- slow ride ch2
feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader
previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter (wip)
warnings: NSFW, more substance use in this one, a bit of angst?, readers emotional issues
a/n: i feel like my writing sucks esp in this chapter cause im sorta rusty and sick so i cant even tell if this makes sense but oh wellđđđ anyway pls send me hazbin reqs!!!!! having the worst brainrot lately esp for this horrible man!!!
wc: 2.9k
âI'm not breaking up inside / I'm much to proud to moan / Baby, please come homeâ
Oh my god. What did I just do? Why did I do this?
You turn your head to look at Adam where heâs lying on the other side of the bed, and find his expression closely mirrors your own. Pure disbelief is written on his features, and you grimace, turning to look back at the ceiling.
After a moment, you sit up, grabbing your box of cigarettes and a lighter off your bedside table. Once lit, you swing your feet off the bed to reach for shirt and now ripped panties, standing up when youâre partially dressed. You hear Adam sit up behind you.
âSoo, that was⌠uhhhâŚâ He trails off, mouth hanging open as he thinks of what to say.
âLetâs⌠not speak about this again,â You say carefully as you turn back to face him.
âYeah. yeah, iâm good with that,â He says quickly, finding his robes off the floor. Youâre surprised he doesnât say anything about the smoke.
You cross the room to get your pants off the floor, pulling them up as Adam grabs his jacket. You pull up your fly, and look up to see Adamâs staring at you with an expression you canât read. His eyes flicker to your lips, and he starts to lean closer.
âKiss me and iâll cut your fuckinâ tongue out,â you say as you turn your head away.
âOookay then. Iâll, uh, see ya,â For once, he has no snarky comment or crude joke to make as he straightens up and leaves your room.
After that, you told yourself never again. It happened once, itâs out of your system, itâs done. A one time thing.
But then it happens a second time.
âItâs a disgusting habit! All your clothes, your whole room fuckinâ reeks!â
âAre you tryinâ to get me to loose my temper here? âCause iâm about to shove you out that fucking window!â
âAnd look how angry you get, you fucking fiend, itâs been like 2 hours!â
âWhy donât you mind your goddamn business?â
You raise an arm to hit him, but he catches your elbow, twisting you around so your back is to him and he can hold you in place. You struggle to break from his grip, when suddenly-
âOh my god,â You deadpan, but your voice doesnât come out as disgusted as you expected at the feeling of something hard poking into your lower back.
âOkay, this is not my fault-â Adam says quickly.
âYou- fucking perv!â You spit, but your words hold no weight when he flips you again and lifts you up, placing you on the counter and you make no effort to struggle. You spread your legs so he can slot between them as items pushed out of the way cascade off the counter, falling to the floor with loud crashes.
You then told yourself that would be the last time. But not even you fully believed yourself. And once it happened a third, fourth, and fifth time, you just accepted this is something that happens now. Youâre not proud of it- some of you hates yourself, but another part of you finds a a sick, primal pleasure in it. Itâs the only guaranteed way for you to get him to shut up, if only for a few minutes. The fight for dominance- fuuck youâre messed up, huh?
Thinking of the humiliation youâd feel if any of the others found out- oh god, how could you look Alastor in the eyes again- you change absolutely nothing about your behavior around Adam. On the surface, nothing has changed at all. You two still bicker and argue all the time, if anything, worse than ever. Yet the other members can feel somethingâs up, that something changed. Adamâs insults feel more hollow. He always said shit just to rile you up, but there was usually an undertone of truth to his words. Not anymore- itâs all stupid shit that everybody can tell he doesnât care about. Nobody says anything about it, though, until-
âWhat the fuck are you smilinâ for?â Angelâs voice makes Adam jump as he enters, sitting down on the couch beside him.
