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#need to get away for a bit and maybe take a nap? we’ve got plenty of beds take your pick. we’ll make sure no one bothers you

luminnara · 3 years

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It’s Been A Long, Long Time | ch 4

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Taglist: @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely

Amoretta swam in and out of sleep. Whenever she surfaced, she saw bright lights and strange faces, and, assuming that she was in a HYDRA lab, she decided it was better if she just kept on dreaming. After a while, though, she couldn’t manage it anymore, and she finally woke up enough to actually take in her surroundings.

She was in a hospital bed, and...a gown? She couldn’t remember the last time she had been given clothing. When she tried to move, she found that her arms ached, and she had an IV sticking out of her. Okay, so wherever she was, they were trying to take care of her. Maybe. That seemed like a good sign.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a man’s voice said. “How’re you feeling?”

A figure came into view, blurry at first, and as he got closer she was able to get him in focus. Amoretta immediately stiffened, feeling threatened by this stranger, but as the scent of omega wafted in, she relaxed slightly. She couldn’t smell any alphas nearby, and that was good.

Two good signs so far.

“Wh-who are you?” She asked, her voice wobbly and hoarse. Her throat was so sore that talking was painful.

“My name is Dr. Bruce Banner.” The man said, reaching towards a nearby table and grabbing a water bottle off of it. “I’m with the Avengers.”

Amoretta frowned. “The...who?”

He came near her slowly, twisting the cap off the bottle and offering it to her. “You’ve probably got a lot of questions. Mind if I ask a couple, though?”

She gave a little shrug as she raised the bottle to her lips. It felt strange to hold, the water tasting...different from what she was used to.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She thought for a moment, brows knitting together. “Subject 1096.”

It was Bruce’s turn to frown. “Did you ever have a...different name?”

After a moment, she nodded, trying to remember. It felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. Had it really been so long since she had gotten to say it?

“We can come back to that one.” Bruce said gently. “Do you know what year it is?”

She thought for a moment. “19...1986.”

The doctor pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling something along the lines of “Christ, not another one…”

She got the feeling that she was off by a few years.

“Well, Ten...is it alright if I call you that?”

She shrugged.

“...alright. Ten, it seems like you were cryogenically frozen for a few decades.”

“...decades?”

He nodded. “Your body seems to have handled it well, though.”

“Did I puke?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Not that I saw.” He chuckled.

Well, that was a little surprising. She had a tendency to vomit after being wrenched out of unnaturally cold naps. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my lab, at Stark Tower.”

“What continent?”

“North America.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “What month is it?”

“June.”

“So Ursa Major is out?”

Bruce paused. “...well, it’s hard to see with all the light pollution in the city, but...yes, I suppose it should be…”

She let out a sigh. “I miss it.”

Her voice was already sounding tired again, and Bruce was quick to take the water bottle back before it slipped from her hand.

“You should get some more rest, Ten.” He suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time to get you caught up when you’re feeling more energetic.”

“Mhm.” her eyes fluttered closed. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“What city am I in?”

“New York.” He said, looking down at her curiously. “Manhattan, more specifically. Why?”

She smiled a little. “I wanna see...Brooklyn…”

As she drifted off to sleep again, Bruce rubbed his face. Well, that certainly was oddly specific of her to say. It was a good sign that she seemed lucid, though.

“Captain Rogers is outside, Dr. Banner.” FRIDAY’s AI voice said.

Bruce met him at the door, making his way out as quietly as possible. Steve looked anxious, standing with his hands on his hips as he waited for news. He hadn’t gotten a chance to find Bucky yet, his friend either working out or sleeping, and all he had managed so far was a quick debriefing and a shower.

“I ran down as soon as FRIDAY called,” he said. “How is she?”

“Sleeping again. Just missed her.” Bruce said wryly. “Walk with me, I’m starving.”

Steve fell into step beside him, heading towards the elevators. “Did she say anything?”

“She did. She seemed a bit out of it...couldn’t remember her name, hasn’t been awake since 1986.” He hit the UP button and stood back. “Seemed very interested in constellations, though. And Brooklyn.”

Steve stared at him. “Brooklyn?”

“Told her she was in New York, and the last thing she said before she fell asleep was something about Brooklyn.” Bruce shrugged. “Really interesting thing was her blood tests, though.”

“Blood tests?” Steve asked, stepping into the elevator and waiting for Bruce to join him before the doors closed again.

“Definitely an omega.” Banner said as they headed up several floors. “Her scent is so muted because they pumped her full of enough suppressants to kill a normal person. Pretty sure that’s why she’s so tired...her body is working overtime trying to process such a high dose. I think it was just pooling in her system while she was in cryo, not really going anywhere, so now her kidneys are doing everything they can to—“

“Banner.” Steve interrupted before he had to listen to an entire scientific explanation.

“Right. Sorry.” The scientist cleared his throat. “There was something else that I found already. She’s, uh…well, at some point, she was given super soldier serum.”

Steve froze. “HYDRA gave the serum...to an omega?”

“It’s confusing to me, too,” Bruce put his hands up in defeat. “Thanks to that, though, it’s hard to determine how old she is, or who she is, without her telling us. All I know is that she’s an unmarked omega super soldier with a hell of a dose of heat suppressants to work through.”

“Any idea when she’ll be up again?” Steve asked as the elevator dinged to signal their arrival.

“Hard to say.” Bruce said, following the alpha out towards the shared kitchen near the common area.

“I need to get to the bottom of this, Banner. FRIDAY, will you find Bucky? I need you to tell him—“

“Tell him what?” A voice asked.

Steve smiled in relief. Bucky was there, sitting on the couch with a plate of Alfredo balanced in his metal hand, looking mildly curious about whatever his friend was talking about.

“Oh, good,” Steve said, approaching him, Banner following behind. “You’re already here.”

“What is it, Stevie?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, as you know, I visited an abandoned HYDRA base today.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I found...something.”

“...something. What kind of something?”

Steve suddenly wasn’t sure how to describe his discovery. “Well, it’s a...not an it, I mean, I found a…”

“Rogers here brought back an omega test subject.” Bruce interrupted. “She’s down in the lab right now sleeping off some nasty meds.”

Bucky’s posture hadn’t changed, despite how awkward and almost nervous Steve had gotten. He leaned back against the cushions, slurping down a few noodles while he regarded his friend with a mild expression.

“Alright, so?” He asked.

“So...I was wondering if you had any idea what HYDRA was doing experimenting on an omega.” Steve said, hands on his hips in a stance that was supposed to say I mean business, so listen to me.

Bucky wasn’t bothered by it. He was the biggest, toughest alpha in the tower, aside from the rare occasions Thor was roughing it down on Midgard with the rest of them. The others could puff up and posture all they wanted at him, but it never had any effect. He was always calm and cool, generally disinterested in their displays. He knew he was stronger, and he didn’t need to prove it, especially not when he didn’t have an omega to fight over.

He shrugged. “I want exactly privy to all their secrets. I know they kept cells full of omegas around for a while.”

“What did they do with them?” Steve asked.

“Whatever they wanted?” Bucky shook his head. “I really don’t know. If they were experimenting on ‘em, that never concerned me.”

“You’ve gotta know something, Buck.” Steve sounded exasperated.

“Why do you care so much?” He asked.

“Because something isn’t adding up.” Steve growled.

“They gave this omega enough heat suppressants to last a lifetime,” Bruce said. “Her system is all kinds of messed up.”

“Makes sense.” Bucky ate another mouthful. “HYDRA wouldn’t want to deal with hormones going crazy or any unplanned pups.”

Steve stared down at his friend. “Did they let you rut?”

“Stevie, at least take me out to dinner before you start asking about my sex life fifty years ago.” Bucky said dryly.

Steve just raised an eyebrow.

“...yeah. They did. Think they couldn’t stop my ruts.” He relented.

“So did they...you know…” Steve trailed off awkwardly.

“Were you ever given omegas to get you through them?” Bruce asked, proving once again how much more capable of having this conversation he was than Steve.

Bucky finally had to glance away from them in embarrassment. “Well…yeah. But I, uh...the Soldier, he would just kind of...well, they didn’t really last long, if you uh. Catch my drift.”

Steve paled.

Bruce gulped.

“...what? Look, I’m better now, I’m way past that. Besides, I never meant to hurt anyone, I wasn’t myself—“

“This omega is a super soldier.” Bruce said quietly.

Bucky’s face dropped, a flicker of something passing over his face. “...what?”

—

“Finally,” Bruce sighed happily, inhaling the smell of leftover pizza.

“Bucky, does the number 1096 mean anything to you?” Steve asked. He was sitting in a chair across from his friend, Bruce sitting at the kitchen island while he ate his dinner.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t remember any numbers like that. They mostly just called ‘em all omega.”

He was trying to seem cool and collected, but his scent had shifted slightly. Steve could catch just the slightest hint of distress in it, and as he did so, he narrowed his eyes. He may have been separated from Bucky for almost 80 years, but he was still his best friend, and he could tell when he was hiding something.

“Why would they give the serum to an omega?” Steve asked.

“Branching out?” Bucky shook his head. “Why do they do anything? They’re HYDRA. They can do whatever they want.”

“So you don’t remember anything about an omega super soldier?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky sniffed defensively.

“Buck, it’s okay if you do.” Steve growled. “We’re not going to judge you for anything you did. We just want to help her and figure out who she is—“

“Well I don’t know,” Bucky snapped, big fangs bared in a warning.

Steve responded with a low growl.

“There’s a lot I don’t remember, or did you forget how many times they wiped my memory?”

“Seems like you’re hiding something, Buck, and I wanna know what it is.”

“Why do you care? You should just drop it,” Bucky snarled.

Steve regarded him carefully. Oh yeah. He was definitely hiding something.

“Hey, hey,” Bruce interrupted from the kitchen, intent on stopping their fight before it could start. “Relax, fellas. Don’t make me get the big guy out to shut you both up.”

Steve backed down. The threat of having the Hulk going after him was enough. Bucky didn’t seem to share the sentiment, though, his lips still pulled back in a blatant display of aggression. It was the first time in a while that Steve had seen him acting so defensively about something, and it was concerning, to say the least.

“Buck,” he said, voice low with warning. “Are you hiding something?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared angrily and the insinuation that he was keeping secrets, but he managed to reign himself back in, stifling another growl with a loud sigh.

“I dunno, Steve.” He admitted. “There’s...a lot I don’t remember. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m not even sure why I’m feelin’ so worked up about this.”

Steve nodded. It was a relief to hear that Bucky wasn’t acting this way entirely on purpose, at least.

“You feel okay?” Steve asked. “Not rutting soon, are you?”

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Bucky snorted. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. “Is the omega, uh...is she okay?”

“Physically, she doesn’t seem to be too worse for wear,” Bruce said from the kitchen. “The only abnormalities I found in our preliminary blood tests were evidence of the suppressants and the serum. Other than being exhausted and needing to adjust to consciousness again after decades of cryo, she’s fine.”

“Good.” Bucky said, a little too quickly. “I mean...that’s good.”

“She should be awake again by tomorrow. Hopefully, she’ll be up for a longer chat then.”

“You comfortable talking with her?” Steve asked, looking at Bucky. “It might be good for her to see someone else who used to be connected to HYDRA. Might help her ease into everything.”

Bucky gave a nod, already distracted by thoughts of this omega. Was it possible that the girl he saw in his dreams was real? It was hard for him to know what had actually happened to him and what he had imagined, what with HYDRA wiping his memory whenever they felt like it. Ever since he had gained his mental freedom, though, he had been plagued with nightmares, his sleep always filled with the faces of people he had killed.

As time went on, they were getting better, but they never really stopped. He just...didn’t always have to deal with the worst ones. Sometimes, he even got to have dreams that were...nice. Sometimes, he dreamt of a familiar scent, one he couldn’t really place and that he could never remember when he woke up. Sometimes, he dreamt of an omega, with long, dark hair, and the prettiest eyes he could ever imagine. He always saw her in flashes, a smile here, a sigh there, and with no idea as to who she was or where she came from, he had chalked it up to his mind trying to give him some relief from the nightmares. It had to be wishful thinking, and nothing more.

Unless it wasn’t.

He spent a while chatting with Steve and Bruce before retreating to his apartment. With Tony and Pepper gone for the night, spending it in some fancy hotel so that Stark could give a talk at some expo, and most of the others resting after missions, the tower was quiet. It left Bucky too much time to wander and think, and before he knew it, he was making a detour down to Banner’s lab.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he paused. What was he hoping to accomplish, exactly? He didn’t have the kind of clearance that Bruce did. He wouldn’t be able to sneak in, and even if he could, what would he do? Appearing at her bedside would just freak the poor omega out, and that wasn’t the kind of first impression he liked to leave these days.

He shook his head, pressing the button for his floor and leaning back against the elevator wall. He needed to be patient. Tomorrow, when she woke up, he would be able to see her for himself and decide if his weird dreams had any truth to them.

Not that he was getting his hopes up. He shouldn’t, after all. He would just set himself up for disappointment.

Just before the elevator doors slid shut, though, the tiniest, faintest hint of a scent wafted in, and Bucky’s eyes widened. He knew it. He knew that scent, or at least...he used to know it. Somewhere, in a part of his mind that he tried to forget about, he had memories of a peaceful, starry night sky, a hint of pine, and a touch of cinnamon.

Then, the doors closed, and it was gone again, leaving him confused as the elevator rushed upwards.

#alpha bucky barnes #alpha bucky #omegaverse #abo #it's been a long long time #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x oc

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blu-joons · 3 years

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When You Struggle To Write Your Essay ~ Seventeen Reaction

S.Coups:

You could feel Seungcheol’s presence beside you as you typed away at your computer, glancing across at him, noticing the warm smile that he wore. “I just watched you switch tabs, you’re terrible at playing this game.”

“The essay is stupid,” you stated, slamming your hands on the desk, “Instagram is much better.”

“It’s also an unproductive way to spend your time,” he reminded you, lifting you out of the chair so that you could sit in his lap. “You’ve worked so hard on this essay, don’t let a bump in the road put you off now.”

You sighed back at him, “first of all, Instagram is a very productive way to spend my time and see what everyone else is up to. Secondly, I’ve spent well over an hour on this essay and haven’t got a damn word to show for it.”

“Like I said, you’ve just hit a bump,” Seungcheol tried to assure you, “but you can’t be so hard on yourself about it. Why don’t you take a break for a while, a proper break, at least get away from your computer?”

“Do you really think that’ll make life easier?” You questioned, smiling as he nodded back at you.

His arms tightened around your waist, “let’s do something to distract your mind, whatever you want to do. I’m sure when you come back to your work, you’ll find your flow once again.”

“Although I’ve just spent an hour on social media, I deserve a break, right?”

Jeonghan:

A gasp escaped from you as Jeonghan pulled away just as you leaned forwards to press a kiss against his lips. “I told you, no kiss until you get that section of your essay complete,” he teased, moving back away from you.

“Do you really want to play this game with me?” You sighed, sinking down in your chair.

“I told you how this was going to work, you can’t try and cheat your way out of doing your work by trying to kiss me when I’m not paying attention,” Jeonghan reminded you, taking a seat opposite your desk.

Your eyes stared helplessly back across at him, “why are you doing this to me? I thought it was just going to be a joke, I didn’t think you’d actually stop kissing me. How am I supposed to work without a kiss from you?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” he continued to joke, “I know that you can get this done, you’re just beating yourself up about it right now. The section is nearly complete, and then I promise that I am all yours.”

“Are you going to sit there and tease me whilst I write?” You asked, unsurprised to see his head nod.

He settled himself back against the desk chair, “I’m not going to tease, I’m just going to sit here and remind you of the reward that you’ll get once you finally get that part of the essay done.”

“That’s definitely teasing Jeonghan, no way is it a reward.”

Joshua:

The smell of food caught your attention before Joshua even managed to walk into your apartment. “Don’t be getting any ideas,” he warned you, “this is for you only if you’ve finished writing that paragraph, I left you on.”

“It’s all written, I promise, you can come and see for yourself,” you spoke, pointing it out to him.

“See, I told you that you’d be able to do it,” he proudly smiled, relieved to see you’d finally completed the paragraph you’d been stuck on for most of the afternoon. “It’s a good job I went out and got your favourite too.”

Your eyes lit up, silently cursing at yourself for not recognising the smell of the food straight away. “You’re the best, thank you so much. Let me just save what I’ve done and then I’ll be through to join you for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t move too quickly,” Joshua called out to you, “I went out and got dessert too, but you can only have that if you write another paragraph. And don’t even try and argue with me because I know you’re capable.”

“Are you really using food as a weapon to try and bribe me right now?” You asked of him.

With a smug smile, his head nodded back at you, “it’s working, isn’t it? I know the way to your heart, and it’s by nothing else but food, that’s how you’re going to get this essay done.”

“As bad as it is, I definitely think your right on that one.”

Jun:

When Junhui first began to ask you questions about your essay, you failed to understand what the point was, until slowly answers started to come together. “Write that down, you can use it in section three, can’t you?”

“I think so,” you hummed, writing it down anyway, noticing how big your document was getting.

