yours as you look towards Lexi and Dan.

“I don’t get why they are still staring.” You arm is hooked under Jake’s arm, fingers resting on the shoulder of his suit jacket, your cheek pressed against his as you both sway to the music, you catching Lexi and Dan’s gaze hyper focused on you and Jake from two couples away. Jake’s hand is on your back, his other interlaced with your hand, leading you through the dulcet tones.

Since the initial interaction with Lexi and Dan, some part of Jake had never left you for the entire night. Whether you were both eating, listening to wedding speeches, drinking, or watching a cheesy video montage that played, Jake was always touching you, playing into the role that you both had sold, a dutiful boyfriend who was absolutely smitten with you. Whether it was his hand on your thigh, palm engulfing yours, hand slung across the back of your chair, fingertips brushing your shoulder blades, he had not once let you out of his sight or touch. It was comforting, nice to have him there to ground you, to make your night bearable.

“I hate them both.” He says, and you hear the hardness to his tone.

“She’s glaring daggers at me.” You groan softly. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to hunt me down and murder me Jake. I mean, she’s pretty much spent the entire night sending bad vibes my way.”

Jake leads you both into a turn, and he catches sight of the couple staring over. It baffled him, if he were to be honest about it, because you were faultless in the entire situation, no matter how he ran the parameters of it. Dan had been a lying, cheating asshole, and by the looks of it, along with a little deduction, Lexi was no better than he was. He catches Dan’s eye, and it makes Jake narrow his gaze.

“If they’re staring, let’s give them something to stare at.” He says quietly into your ear and it makes you pull your head back slightly in a curious questioning. “Trust me?” He asks, and you nod immediately. Despite all the teasing and barbs you exchanged, it didn’t need to be a question, you trusted Jake Seresin with your life.

Jake untangles his leading hand from yours, moving both his hands to cup your face. You keep your arm hooked under his shoulder, fingers pressed firmly down on the shoulder of his suit jacket. He runs his thumb across your cheek, asking you again, his voice almost a whisper as he asks the same question again, face mere inches from yours. “Trust me?”

“Yes.” You breathe back offering him verbal confirmation, and his gaze flickers to your lips, before going back to your eyes. He holds eyes contact with you for what feels like eternity, and then you feel it, his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter close instantly, your lips moving against him like second nature. Jake Seresin’s lips were softer, warmer than you would have ever imagined.

He drops a single hand back down to grip your waist, the other still cupping the side of your face, and you raise your hand that isn’t wrapped under his shoulder, to card through the back of his hair. Jake uses only his lips against yours, but it’s all you need for your knees to go weak. You pull away first, breathless, and you leans his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, breathing heavy.

“I think we gave them something to stare at.” You manage to say, your heart racing in your chest.

Jake opens his eyes to look into yours, his gaze feeling like it is piercing through to your soul, his heart beat matching yours. “I think we did.”

You are lying on your side, back facing Jake, your mind racing at a million miles per second. You both hadn’t spoken about the kiss, each of you lost in your own thoughts and feelings that that kiss had brought up, each wondering how to best tackle the after, and just what after meant.

“Jake?” You call out into the silence of the room.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you,” you pause and he lets you continue, “for coming with me to the wedding, for taking days off, for everything.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Yeah, but thank you.”

You both lie in the dark, in contemplative silence before Jake speaks up again.

“How are you feeling?”

You hum in question and he elaborates.

“You know the whole… Dan thing.” He braces himself, afraid of the answer, of you telling him that you were still in love with Dan.

You let yourself think for a minute, assessing his question against your feelings before you answer.

“Fine.” You say simply.

“Really?”

“Yeah really,” you confirm, “I think,” you pause, selecting your words carefully, “it was over long before it was actually over. I mean I had a hunch months before you know, about the cheating, the lying, maybe even the fact that there were no feelings between us both for a while at that point - but it was easier to believe nothing was going on than to admit your boyfriend is cheating on you.”

“You were really upset.” He recalls the day you had called him, crying.

“Anyone would be if they found out their boyfriend had been cheating on them… serially.” You let out a rueful chuckle. “Kind of a bruise to the ego, don’t you think.”

“Fair point,” he shrugs and you feel the shared covers shift slightly at his action. “So…” he hesitates, “you’re really okay?”

“Yes.”

“No…. residual feelings for Dan?”

“Apart from the fact that I think he’s disgusting - none.” You shake your head hair rustling against your pillow. “There weren’t any feelings left long before the break up.” You find yourself admitting out loud.

Jake doesn’t respond, but you hear the crackle of the crisp hotel sheets as he turns, slides an arm across the space between you, under your ribs, and rolls you easily towards him. It catches you off guard, but you let him tuck you under his chin anyway, his arms hugging you against him in a loose embrace. A pull back of your head and dart of your eyes upwards reveals his eyes are closed. The act manages to be simple and yet entirely intimate, entirely too intimate for a pair of people who were just friends, but you can’t help thinking to yourself how it just feels so right that you don’t allow yourself to overthink any of it.

“Good.” He finally says, and you shut your eyes as well, letting your breathing steady.

“So you and Jake.” Annie asks as you both hover around the side of the coffee shop, waiting for the barista to call our your names.

“Hmm?” You stick your hands into the back pocket of your jeans while rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Anything going on there?” Annie asks as the barista calls your both your names, you both reaching for two cups of coffee each - her for Charles and herself and you for you and Jake. “Saw you both kiss yesterday.”

Her casual add on makes you splutter as you take a sip of your coffee while you both weave your way out of the coffee shop.

“We were just pretending,” you try to say dismissively, your face burning, “you know for Lexi and Dan.”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, not believing.

“What?” You shoot her a glare as you both duck out the doors, making the short walk back to the hotel.

“Pretending,” she waggles her eyebrows at you and she sips from her own coffee cup.

“Pretending.” You affirm, shooting a smile at the doorman who has the door held open for you both.

“He might be in love with you.” Annie says casually as you both cross the threshold of the lobby to find Charles and Jake, a distance away, both engaged in conversation.

“Annie,” you warn, but a glance at you reveals to her the way your eyes light up as your gaze fixates on Jake. “We’re just friends, best friends.”

“Just saying,” she ignores your previous attempts at denial as the two men notice you both and begin walking towards you, “you might not feel so different from him either.”

You don’t have the time to respond with Jake and Charles stopping in front of you before you can get any words out, so you choose to hand Jake his coffee cup instead, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm, as he receives it with a thanks.

“Well,” Annie turns to you, arms outstretched as the doorman waves at the four of you, indicating that the car they had called for you had arrived, “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” You bend forward to return her hug with a nod. “You don’t see what I do.” She says with a soft smile as you pull away, causing both men to look between you both, clearly confused.

>> PART 4

Series taglist: @blue-aconite @rosiahills22 @luckyladycreator2 @britty443 @yanak324 @rule107 @fuckyeahhangman @spidey-d00d @dempy @barista-library @alexwinchester23 @shakira-sasha @bxwitched @lumenseal @obiwankenobis-lap @prettybiching @littlebadariell @actuallybarb @beaner-life-23 @coco-loco-nut @criminalyetminimal @tragzerus @alana4610 @tkmarvel-divergentbish @kilojulietsierra @imagineyneyjr @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ive-got-more-wit @fuzzy-panda @helloimhereforabit @meowimakellysaurusrex @t-rexs @iangiemae @shawnsthighs @cxit-writes @shanimallina87 @dempy @mell-bell @saynotononsense @justsplendidd @dont-talk-me-down @the-cranck-hobbit @callsign-marlie