âWhat-? I wasnât smiling,â Adam quickly denies. âWhat are you talking about?â
âOh my god- are youâre gettinâ laid?â Angel grins, sitting up. The look on Adamâs face tells him everything, and he canât help but laugh. âOh, you so are! No wonder youâve been in such a good mood lately,â
âUh, duh iâm getting laid, Iâm Adam, Iâm the origin-â
âYeah, yeah, original dick. But thatâs not what I mean and you know it.â Angel grins widely, and Adam can feel his face heating up. Oh god- why is he blushing? Since when does he care? He pushes the thought from his head.
ââŚYou donât know her,â Adam decides to say, crossing his arms and turning back to face the TV, hoping Angel will just leave it at that.
âTry me,â Angel leans closer, looking intently at Adamâs expression. When Adam says nothing, Angel laughs again.
âOh my god I so know her,â
Adam grits his teeth but says nothing as Angel laughs.
âOkay, fine, donât tell me who youâre havinâ weird secret kinky sex with,â Angel shrugs, turning to face the TV. âIâll find out eventually,â
That makes Adam sweat.
You canât help but laugh, nearly spitting whisky everywhere while Husk chuckles to himself. Sure, itâs a bit trite, ranting to the bartender about your shitty day while he pours you a stiff drink, but Husk could always make you laugh about it, and call you out on your bullshit if needed. He was real, and you liked that about him. Plus, it beat drinking alone when none of your other friends wanted to party on a Wednesday.
â-and not a crazy bitch like Iâm a crazy bitch, crazy like she lit her momâs hair on fir-â
âHusk holy shit!â
Both of you look in the direction of Angel Dustâs voice as he runs from the hallway towards you both. He leans over the bar, eager to share whatever news he had.
âAdamâs fucking somebody- somebody here!â
You choke on your whisky, spitting it back into the glass. Angel and Husk both look at you with a raised brow.
âMy bad,â is all you say. you canât think of anything else that would play it off, so you just quietly wipe off your face while Angel recounts his encounter with Adam. You feel an eye twitch- you could strangle that prick for being so conspicuous.
âYouâre quiet, Y/N,â Angel says in a teasing tone.
âI just could not care less if I tried,â You say back, firmly but with a shrug, and you hope it suffices as an acceptable explanation, and that you come off as your usual apathetic self. You finish your whisky, and luckily, Angel doesnât give you any more shit. Slightly unsettled by that interaction, you avoid Adam for the next few days.
Late one evening, everybodyâs gone up to their rooms and the hotel is quiet. Youâve already eaten, smoked, brushed your teeth and put on pajamas, but thereâs nothing good on TV and youâre bored and high and just want a task to keep busy. So you wander aimlessly into the kitchen and find yourself doing the dishes that Charlie was too stressed out to do earlier.
As you scrub brown charred bits off a pan, you find your stupid weed-addled brain wandering to Adam. You havenât fought with him in a while, mostly because youâd run away before he had the chance to start, but still. It feels weird, being so calm lately. No wonder youâre bored. Itâs the way things used to be at the hotel, before he arrived. You guess you hadnât realized how used to his presence youâve gotten. Gross. You cringe at the thought.
Luckily, your phone starts to vibrate on the counter, giving you a distraction. You pick up and hold it between your ear and shoulder without looking at the caller ID.
âYo, where are you right now?â
Of course.
âAdam? What the fuck, when did you get a phone?â You snort. When you realize youâre smiling you clear your throat and force your face to relax.
âWhatever. Can you come upstairs?â
You pause. He sounds slightly odd.
âWhat, like, to your room?â You raise an eyebrow. âWhy?â
âohmyfuckinggod- can you not be difficult for fucking once and just do what I ask?â Then, as an afterthought, he adds âPlease?â
Damn, okay. You donât say anything for a moment, thinking maybe youâre just smacked and heâs being normal.
âSuuuure⌠Just uh, gimme a minute,â You say carefully, putting the dishes down. Then, he hangs up on you. What a dick.
Unbeknownst to you, while youâve been thinking about him, heâs been thinking about you way more.