“What else is there that you need to talk about?” He asked, peering over your shoulder to have a look at the essay brief. “It looks like we’ve managed to get quite a few ideas down for you to write there my love.”

Your head shook at how much was written, “I don’t know who taught you such an incredible skill but thank you for helping me to write almost my entire essay. I really have no idea what I’d do without you Jun.”

“It’s all on you, all I did was ask the questions, and you gave me the answers,” he reminded you, sitting back down on the bed behind you. “Do you want me to stick around whilst you write that into something resembling an essay.”

“It’s up to you, but don’t feel like you have to, you’ve done enough for me,” you assured him.

He shrugged back at you, making himself comfortable. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. I could read over it too if you want when it’s done, make sure that it all makes sense?”

“That would be amazing, you really are the best Junhui.”

Hoshi:

Your smile grew as Soonyoung walked over to you, taking a seat at your desk, staring back at you. “I promise I’m not going to do anything; I’m just going to sit here as moral support whilst you carry on with your writing.”

“Do you know how distracting it is just to have your face there?” You laughed, gently pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Well, when you hit a brick wall or you’re struggling to think about what to write next, you can just look over at me and I can be your inspiration to try and figure out what it is that you want to write,” he assured you.

Your head shook back at him, “I don’t want to look back at my laptop now I get to look at you. I need to find a lot of inspiration for now, so I might just have to stare at you for a little while, as long as you don’t mind?”

“If it helps with your work, then there’s no complaints from me,” Soonyoung chuckled, resting his head into his hand. “Just don’t stare too long, because you might get lost in my eyes or something and forget about your work.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” you teased, moving a little closer towards him.

Soonyoung quickly moved you back, keeping a distance between the two of you. “You’ve got work to do, don’t be getting any ideas. You can have plenty of what you want when your work is done.”

“You’re a horrendous tease, I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

Wonwoo:

The moment Wonwoo suggested giving you a helping hand with your essay, you knew it was going to do anything but help you out with your essay. “What even is this thing on? Surely even I can understand what it means.”

“It looks at patterns of migration in variations of native African animals,” you informed him, noticing how quickly his expression dropped.

“Alright, well, with a bit of research I’m sure I can contribute something,” he muttered underneath his breath, quickly doubting how effective his plan seemed to initially be. “Do you have a book or something on it?”

Your head shook, tapping the top of your head. “All the information is stored up here for me to remember, but because you said you’d be such a big help, I’m sure you don’t need a book to research anything, right?”

“Okay, so maybe I underestimated just how difficult your essay would be,” he admitted, sighing across at you, “I know it’s difficult, but you’ve just got to stick at it, I won’t have you give up on all of this now.”

“You’re meant to be the smart one between the two of us, and even you’re confused,” you sighed.

Wonwoo’s head shook, pressing a kiss against the top of your own. “You’re definitely the smart one, there’s no way I could ever do the work that your doing, it’s incredible, really.”

“The offer is still there if you want to write it for me.”

Woozi:

He failed to remember the last time he’d seen you move as he came out from his studio and noticed you still sat in front of your laptop. “Y/N?” He called out, only to be met by silence, walking across to you.

“Sorry,” you muttered as his hand waved in front of your face to try and wake you up. “When did you get out of the studio?”

“I don’t think that matters right now, what matters is waking you up a bit, you’re driving yourself crazy with this essay,” he frowned, pulling your chair away from your desk to give you a bit of room to stretch out.

Your head shook, reaching out to pull yourself back, only for Jihoon to get in the way. “I know that you care Jihoon, but I was only daydreaming for five minutes, we’ve both got work to do, so let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“If you think I’m going to let you go back to doing some work in your current state then you are very much mistaken Y/N.” He established continuing to stare down at you, “I can tell you’ve been daydreaming for a lot longer too.”

“Alright, so maybe I was out of it for a while, but that’s time I need to make up for,” you groaned.

Jihoon continued to shake his head back at you, “when I told you I wasn’t moving, I meant it. For once, I’m not messing around, I’m going to make sure that you look after yourself.”

“I’m too tired to even bother arguing anymore with you.”

DK:

As yet another yawn left you, it was the final straw for Seokmin, walking around to your desk and standing in between you and your laptop. “You’ve got two choices, nap with me, or go and have a nap by yourself.”

“Can’t I just decline both of them?” You questioned, trying to peer around his waist so that you could look back at your essay.

“I’m not budging, and these hips are wide,” he smiled, stepping each time you moved. “Y/N, you’re exhausted, and don’t even try to deny it. At least close your eyes for half an hour and then come back to your work.”

Your head tried to shake, but as it did, another yawn escaped, rendering your argument pointless. “I can sleep for days once this essay is submitted Min, but until then, a trip to bed will just have to wait for me.”

“You’re not going to win,” he joked, staring down at you in front of him. “We can either do this the easy way or the hard way, and I’m happy to do either. So, I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you want to do.”

“That depends, what’s the easy way and what’s the hard way?” You challenged back to him.

His head nodded, “I’m guessing you’ve chosen the hard way,” he announced, bending down and wrapping his arms around you before scooping you off of your chair with ease.

“I would’ve still chosen the easy way I’ll have you know.”

Mingyu:

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you, instantly drawing you out of the daydream that you found yourself in, staring at your half-written essay. “You’re coming with me for a while before you drive yourself crazy.”

“Mingyu, I need to get this done,” you huffed, trying to pull his arms away from your waist, but he was far too strong to budge.

“What you need to do, is forget about your essay for a while, and then you can go back to it with a clearer head in a bit,” he assured you, pulling you down on top of him as he fell onto the sofa, keeping a hold of you.

Despite your protests, it didn’t take long before you made yourself comfortable cuddled into his side. “I’ve still got plenty of work to do, no matter how much you want to use a break as an excuse to cuddle me.”

“I mean it was part of the reason, but also because I’m worried about you too. Everyone needs to take breaks, even if you think it’s wrong. You’ll go back to your essay and ace it,” he assured you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“You sound confident for someone that makes it very hard to leave a cuddle,” you joked.

Mingyu’s eyes rolled back at you, “to say you were reluctant to cuddle me, you’ve very quickly changed your tune. I guess cuddling me is never as bad as you think it is.”

“There’s nothing bad ever about cuddling with you.”

The8:

Minghao had watched you shut yourself away for far too long when it came to writing your essay, sensing just how unproductive you were getting. “Talk to me about it,” he announced when you stopped writing again.

“What are you on about?” You questioned, jumping slightly at the sound of his voice. “What are we supposed to talk about?”

“Your essay,” he smiled, placing his phone down beside him so that you had his full attention. “It’s supposed to help talking about things, so why don’t you give me some of your ideas and see what you think about them aloud?”

You stared questionably across at him, “are you really telling me that you want to sit here and listen to me talk to you about a subject you have no idea about? Did you even study psychology at school to know things?”

“I haven’t got a clue, but that might help. Explain it to me, and if it’s simple enough for me to understand, then it’s simple enough to go in your essay too, right?” He suggested, noticing the way in which your eyes lit up.

“Do you know, that might not be such a bad idea, I need the practice right now,” you grinned.

His head nodded, moving himself a little closer towards you, “why don’t you go from the beginning in that case, and make sure to write it down. I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright, I hope you’re prepared to pay close attention to me.”

Seungkwan:

As another sigh echoed out around the room, Seungkwan stood up from his own desk, walking around to you, resting his hands against your shoulders. “How’s it going?” He asked, staring at your empty page.

“Terribly,” you frowned, leaning back to rest against his chest, “do you fancy swapping and writing this for me Kwan?”

“I love you, but not enough to write a three-thousand-word essay,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of your head, “you’ve just got to keep working at it, and eventually it’ll all come together into something beautiful.”

His words were kind, but you were far from convinced. “I’ve stared at this screen for three hours, written one sentence, and then deleted it. It’s like I’m destined to just fail this essay and mess up my grades at the last minute.”

“Well, you won’t get very far with a negative attitude like that,” Seungkwan pointed out to you, “as hard as it is, you’ve just got to remain positive for now and trust in that brain of yours that the work will write itself.”

“My brain feels like it’s never been so useless as it is right now,” you continued to vent.

Seungkwan’s lips pressed against the top of your head, “you’re being too hard on yourself, just relax, and I promise that the work will come to you and you’ll get a great essay written.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without your positivity sometimes.”

Vernon:

Your brows furrowed as soon as you looked around to see your phone no longer on your desk, failing to remember where you’d last put it. “Looking for something?” A voice questioned, as the pieces very quickly came together.

“That’s unfair,” you cried out, unsurprised when you looked around to see Vernon holding onto your phone in his hands.

“You keep getting distracted, but you’re almost at the end, all you’ve got left to write is your conclusion. Let me keep a hold of this,” he propositioned, “and I bet in an hour you can have that essay completed to word count.”

Your eyes rolled, however good of an idea of his it seemed to be. “I was doing just fine with this work before you came over and stole my belongings. I’ve barely even been on my phone that much today you know.”

“Y/N, every time I look up, you’re typing away on your phone,” he chuckled, shaking his head at your protests. “You’ll thank me for doing this in a little while once your essay is complete and you’re not worrying anymore.”

“I’m not just typing, I’m doing research as well,” you tried to protest.

Vernon scoffed back at you, “Twitter is not research, however hard you want to try and convince yourself otherwise. Now, get it written, and then you can scroll through your feeds.”

“You really can be evil sometimes; do you know that?”

Dino:

It was obvious to Chan that you were beginning to struggle with your essay, you’d barely focused on it for quite some time, finding every distraction possible. “I’ve got a suggestion,” he called out as you picked up your phone again.

“What’s that?” You questioned, looking away from your computer to his figure that was sat across the room.

“I’ll order us takeout for dinner, my treat, if you get two hundred words done in the next hour,” Chan proposed, noticing how quickly your eyes lit up at the mention of food. “But only if you get your work done.”

A loud groan came from you, “I just knew that food would come at a price, it always does with you. Can’t we agree on one hundred, do you know how much effort two hundred words is going to take?”

“I do, but I also know how much better you’ll feel once you get it done,” he proudly smirked, knowing that he was right. “Just get your head done, if food isn’t a good enough goal for you to reach, I don’t know what is.”

“You promise that two hundred is all I need for takeout?” You quizzed.

Chan’s head nodded back at you with a laugh, “I promise, as soon as you add two hundred words to that essay, a menu of your choosing will be ordered for dinner, and all paid for by me.”

“Alright, I guess I better get my head down then.”

---

Masterlist

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heroloverangel · 3 years

Text

Cloud City

We interrupt your regularly-scheduled filth for some surprise Sad Boy Hours.

You’re six years old when Oboro Shirakumo drops into your life. Quite literally, in fact.

It’s your first day of school, and you’re terrified. Your family only moved to this city a few weeks ago, and you haven’t had a chance to meet any of the other kids in the neighborhood. So here you stand in the school yard, shyly watching from behind a tree as your new classmates play together. You’re lonely, but too nervous to approach them. Your tiny mind is on the verge of a breakdown and you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. “Don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself. “I’m not a baby, don’t cry.” You sniffle, but your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping above you.

There’s a boy floating on a cloud several feet over your head, one hand grasping a branch to keep himself steady. “Hi!” He grins down at you, and you look back with wide eyes. “I’m Oboro! Wanna be friends?” You gawk up at him; you’ve never seen a quirk like that before. Even his hair looks like a fluffy cloud in the breeze.

“Okay,” you agree after a few more seconds of confused staring. Your new friend gives you a thumbs up, immediately loses his focus, and the cloud dissipates underneath him. Both of you scream as he comes crashing to the ground, landing on your back. You’re rewarded with some impressive scrapes to both your knees, and him with both his front teeth knocked out. You’re inseparable from that moment on.

You’re the best of friends through elementary, but things begin to change once you hit middle school. It’s cute when you’re six and happily tell your parents that you’re going to get married when you grow up. It’s just awkward when you hit puberty and start to discover that your feelings for your best friend suddenly aren’t so cute anymore. The two of you grow apart with separate friends and different interests, but still make it a priority to walk home together every day.

“High school admissions are due soon,” he points out during one of these walks. It’s been storming all day, and the two of you huddle under the same umbrella in a half-hearted attempt to stay dry. He’s hit a growth spurt over the years and towers above you now; it’s hard for both of you to stay out of the rain if you’re not nestled suspiciously close together. “You figure out where you’re applying yet?”

You shrug, stepping wide to avoid a puddle that he ignores. “Probably just Endor. It’s close, and they’ve got a pretty decent reputation.” You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’re going for UA, right?”

It’s never been a secret that Shirakumo wants to be a hero, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll be great at it. He stops walking and you look at him, surprised to see his expression so discouraged.. “Yeah, of course. You’re not? Their general studies class is supposed to be one of the best, too.”

You glance away. “Too much pressure, I think. And it’d be hard, going to school in a different city where I wouldn’t know anyone.”

“You’ll know me.” You’ve both had a grip on the umbrella, but now his fingers wrap tightly around your hand and squeeze.

“Oboro…” You’re not used to him having such a serious look on his face, his eyes wide and unblinking as they stare into yours.

“Come with me.” It’s not an order, it’s a plea, and your chest feels tight at the thought of disappointing him. You swallow hard and nod. It won’t hurt to apply, you think. You probably won’t even get in.

Shirakumo pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face and leans down to press his lips against yours. Your first kiss isn’t perfect; his neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle to make up for your height difference, your nose bumps awkwardly into his as you shift, a car drives by too fast and splashes both of you with frigid water. Still, when he pulls away his smile is as warm and bright as the sun. You’ll gladly follow him to UA. You’ll gladly follow him to hell and back if it makes him happy.

He’s accepted into the hero course without a problem, but you make him promise that he’ll go even if you fail. You’re more shocked than anyone when you open the envelope to find an acceptance letter welcoming you to UA, and you finally allow yourself to feel excited. You’ll be going to the best school in the country, and you’ll be there with your favorite person in the world. For the first time you won’t be in the same class, but you’ll still be close enough to watch him reach his dreams.

The first few weeks of high school are a whirlwind of chaos before you settle into a routine. You have to be at the train station before dawn; every morning Shirakumo meets you outside your house, still half-asleep and groggy as you walk. You split something simple for breakfast most days while you ride. When you’re lucky enough to find two open seats together, you can manage a well-deserved nap slumped against each other’s shoulders. Your classes are tough but with enough effort you manage to do well once you form a study group going with the other girls in your class. They’re friendly, and they’re both impressed and jealous to learn that you’re already dating a hero student. They swoon when he appears at your side on the first day of school to buy you lunch, and you can’t help but gloat just a little at your good fortune.

The hero course is even busier than general studies, and you don’t get to see much of your boyfriend during school hours. It’s nearly a month into the term before he catches sight of you at lunch again and practically sprints over, flanked by two classmates you recognize from the stories he’s told you on the ride home every day. “Guys,” he grins and throws an arm around your shoulder. “This is my girl! The one I’ve been telling you about.” Your heart skips a beat at being called his girl, and knowing he’s been gushing about you to his friends. Yamada’s a bright, loud ball of energy when he introduces himself, while Aizawa barely mumbles his name and looks like he’s been dragged over against his will. They both seem nice, and you’re happy he’s found some good friends to work with.

Everything goes surprisingly well for your first year at UA, and your second seems like it’ll be just as good. It’s late one night, several months into the school year, when you’re woken by a tapping at your bedroom window. This isn’t the first time Shirakumo’s snuck you out of your house, but the window gets harder to crawl out of every year and you’re glad that graduation isn’t too far off. “Hey, come look at the stars with me. They’re really pretty tonight.” It’s not like he needs to give you the excuse, but you can see he has a point.

Ten minutes later you’re laying on a cloud together, floating a few feet over the power lines in your neighborhood. It’s cold up there, and you cuddle together for warmth as you watch the stars overhead. You know more about the sky than him, and he’s happy to listen while you point out a few things above you. A chilly breeze blows through your thin pajamas and makes you shiver, and he pulls you in closer to share his heat. “Was all of this just an excuse to get me alone up here?” You laugh, kissing his smiling lips.

“Not all of it,” he jokes with a smirk. “We’re past the halfway point this year already. Just one more, can you believe it?” You curl up close and listen to him chatter about his big plans for the future. You’ve heard this all before; he’s always so excited about the idea of opening that hero agency with Aizawa and Yamada. “I figure we’ll do the sidekick think for awhile, work up some solid experience, y’know? Then it’ll be smooth sailing when we break off on our own after that. Four, maybe five years?” You nod, running your fingers through his familiar fluffy hair. “And then once things settle with the agency, we can get married if you want,” he announces with only the faintest blush betraying his nerves.

“Oboro, what?” You bolt into a sitting position, gawking at him with wide eyes. Sure you’ve thought about the future you might have together, but the two of you have never talked about it before. “You can’t just spring that on me out of nowhere!”

He folds his arms behind his head, totally unconcerned. “It’s not really out of nowhere, is it? You know I’ve been in love with you since we were six, right?”

