#leave me alone FOR FUCKING WVER ok?
Text
"i do"
1,725 words // fluff // isekai au // bennybug
notes: this was meant to be a drabble. god help me . practice for description heavy writing also!!
The fingers that grasped his tie tremblingly were small, soft; not quite long enough to be described as lithe but certainly dainty and nothing at all like hands used to clasping at the hilt of a gun. Hands you only saw in pictures, now, though not as clean— there was graphite dust under their nails, and he could tell this now from their proximity.
They fumbled with his tie gracelessly with unfamiliar movements, but he didn't feel much like helping. Warmth from their pale knuckles brushed carefully against the tenderness of his neck. It was cute— certainly it was cute. Just not in a way he was used to; people didn't handle eachother like that, or at least not the people in the Mojave - their gaze was level in a soft glare as they finally loosened the velvety fabric, unraveling the light weight of it with deliberation before gently pulling it from his neck altogether.
"All right, baby," Benny purred. He savored the blatant expression on their face as much he did the sight of them as obviously not knowing where to put his now-removed tie. "Think you can help me out of this jacket now, pussycat?"
That flushed complexion now blinked with an endearing confusion— they played to feign annoyance, naturally, but it was the façade of someone unused to making them, or at least unused to fooling a person like Benny. You can cheat at cards, sure, but once the game's rigged in his favor? Couldn't con your way out even if the big casino itself were on your side. And they weren't a liar in nature, anyways: it was obvious even as he saw them in the corner of one of his booths, some strange, raw genuineness in their face he couldn't get out of his mind. So he slid into the chair across from them. They didn't have the looks of the types that were attracted to him, no sharp jawline or overly confident stature — not really fitting in with the same glamor-glitzy style most of his regulars enjoyed. But he had seen them around here and there (their black jacket was soft-looking and somewhat distinctive), and there was just... something. Something different. It was in the way the looked at everything, everyone, with an expression he couldn't find the words to describe. He only noticed that they smiled at everyone they made eye contact with after they didn't smile at him.
That was before, though, and potent surprise had been something he could play off of besides. He took the tie from their soft hands, just as velvet, and thought better of simply tossing it aside as normal. Instead he reached to the dresser just behind them. The vanity mirror reflected him as he laid the tie atop it and grasped their hands when he pulled back in one fluid motion. They felt small in his as always, but there was a coolness to them. It seeped into his skin, pressed up against his palms, grounding. He grinned at them, winked, and pulled to press their fingers insistingly against the fabric of his lapels.
"You'd think you'd know how to do this yourself," they said in a long breath. Still their hands curled attentively against his checkered jacket; his heart beat against their right fist. "Maybe I prefer it this way, dig?" Benny responded coyly, like the rythm didn't speed at the touch. Like they hadn't been holding their breath since he'd come closer. Like something playful. Like something sincere. Their thumbs traced against the staunch black and white, coasting down along the fold of the suit before finding the buttons of it. His breath caught a little bit too, even though it was only them. Just the two of them, eachother. He watched, transfixed, as their deep brown eyes — almost black, like a rich bourbon — flicked up towards his buttoned collar before back down to their lingering fingers. They pushed delicately against the jacket until it unfastened before settling their hands uncertainly on his hips.
He let his head fall forward to press against theirs; he could feel the rise and fall of their chest under the thin barrier of his shirt. Chapped, he noticed, their lips were chapped and pink as they let out a slim sigh, eyes closed as they moved their slight hands back up to his lapels, thumbs hooking under the fold and pulling lightly. There was something almost fragile about them. In the low lighting in his bedroom, he could see a how their cheeks flushed at the smallest of touch. He wondered how they would react to his mouth over them; their lips, neck, a pale shoulder... A little shiver stole across his spine.