Youâve been avoiding him- obviously. Not unexpected, but it pissed him off to no end. Heâs fucking Adam! Who are you to ignore him? Arenât you supposed to be keeping an eye on him, anyway?
By now, the others have started to accept him- including them in their plans, drinking with him, no longer leaving a room when he enters- so he doesnât really need a chaperone anymore. Despite this, it still feels wrong. Even in a room with every other patron of the hotel, heâd started to notice when you werenât there.
He didnât even notice he was starting to miss you at first. It wasnât until he and Charlie were seated at the bar, and he drank more than he probably should have, that he mentioned you were avoiding him.
âWhatâdya, miss her?â Husk asked.
âAwww, Adam!â He still remembers the look on her and Huskerâs faces. âYou are starting to change! Thatâs so sweet of you!â
And then because she was drunk she kept rambling about it for like 30 minutes, but he doesnât remember the rest of what she said, just the utter humiliation he felt. He shut up for the rest of the night to avoid spilling his guts any more, but Husk- the annoying fucker- still gives him knowing looks every now and then.
And after Nifty had washed his sheets, and heâd noticed that his pillows lost the scent of cigarettes, perfume, and shampoo youâd left behind, he knew he was royally fucked.
The worst of all, though, is that he feels helpless to feeling these emotions- and even worse, he doesnât want to stop feeling them. Before heâd even noticed it, he was thinking about you all the time, and he was fine with it. The embarrassment was killing him, even though, supposedly, nobody knew.
On this particular night, heâd probably had just a tad too much beer with his dinner, because when heâd returned to his room and flopped on his bed, there was a little bug in the back of his brain that kept whining about how empty it felt. He tossed and turned for a bit, just wanting to sleep it off, but he eventually gave up, reaching for his phone.
âAdam?â Before youâre finished knocking, Adam jumps up to get the door, pulling you inside quickly. You make a noise of surprise as he scoops you up immediately, not saying anything as he carries you to his bed.
âDamn, needy, huh?â You laugh. This time, itâs him telling you to shut up as he tosses you onto the bed and crawls over you.
You sit up slightly to help him get your shirt off, and then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your chest as he unclips your bra.
âHavenât seen you in a while,â He says with a casual shrug as his hands run up your torso to grope at your tits.
âmm,â You hum, arching your back into his touch. âmissed this?â You smile sarcastically. Missed you, he thinks.
âSure missed these,â He pushes the thought away and grins back, squeezing your chest for emphasis. He pulls back briefly to rid himself of his own shirt, then bends back down to press more kisses to your flesh. He looks up, staring at your expression as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, reveling in the whimper heâs rewarded with.
âfuckinâ perfect titsâŚâ He mumbles into your chest before nipping at your skin. You let your eyes shut as his free hand slides down, under the band of your shorts and his finger brushes the hot skin beneath, skimming over your lips. Adam thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat.
Impatiently, you shift your hips up to slide off your shorts and panties, then reach to tug at his belt loops to signal he should do the same. When he looks up and sees the desperate look on your face, he decides not to keep you waiting, and pulls back to rip off his pants and boxers.
You guess avoiding him these past few days has affected you, too, because youâre surprisingly desperate. You sit up, wrapping your fingers around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever he had been planning to say dies and comes out a needy garble of nonsense that makes you snicker.
To your surprise, he has no quip as he crawls over you and pushes himself between your legs. He bites back a gasp when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a groan following a moment after as he begins pushing into you.
Your thighs are trembling by the time heâs fully inside of you, and you wrap your legs around his waist weakly while you adjust to the stretch.
He sits up fully, and from this view, you look stunning. The way you're laid back on his pillow, tears pricking in your eyes, he thinks you look more angelic than anything he ever saw in heaven.
âfuuuck,â He groans, letting his head fall onto the bed as he starts to move his hips.
âAdam!â The way you whine his name is truly sinful, and he feels his dick twitch in response.