This boy is ridiculous. “Me too, but still! Isn’t this a little sudden? There’s so much more to talk about if you want to get married.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it won’t be for a couple of years. We’ve got plenty of time to talk it over.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to rest your head against his chest. “I’ll wait for you, as long as you want.” You stay like this for a few minutes, mulling the proposal over in your head. “Just think about it for a couple years, okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “Okay.” You’re already warming up to the thought of marrying him. You’re seventeen, and you’ve been together for eleven years now. You can give him another five. Or ten. Or fifty, if that’s what he wants. In your heart you already know you’ve decided on an answer, and you murmur it into his ear later as he’s helping you climb back through the window into your bedroom. He’s beaming with happiness as he kisses you goodnight and flies off. You’re too giddy with love to sleep the rest of the night.

If you’d known what was coming only a week later, you never would have said goodbye. He promised to call you after his internship the night before, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep instead as soon as he got home. You’re not worried until he doesn’t show up in the morning to walk with you, even after you call him twice with no answer and wait until the last possible minute to leave on your own. You arrive at school just as the final bell rings, and it’s a bit of a relief when you catch a glimpse of Aizawa looking even more tired than he normally does. They must have had a really tough time on their patrol, you assume, and Oboro just decided to take a well-deserved day off.

Your day is uneventful until lunch, when you hear your name called to the office. The principal sits there with your homeroom teacher and the counselor, all of them looking grim. A lump forms in your throat; you’ve got no idea what you could have done. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. We understand that you’re particularly close with Oboro Shirakumo from the hero class.”

You nod. “Yeah, we’re dating. Um, actually we’re kind of engaged now, I guess?” Your stomach drops at the sad expressions facing you. “Did...did something happen? I haven’t seen him all day. Is he hurt?”

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for the answer. “He was killed in an encounter with a villain yesterday. I’m sorry for your loss.”

You want to argue, insist there’s been some mistake, but the words don’t come. A sudden sense of numbness sweeps through you as it sinks in, and it feels like everything within you shuts down. Your brain doesn’t process the voices offering you sympathy and compassion. Your lungs refuse to take in air. You’d swear that your heart itself stops beating in some attempt to defend itself. You’re not even aware of your movements as you stand and leave the room while your teachers are mid-speech. You need to get out of there. You need to be alone. You need to breathe, but you can’t. You’re on autopilot as you rush down the empty hall, if you can get up to the roof there’ll be fresh air-

Completely blinded by your grief, you collide hard with another body and almost fall before hands grab your shoulders to steady you. “Sorry,” you gasp through the lump in your throat. “I just-” You blink back your tears and stop when you recognize him. Up close, he looks even worse than usual. His eyes are red and hollow, the dark bags under them could pass as bruises. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept all night, you can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. “Aizawa,” you croak, your voice cracking on the syllables. He doesn’t say anything, only gives your shoulder a squeeze, and something inside you completely breaks.

“Oboro, he’s...” is all you can manage through your tears. You fists ball into Aizawa’s jacket as you sob against his chest, and he doesn’t stop you. He knows there’s no comforting you; the only thing he can do is let you use his shirt as a tissue while you mourn. You’re vaguely aware that a bell rings to resume class, but you ignore it. You can’t bring yourself to do anything except cry until there’s nothing left, and he stands there holding your shoulders to keep you upright. It’s the best way anyone can help you right now.

An eternity later, you wear yourself out. Your throat feels raw, your eyes are burning, and your fingers hurt from the grip you’ve had on his uniform. “Thanks,” you manage out, and he nods silently. He’s not the most exciting, but you’ve always liked Aizawa’s calm personality as a match to your boyfriend’s unstoppable energy. Your own emotions are a train wreck, and you don’t think you could handle being around anyone else after that news. “I’m glad he had you,” you muse out loud.

“Thanks,” he says awkwardly with a shrug before fixing his wrinkled jacket. “You should get back to class.” Aizawa walks off before you can think of anything else to say.

You don’t go back to class. The other students have noticed something’s off, and rumors are beginning to spread around campus already that there’s a new, empty space in the hero course. You grab your bag and head for the exit as fast as you can, ignoring everyone else along the way. You spend the rest of the week at home; your parents allow it once they learn what happened. It’s a struggle to get through the first month without Shirakumo’s presence hanging over you like a cheerful little cloud, and the rest of the year doesn’t get any easier. Your friends do their best to console you, but it’s a losing battle when you feel his absence every minute of your day. It’s all too familiar, too easy to see the missing piece that’s been a part of your life for so long. You transfer to Shiketsu for your final year, where no one knows about Loud Cloud and you aren’t stuck going through a routine that’s been irreparably broken.

It’s an uphill fight. You force yourself to do well in school, because it’s what he’d want for you. You throw yourself into work and establish a good career, because it’s what he’d want for you. You make yourself move past your loss and date other men, because it’s what he’d want for you. By the time you’re 31 you’ve got a divorce under your belt, a sad excuse for a social life, and a cat with fluffy white fur; you loved him the moment you laid eyes on him. You’re not entirely satisfied with how your life has turned out, but it could be worse. You can go entire weeks now without thinking about him. Sometimes you wonder what kind of life the two of you would have, but you try not to dwell on those thoughts.

You��ve had the day off and have spent it happily lounging around the house. You treat yourself to lunch and settle on your couch to watch a movie with your beloved cat when an unfamiliar number pops up on your phone. You answer without a second thought. “Hi, if you’re out of noodles, I can just get rice instead. It’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence before the man confirms this is the correct number. You don’t immediately recognize his voice, but you’re sure you’ve heard it somewhere before. “I’m not with a restaurant. This is Aizawa, from...from UA, when we were younger.” You can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, and he continues. “We need to talk. It’s about Shirakumo.”

It’s surprising how hearing his name is enough to reopen wounds you thought healed years ago. You swallow nervously, fresh dread pooling in your gut. You can hear how hoarse your voice is when you answer. “Okay. I’m off today, if you want to meet.”

You’ve got a very bad feeling about what you’re about to learn.

#bnha x reader #oboro shirakumo x reader

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Omg can you write about coops going live on instagram and answering TONS of fans questions? And just being domestic and cute together in general

I can, yes! This is partially the 450 celebration--to the lovely person who suggested writing a sequel to one of my favorites, please know that I love and appreciate you! Coop credit goes to @lumosinlove

Check out Part 1 here

“Is it working? I think it’s working.” An explosion of hearts covered the screen and Remus’ eyebrows rose. “Yep, definitely working. Hello, Instagram! I’m Remus Lupin, winger for the Lions.”

“And I’m Sirius Black, center and team captain.” Sirius waved at the phone. “We had a great time answering your questions last month and we figured we’d come back to do it again, since there were so many people we couldn’t get around to in those few minutes.”

“I can already see a bunch coming in. Should we start?” Remus asked, turning to him with a small smile.

“You go first.”

“Alright, first question….” He squinted at the screen. “How long have we been together? We’ve been dating for just over a year now, but we’ve known each other for three-ish.”

Sirius snorted when he read the next question. “What do we do in our free time? It’s cute that you think we have free time. Um, we read a lot. Sometimes I’ll play video games with the guys.”

“If we have a free weekend, we’ll go hiking or take a short road trip. Practice takes up four or five hours a day, so we’re very low-key, which I think surprises people.” Remus scrolled down a bit. “What are our favorite foods?”

“Don’t say it.” Sirius said immediately. “Don’t you dare.”

“Fine, fine.” Just as Sirius began to answer, he coughed, “pineapple pizza.”

“No!” Sirius smacked Remus on the arm with a pillow as he laughed. “Menace. My favorite food is pasta, because it’s versatile and I’m not a heathen. All of you who are agreeing with him, stop it right now. I’m very disappointed in your tastebuds. Next question…do either of us cook? We do, yeah.”

Remus gave him a look. “Do you, though?”

“That’s a funny thing to hear coming from the man who said he’d die for one of my grilled cheeses yesterday,” Sirius countered.

“Fair point. Yes, we both cook, but I generally do it more often because I enjoy it.”

Sirius looked back at the camera with sad eyes. “He kicked me out of the kitchen last week.”

“You kept stealing bites of soup!” Remus laughed. “It wasn’t even done, you could have gotten salmonella!”

“You can’t get salmonella from soup,” Sirius scoffed. The comment section went wild. “…apparently you can. Huh.”

“Next question, before we get too off-track. Who is the more dramatic one?” Remus folded his hands and rested his chin on top. “I’m giving you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re plenty dramatic.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Moving on! Oooo, this one is for me specifically.” He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist as he read. “Sirius: does Regulus—you spelled that wrong by the way, there’s only one ‘g’—does Regulus still live with you? If yes, how does that work?”

“I’m telling him someone spelled his name wrong,” Remus said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“He’ll be so pissed,” Sirius agreed. “Nope, Reg moved out a few months ago and now lives with Pascal Dumais, but it was really neat to have him around. He’s still got a room here and it was nice spending so much time with him after we didn’t talk for a while. He’s awful about vacuuming, though.”

“Aw, people think that’s cute.” Remus smiled as he read the responses. “Ohoho, people are getting nosy. What do we argue about the most?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe chores?”

“I was going to say practice time. We’ve gotten into a couple tiffs about watching tape or running drills after we get home.”

“That’s true.” Sirius frowned at the screen. “For those of you who apparently think that’s all one-sided: it’s really not.”

“He came downstairs to get me at ten or eleven at night the other day. We’re both hockey nerds, so it happens from time to time.”

“Are we going to keep doing tiktoks? Oh, for sure, they’re a ton of fun.”

“Absolutely. Where else am I going to get the inspiration to glue things shut just to irritate him?”

Sirius shook his head with a smile. “Diablotin.”

“Nothing like being called a gremlin by your fiancé,” Remus laughed, tapping the screen. “Okay…who’s the best in bed?”

“I’d say we both sleep really well,” Sirius said. “You talk sometimes, which is really funny.”

Remus glanced over. “Do I really?”

“Yep. I think you were grocery shopping the other night. You kept saying orange juice very adamantly.”

“Interesting. I agree, though, we both value sleep.”

“There are too many questions!” Sirius scooted forward and sifted through them. “To jay-mac 2001, we both love kids and might have some in a few years. No, mermaid queen, we don’t really have friends outside of hockey because we don’t have lives outside of hockey—” Remus leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder as he laughed. “—but I’m sure that will change someday. Oh, here’s a fun one: what are our love languages?”

“Our what?”

“Love languages. Like the Buzzfeed quiz Pots made us take last week.” The screen lit up and Sirius looked offended. “Of course we know what Buzzfeed is! We’re 25, you fuckers!”

“I think mine was quality time.”

Sirius pulled Remus’ arm further around his shoulders and leaned into his side with a smile. “It’s physical affection,” he singsonged, making him laugh. “Your turn.”

“Have you finally found your song?” Remus read aloud. “I think so! We did an interview a while back and there was a question about our ‘couple song’, which we didn’t have at the time.”

“That didn’t answer the question, sweetheart.”

“Oh! Shit, sorry. It’s La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf.”

Sirius read the next question and snorted. “This is convenient. Who swears more?”

Remus looked away. “It’s, uh, a tie.”

“That’s such a lie.”

He sighed. “It’s probably me.”

“You taught a literal baby to swear.” Sirius turned back to the camera with a wicked grin. “Harry’s first word was ‘Loops’, but his second was ‘shit’ and there’s an eighty percent chance he learned it from Re.”

“Changing the subject!” Remus cleared his throat, then smiled. “Aw, I like this one. What’s the compliment you get most often from your partner?”

“Does it have to be verbal?”

“Sirius.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. “Not like that! Oh, fuck, I did not mean that! You always touch my hair, so I figured that was a compliment. Merde.”

Remus shook his head. “We need a supervisor again. Anyways, you talk about my freckles all the time and it’s adorable.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Sap.”

“Yeah.” Sirius kissed his cheek. “What’s the best date I’ve ever been on? We went ice skating at the local rink a few weeks ago and it was so much fun. I had never done that before.”

Remus’ eyebrows rose. “I thought for sure you would say the aquarium.”

“The aqu—oh, right! With the jellyfish arch!”

“Yeah!”

“Now it’s a tie, I can’t decide.”

“That’s fair. From spaceman93: who tops? We actually don’t have a bunk bed, though that would be cool as hell! Do you think Ikea sells them?”

“We should check.”

The screen exploded into activity again and Remus did a double-take. “Yes, we do buy our furniture from Ikea, there’s no need to sound so shocked. This person—I can’t read your username, sorry—wants to know which of us is more cuddly.”

“Definitely me,” Sirius said.

“For sure. I like cuddling people, but only a select few. I mean, I’m assuming you guys saw the Cap cuddles slideshow at our last game.” He laughed when Sirius turned pink. “Why are you embarrassed? It was cute!”

“There’s a hashtag now!” Sirius complained. “I have a reputation.” Remus rolled his eyes fondly as Sirius looked for the next question. “Ha! Do we ever get jealous?”

“Yes, but not for the reasons people might think.”

Sirius laughed quietly. “We went out to a bar for Kasey’s birthday a month or so ago—”

“Oh, please no.”

“—and a young lady was hitting on me, not taking the hint—”

“Jesus.”

“—so Re comes out of nowhere and kisses me full on the mouth in front of everyone.” He snickered and Remus hid his face in his hands. “It was kinda hot, not gonna lie. Really funny looking back, though. Your turn, sweetheart.”

“Who is clumsier? Ooh, we’re both disasters off the ice. I tripped over the carpet about twenty minutes ago.”

“I’ve run into every doorframe in this house at least twice.” Sirius grimaced. “If I could just tape my skates to my feet and always be on ice, that would be much safer.”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “I dunno, it would be hard to sleep in them.”

“I do that all that time.”

“That’s true, you take a nap in the hall at least once a week in full gear.”

“Reverse Edward Scissorhands.” They had to take a moment to stop laughing before Sirius turned back to the phone. “Mon dieu. Alright, what do we have next…when did you know I was ‘the one’? When did you know, mon amour?”

“Breaking out the nicknames, very snazzy,” Remus teased as he rested his chin on his hand. “I think it was just an accumulation of things, and then one day I went ‘oh shit’ and just knew. Sometime around New Year’s, maybe?”

“You only made it two months?” Sirius teased, nudging him lightly.

“Shush, you.” Remus nudged him back. “I knew I wanted to propose when I came home from hanging out with Leo and you were napping with the dog. You had done the dishes and left Avatar on so we could watch it together, and I opened the door and knew that I wanted that moment forever.”

Sirius smile was unbearably soft, and he kissed Remus on the cheek as hearts filled the comments section. “I’ve never seen so many keysmashes in my life,” he laughed when he looked back to it. “Hey, someone addressed one to you specifically.”

“Really?” He leaned forward eagerly. “To Remus, do you feel like part of the team yet? I do, a hundred percent! It helped that I was close with a lot of the guys from being the PT, so those friendships carried over really well. Being a player on the roster has only made that better and it’s the best job in the world.”

“Who has the better smile? We’re going to say each other, so I think we’ll leave that one to the comments—fuck, that was a bad idea, it’s moving too fast for me to read!” Sirius tapped the screen desperately, then gave up and waited for the scrolling to slow down. “Ask each other one question you’ve always wanted to know the answer to.”

“Do you actually want to get your ears pierced?” Remus asked. “You talked about it a while ago but I wasn’t sure if you were kidding.”

Sirius thought for a minute, biting his lip. “Y’know, I might. It was one of those things where it started as a joke and then I kept thinking about it. I’m not sure, hockey’s not the best sport to have things that can catch and tear.” They both winced at the idea. “My turn. What is it about pineapple pizza that you actually enjoy?”

“It annoys you.” Remus laughed as Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I honestly don’t know why I like it so much. There’s something about the sweetness that goes so well with the regular pizza taste. Okay, last question for me: how many freckles do I have? Not many right now.”

“So many in the summer,” Sirius said dreamily. “That’s the best part of summertime and the only reason I like Florida. They might have bouncy ice, but it’s worth it to see the freckles pop.”

“Whew, Florida’s getting mad in the comments!” Remus grinned. “Get some real ice, then come talk to us.”

“Final question, then we really have to go. What does your partner look best in?” Sirius drummed his fingers on his knees. “His jersey. Or my jersey. He does own a pair of skinny jeans, though, and that was the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had.”

“They’re comfortable.” Remus shrugged, but he looked rather self-satisfied. “That’s all we have time for, folks, but thanks for joining us!”

“Go Lions!”

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tigerdrop · 3 years

Text

so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else. In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished. A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver. He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to. Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

#writin stuff #please clap.

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raysofcrosby · 3 years

Note

can we see a little sneak peek at the epilogue pleaseeeeeee☺️

sure thing! 🥰

below the cut is a sneak peek of the wltay epilogue!

“You know that they’re getting ready to take off, right?” Matt asked, coming up beside Caroline’s chair and resting his hands against the back of his beside her.

“Mhhm, they handed out the sparklers just a bit ago.” Caroline nodded down at the packaged sparkler in front of her, the packaging giving a time to line up just outside and that someone would be there to light them for them.

“Which means the night is coming to an end…”

“I hope so,” she laughed, placing her glass down in front of her and shifting in her chair, tugging up on her deep coral colored bridesmaid dress and poking out her left foot, still wearing her nude heels. “My feet are starting to kill me and the moscato only helps so much.”