He leaned back. The fabric was pulled over his shoulder, firmly over one arm, then the other, the palm not holding the edge of the coat steadying itself on his shoulder. It's lifted like a weight from him, settled somewhere between the curve of his shoulder blades. They go to drape the cloth over their arms again, but he catches their hand with his own to bring it back to him. His fingertips linger over their wrist before taking the coat from them, turning it around and draping it across their shoulders. Their eyes met his. They looked shy. It was adorable— not in the least because its his checkered number they were wearing, a charming yet durable piece that's hung off of him since he first got on the Strip. The coat fitted snug over their frame; the sleeves were long and draped loosely against them. It's very fetching, he thinks, how it fits them in some ways and yet not at all. He ran his fingers up the length of the sleeves, feeling the material and pressing against the skin under it. "Like it, sugarplum?"
They looked stoutly towards the wall. "It... smells like— like you." They murmured softly, the kind of non-answer that says more than if they'd just told him yes directly— that's not their style, not in romantic endeavors anyways, or at least not with romantic endeavors involving him. That was what Benny liked so well. The way they spoke to him, the way their eyes followed every movement of his. No one ever gave him that kind of attention; that kind of concern, where they seemed to care about everything from helping him takeover Vegas to asking him if running the Tops ever stressed him out, the kind of selfless concern where they really, sincerely did not think about asking for anything in return. He wished sometimes they did, though. The coat suited them even as they drowned a little in it.
"Are you gonna ask me to help you unbutton too?"
His eyes flitted over them with amusement curling in his chest. "Well, if you're offering..."
Their eyes met once more; it wasn't even hard to see how the warmth was radiating in waves from them as they tried to maintain an impassive front. He knew that look; it meant he was winning, even if they tried to hide it. Well, it was a good thing he was a master at reading people; if you could call them anything but a perfect little picture book. His hands went around their waist, gripping them and tugging slightly as he guided them back over to his bed. They sat down with an almost hesitance, letting him bring them close, just nearly in his lap. Humming just under his breath as he took their hands again, letting them press against his shirt with an expectant quirk of his lips. He watched with interest as their brows furrowed just a little, watched as they focused more on the task at their fingers than on the closeness of their bodies. He could see their tongue dart out briefly to wet their lips before retreating again. Laughing lightly, he leaned forward to brush his nose against theirs.
"Gotta get a move on, sweetheart…" He mused quietly, brushing his nose across theirs again. They exhaled in a little shudder, but didn't move away from him. "Assuming you wanna get to sleep sometime tonight."
"I'm getting to it," they mumbled. Their eyes shut a little as their fingers finally moved— deft, gentle, they undid the first two buttons while Benny rested his cheek on top of their head. He could feel their breathing quicken, a little shakey. Maybe he should've kept his mouth shut; but he was a guy who talked, and working them up was all too rewarding. The way the tip of their nose brushed against his neck as they pulled the third had him smiling into their hair again; all their attention on him, eyes not wandering... They focused only on helping him out of his shirt. It was intoxicating. He ran his fingers through their hair gently, watching in the vanity behind them as his reflection mirrored him, two hands carding gently through two scalps of mirrored partners.
The last button came undone with a soft touch, and he could already feel their grip on his shirt loosen. Before they pulled away from him completely, he placed a steadying hand on their thigh, leaning forward to brush the ghost of a kiss along their temple. He smiled a little, and felt a tingle race down his spine as he heard a little gasp escape their lips. The heat rose to his face as his nerves did to his stomach. He opened his mouth — an important question on the tip of his tongue — but stopped short when he felt a warm pressure on the corner of his mouth. Their lips met him; warm, soft, sweet, a bit clumsy and nervous and yet so perfect. It was perfect. Perfection had never struck him quite as forcefully as it did like this, like the shy embrace of lips chapped from nervous biting. He chuckled and leaned into them, kissing properly, letting his prior thoughts fade to the back of his mind in favor of the present, what was in front of him. What he wanted.
"Do you think, pussycat," Benny said, "you and me could make this a regular thing?" He looked behind them as he asked this— not meeting their eyes — as the reflection inhaled, long and slow, leaning into his arms.
"I do."
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