âholyfuck, âs so big,â The slight burn makes you regret your impatience now, and his face makes you regret stroking his ego. You make a point to ignore his self satisfied laugh, focusing instead on how his cock stretched you open, making you to tighten and release around him. You turn your head, looking at his wicked fucked-out smile that grew wider and wider as his movements got deeper.
You canât speak, you just moan helplessly as your hands search for anything to grab onto to steady yourself. You throw your hands around his neck and bury them in his now dark wings, in the way you always did. You gripped the feathers tightly and let out a moan and oh, god, heâs not going to last long, he thinks, with you gripping the sensitive feathers like that. He groans again, then his lips find your shoulder, where he leaves messy, open-mouthed kisses trailing towards your neck.
âso fuckinâ sexy, so, so good for me,â you barley even register that heâs speaking, with your entire focus being on the way he moved in and out of you.
âyouâre- so beautiful,â he says between grunts. your eyes widen.
âwha-ahh-â before you can question that, a particularly hard thrust makes the words die in your throat, and youâre clawing to his biceps again.
A warmth of pride erupts in your chest at the way his breathing has turned labored and his grip on you tightens. An arm snakes around your waist, the other under your head, pulling you impossibly tighter against him as he continues to desperately pound into you. The proud smirk you wore is wiped off your face when you feel one hand releases you and his hand trails down, eventually pressing a thumb your clit, rubbing small circles that make you moan and twitch beneath him.
You canât even warn him before your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, all the while, Adam pounds into you, strokes you inside and out. You vaguely hear a sudden crash and him mumbling, thanking god that you came before him because seconds later, heâs spilling his own cum inside you with a broken wanton groan.
Adam stills for a moment, panting as he holds you close. When he rolls off you, he keeps one arm around you, pulling you against his chest. Huh. Thatâs new.
Neither of you say anything. That was⌠different, than youâre used to with him. You furrow your brows as you think, and find yourself confused. The cogs in your head turning something terrible in your mind, questioning his intentions.
Once youâve caught your breath, you sit up, pushing away his arm as you go to find your clothes. He frowns, watching you pick your shirt up from the ground and pull it over your head. You looked guarded, like a cornered doe, like you were just waiting for the chance to sprint away.
Adam grabs his own boxers from the floor and pulls them on, quickly crossing the room to where you were. He looks down at you, and feels an odd, tightening in his chest, something heâs felt a lot since falling to hell.
He leans against the door, putting on a cocky smile.
âSoo⌠this was like a booty call, huh?â
ââŚYeah, whatever. See ya,â
185 notes
¡
View notes
The Worst Timing | [1/?]
hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).
this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!
Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anythingâmuch less the fluâruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)
â
âA wedding,â Vincent repeats.
âYes,â Yves says. âA wedding.â
Itâs his cousin Aimeeâs weddingâsheâs four years older than he is. Back when heâd gone with his family back to France over the summers, sheâd been one of the people heâd grown quickly to look up toâsomeone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.
Yves has always been used to being looked up toâone of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate familyâand he likes to think that heâs good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But heâd grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.
Aimeeâs getting married to Genevieveâsomeone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people heâs ever met. All in all, itâs a wedding he wouldnât miss under any circumstances.
Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimeeâs friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincentâs plane ticket to their wedding in France in the springâa bit of a last minute arrangement, but sheâd sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (âIâd love to meet him,â sheâd said over the phone, âwould it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, Iâll send him an invitation,â and sheâd sounded so excited about it that he hadnât had it in him to turn her down).
âItâs very last minute,â he says, âbut my cousinâs getting married, and she really wants to meet you. Itâll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says sheâll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but youâd probably have to take a couple days off.â
âOh,â Vincent says, blinking at him. âAnd you want me to be there?â
âOf course I do,â Yves says. âI think itâs more a question of whether you want to be there.â
Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. âAre you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesnât seem like the kind of thing that youâd take lightly.â
âThey want to meet you,â Yves says. âAnd I wouldnât mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.â
âIt would be a waste of your time,â Vincent says, quietly, âto introduce me as someone youâre serious about if weâre just planning to break things off.â
Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincentâthe trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacyâhas an expiration date. The fact that he doesnât know when the expiration date is doesnât change the fact that it will, inevitably, endâwhen Erika gets the point, or fades from Yvesâs life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary.Â
Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isnât much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. Itâs not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partnerâas someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not alwaysâand to leave it at that?