“We can take care of that later,” Matt said, grabbing onto both hands and tugging her up onto her feet. “But right now, we’re going to dance before the wedding ends.”

“But my feet,” she pouted, letting Matt hold onto her hand as he led them onto the ballroom floor.

“I’ll rub your feet tonight and tomorrow,” he stopped in the middle of the dance floor and wrapped his right arm around her waist, pulling her into him as he held onto her right hand with his left. “But right now, we’re dancing. Capiche?”

“You’re not sleeping at your parents’ place tonight?” She asked, resting her left arm on his right arm and placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh no, definitely not. Ethan is, but not me. I’m staying with you in your room.”

“Matthew,” she rolled her eyes as he smiled. “We’re not crossing that line.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, sighing. “The one time when we got back from the lake house was bad enough, but I sure as hell don’t regret it. What’s a Stanley Cup celebration without some Stanley Cup celebration sex, hm?”

Caroline shook her head, resting her forehead against his shoulder so he couldn’t see her blush. It wasn’t intentional– her and Matt sleeping together– it really was sort of an accident...that involved being way too drunk from brunch with Brady and Emma that first weekend back from the lake house. They all ended up crashing at Brady and Emma’s place, and while Emma attempted to take a shower while Matt and Brady ordered food, Caroline was supposed to be taking a nap in their guest room.

Until Matt came walking in and cuddled up behind her and the soft kiss against her cheek, turned into a kiss on the mouth, then the hands got involved and before they knew it, the tension was high and they were naked, in each others arms and under the covers being woken up by a slightly less drunk Brady a few minutes later, who came to announce that the pizza was there and that Matt was going to pay to have the sheets and comforter cleaned.

Since then, they haven’t crossed the line. The small touches, lingering hugs and simple kisses were fine to them. Matt could stay the night and sleep in her bed with her and that was fine too– but sex was a no-go. Even while the being around each other was enough to solidify her feelings, it was the sex that would make her want to skip out on the hard work she was putting in with Moira in working through her issues from the past.

And that was something she was adamant about working on, for everyone’s sakes– but more specifically, her own and her little family’s.

“I’m more than okay with just sleeping beside you for the night, no sex needed.” He whispered, resting his head beside hers. “Just something to get used to once we finally figure everything out, because when we do, I can guarantee you that when I’m home for the summer that I’ll be sleeping over at your place.”

“You haven’t considered getting your own place here yet for the summers?”

Matt shrugged, trying to hide the sheepish smile on his face. “I’ll admit that I’ve been looking at a few places in the neighborhood, but I’m not looking to buy until we get everything settled.”

“And by settled you mean…”

“Definitely you and me in a relationship of course, duh.”

“I thought we were starting over, hm?” She laughed, looking at him.

“I mean, we don’t have to start way over...right? I’m pretty sure we don’t have to take it as slow as you and doucheface were. I’ve stayed over plenty of times, you and Ethan literally stayed at my apartment back in Calgary and we have years of history together. How much do we really need to start over with besides the obvious?” He asked, spinning her out before bringing her back in.

“You live in Calgary nine months out of the year, Matt. So what are we talking about here?” She asked, stopping him from spinning her out again. “Living together for three months here every summer in St. Louis where we’re vacationing some of the time? Or living together twelve months out of the year, both in Calgary and St. Louis?”

Matt paused, looking at her as he rested both hands at the small of her back. “It’s whatever you want to do, Care. You and E made a really solid foundation here and it wouldn’t be the first time a player lives somewhere different than his family for the season. I’ll do whatever’s best for you both.”

“Sounds like you’ve got more than just dating in mind there, Matthew,” she spoke softly, a teasing smile on her face.

“The tradition is that the people who catch the bouquet and the garter get married next, right?” He smiled.

“Does it really count if the toss was fixed?”

“Pft, of course it does!” He said, dipping her down slowly as he smiled and brought her back up. “Besides, who said it was fixed?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled, the song coming to an end as they stayed on the dance floor. “Maybe it was Taryn shooing everyone else away from us in the circle?”

Matt rolled his eyes as he held her hand and the two of them walked back to their table. “What my sister does is her own thing. But I can promise you I didn’t set it up.” He pulled her chair out, scooting it back in once she sat down before sitting down next to her and turning towards her in his chair. “But back to your original question, yes. I’ve definitely got more than dating in mind.”

Caroline reached for her glass of moscato and took a sip, savoring the taste before looking at him. “You know...when we were walking down the aisle together, I may or may not have pictured it being you and me on our wedding day.”

“We’re getting married?” He asked, gasping as he grabbed his beer bottle. “An invitation would’ve been nice.”

She was the one who rolled her eyes this time at his teasing tone. “I’m not saying that we are right now, I was just saying it was easy to picture.”

“Do you still have that pinterest board of your dream wedding you made back in high school?” He asked, a teasing smile on his lips as he brought the bottle to his mouth. “Am I still wearing the gray suit and the purple accessories?”

“Lavender, thank you,” she replied, putting her glass back onto the table. “And I plead the fifth on my wedding board.”

“I have been told that is my best color, by you of course...and my Mom,” he laughed, taking another sip of his beer. “Just answer one more question before you cease the wedding talk until our own, hm?”

She picked her glass back up, preparing herself for whatever it was he was going to ask. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Did you ever look at that board when you were planning your wedding with doucheface?” His tone was playful still, but Caroline didn’t miss the seriousness behind his playful question.

“Nope,” Caroline replied, shaking her head as she brought the glass up to her lips. “Never glanced at it once. And if we’re being honest...I didn’t get very far in the wedding planning process. I only got as far as ordering a magazine to look at dresses, but that’s it.”

“Good,” Matt nodded, failing to hide the smile as he finished off the rest of his beer before putting it down onto the table.

“Momma, I’m tired,” Ethan pouted, walking up and standing in between Matt and Caroline’s chairs, leaning against Matt’s legs.

“You had all that cake after I told you not to, didn’t you?” She asked, looking at him as he nodded. “So now you’re coming down from that sugar high you said you wouldn’t get even though I told you it’d happen, right?’

“Mhhm,” he nodded, still pouting as he pried at Matt’s knees to step between them, leaning further against Matt. “Can we go home now, Daddy?”

“We’ve still got to say bye to BeeBee and Emmy, but after that we’ll ride home with Papa Walt and Mimi, okay?” Matt asked, picking Ethan up and sitting him on his lap.

“Which speaking of,” Caroline said, nodding around them as everyone was getting up to walk towards the designated spot. “We should probably get our sparklers and go line up.”

“What do you think, E?” Matt asked, getting Ethan to lift his head up off of his shoulder. “Can you stay awake a little longer to light up the sparkler? I’ll let you hold mine and yours, that way I can carry you, okay?”

“Okay, I can do that.” Ethan nodded, getting off of Matt’s lap and standing there as Matt stood up, grabbing onto the two sets of sparklers and handing them to him. “Where do we go?”

“Just follow Mom and I, okay?” Matt replied, resting his hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he waited for Caroline to grab her sparkler. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Caroline nodded, adjusting her dress as she stood beside him, draping her purse across her chest and holding onto the sparklers. “What?” She asked, looking up to see Matt smiling at her.

“Nothing, come on,” he replied, shaking his head and placing his hand on the small of her back, walking alongside her to the location they needed to be.

They lined up towards the end of the line, being one of the last people who would see Brady and Emma before they got into their ride to head back home to their apartment before they would wake up early the next morning to head off to the airport and start their honeymoon. Andrew and Nonnie were across the way from them, Keith and Chantal as well, everyone on either side of the line starting to light up their sparklers, using their neighbors as the flame while Brady and Emma stood at the very front of the makeshift tunnel.

Matt carried Ethan on his left hip, turning him towards Caroline as Caroline lit both of the sparklers, using hers before they followed everyone else in holding the sparklers up out in front of them and just above their heads, everyone cheering as Emma and Brady ran by their friends and family, big smiles on their faces and waving as they reached their car. They each stopped by their parents one last time, giving them a hug and a kiss and saying goodbye to their siblings before getting into their car and driving away from the venue and back towards home.

“Can we go home now, Daddy?” Ethan yawned, looking at Matt.

“We can go home now, E.” Matt nodded, pointing ahead of them and he squatted down and put Ethan onto the ground. “There’s Papa Walt and Mimi right there, why don’t you go see if they’re ready to go, okay?”

“M'kay,” Ethan nodded, rubbing his left eye as he walked across the way and over to Keith and Chantal.

“I know I told you earlier when we were walking down the aisle, but you look beautiful tonight,” Matt said, resting his hand on the small of Caroline’s back as he walked them over towards his parents. “If the officiant was still here, I’d have him marry us right now.”

“And you look quite handsome yourself,” she smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against his arm. “You ready to go home?”

“With you?” He smiled, bending down and kissing her temple before brushing his lips just by her left ear. “Always.”

#anon #answered #wltay

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anfie-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

。。。

Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

。。。

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#anfie writes #dreamtale not found fic #nightmare!sans #passive nightmare sans #dream!sans #dreamtale #undertale #utmv #aftermare #I can't believe I forgot the ship tag (x

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iwantutobehapppier · 3 years

Text

Lotsa Latkes Fun

Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Jewish Female Reader

Summary: Bucky loves to cook, and he really loves to cook with you.

Warnings: 18+ Smut, sex, little bit of dirty talk but not really

Word Count: 2,469

A/N: Happy fourth night of Chanukah. Kind of let myself get away with this one haha. Thank you to the amazing @threeminutesoflife for helping me with Festival of Smut ides and @sagechanoafterdark for making sure my writing makes sense lol

If there was one thing Bucky loved to do post-mission it was to cook. After a good shower and maybe a nap depending on how taxing a mission Bucky loved to get in the kitchen and cook. The best was when it was something he hadn’t ever cooked or eaten before. Even better if he was cooking with you.

The two of you had been together for a short amount of time but it seemed like forever to Bucky. In the best of ways. Your calming demeanor a much-needed reprieve from the chaos the rest of his life brought. Cooking with you reminded him of being with Steve on the battlefield. The two of you in sync and always anticipating where the other was going without saying a word.

He was rather excited waking up from today’s nap knowing you would be coming over to show him how to make Latkes. Looking at the clock Bucky couldn’t help the rush of excitement. When the minute hand ticked by and the sun kept lowering he began to become nervous. He knew you wanted to have the Latkes cooked and ready for sunset.

Resting his hand in the palm of his metal hand he tried to calm himself and not call you just yet. There was still plenty of time he reassured himself, he was just anxious to spend time with you.

When he heard the steps outside his apartment door come closer and then the jingling of keys entering the lock he knew it was you. Trying to act like he was not waiting the past hour or more like a lovesick puppy he jumped onto the couch grabbing the first thing he could to fake read.

“I’m so sorry motek,” you rush in shutting and locking the door behind you to keep the cold out before you lug your giant bag full of goodies to the kitchen looking around for your geriatric counter partner. Catching him reading a magazine. One you were pretty sure you left last time.

“Enjoying that issue of Vogue?” An eyebrow lifted at him as he looked at the magazine he grabbed. Couldn’t have been the latest issue of Bon Appetit he bought at a stand the other day, nope had to be your fashion magazine the one he grabbed.

“I was smelling the cologne?” You roll your eyes, Bucky setting it down and leaping over the couch one-handed. Wrapping you up in his arms he feels the winter chill on you, his hands rubbing your back to push his warmth through you.

Curling your arms under his to grip his shoulders from behind you lift for the expected kiss that Bucky certainly delivers. The plush connection doing more than enough to warm you up. Soft kisses, and a playful growl when you nip his bottom lip are enough to wash away any leftover fervid feelings over your delay.

“Let’s get cookin’ hot mama,” Bucky lets go of you to grab your overweight bag with ease. Placing it on the kitchen counter he starts emptying and you grab the menorah and candles to set them on his coffee table for later.

After the two of you move around the kitchen together getting items together you rejoin to peel the giant bag of potatoes. Bucky pauses to question your recipe.

“So you just know how much?” Nodding your head you pass him another potato to peel.

“Just how many potatoes do you need? The whole bag or some of them?" He keeps on, wanting to learn the recipe you seemed to not know how to explain. "Yes," your only response.

“We’re using yellow onions in the food processor as well, they can be pretty powerful. How do you know when enough is enough?” Pausing you turn your body to him and put the peeler on your cheek. “When I say we do?”

“That’s not helpful,” he huffs, cutting the yellow onions into quarters after you handed them to him. “Where is the recipe from?”

“My mom’s head, who got it from her great aunt’s head and now it’s in my head.” Bucky shakes his own head starting to cut the potatoes in half to fit in the food processor.

“Not every recipe is just x amount of cups and tablespoons,” you chide while assembling the food processor on his kitchen island.

“Blasphemy,” he mutters. You muffle your giggle but his super-soldier hearing doesn’t miss it. Setting the knife down he’s suddenly tickling you relentlessly on the side, peels of laughter falling out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“You think sassing me is hilarious huh?” Nodding your head in between your laughter you try to wiggle out of his grasp ending up with his chest to your back pushing you into the counter trapping you. You don’t stop wiggling though and while he continues this assault you feel something rather familiar pushing against your backend.

Pushing back against the growing erection he stops tickling and immediately his hands grip your hips to hold you in place.

“Now, now,” he growls in your ear, “we’ve got cooking to do before sunset.” Nipping your ear he lets go, returning to cut the potatoes in half.

You remain still for a moment longer, your brain misfiring at his rough voice. Oh man, you needed to finish these latkes.

Getting the food processor together you grate the potatoes and onions then drain them in a cheese towel. Keeping some of the juices you mix the Matzo meal, eggs and seasonings together then bring the potatoes and onions in.

“Why are you adding more?” Bucky asks as you pour in more Matzo meal. “It doesn’t feel right yet,” he glowers at your words.

“Doesn’t feel right? And what does that feel like?”

“Like a good mix of all the ingredients?” Bucky chuckles at your vague description watching you continue. “Can you heat up the oil?” Bucky nods at your request turning the burner on under the pan full of oil.

Finally when you feel good about the mixture and the oil is heated you grab a wooden spoon, scoop a small amount of the Latkes mixture in and flatten it with the palm of your hand. Slowly slip it into the heated oil.

The loud pops of the oil frying telling you it’s too hot, you turn the burner down a bit and hand Bucky the spoon. “You make the others, Let’s only do 4 at a time to make sure they all cook evenly.”

He takes the spoon and follows the same steps as you before presenting his spoon to you for approval. With an encouraging smile, you nod your head and he places it in the oil with the one you made. He makes two more and you take his place in front of the burner waiting to flip.

“How do you know when it’s time to flip?”

Bucky comes up behind you, his hands resting on the voluptuous flare of your hips, his chin on your shoulder watching the Latkes cook.

“You watch the browning on the outline,” Bucky hms.

“Thank you for showing me how to make these.”

He kisses your neck before going back to looking at the browning potatoes. Hand slide up your waist, cupping your breasts, skilled fingers finding your nipples to pinch. Your head dips back with a soft moan.

His lips rest on your earlobe, “Come on doll,” his breathy words push against your ear, “You gotta watch them,” he tweaks your nipples hard, you jerk paying attention to the pan. He ruts his pelvis into you, his growing arousal feeling deliciously hard against your soft back end.

“Don’t get too distracted or they’ll burn,” he whispers against your neck.

Suddenly he’s off you, leaving you feeling hot under the collar and growing dampness in your underwear. He was driving you inside with this hot and cold today.

Once the Latkes were all done, cooked to perfection, and cooling on the wire rack Bucky glanced at the kitchen clock. “Hey, doll when’s sunset tonight?”

Looking back at him as you stop adjusting the latkes on the wire rack you purse your lips trying to recall what time you read earlier today. “Uuh, I think around 5:20?”

A lecherous smile pulls on Bucky’s lips as he pushes you away from the cooling latkes and presses your back against the kitchen island. “Ah just enough time then,” he attacks your lips.

Catching you off guard you remain still before relaxing into his lips, his large hands framing your face to tilt your head slightly up. Bucky kisses trailing down your chin, hands sweeping down to pull the collar of your shirt exposing more skin for him to consume. Mouth trailing down to bite at the swell of your breast.

“Bucky,” you gasp out.

The passion he had been giving you small bursts of since coming over is unleashed. You wrap a leg around his waist, curling and pulling him flush against you. His hips grinding against you pushes your damp panties against you, a stuttered moan falls out your mouth.

He’s kissing you once more, hands unzipping and pulling your pants down your hips. Tugging on the fabric clinging to you and grunting into your mouth with the effort. His cool metal hand dips into your underwear and you coo at the sensation. Smooth metal grazes your soaked folds before slipping in gathering the slick pouring out you.

Bucky bits your bottom lip just as his fingers rub your clit, the dule sensation making your hips jerk forward and your head spin. He groans your name against your lips before flipping you around pressing your chest against the marble countertop.

Your hands flat on the surface, you push yourself up but his metal hand falls on the small of your back keeping you down. Trying to keep yourself up on your elbows, he allows it. His focus turns to pulling your panties past your hips, sure to keep your legs together with the restricting fabric as his cool metal digits caress your swollen folds.

“So wet for me,” he admires, voice rough with arousal as he watches your slick pooling down your folds onto your panties.

Instantly his hands are gone, hearing the rustle of fabric and a zipper behind you. Trying to turn your head but before you can get a look you feel the bulbous tip of his cock push against your folds, nudging your clit before slipping up to your entrance.

Bucky grasps your ass cheeks and pulls them apart, marveling at the way your wet hole opens just a fraction at the shift, enough for him to nudge the tip of his cock in. You rock up onto your tiptoes at the sensation, legs taut.

He pushes in and you fall flat on the countertop crying out, fingernails scraping against the unforgiving stone. The way his thick shaft pushes and pulls against your walls makes your spine tingle. Turning your head you rest your cheek on the cool marble, cooing and mewling as he slowly pulls back out and pushes back in at an almost glacial pace.

Bucky wants to take his time, feeling the way your walls flutter around him and how you gush out when he is all the way in. His balls become slippery with your slick, he’s rather sure your panties are ruined and soon your pants but he doesn’t care. His hands push your sweater up your back until he sees your bra clasp undoing it.

His warm hands slip under you, cupping your breasts squeezing and pinching the nipples. You moan, voice growing louder when he begins to rock his hips back and forth at a steady pace. Fingernails dig harder against the marble, you’re fairly certain you’ve broken at least one nail.

“Bucky,” you beg, and he leans over you, covering your body with his weight.

“What is it?” He taunts pushing his cock all the way in and remains there, “What do you need?” He drags out the last syllable the rumble in his chest felt on your back.

“You,” is all you can get out, but he knows. He knows you need him to be rough, to take you to remind you who you belong to, who he belongs to.

"You have me," he grunts into your hair. Using all of his remaining willpower to pull his cock from you until just the head remains. "All of me. I'm yours, doll." Bucky thrusts back in hard, the force sure to leave bruises on your hips from the counter but he can’t care about that right now. All he can focus on is you.

He stands back up, hands leaving our pebbled and sore nipples to rest on the cool marble he holds our hips. A snarl pulls from his lips at the sight of your swollen and redden folds. You always looked so good, but the sight of your body taking him in, well it did things to him.

Before you can beg again he’s pounding into you with renewed energy. His metal hand slapps against your bouncing ass check and you cry out. Your walls begin to flutter around him, feeling yourself start the fall.

And he knows.

Slipping a hand around he finds your engorged clit, with precision he begins to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. Each time he pushes in your clit is smashed against his fingers and when he pulls out those same fingers are rubbing frantically against it.

“Bu-” You try to get out the pulsing pleasure rolling along your body down to your center. “Buck-” is all you can make out before you fall. A choked sob follows with your eyes shut tight, balling your fists against the counter.

You feel weightless as the euphoria takes hold.

Your limp body rocks in tandem with his erratic salacious thrusts, Bucky chasing his own high as he grunts each time his cock is fully inside you. With one final push, his balls tighten and an animalistic groan signals his release.

Your eyes crack open, you make a soft ‘oh’ when you feel his cum shoot inside you. So warm and welcome. You're both panting when he leans over your body. Holding himself up by his elbows.

He pushes his face into your hair, inhaling deep and pushing out a shaky loud breath. Yeah cooking with you was his favorite thing to do. Hell doing anything with you left him in awe. Because you were his favorite thing in the world.

Once you’ve both caught your breath he stands up straight pulling from you watching as your combined juices pour from your abused hole further soiling your panties. He licks his lips before patting your ass with his flesh hand.

“Ready for some latkes?”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #smut #bucky barnes smut #james buck barnes smut

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andavs · 2 years

Note

Can you elaborate in why you think chimney is gone this season? I miss him and I want him back😭😭😭

Definitely just guessing, but Covid.

You can’t really have Chimney without Jee-Yun, and because Covid is a thing, you can’t have Jee without putting a baby at risk. Even with everyone on the set vaccinated and the bare minimum of crew.

As far as I know, all of the Maddie and Jee scenes from the blackout arc were shot back in the spring when cases were falling. Since then, we’ve had the delta variant and cases rising again, and they haven’t actually shown Chimney holding Jee since. I think the closest he’s gotten was carrying her car seat in an open air parking garage, but otherwise she’s on her own in a playpen, in her car seat (outside, and not in the same frame as Chim), in a stroller (outside) where she could be replaced with a doll after of a quick closeup, and very briefly in the backseat while he was driving.

So if you can’t really show him interacting with his daughter, how can you have Chimney?

He’s taking time off work to stay home with Jee-Yun...but she’s always conveniently offscreen or six feet away. Okay, then what do you even show Chimney doing? Sitting at home folding baby laundry when his friends stop by, always while Jee-Yun is napping? It wouldn’t be very satisfying to hear him talk about adjusting to functionally being a single father and not see it beyond like, a few scenes of him and Jee walking through the park, or putting groceries in the trunk of his car. Getting lunch with Hen at an outdoor table with a stroller next to them.

Or he’s back at work and leaving her with the Lees while on shift. They have Chris stay with Carla, but that's Carla's job and Chris isn’t a baby being left with aging grandparents. (And the main plot of “Stuck” was Eddie trying to stop leaving him with an aging grandparent.) There’s a big difference between offering to babysit when Chim and Maddie need a break and taking on a baby for twenty-four hours at a time, multiple times a week. And that still leaves him talking about fatherhood, not really showing it.

So even though it sucks and it’s really dramatic (drama? In my drama?) that Maddie took off, it’s accomplished:

Giving Chimney a storyline that doesn’t have to be visible every week. We know he’s looking for Maddie even if he isn’t shown, we know he’s got Jee, they don’t have to keep putting a baby at risk to show us.

Setting up plenty of mystery to be explored once Maddie’s back without rehashing anything. No one knows where she’s been, and even if she’s been perfectly safe and getting treatment this entire time, it’ll be new to the audience in 5b. And we don’t know exactly where she is in her recovery; she could be just finding solid ground, or she could be doing pretty good and ready to jump back into things.

5.11 is called “Outside Looking In”! Chimney readjusting to the 118 that's bonded while he's been away! Hen and Eddie working together seamlessly now! Maddie feeling like she’s missed a lot with her daughter while Chim has been with her constantly!

I wouldn’t be surprised if the only time we see Chim in the Christmas episode is him finding Maddie wherever she is, or maybe just calling Buck to tell him he found her and she’s getting help.

Three months pass, he’s been home with Jee while Maddie was gone but now she’s back, and 5.11 is Chim’s first day back at work. Things are a little off, he and Hen both keep taking charge, then when he defers to Hen, he and Eddie keep bumping into each other. He misses Jee after spending every day with her for six months, he’s not used to Ravi being there all the time, they’re making references and jokes he wasn’t there for, it’s weird. (I demand a talk with Bobby since they cut the first one.)

At home, Maddie’s struggling a bit to fit the rhythm that Chim’s established with Jee. She’s been home for a while and following his lead, but now that he’s gone, she’s just a little bit off and Jee can tell and Jee is not thrilled with it. Maddie thought she had a handle on things, but this sets her back a little bit, so even though she did the hardest part of her recovery off screen, we still see her struggling and she doesn’t just come back happy.

#911 #i was on a roll but short answer: covid

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

Painted Pink Room

Summary: Cake adopts a kid.

Word Count: 3.1k

And away, and away we go!

It started with Ashton and Michael introducing them to Wyatt. Wyatt was a spunky little guy of two and a half years old with a mop of wild curls and an infectious little laugh that had Luke looking over at Calum with big pleading eyes and a small pout. And all Calum could do was give a small nod. “So, uh,” Calum started, clearing his throat. “Ash, how did you and Mike… you know?”

“Decide to adopt? Why are you and Luke thinking of doing the same?”

“I mean…” Calum shrugged nervously. “There’s a lot to figure out and whatnot. But uh… kinda hard to deny that this,” he gestured out to the yard where Michael was dying a dramatic death for the benefit of his son who, at Luke’s coaxing of “get him Wyatt!” pounced on Michael, “doesn’t look half bad,” Calum concluded.

A shriek filled the air as Michael roared and started tickling the boy, yelling “Ahahahaha! You fell right into my trap! Now the tickle monster got you! Oh no! Say ‘Uncle Luke help!’”

“Help, help!” Wyatt pleaded with more giggles, pulling at Luke’s hand.

Luke immediately jumped into action, whispering something in the boy’s ear that made him light up before hollering “Attack!” and both Luke and Wyatt started tickling Michael back, all three of them gasping for air amid the storm of giggles.

Ashton and Calum shared a laugh, and then Ashton sighed longingly. “Yeah, it’s gonna be a process. And lots of talking before anything gets done. But the end result is pretty fuckin’ great.”

“Yeah. So how did you and Mike decide that this is what you guys wanted?”

“I mean for me it was easy. I always wanted to be a dad. To prove I could do it without making the same mistakes. But I was afraid of those mistakes, too. Still am. Absolutely scared shitless.”

Calum nodded understandingly. Ashton’s parental history was significantly more fucked than his own had been, but he understood more so than Luke and Michael could about not wanting to repeat mistakes their parents had made. “And Mike?”

Ashton giggled, “Mike is like a big kid himself. He’s great with Wyatt. But he wasn’t sure he was ready for the responsibility that comes with all this. Cuz it’s a lot. I won’t sugarcoat that for ya. But, I dunno. It’s hard to explain how despite all the what ifs and worries, you have a kid anyway. It’s like a blind leap of faith. You just do it and hope for the best.”

“Mhm, and uh… sorry for all the questions, but how did you guys know you wanted Wyatt and not like… adopt a newborn, or try a surrogacy so the kid shared DNA with at least one of you?”

“Well, for one, DNA doesn’t make a family. You know that as well as I do. I mean, look at us, we all found family in each other. But we thought it’d be an easier adjustment with a slightly older kid. Like we wanted them relatively little to have all those experiences. But a newborn felt like it would be too much. And then we met Wyatt and everything just clicked.”

“He’s a cute little thing, that’s for damn sure. Has the coolest dads I know, too.”

Ashton grinned and wrapped an arm around Calum’s shoulder for a sideways hug, “Thanks man. And any kid would be lucky to have you and Luke for dads, you know that right? And you’d have mine and Mike’s support the whole way. Plus it’d kinda be cool if you wanted to give Wyatt a cousin.”

Calum laughed. “Alright, alright. It’ll be a serious discussion now. Gotta make sure it’s not just a bad case of baby fever.”

“Oh, for sure. That’s a conversation all on it’s own.” As he unwrapped his arm from Calum, he glanced at his watch. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nap time. Ready to see if it’s just a case of baby fever? Mike!”

Michael’s head popped up, and Wyatt took the small distraction to tackle Michael again, the man falling on his ass with a small oomph! “Huh?!” he asked as he wrapped up Wyatt to keep the boy from climbing all over him.

“Time to wrap it up.”

Michael nodded once, standing up and taking Wyatt with him. “C’mon you. Nap time.”

At the word “nap” Wyatt let out a piercing wail and started squirming against Michael’s hold on him. The wail had all four men wincing, and Luke shot Calum a quick glance as if to say “Ooof, could you imagine?” “Ow, Wyatt, we don’t hit. It’s not nice,” Michael scolded lightly, simply adjusting his grip to limit the boy’s protests.

“No!” he wailed, big crocodile tears running down his face.

“Hey,” Ashton said softly, stepping in to help, a thumb brushing away the tears on his son’s face. “Take a breath for me,” and when Wyatt let out a blubbering huff of air with only a sniffle, Ashton smiled at him. “That’s my boy. Now, do you want Daddy to read you a story, or Papa?”

Wyatt sniffed again before making grabby hands for Ashton. Michael kissed his hair before passing Ashton Wyatt. “We’ll play more later. You gotta rest first. And so does Daddy. Love you, bug.”

Ashton chuckled softly as he took Wyatt on his hip, the boy’s head snuggling into his neck. Ashton gave Michael a quick kiss before saying he’d be down in a bit and disappeared inside the house.

“How’d you decide who was Daddy and who was Papa?” Luke asked as the other three men filed inside and settled on the couch in the living room.

Michael shrugged. “Not sure really. It kinda just happened. I mean, it doesn’t really mean too much right now.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well we’ve only had Wyatt a month. Ashton and I try to refer to each other as Daddy and Papa for his sake. To make it more commonplace. I mean, that’s what they said to do. Them being the agency, and the support groups, and all that. But, it’s all new to him. Like he knows I’m Daddy and Ashton’s Papa. But he doesn’t say it yet.”

“Oh… Well, he’ll get there, yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not worried about it. I mean we got to spend plenty of time with him while everything was getting finalized, so he feels safe with us which is what really matters. Everything else is just details. So, Cal, what were you and Ash talking about?”

“Yeah, love, what were you guys talking about?” Luke asked with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

“Oh, I was just asking Ash some questions about how you guys came to decide on having Wyatt. Just curious was all.”

“Curious?” both blondes pressed.

Calum shrugged a little shyly, taking Luke’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We’ll talk about it later, yeah Lu?”

Luke broke out in a grin while Michael laughed loudly. “Not so loud,” Ashton hissed as he came down the stairs.

“Shit, my bad,” Michael apologized. “He go down alright?”

“Out like a light. You and Luke really wore him out. So, what I’d miss?” he asked as he plopped down next to Michael

“Oh, nothing much. Just apparently Cal and Luke are thinking of following our footsteps.”

Ashton nodded. “Yeah, and Luke I’ll tell you what I told Cal outside. It’s a lot. But whatever help or support you guys need, if this is what you guys decide you want, Mike and I are behind you a hundred percent.”

“It’s definitely a conversation I want to have if Cal does,” Luke said, his hand resting on Calum’s thigh.

Calum rested his own hand on top of Luke’s squeezing it reassuringly. “Course, Lu. And thanks guys. The support means a lot.”

“Course, mate,” Michael told him. “Plus, Ash wouldn’t it be cool for Wyatt to get a cousin? It’s like a sibling with less stress.”

~~~

Later that night, Luke rolled over to his side in bed, propping himself up on his elbow, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. “Were you serious early?”

“Serious about what?”

“Us having a baby.”

“Course I was serious. We both wanna be dads, don’t we?”

In a burst of excitement, Luke pushed himself to sit with his legs crossed facing Calum, who mirrored the position, their knees pressed against the other’s. “You’re dead serious? Cuz I swear if you’re fucking with me I’ll never forgive you.”

Calum chuckled softly. “You think I’d joke about something like this? What do you think I was pestering Ash for?”

Luke shrugged and looked away shyly. “Figured you were asking all the stressful stuff so you could talk me down…”

Calum let out another soft chuckle, reaching out to guide Luke’s face back up to look at him. “I mean, Ash did mention that it’s a process, and a lot of discussions, and decisions to make. Like this doesn’t happen overnight. And that’s the easy part. I mean, we’re talking about the end result being us being responsible for a whole ass human.”

“Whoa… yeah that’s kinda scary putting it that way, huh? But…?”

“But if there’s anyone I’d wanna do this with, it’s you, Lu.”

“Yes!” Luke cheered before kissing Calum deeply. “Okay, so how did Ash and Mike get started? Do we wanna do what they did and adopt like a toddler? Or do we wanna go older or younger? Oh newborns are so cute! But it’s kinda cool when they can talk, and actually play too like Wyatt can. Oh, and imagine if we get a little girl? We can learn to do her hair and we can have salon parties all the time! Wait! Do you think we should look into surrogacy? A little mix of you and me? Is that possible you think?” Luke spewed out all the questions he had in a rapid fire barely taking time to breath between words. He paused to suck down a giant gulp of air, his face flushing. “Fuck, sorry, that was a lot.”

“There good questions, Lu. Definitely things we need to talk about. But maybe we start slower. Talk to Ash and Mike about getting in contact with the adoption agency they went through. See what all our options are and go from there?”

“Yeah that’s probably the smartest way to go about this. Just do what feels right each step of the way. Fuck… but we’re really gonna do this? We’re gonna try to have a baby? You and me?”

“Me and you,” Calum smiled.

It was quiet for a moment as they settled in for bed, their decision slowly sinking in. Then, just as Calum closed his eyes, Luke whispered out in the dark. “Hey, love?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I be daddy, and you be papa?”

“Sounds perfect, babe.”

~~~

The process, as Ashton had warned them, was a lot. There were interviews, home inspections, background checks, and seemingly endless piles of paperwork. And that was just for Calum and Luke to get cleared.

Several times they wondered if they should have gone the surrogacy route, but after a few meetings when they were shown some case files, it had been a no-brainer.

They sat side by side as they shifted through file after file, fingers knocking against each other as they pointed out whatever caught their eye. It was the file of a little girl, a baby really at thirteen months old, that had them both gasping at the same time. Brown eyes met blue and there was the briefest of nods. “Um, excuse me, what’s the story on this one? There’s not a lot here,” Luke asked the adoption agency clerk helping them.

“That’s McKenna. She came to us when she was a day old. Safe haven surrender. Sweet little girl. We can arrange a meeting if you’re interested.”