âItâs not really going to be my day, in the first place,â Yves says. âMy relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we havenât even been together for a year. I donât think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what Iâve been up to. So itâs really up to you.â
âI think it would be fun,â Vincent says, âthough only if youâre sure about having me there.â
âGreat. Iâm sure,â Yves says. âEveryone will love you.â He does think itâs true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.
â
The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.
Vincent agrees itâs best shared on a need-to-know basisâthey wonât be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, theyâll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.
But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.
âSo you and Vincent are taking the week off,â Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.
âYes,â Yves says.
âAny plans?â
âIâm actually flying to France,â Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincentâs involvementâif Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, thereâs no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. âOne of my cousins is getting married there.â
âOh,â Cara says, all too knowingly. âWhat a coincidence. Vincent told me heâs also planning on going to France.â
âI⌠heard,â Yves says, slowly. âHeâs told me as much.â
âI didnât realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,â Cara says, smiling at him. âI thought most people went over the summer.â
âYou know what they say,â Yves says. âFranceâs beauty knows no seasons.âÂ
âYou should ask Vincent which part of France heâs visiting,â Cara says, with a smirk. âMaybe you guys can book a hotel together.â
Yves is positive heâs being laughed at. âItâs the third largest country in Europe,â he says. âIâm sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.â
âI think Cara knows weâre fake dating,â he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. âI mean, the dating part, not the fake part.â
Vincent blinks at him. âDid you tell her?â
âNo,â Yves says. He doesnât think theyâve been that obvious about it. âI just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.â
âOh,â Vincent says. âI told her I was attending a wedding there.â
An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions mightâve come from.
âThat would do it,â he says.
Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. âI donât think sheâll say anything,â he says. âBut Iâm sorry. I didnât think sheâd assume.â
Vincent seems to consider this. âItâs fine,â he says. âThough it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.â
âWe can figure that out when it happens,â Yves says. Â
At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how itâs always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before heâd met Erika. Heâs sure heâll be prepared for it when it happens.
â
The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.
Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawnâ4am, on the dot. Victoireâs in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat.Â
Yves sits in the middleâthereâs not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincentâs sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.
Leon says, âThis is the earliest in the morning Iâve ever third wheeled.â
Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, âItâs very nice to meet you, Vincent.â
âLikewise,â Vincent says.Â
âYves has told us all about you,â Leon says.
âOh,â Vincent says, blinking. âWhat has he said about me?â
âMostly that youâre super hot,â Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.
âYou make me sound so shallow,â Yves says.
âBut also that youâre really good at your job,â Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. âDid you know Yves likes people who heâs slightly intimidated by?â
âI never said that,â Yves says.
âItâs pretty obvious,â Mikhail says.Â
âYou guys are conspiring against me,â Yves says, and Vincent laughs.Â
Leon launches into a series of questionsâabout how they met, about who asked who out first, about what itâs like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.
âNo wonder Yves is totally whipped,â Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how heâd given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who hadâdue to unforeseen flight delaysâfound out last minute that she wouldnât have been able to make it on time. Yves hasnât heard this story before, but it doesnât surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. âYouâre exactly his type.â
Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother.Â
âI canât believe he hasnât invited you over for dinner yet,â Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation sheâs actually been awake for, Yves canât say.
She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (âSure,â Vincent says. âJust tell me the date in advance. Iâll clear my schedule.â Yves will have to apologize to him after thisâfor some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)
Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesnât so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if heâs always up this early, or if heâs just naturally immune to tirednessâanother signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like heâs just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.