“That would be great, yeah.”

~~~

“So you guys are meeting her today, yeah?” Ashton asked.

“Yeah,” and even though both Calum and Luke were beaming, their voices shook. “Been waiting like what? A month for this?” Calum went on.

“I thought you guys were already four months into this?” Michael questioned.

“Yeah, we are. Shit has it been that long? But since we saw McKenna’s file and now it’s been a month. Longest month of my life…” Luke let out his breath in a small huff, raking his hands through his hair.

“Well, good news is that once you guys get approved to adopt, which you will, the actual adoption process won’t take as long,” Ashton pointed out. “That’s how it was with Wyatt. We got to know him for… what was it Mike? Like a little less than a year while all the processing shit happened. Because they’ll keep scheduling visits so everyone gets comfortable. Makes the transition easier. And then because we had that background established, the adoption process was like… 2 months I wanna say? And that was just waiting for the court date.”

“Something like that yeah. But hey, don’t sweat it if you and the kid don’t click. Like it’s okay. Take your time with it,” Michael jumped in.

“Yeah, definitely. No rush.”

“How did you guys know with Wyatt?” Calum asked.

“You’re just gonna know, mate. I promise. Instinct will take over and you’ll just know.”

Calum understood exactly what his friends meant when two hours later McKenna was set in his arms. Big brown eyes peered up at him full of confused wonder, deciding how she felt about the man holding her and the tall blonde smiling down at her. “Well, hey there, McKenna. I’m Cal, and this is Luke.”

McKenna watched Calum carefully as he spoke, before shifting her attention to Luke who was waving at her. She reached a small hand out towards Luke. Luke held out his index finger for her and her small fist wrapped around it. “Hey, sweetheart,” he cooed softly. “Oh, Cal, she’s beautiful isn’t she?”

“Yeah she’s a beaut, aren’t you, darling? Do you want Luke to hold you?”

Luke held out his arms warmly and McKenna wiggled a bit in Calum’s arms so he started to pass her over, but her free hand bunched itself in Calum’s shirt, not letting go, causing both men to laugh. “Alright, that’s okay. We’ll just hold hands,” Luke told her scrunching up his nose at her and tickling at her ribs, giggling when she giggled.

“This is the quickest I’ve ever seen her warm up to a family before,” one of the workers running the meeting mentioned. “Normally she’s way more shy than this.”

“Does that mean you like us, darling?” Calum asked. “Cuz I really hope it does.”

~~~

Eleven months. Eleven months of having to be content with limited visiting time with the little girl who stole more of their hearts every time they were with her. Eleven of the longest months they’d ever experienced before they got the phone call that everything had been approved and they could finally get in front of a judge to formalize the adoption.

“So, when can we schedule a court date?” Calum choked out over the phone.

“We can get the three of you in front of a judge in three weeks.”

“And that’s when we’ll be able to take her home?”

“Barring any complications, yes.”

“Complications? Um… Sorry, could you explain that?” Calum asked, holding up a finger at Luke who’s eyes went wide with worry.

“Usually it has to do with paperwork that wasn’t processed properly, or waiting the right amount of days, and in some rare cases biological parents popping out of the woodwork.”

“And, do you…” Calum faltered with his question.

“Foresee any complications with your case? No. Everything’s been processed, waiting periods have been waited, and safe haven surrender terminated the biological parents rights.”

Calum let out a small laugh of relief. “Okay. Awesome. That’s great. So three weeks?”

“I’ll forward you the information.”

“Great. Thank you so much.”

“Well?!” Luke demanded as Calum ended the call, chewing on his thumbnail.

“Three more weeks, Lu. Three more weeks and she’s all ours.”

“YES!” Luke whooped, wrapping Calum in a tight hug. “Our daughter’s coming home in three weeks! Three weeks, love! That’s nothing! We can do three weeks, no problem. Plenty of time to get her room set up.”