For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually heâd be distinctly more alert by now. Thereâs a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbsâitâs the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasnât been getting enough sleep for awhile.
Itâs fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of themâtheyâll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.
As theyâre unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, âYour familyâs nice.â
Yves laughs. âIâm relieved they havenât scared you off yet. Sorry for the⌠well, interrogation, by the way.â
âI can tell youâre close to them,â Vincent says, a little more quietly.
When Yves looks over, something about Vincentâs smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If heâd ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when heâd lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, heâd ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes heâd had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.
Yves doesnât know. He doesnât even know how heâd go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?
â
Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent.Â
Theyâre a few rows away from the othersâI wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincentâs ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so youâd be sitting next to him.Â
Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.
âYou must not be new to flying,â he says.
Vincent nods. âIâm not.â
âEight more hours,â Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesnât have to. âItâll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.â
âI have some work to get done,â Vincent says. âOnly after the plane takes off, though.â
Rightâno electronics larger than a cell phone until theyâre 30,000 feet in the air. âI thought this was supposed to be your week off.â
âIt is,â Vincent says. âI just want to make sure everythingâs still in one piece by the time I get back.â
Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. Itâs not that heâs afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers himâitâs more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfortâall of it compounds. Itâs usually difficult to get to sleep, but heâs so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.
Thereâs just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New Yorkâs climate is generally more extremeâcolder in the winters, hotter in the summersâso all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. Itâd be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. Itâs definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that heâs just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.
âDo you think Aimee will be convinced?â Vincent asks.
âConvinced?â
âThat weâre together.â
âIâm sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,â Yves says, with a laugh. âYou donât have to worry about that.â
âItâs why you invited me,â Vincent says, âis it not?â
âPardon?â
âTo show the rest of your family that youâre not still hung up over Erika.â
âI invited you for a lot of reasons,â Yves says. âFor one, youâre good company.â
âSo are all your friends.â
âI thought we could both use a week off,â Yves adds. âItâs France, in the springtime. What could be better?â
Vincent says, âI need you to tell me what to do.â
âWhat?â
âYour cousin paid for my flight,â he lists, counting off his fingers. âYour family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.â He says these things as if heâs listing off all the ways in which heâs indebted to them. âItâd be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. Thatâs what Iâm here for, right?â
Yves blinks. âI donât think youâd need my help to make a good impression.â
âYou couldâve taken anyone with you, but youâre taking me,â Vincent presses. âThere has to be something you need me for.â
If there was nothing, you wouldnât have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincentâs expression.Â
âMy favorite cousin is getting married,â Yves says, fervently. âTo her fianceeâwho is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think Iâd choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didnât like?â
âMaybe,â Vincent says.
Yves shakes his head. âItâs true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didnât want you to come to France with me, I couldâve come up with an excuse.â
He twists around in his seat so that heâs facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincentâs hand. âI like spending time with you. I wouldnât have invited you if I didnât. You donât have to do anything out of the ordinary���if you have fun on this trip, thatâs more than enough.â
Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide.Â
Yves has a feeling heâs said too much. It isnât Vincentâs fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything thatâs come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have funâto take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimeeâs sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone.Â
âIs that⌠okay with you?â Yves asks.
âYes,â Vincent says. âItâs just unexpected.â
âWhich part?â
âAll of it.â
âOh. Well. Iâm sorry if I misled you, or anything.â
âYou didnât.â This time, Vincent really does smileâa sly, quicksilver thing. âFor the record, I am very excited to go to your cousinâs wedding.â
âThank god,â Yves says. âThatâs good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.â
He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. Itâs probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesnât have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.
He shuts his eyes and tries. Itâs no use. Heâs tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but itâs too cold to get to sleepâit feels impossible to get comfortable like this.
So he picks up a novel heâd been meaning to get toâsomething suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.
When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver.Â
âIs it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?âÂ
Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New Yorkâs cold winters, so Yves isnât sure heâs the best point of reference.