“Better get to work then.”

~~~

If asked, Calum and Luke couldn’t answer what happened in the courtroom, what with their shaking hands, and pounding heartbeats drowning out any other sound. The words that filtered in were muddled and slow. “Accepted” and “congratulations” before the gavel was pounding and they snapped out of their haze, tears free falling down their faces.

What they did remember in sharp focus was the drive home, with McKenna in the backseat. Luke kept turning in his seat and Calum kept peering through the rearview mirror, each one grinning every time she was still there when they looked, as if they expected each time to find the backseat empty like this had all been a figment of their imagination.

They remembered the way she started yawning and rubbing her eyes as Luke’s voice crooned a soft lullaby at bedtime. The hushed goodnights and I love yous, and the soft glow of the night light. And not sure of what else to do, they turned in for the night themselves.

The alarm clock on Calum’s nightstand said that it was a little after midnight when someone tugged at his hand.

Calum jerked awake, finding McKenna peeking up at him. “What’s the matter, darling?” he rasped.

“I scared.”

“You’re scared? Aw, c’mere, darling.” He peeled back the covers and helped her up into bed beside him. “Everything’s new, huh?”

She nodded, curling her body into him.

“That’s okay. Daddy and I will keep you safe, I promise.”

“Hmm?” Luke mumbled in his sleep. “Love, who are you ta- oh hey sweetheart,” Luke’s eyes blinked open to find Calum cradling McKenna. “Everything okay?”

“Just a little scared is all,” Calum explained.

“Mmm, well don’t worry, sweetheart. You wanna sleep in here with me and Papa?”

McKenna nodded before crawling over Calum to sandwich herself between her dads. “That’s our girl,” Luke smiled, kissing her forehead and drawing the blanket up snug. “All nice and cozy?”

“Mhm,” she nodded with a small yawn.

“G’night, darling. We’ll be right here if you need us,” Calum told her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We love you.”

“So stinking much,” Luke added.

As they settled back down themselves, Calum and Luke heard the softest, “Night, wuv you too,” from McKenna, causing both men to fall asleep with grins on their faces, their little girl protectively snuggled between them. Perfect.

Tag List

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#painted pink room #calum hood #calum hood fic #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fic #calum hood x luke hemmings #dad!cake #5sos #calpal irwin

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argylemnwrites · 3 years

Text

Settled

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield); Roomies (+ Bryce and Rafael) friendship also featured

Book: Open Heart (~5 weeks post book 2)

Word Count: ~1400

Rating: PG-13 (rare language)

Summary: A long standing bet is about to be settled.

Author’s Note: Inspiration for this piece comes from a real experience in my undergrad dorm. It also works as a loose follow up to my pieces “Enough” and “Some Definition.” Also written for Day 28 of the @choicesfebchallenge - Closure.

Bryce felt his eyes getting heavy in spite of the early hour and the movie playing across the room. He had just come off a night float block, serving both as the senior resident overnight for the three gen surg wards and completing any ED surgical consults that came in from 5 pm to 7 am. Even though he’d only had to work 18 shifts over the past 28 days, each shift had been frantic, often with barely enough down time to inhale a sandwich. On top of that, he’d basically hadn’t gotten a chance to see the inside of the OR at all. The senior carrying the trauma pager usually got all the overnight cases, since there weren’t many non-traumas that went to the OR in the middle of the night. For the few remaining cases, unless it was a particularly complex case, the attendings usually prioritized letting the interns covering the wards overnight gain some experience. As an intern, Bryce had loved that culture in Edenbrook, but now that he was on the other side, he felt a bit jealous, even if he knew it wasn’t fair.

He was just kind of burnt out, if he had to put a label on things. He’d felt more like an internal med resident for most of the block, something Cassie had teased him about endlessly. But he just didn’t find the work as rewarding as actually operating, the shifts were exhausting, and now, almost a full week off of that block, he was still working to adjust his sleep schedule back to days. Hence him falling asleep in the middle of an action movie at Cassie’s with her roommates and Raf at 6 pm.

“Is he out?” he heard Sienna hiss out, obviously whispering in case he was asleep, forgetting that fact that her voice was far quieter than the explosions currently happening on screen.

“No, he’s not,” Bryce whispered back, drawing a chuckle and a little elbow nudge from Cassie. He dragged his eyes back open to find her turned to face him on the sectional, so he gave her a little grin before he dropped his head to her shoulder and closed his eyes again. “But he might be soon.”

“Seriously?” asked Raf, his voice drifting up from the floor where he and Aurora were lounging in front of the coffee table. “I didn’t think you’d be one to sleep through the latest Tommy Phelps blockbuster.”

“Lahela is a little baby who is still whining about the fact that he was on nights a week ago.” Jackie’s voice was the next one to fill the room. “Or maybe he has the right idea and is done with this dumb garbage. Why did I get up early for this again?”

“Because we only have one year left where we are all going to be in Boston for sure, and times where we are all off for a movie are rare!” Sienna cried out. Bryce felt Cassie shift slightly, presumably reaching over to hold Sienna’s hand or rub her back, but she didn’t move so much that his head was more than slightly jostled on her shoulder.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we had to watch this. Elijah, you don’t get to pick for movie night ever again.” Jackie added.

“Hey, I know my selections aren’t always the most popular, but this wasn’t me!”

“Alright, then who is responsi-”

“It was my pick,” said Aurora. Bryce squinted an eye open at that, glancing down to Aurora, who had twisted around to face Jackie. “What can I say? Sometimes I just need to turn my brain off and watch some shlock.”

“It’s better with a beer,” Raf said with a shrug, before lifting his bottle to his lips and taking a drink.

“Well, I have to head in for a shift in a couple of hours, so that’s not an option for me,” Jackie said, “so I might have to take a page out of Bryce’s book and just nap.”

Bryce swung his foot towards her as he let his eyes close again, nudging her shin. “Shut up, Varma.”

“What? I’m not mocking you.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, there is plenty for me to mock you for always, but right now I’m not. Avoiding this movie and using Cassie as a pillow is one of your smarter choices.”

“I’m not using her as a human pillow. This is just part of boyfriend privileges, right Cass?”

“Absolutely,” Cassie said, but the room got suddenly very quiet as the explosions and gunfire came to an abrupt halt.

“Why’d you pause the movie?” asked Cassie, but no one answered her. Instead, Aurora asked a different question.

“Elijah, you still got the calendar?”

“Yup, lemme pull it up. I’m pretty sure everyone’s date has already passed, though.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

The room was silent for a few moments, so Bryce opened his eyes and dragged his head off of Cassie’s shoulder, glancing around the room and taking in everyone aggressively avoiding eye contact with him and Cassie. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s not that bid a deal,” Jackie said with an eye roll. “We had a bet on when you guys would officially be together.”

It took Bryce a couple of seconds to process what she’d said. “Wait, seriously?” he asked with a chuckle.

“It was Elijah’s who organized it,” said Raf, earning him a pillow in the face from Elijah.

“Hey, man!”

“What, it’s the truth?”

“When did you guys start this?” Cassie asked. She was twisting her fingers over each other in her lap, so Bryce slid his right hand in between hers, tugging her left hand over into his lap.

“Elijah took my bet the day after the Hopeful Hearts Gala,” said Aurora, “and I think I was the first one to pick a date. After Elijah, obviously.”

“Wait, this has been going on for months?” Bryce asked.

“Well, you two have been all over each other for years,” said Jackie.

“And you were all in on this? Even you, Sienna?” asked Cassie as she glanced around the room from person to person.

Bryce leaned forward to peer around Cassie. Sienna cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t shy away from looking at the two of them.

“I mean, I was rooting for you two! Plus, Elijah had a PowerPoint which made it all feel so official! And, I don’t know, we’ve all been waiting for you guys to-”

“What she means is we’ve all had to put up with your obnoxious flirting for far too long to not have a bit of fun,” Jackie said, cutting off Sienna’s ramble. However, one thing Sienna said stuck out to him, and apparently to Cassie.

“Elijah, you made a PowerPoint?” she asked, her free hand coming up to her cheek.

It was Elijah’s turn to have his cheeks darken, but he just gave a little shrug. “Like Jackie said, this has been a long time coming. And I was bored in allergy clinic.”

“It was quite the presentation,” said Raf.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to see that,” added Bryce, shooting Cassie a wink as she shook her head lightly.

“I don’t know if I still have it.” Elijah answered just a little too quickly, making Bryce think he very much did still have it and had no intention of showing it to them. But before he could push him on that, Jackie asked Elijah another question.

“So, quit stalling. Who’s the winner?”

Elijah just shook his head. “Like I said, we all lost. Brittany was the last date, and even hers passed last month.”

“Wait, you got the gen surg residents involved in this as well?” Bryce asked.

“We’ve all been subjected to your prolonged and public teasing,” said Jackie, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to fight her on that statement.

“I mean, I know we’re a good looking couple, but this level of fascination is beyond what even I could have expected.” Bryce’s statement drew groans from almost everyone in the room and pillows chucked at him by Raf, Aurora, and Jackie, but all he could do was squeeze Cassie’s hand before snuggling up against her again, settling in for the end of the movie… and likely a little nap. Their friends could tease them all they wanted. They were happy, and that was all that really mattered.

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

Open Heart: @mskaneko @omgjasminesimone @debramcg1106

Bryce x MC: @lahellacute @weaving-in-words @anotherbeingsworld @chaotichuman0090 @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @dreaming-of-movies @choicesarehard @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @sunnyxdazed

#choicesfebruarychallenge2021 #choicesfebchallengeday28 #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Text

road trip!

inspired by this post

please enjoy seven unsupervised teenagers crammed into an SUV for a three hour trip

I might need to write a part 2 with the actual camping trip??

but right now I need a nap so badly. so, so badly. I hope you like this though!!!

----------

Hotch flipped on the lights and both boys immediately groaned, pulling their covers over their heads. “All right, everybody up, we gotta go,” he said.

Derek rubbed his eyes and held his up his phone. “It’s five in the morning, Hotch,” he complained. He dropped his phone on his face. “Dammit.”

“We want to be on the road before six, so let’s go,” he said.

Spencer sat up, his hair sticking up on the side of his head. “I just fell asleep an hour ago,” he complained. “Can I sleep a little longer?”

“You can sleep in the car,” Hotch said.

Spencer scowled. “I can’t sleep in the car.”

“You fall asleep in the car all the time. Get up.” Spencer dragged himself out of bed, rolling his eyes. “Are you guys packed? Do you need any help?”

Derek glanced around his chaotic side of the room. “Uh...I’ll get it done,” he said.

Hotch sighed. “Just hurry, okay?” he said. “We gotta go. I’m going to go check on the girls.”

He closed the door and headed for the stairs. Getting a four-day weekend for teacher in-service meant they had plenty of time on their hands, but they didn’t want to sit around on campus or go to Dave’s house again. Somehow they had decided on making the three hour drive to the Mammoth Cave national park to go camping, which had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now that he was in charge of getting the four youngest kids ready to go when the sun wasn’t even up, he was kind of regretting it.

He made it down to the third floor and knocked lightly. Penelope whipped the door open. “Good morning!” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He blinked. “Okay, that sounds only mildly creepy,” he said. “How are you guys doing?”

“Pretty good,” JJ said. She gestured towards her backpack and Penelope’s duffel bag on the floor. “We’re just about ready, I think.”

“Thank god,” Hotch said. “You’re definitely ahead of the boys.”

“You didn’t see that coming?” JJ said, grinning. “Let me guess, Derek hasn’t packed anything and Spencer’s cranky.”

“Yeah, you got it,” he said. He looked from JJ in her ballet school tank top, Nike shorts, and sneakers to Penelope. “Hey, Pen...are you sure that’s what you want to wear?”

Penelope looked down at her floral print sundress and strappy sandals, then back up at him. “Yes, why?” she asked.

He gestured at her collection of impractical accessories- hair clips shaped like pandas, chunky bead bracelets, dangly earrings. “You do know it’s going to be a three hour long car ride and then three days of camping, right?” he said.

“Yes, why?”

JJ sighed. “Don’t worry, Hotch, I’m on it,” she said. “We’ll meet you downstairs in just a little bit.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Penelope demanded.

Hotch backed away. “Yeah, I’ll let you handle it,” he said.

He jogged back up the stairs and knocked on the door. “Okay, you guys, how’s it going?” he asked, opening the door without waiting for them to answer.

Derek tossed a hoodie onto his pile in the middle of the floor; he was at least out of his pajamas and dressed in a St. Thaddeus football shirt and basketball shorts. “We’re getting there,” he said. “I’m almost packed.”

Hotch looked down at the pile. “Good luck getting all of that into your bag,” he said dryly. “Where’s Spencer?”

“Shower, I think,” Derek said. “He’s packed, though.”

Hotch picked up Spencer’s backpack easily, but the duffel bag offered more resistance. “Oh my god, what does he have in here, a dead body?”

“Probably books,” Derek said.

“Does he really need this many?” Hotch asked. Derek shrugged. “All right, fine. Hopefully we can get all of this to fit between the two cars. Just hurry up, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Derek said, digging through his drawers.

Hotch stopped by his room to pick up his backpack, then carried everything down to the lobby. The girls were already there with their things; JJ had gotten Penelope to change into denim shortalls and a pink tee shirt, and her accessory collection had been reduced to a large ruffled scrunchie. “You guys ready?” Hotch asked.

JJ yawned. “Yeah,” she said. “Where’s the boys?”

“Derek’s still packing,” Hotch said. He pulled out his phone and checked the group chat. “James is in the parking lot, Dave’s almost here. Nothing from Alex or Emily, but I’m sure they’re up already.”

“Alex will be up, Emily probably snoozed her alarm six times,” Penelope said.

Something thumped down the stairs. “All right, we’re ready,” Derek called, dragging his bag down the steps. Spencer trailed behind him, his hair still damp and dripping on his NASA tee shirt.

“You’re sure?” Hotch said. “Everybody has everything? Clothes, toothbrushes, pillows, blankets? James is bringing sleeping bags and air mattresses, but everybody should have their own stuff.” He turned to Spencer. “You have your blanket?”

Spencer’s face turned as red as his shorts. “I don’t need it,” he said.

Hotch frowned. “You’re sure?” he said. “But you-”

“I don’t need it, I can sleep without it,” Spencer said, crossing his arms. “Can we go?”

“Yeah, yeah, we probably should,” Hotch said. “Let’s go, everybody grab your stuff.”

Derek sidled up to him. “I packed the kid’s blanket,” he whispered. “It’s in my bag.”

“Oh, thank god.”

The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the horizon as they made it out of Lincoln House. Hotch hoisted Spencer’s bag of books on his shoulder. It was a long walk out to the parking lot, but James and Dave were both there, their cars parked next to each other. “Hey, y’all,” James called. “Who’s ready for a three-hour drive?”

Dave groaned. “Not me,” he said.

“I have my license, you can let me drive,” Hotch said.

“You’ve only had your license for six months,” Dave said, patting the hood of his brand new Honda Pilot protectively. “She needs someone more experienced for a long haul. Maybe James will let you drive his shitbucket.”

“She’s not a shitbucket, she’s just...well loved,” James protested. “Besides, she’s got some...quirks. Really, nobody but me should be driving her.” He jiggled the latch of the hatchback and opened the trunk; his Nissan Versa was jam-packed with camping equipment and igloo coolers. “All right, toss your stuff in!”

“It’s nice of your parents to let us borrow all their camping stuff,” Penelope said.

James took her bag. “Yeah, we’ve gone camping every summer for as long as I can remember,” he said. “Hope you guys are ready for this. I’m not too sure how Dave is going handle it.”

“I’ll be fine!” Dave said. He jabbed his thumb towards Alex and Emily as they crossed the parking lot towards them. “I’d be more worried about ‘poor little rich girl Prentiss’ over there.”

“What about me?” Emily asked. She wasn’t wearing her usual eyeliner and she’d traded her Docs for more sensible sneakers, but she still wore artfully ripped jeans and a red plaid flannel tossed over her black tank top.

“Nothing,” Dave said quickly. “You guys ready?”

Alex handed over her bag; she’d swapped her usual librarian dresses for a sleeveless button up top tied at the waist, shorts, and hiking boots. “Definitely ready,” she said. “Have we decided who’s riding where?”

“Well, James and I are driving,” Dave said. “I claim Hotch as my copilot, you should be James’s.”

Alex shrugged. “Fine with me,” she said. “So everyone else is going with you?”

“I’m not sitting in the back middle!” JJ said, immediately tapping her finger to her nose.

“Nose goes!” Penelope said, and Emily and Derek copied her. “Ha! Spencer’s backseat middle.”

Spencer blinked. “Wait, I zoned out for a second,” he said. “What happened?”

“JJ and I went first, so we get the captain seats,” Penelope explained. “You’re sitting in the back with Derek and Emily, and you have to sit in the middle.”

“What? No!” he protested. “I want to ride with James and Alex.”

“No, there’s not enough room!” Emily said quickly. “And you’re the littlest and the youngest, anyway, you have to sit in the middle.”

Spencer scowled. “That’s not fair, we should do it again,” he said. “I don’t want to sit in the back middle.”

“Too late, caro, you lost,” Dave said. “Maybe you can ride somewhere else on the way home.”

Alex cupped his chin in her hand and kissed his cheek. “Three hours isn’t that bad,” she said. “Read your books and take a nap.” He scowled.

“All right, come on, everybody, let’s go, let’s go, it’s past six already,” Hotch said. “Get in the car, we gotta go.”

They piled into Dave’s car, squishing Spencer between Derek and Emily in the back. “I don’t understand why I can’t ride with James and Alex,” he said. “I could have fit.”

JJ twisted around in her seat. “We need them to spend some time alone,” she explained.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you tired of watching James pine after her?” Emily said.

“Pine?”

“He’s had a crush on her for three and a half years and he’s yet to make a move,” Penelope said. “I made him an extremely romantic Spotify playlist. I hope it works.”

“Wait, James has a crush on Alex?” Spencer said. Derek shook his head.

Dave backed out of his parking space. “All right, once we get to Auden’s Ridge we’ll stop and get gas,” he said.

“And snacks?” Penelope asked hopefully.

“And snacks,” Dave said. “But after that we’ll drive straight through to Mammoth Cave. I don’t believe in stops.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that will happen,” Hotch said. “Have you met these kids?”

Dave tossed him his phone. “Just plug in the address to GPS and turn on the music, copilot,” he said.

The thirty-minute drive to town usually seemed long, but for once it went by quickly and Dave pulled up to a pump at the gas station. “Remember, we’re going to get actual food once we get the campsite set up and we can stop in town,” Hotch reminded them. “So don’t go too crazy.”

“Hotch, why are you even trying, you know they’re all going to buy their respective body weights in junk food,” Dave sighed.

Hotch sighed. “I know,” he said.

He tried to stay fairly sensible with his choices, but the other kids returned to the car laden down with snacks. “Oh my god,” Dave said. “Listen, if you guys spill anything, I will murder you. I will.”

“Relax, spaghetti grandpa, it’ll be fine,” Penelope said as she plunked down in her captain’s chair and cracked her drink open. “We’re all very well-behaved.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Penelope,” he said. “Is that a Red Bull?”

She raised the can to her lips, regarding him over the rim. “Maybe,” she said, and she took a big swig.

“Oh, god, we’re all going to die,” Dave said. “Jennifer. If you get Cheeto dust anywhere, I will end you.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise!”

Spencer struggled with the cap of his chocolate milk. “Can somebody open this for me?” he said.

Derek opened it easily and handed it back. “There you go, noodle arms.”

“Hey!”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guys, we haven’t even gotten back on the road yet,” he said.

“It’s gonna be a long trip,” Dave said. “All right, everybody, buckle up.”

The first hour passed by without incident, and Hotch was just starting to think that maybe this trip wouldn’t be so terrible when Emily leaned around JJ’s seat. “Hey, when are we stopping?” she asked.

“In an hour and forty-eight minutes, when we make it to the campsite,” Dave said, glancing at the GPS. “Why?”

“I have to pee,” she said.

“Ask Hotch.”

“Hotch, I have to pee, can we stop?” Emily asked.

“We just stopped, Prentiss,” he said.

“I didn’t have to pee then,” she protested.

Spencer nudged her shoulder. “I’m trying to read and you’re covering the pages,” he complained.

Emily leaned farther. “Please can we stop?” she pressed.

“Maybe in a little bit,” Hotch said. “Just stop bothering Spencer.” Emily sat back with a scowl.

Derek wadded up his wrappers. “I wouldn’t mind stopping,” he said. “I’m out of snacks.”

“Jesus, Morgan,” Hotch said. “You ate all of that?”

“Yeah, and I’m still hungry,” he said.

“His trash is everywhere,” Spencer announced.

Derek thwacked his arm. “Don’t tattle!”

“I’m not tattling! I’m stating facts!”

“Stating facts just to get me in trouble!”

JJ glanced back. “No, Spencer’s right, it’s like a dumpster back here,” she said.

“Clean it up!” Dave said.

Hotch twisted around in his seat. “Penelope, can you stop kicking the back of my seat?” he said.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I have to move. My legs just keep shaking and I can’t stop it, I just have to move or I might possibly exploded.”

“This is why you can’t drink Red Bulls in the car,” Hotch said.

“Or ever,” JJ added. Emily stretched out and propped up her right foot on her armrest; JJ pushed it off. “Quit it, Emily.”

“I’m squished back here with Spencer and his entire library, let me stretch!”

“It’s my armrest!” Emily stomped on the base of JJ’s seatbelt; JJ let out a piercing pterodactyl screech. “Prentiss, what the fuck!” she screamed.

“Cut it out!” Hotch bellowed.

They fell silent. Penelope’s leg stilled. Spencer turned a page.

“Dave’s trying to drive, stop screaming,” Hotch said. “Emily, leave JJ alone. JJ, no more dinosaur noises. Derek, pick up your trash, Penelope, stop kicking me. Spencer...you’re fine, just read your book.”

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It was peaceful again, quiet except for Dave’s road trip playlist. Maybe now the kids would fall asleep until they made it to the campground.

“Hey, can we turn the air up?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, it’s a little warm in here,” Derek added.

Dave fiddled with the dials. “Yeah, we can turn it up a little,” he said. “That better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Spencer frowned. “I’m cold,” he said.

“How can you be cold? You’re squished in between us?” Emily said.

“I’m always cold,” Spencer said. “And there’s a vent right above my head. Can we turn it down?”

“See, now you wish you had your blanket,” Derek grinned.

Spencer turned red. “I don’t need my blanket,” he grumbled.

“You can cuddle with me,” Emily said, throwing her arm around his shoulders.

He pushed her arm away. “I don’t want to cuddle!” he said. “I’ll just freeze to death and read my book, okay?”

“How does someone so little get so angry?” Emily said.

“I’m not angry! I am stressed!” Spencer said.

“Stressed about what?” Derek asked.

“I’m sitting in the middle of your dumpster pile, and Prentiss is trying to cuddle me, and I’m very tired and I just want to read my book in peace!” Spencer said. “And you guys are squishing me!”

“Prentiss, Morgan, stop pestering him,” Hotch said.

“If you guys don’t stop, I swear to god, I will turn this car around,” Dave said.

Penelope abruptly popped her seat back, leaning directly into Derek’s lap. “What are you doing?” he said.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just got really carsick all of a sudden…”

“Okay, nobody is getting carsick in the new car,” Dave said. “Emily has to pee, Derek’s hungry, Penelope’s going to puke...Hotchner, text Alex and see if we can stop at a McDonalds or something.”

“Yeah!” Derek cheered.

“All right, all right, I’ll text her,” Hotch said. He glanced in the rearview mirror; Penelope’s eyes were closed but the rest of the kids seemed happy, except-

“Hey, Spence, what’s with the face?”

Spencer scowled. “I ran out of books,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“All of them?”

“Yeah, I miscalculated how long it would take to get through all of them,” he said.

“Well, maybe you can sleep the rest of the way,” Hotch said.

“Yeah, then maybe you won’t be so grumpy,” Emily said.

“I’m not grumpy!”

Hotch checked his phone. “Yeah, James and Alex said they’re good to stop,” he said. “There’s a McDonalds coming up at the next exit.”

“Thank god, I need to get out of this car,” Penelope said fervently. “I’d be fine if it just wasn’t moving.”

James and Alex were already parked and waiting beside the car when they caught up. “How’s it going?” James asked.

“You try shoving seven teenagers into an SUV,” Dave said. “Well, six teenagers and a baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” Spencer objected.

Alex laughed. “That bad, huh?” she said.

“Hotch used the dad voice on us,” JJ reported.

“Oh, so it’s really bad.”

“Okay, you guys, stop,” Hotch said. “Let’s just go eat so we can get back in the car, okay?”