âDo you need my jacket?â he asks.
âNo,â Yves says quickly. âItâs not that bad.â
âOkay,â Vincent says. âIf youâre certain.â
He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to readingâor, more accurately, trying and failing to read. Itâs mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, andâfinally, defeatedâdog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.
The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves canât quite make out. Yves asks for orange juiceâitâs not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.
The flight attendant pours him the orange juice heâs asked forâno ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)âand sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasnât eaten all day, but strangely, he doesnât have much of an appetite.
He doesnât register the flight attendant from beforeâthe one Vincent talked toâis back until he hears Vincentâs quiet âthanksâ to his left.
Something brushes against his arm.
He looks up. Itâs one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadnât given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reservedâgiven only upon request, maybe.Â
âYou said you were cold,â Vincentâwhoâs holding out the blanket for himâsays, by way of explanation.
Yves blinks at him. Heâs about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that itâs not that coldâthat he wouldâve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didnât have to go out of his way to ask for one.
But his head hurts. He hasnât been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.
âThanks,â he says, taking it. âThis is perfect. I wonât be cold with this.â
He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around himâlike a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if heâd had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.
Itâs nice. Heâs still a little cold, with the blanket, but itâs enough to keep him from openly shivering.
He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. Itâs going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that itâs light out.
âIâm going to try to nap,â he tells Vincent. âBut wake me up if I need anythingâelbow me if you have to. Iâm not usually a heavy sleeper.â
âOkay,â Vincent says. âIâll try not to wake you.â
âYou can wake me whenever,â Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. âDonât work too hard.â
Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks heâs working exactly as hard as he should be. âNo promises.â
Itâs not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shutâitâs certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe itâs the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincentâon the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe itâs the cup of black coffee heâd downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.
In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.
â
Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder.Â
âSorry,â he says. âIâm up.â
âA âlight sleeper,â you said,â Vincent says. âWe just landed.â
Yves says, âIâm wide awake.â The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like heâs trying not to laugh.
Vincentâs stowed away his laptop alreadyâYves hopes thatâs a sign that heâs done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.
âHow was the flight for you?â Yves says.
Vincent looks at him. âUneventful,â he says, at last.
âNot enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?â
âThey were very enthralling. How was your nap?â
âGood,â Yves says, even though he doesnât feel particularly rested. Heâs just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. Heâs sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, heâll feel much better. âI probably needed it.â His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncomingâ
âhH-âIZscHHâiew!âÂ
The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels⌠off.
âBless you,â Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.
Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. âThanks.â
Everythingâfrom the moment they step off the planeâis exhaustingly hectic.Â
The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport theyâve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, itâs international customs, baggage claim, and then theyâre headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something thatâs worth commenting on.
Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostlyâabout Aimee, about how sheâs been in his life for longer than heâs known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (âShe was practically an older sister to me,â he says, âexcept we never fought,â to which Vincent says, âYou make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,â to which Yves says, âIt definitely is.â)
His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in alreadyâtheyâll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if itâs not too late. He probably wonât see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfastâand even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimeeâs been telling him about.
The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isnât really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.
Heâs cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way thatâs difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. Heâs starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadnât been the problem after all.
None of that is particularly visible to any of the othersâthat is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shutâ
âGod, sorry, Iâ hh-! hHehhâiiZZSCHhâiiEW!â
âBless you,â Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.
âYouâd better not be getting sick,â Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that heâs joking. âThat would really be the worst timing.â
âIâm not,â Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. âI promise.â Or, perhaps more accuratelyâhe canât be.
It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and sheâs one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. Heâs here, in France. Tomorrow, heâll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and heâll get to give Aimee the gifts heâs gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as plannedâthe welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.
It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and heâll give the speech he has prepared at Aimeeâs wedding, and theyâll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that heâs coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.
Heâs going to make sure of it.Â
[ Part 2 ]
108 notes
¡
View notes