He was being optimistic, but he should have bargained on them taking their time ordering, he knew what he was getting into. Penelope had to be talked into ordering a Sprite to settle her stomach, Derek had to be talked out of getting a third breakfast sandwich, JJ tried to order six hashbrowns and nothing else, and Alex stopped Spencer from buying coffee and got him a hot chocolate instead.

Hotch settled for a hot coffee and an egg McMuffin and ate mostly in tired silence. “We don’t have too much longer to go,” James said, gathering up wrappers and empty cups and piling them onto a tray. “Hour and a half, maybe?”

“Yeah, and then we get to set up a tent and stay outside for three days,” Dave said. “I may have overestimated this trip.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun,” Alex said. “You guys will like camping. And this isn’t even really roughing it, they have real bathrooms at the campground.”

“I draw the line at shitting in the woods,” Dave said dryly. He checked his watch. “All right, kids, we should get back on the road. Emily- you better pee again, because I’m not stopping anymore.”

“All right, all right, I heard you,” she said, getting up from the table. “Come on, Garcia, if you’re going to puke, now’s the time.”

“No, I’m okay,” Penelope said. “But I’m never drinking Red Bull in a car again. Ever.”

“Thank god,” Hotch said.

“Alex, do you have any books I could borrow?” Spencer asked. “I finished mine.”

“I’m afraid not, darling,” she said. “You really read all of yours already?” He nodded. “Ah, you miscalculated.”

James fished his phone out of his pocket. “Here, you can borrow this,” he said. “We’re using Alex’s phone for the GPS and music so I’m not using mine. Play games or something?”

“Games?” he repeated skeptically.

Penelope snatched it out of his hand. “Not to worry, I know just the one,” she said. “James, can I download him something? Don’t worry, it’s a free one.”

“Yeah, go for it,” he said.

Hotch picked Spencer up out of his chair and set him on his feet. “What was that for?” he complained.

“You weren’t moving, and we need to get back on the road,” he said. He brushed Spencer’s hair off his forehead. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “An hour and a half, two hours maybe?”

“Jesus, no wonder you’re in such a bad mood today,” Hotch said. He caught Derek’s eye; Derek shot him a thumbs up back. He propelled Spencer forward. “Come on, let’s go.”

They got back into the car slowly this time, everyone full and a little sleepy. Spencer climbed into his middle seat without an argument, James’s phone clutched in his hand. “You really need to try to take a nap,” Hotch told him. “You can’t function on two hours of sleep.” Spencer sighed and his lower lip dropped in a pout, but he didn’t say anything.

Derek tossed Spencer’s favorite blanket at him. “Since you said you were cold,” he said.

He brightened. “You packed it anyway?”

“Hell yeah I did,” Derek said. “I know you think it’s babyish, but seriously, kid, nobody cares. We care more about you being in a bad mood from not sleeping.”

Spencer hesitated, then accepted the soft ivory blanket, hugging it to his chest. Derek climbed up into the seat beside him and buckled his seatbelt.

Penelope leaned forward in her seat. “Dave, can we please play something a little more exciting?” she wheedled. “I made you a showtunes playlist.”

“Please, no,” Dave said as he navigated the car back onto the interstate.

“I worked so hard to make it!” she said.

“Let her listen to it at least for a while,” Hotch said. “I mean...she did work hard to make it.”

Dave sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re not allowed to sing along.”

She sang along, loudly and with great passion.

Luckily, the chaos in the car had begun to settle. Spencer played games on James’s phone, frowning in concentration, while Derek put on his headphones and Emily leaned her head back to take a nap. JJ just stared sleepily out the window, watching the hills roll by.

It was just past eleven when they pulled into the campsite behind James’s hatchback; the backseat occupations had begun to perk up, although Penelope was still singing along to the Hamilton cast recording. “All right, everybody, we’re here,” Hotch said. “Who’s ready to put up tents?”

“Not Spencer,” Derek said. The youngest of their group was fast asleep, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder, his blanket clutched his his chest and James’s phone threatening to slip from his grip. Derek gave him a gentle nudge and pried the phone from his hand. “Hey, pretty boy, we made it.”

“Don’t wake him up,” Hotch warned.

“Okay, but I have to get out of the car too,” Emily said.

Hotch beckoned Alex over. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Can you get him?”

Alex peeked into the backseat. “Oh, no,” she smiled. “Okay, Derek, you get out first. Try not to- oh, never mind.”

Derek jostled him on his way out of the car and Spencer raised his head, blinking sleepily. “Sorry, pretty boy,” he said.

Alex leaned towards him. “Hi, we made it,” she said softly. “Do you want to get out of the car? You can go right back to sleep.”

He nodded, unclicking the seatbelt and climbing over to her with a barely concealed yawn. Hotch helped him out and he wrapped his arms around Alex’s neck, allowing her to pick him up. “Oh, baby, it’s okay,” she said, rubbing his back as he mumbled sleepily into her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m tired too, does this get me out of setting up the tent?” Emily asked.

“Absolutely not,” Hotch said. “Get out of the car.”

“I want someone to carry me and tell me I can take a nap.”

“Prentiss, I swear to god. Get out of the car.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #caitlin writes things #au: patron saint of lost causes #david rossi #aaron hotchner #james blake #alex blake #jj jareau #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #spencer is just a grumpy baby who needs a nap

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blu-joons · 4 years

Text

Telling The Fans You’re Pregnant ~ Jeon Jungkook

Switching on the camera of his laptop, his heart was pounding, looking behind him, his hand stretched out, yearning the feel of your skin against his. As your fingers intertwined, he pulled you closer, pushing his chair against yours, moving his arm to wrap around your frame.

“Hi Army!” He screamed, as the comments quickly began to fill with excited remarks. “Y/N’s here too.”

“Hey,” you nervously waved. Being on a live with Jungkook always terrified you, any time you spotted your name on a comment you liked to run away, but his grip was far too firm on you today, there was no way he could do any of this by himself.

Slowly a few of your own fans joined the stream as word quickly spread that the two of you were together, most fans adored the two of you together, but that didn’t stop the small bit of negativity from time to time.

“I wanted Y/N to come on live with me today, because as you can probably tell by the title of the stream, this is not just a surprise for you guys, but life has been a surprise for us too,” he proudly chuckled, meeting your eyes.

“it certainly has been a bit of a surprise.”

Many guesses quickly came, you couldn’t help but smile as many fans quickly guessed a duet between the two of you was coming. You pointed a few out to Jungkook, glancing at his blossoming cheeks, he was anxious, but thrilled too, excited to tell the world your news.

“A lot of you thinking we’ve written a song together, interesting. We have been making something together, but neither of us have the time to make a song just yet,” he added.

Out of shot, you caught his leg bouncing up and down with excitement, exactly how it had done when you first told him the news. He couldn’t believe it when you told him, he was ecstatic, he’d dreamt of having a baby with you for so long, hearing you say the words, felt like an absolute dream for him.

“I reckon we should put them out of their misery,” he smirked, looking across at you once more. You simply nodded, allowing him to take the lead on his own stream. If he didn’t say the words soon, he looked about ready to burst. “Are you guys ready for the surprise?”

You poked his hip, as he began to create a drum roll on his desk. He nodded for your head to come closer to him, resting along his broad shoulder, sending several hearts up into the stream. “Just tell them.”

“Y/N’s pregnant!” He yelled, throwing his arms in the air, “we’re having a baby!”

Instantly, messages of congratulations filled the screen, plenty of comments of surprise coming too. “I bet none of you saw that coming.”

“Neither did we,” he chuckled, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. The positive reaction from both your fans was the icing on the cake for him. “I’m so excited to finally be able to tell you all the news.”

It had been hard for him to keep it a secret, if he wasn’t internationally famous, he would have shouted it from the rooftops, but there was so much more that came with having a baby for the two of you. “Don’t worry, we’re still going to be making music.”

“The boys are so excited, they’re in competition for the next nine months to see who the best uncle will be.”

“No, we’ve not decided on a name just yet!”

“Jimin, get off our stream, of course we will not name our child Jimin!”

The two of you began to answer fan questions, noticing several things pop onto the screen, you wanted to keep them as informed as possible, easing their curiosity into what it must be look for two favourite idols to be expecting a baby with each other. “We really do feel so humbled by you guys, it’s nice to know you’re happy for us.”

“And obviously we want to bring you guys along for the journey, I’m going to try and film quite a bit, except for the bits when Y/N gets moody and annoying, nobody should have to sit through one of her mood swings,” he teased, earning a stern glare come from you.

“I’m carrying your child; I’m allowed to be moody if I want.”

His much bigger hand rested over yours, squeezing it gently. “Of course, you can be moody whenever, especially around Jimin if he comments one more time about naming our child Jimin.” From outside you could hear his familiar laugh letting go of fits of giggles.

If there was one thing the two of you were thankful for, it was the boys. They’d been on hand from the start to help the two of you with everything, whilst Jungkook had tried to be strong for you, it was around the boys when he could let go of all the things that were beginning to worry him.

“You guys have got so many questions; I don’t know where to start.”

“We’ve not got anything else to do, let’s just sit and answer a few,” you suggested, quickly covering a tired yawn that escaped from you.

“Let’s not,” Jungkook protested, “I’ll write a few down, and maybe we can do a question and answer for you guys at some point, right now, Y/N needs a nap.”

You tried to argue, but he was having none of it, and the fans quickly encouraged you to rest for the sake of the baby. The comments of adoration for Jungkook’s sweet gesture made you smile, glancing across at his bed.

“I think we’ll say goodbye here guys, thank you for all your support,” he smiled, waving quickly before turning the laptop off.

Soon after, he helped you to lay down, slowly laying you down so your head rested perfectly into the pillow, tucking a blanket over your frame.

“I can’t believe how well they reacted,” he smiled, “I thought that some of them would be happy for us, but I didn’t see one negative comment. I think this pregnancy really will bring both sets of fans together,” he encouraged, laying down in the small space you’d left for him.

“I hope you’re right, for once, I want all your fans to love me, it’s all I’ve ever really wanted from them all, acceptance.”

His arm draped over your bump, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “It’s impossible not to love you, and now, you’re pregnant, that just makes me fall for you even more.”

“I don’t know whether it’s because I’m hormonal, or that you’re cute, but you need to stop talking, before I start crying, and that’s not good for you, me, and baby.”

“I promise, I’ll stop. Just know I love you and bump very much.”

“I love you too, we both do.”

---

Masterlist

#bts #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook one shot #bts reaction #bts reactions #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts drabble #bts one shot #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop fluff

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

Text

Ok friends, I’m cracking up sitting here right now, because I just took a quick trip to get bagels, came inside with the bag of bagels in my hand, and then sat down to post today’s chapter before allowing myself the reward of eating breakfast... and this is how the first line of today’s chapter begin:

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other...

I got iced coffee instead of hot, but still, I guess it was meant to be! Hope you enjoy Chapter 15. @perryavenue is going to recognize where I got my inspiration for this one...

David x Patrick, A03, 3k this chapter, 48k so far.

Chapter 15

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other, listening to see if Patrick is awake yet. He was hoping to surprise him with breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, sunny Saturday mornings mean long lines at the bagel place, and it all took a lot longer than he had hoped.

David deposits the bagels on the counter, spotting Patrick sitting outside on the lanai. Drinks in hand, he joins him at the table and leans over to give him a quick kiss.

“Successful trip?” Patrick asks, taking the lid off his tea and inhaling appreciatively.

“Mmm, yes. I checked several of the bagels on the way home. The French toast flavor is overrated, but they do an excellent marble rye.”

“Leave any for me?”

“Even I can’t eat a dozen bagels in half an hour. Three, maybe, although that would still be a mistake. There are plenty left for you to choose from.”

Patrick grins at him and leans back, putting his bare feet up on David’s lap. David frowns.

“What, are foot rubs before coffee incorrect?”

David mock-glares at Patrick, even though he loves these silly call-backs to their history together. “Bare feet outdoors is incorrect.”

“But there’s a swimming pool.”

“The pool is over there,” David waves his hand. “You are here, sitting at a table, eating breakfast. Not swimming.”

“Technically I was reading the news on my phone. Not eating breakfast.”

“Keep antagonizing me and there won’t be any breakfast in your future, either.”

Patrick grins at him, then removes his feet from David’s lap and goes inside to retrieve the bagels, along with plates, cream cheese and lox. Ordinarily David would insist on toasting his bagel, but these are so fresh and warm that they demand to be eaten immediately. They busy themselves with their food for a few minutes, David moaning in appreciation, mostly just to watch Patrick react.

“So, I had an idea for what we could do today.”

“Is eating a pile of bagels and then taking a nap not good enough for you?”

Patrick chuckles. “I was actually thinking of going kayaking.”

David nearly chokes on his food, and Patrick pats his back good-naturedly. “Kayaking?” He doesn’t screech, but it is a near thing. “What about me, exactly, suggests that I would want to go kayaking?”

“Come on, David. We’ve been sitting around here for weeks. I did just get the all clear from the doctor. It’ll be fun.”

David does not think for a minute that it will be fun, as kayaking will undoubtedly involve bugs, unstable vehicles, and the threat of drowning. But Patrick has been beached, so to speak, ever since his injury, and David knows it has been weighing on him.

“I don’t suppose we could go on a nice, safe hike instead?”

Patrick laughs. “We can do that another day. I called a place about a half hour from here, they have two boats available this afternoon. Just give it a try. If you hate it, we won’t stay out long.”

Much to his surprise, David does not hate it.

They show up at the launching area in their swim trunks and shirts, David with his long-sleeved swim shirt on, and Patrick with some kind of sports related jersey. Their guide makes them wear ugly life preservers, which ruin David’s look but do give him a bit of relief when it comes to his drowning concern. After a short lesson, during which Patrick asks lots of excited questions and David tries valiantly to follow along, they each get into a kayak and are pushed out into the water.

The sun is shining rather enthusiastically, and David is glad that he has sunglasses on – he even made them stop along the way to buy a cheap pair, in case they wind up in the water. Patrick bought a ridiculous strap that holds his on his head, and he’s got a ball cap on as well, so there’s not much to see of him except his lovely pale arms which David very much enjoyed slathering in sunscreen.

David pulls his attention away from Patrick and focuses on stroking his paddle through the water, trying to put the guide’s instructions into action. Patrick stays near him, offering quiet corrections, and soon they both fall into a comfortable rhythm.

David knows that he’s in better shape now than he’s been in for most of his life. Although running doesn’t do much for his upper body, at least he’s got stamina. He tries to relax and enjoy it. If he paddles just right, the kayak cuts through the water without very much effort on his part. It’s kind of neat. Soothing, even, almost like the way it feels when he gets into a groove on a run.

They aren’t out on the Gulf, as ocean kayaking is far beyond their skill level. Instead, they are making their way down an inlet of some kind, a broad waterway with docks and houses on both sides. Soon they are out in the bay, and Patrick directs them past a piling with an egret’s nest on top, over to a bristly bunch of trees at the water’s edge.

“These are mangroves,” Patrick says, indicating the dense tangle of scrubby looking trees with visible roots. “They’ve adapted to living in salt water, extracting the fresh water they need. Some of them push the salt out onto their leaves. The leaves even taste salty.”

David doesn’t ask how Patrick knows this. He’d just wind up watching him lick a leaf.

They paddle closer, and David can see into the clusters of plants, the roots and branches weaving together.

“Want to go through?”

David has no idea what Patrick is talking about, but he follows him as he kayaks around the edge of a cluster. There’s an overhang, and what looks like a tunnel into the middle of the clump of mangroves.

“Are you serious?” David asks under his breath, but Patrick is already nearing the entrance.

“Go slow,” Patrick says over his shoulder. “Try not to point into them, and if you do get stuck, just grab on carefully and lever yourself off. Remember not to overbalance.”

It’s a recipe for disaster, but David gently eases himself into the tunnel. It’s cooler and dim inside, with branches and green leaves all around him. It smells like low tide, musty and brackish. The nose of his kayak gets hung up briefly as he turns too hard in one direction and for a brief moment it lists dangerously sideways, but he takes a breath and then uses his paddle to back up a bit and set himself on a straighter path.

He catches Patrick looking back at him, having executed some kind of fancy twisting maneuver so that he can see David. “Nice paddling, David.”

They rest for a minute there, Patrick showing David how to move his paddle to make his kayak go sideways (“it’s like a figure eight”) with limited success. Then Patrick spends some time pointing out to David the difference between the red, white, and black mangroves, which doesn’t make any sense because they are all clearly green.

David doesn’t argue with him. It’s far too nice here, hidden among the curving branches with Patrick who is so clearly, uncomplicatedly happy. David will wear an ugly life jacket and take his chances with the alligators anytime if it makes Patrick smile.

After they extract themselves from the mangroves, Patrick makes them paddle into the wind in order to reach a spot where they can pull up on to the beach. It’s less pleasant than drifting in the trees, but it’s worth it when their kayaks land on a sandy shore. Patrick jumps out of his boat first, pulling the bright orange monstrosity up out of the water, and then returns to help David get out of his without tumbling over, which David very much appreciates.

They sit down and stretch their legs, Patrick continuing to chatter about the birds they saw on the way over, how he’s never seen so many of the pink ones (roseate spoonbills, they’re called, but Patrick likes to correct David, so he pretends he doesn’t remember), how they’re fortunate to see so many birds of some kind or another this time of year.

After a while David just pulls Patrick against him, and Patrick shuts up, kissing David with the taste of salt on his tongue. They make out for a while, alone on the shore, their kayaks shifting slightly as the water laps against their sterns. Patrick lies back on the sand and David hovers close, his elbow braced against the ground as his other hand slides Patrick’s sunglasses off so that he has more skin to kiss.

They can’t go too far, for obvious reasons, but it feels wonderful to kiss and cuddle in the sun.

Finally they sit up, a little shy, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“Thanks for doing this today,” Patrick says, and David’s heart swells. It’s not such a big deal, participating in an activity just because your partner asked you to. And it really wasn’t a hardship.

“It’s fun,” he concedes.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to come.” Patrick looks away, out across the water.

David puts a hand on Patrick’s chin and turns his face towards him, until his brown eyes are locked onto his own. “You asked.” There’s very little he wouldn’t do for Patrick. He can’t quite say that out loud, but he doesn’t have to. He thinks Patrick hears it anyway.

That night David’s putting away the remains of their take-out (Thai food, purchased on the way back from their kayaking adventure) when Patrick dances over to him and presents him with a package.

“What’s this? Aside from an already opened and poorly resealed cardboard box?”

“Open it and find out.”

Inside under the blue tissue paper is a menorah, a pretty silver-plated one with a leaf and branch design. It can’t have been cheap.

“Patrick, you didn’t have to-”

“I always imagined getting you a nice menorah, when we finally had a place together. I had seen this one online, and when I realized it was Hanukkah, well. Here it is.”

David just stares at it for a moment, tongue-tied.

“Do you like it?”

He wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him soundly. “I love it.”

It’s actually the end of Hanukkah already, so they load up the menorah with the appropriate number of candles and David mumbles what he remembers of the blessings. It’s a rather lovely moment on top of a particularly lovely day, and David has to take a minute to keep it from overwhelming him.

Patrick notices, of course, and wraps his arms around him from behind, his chin on David’s shoulder, and they breathe together for a while. When David relaxes Patrick nuzzles his ear. “Want to go to bed?”

David turns in Patrick’s arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the eager look on Patrick’s face. “Someone’s having a good day.”

Patrick captures David’s lips in a kiss, hot and insistent, and when he pulls back David is breathing hard. “Tell me you’re not.”

He shakes his head, happiness bubbling out of him. “Can’t do it.”

They make it back to the bedroom just before clothes start to come off, and soon they are naked and wrapped around each other, hands skimming over heated skin. Patrick seems to have a plan, he’s wound up and raring to go, and David loves it.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks as Patrick straddles him, holding his head in his hands and nipping along David’s jaw.

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick says into the shell of David’s ear. “Open me up like this, and then fuck me.”

A thrum of arousal pulses through David at Patrick’s words. They’ve had a lot of sex over the past week, but Patrick hasn’t asked for this yet.

Their initial attempts at penetrative sex hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, back when they first got together. After a few mishaps they had ignored it for a while, content to turn each other on and get each other off in a variety of easier ways. David was happy to introduce Patrick to the pleasures of a really excellent blow job, and Patrick was, as always, a quick study, finding that he loved to bring David to the edge and then tease him until he was reduced to a writhing, begging mess.

And David was always quick to reassure Patrick that penetrative sex wasn’t the only way to have sex, that no matter what he thought in the past, they could make each other happy in any way they were comfortable with.

But Patrick was nothing if not determined, and so eventually they made their way back to it, first Patrick tentatively pushing into David, and later, when Patrick was in just the right mood, Patrick asking for David to do the same for him.

“You don’t have to like it,” David remembers saying to Patrick, one night when Patrick was feeling some combination of bad and nervous and embarrassed about the whole issue. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. It really is.”

At some point, though, something happened that changed Patrick’s mind. David’s pretty sure it had to do more with Patrick’s headspace than anything else, his gradual letting go of heteronormativity and becoming more comfortable with his view of himself as queer, but his prostrate probably factored into it as well. Afterwards Patrick clung to David like an octopus, both of them sweaty and blissed out.

“How do people not do this all the time?” Patrick asked, pressing his face into David’s neck. “How can it feel so good? Why didn’t you tell me?”

David had laughed and hugged Patrick tight, too caught up in his fiancé’s astonished joy to wonder how he was going to keep the attention of such an amazing man. It had been a very good night.

Tonight was shaping up to be even better.

Patrick holds himself over David while David finds the lube, and lets out a low moan when David reaches down and starts to press at his hole. David takes his time, circling gently, then increasing the pressure, all while Patrick moans and sways above him.

Patrick leans down to kiss him, his mouth open and trailing wetly down David’s jaw, catching on the stubble. He’s got a hand on David’s chest, and then Patrick shifts so his mouth can continue its journey, finding one of David’s nipples and sucking hard.

“God, Patrick,” David whines, just holding on to Patrick’s hips while Patrick bites at one nipple and then the other, sending sparks of electricity through his body. “Come here, let me-” David gets his fingers back where he wants them, and then he’s pressing inside, Patrick fucking his fingers.

“Ah – David – oh god, yes, there, oh-” Patrick pushes back against David’s fingers, rocking back and forth, hands grasping at David’s arm and his chest and then valiantly pulling at David’s cock, although his attention is understandably elsewhere. “Ohhhh, David, now, please, fuck me now.”

“Like this, or…?”

Patrick slides off David’s fingers and stretches out on the bed, pulling David on top of him. “Like this. Please. Now. Come on.”

David’s helpless to resist, Patrick’s big eyes pleading with him, his hands running up and down David’s arms, grabbing at his ass, squirming underneath him like he can’t wait a moment more.

“Okay, baby, okay. I’ve got you.” And he does, lubing himself up with a few quick strokes, and then positioning himself carefully between Patrick’s quivering thighs, one hand bracing himself on the bed as he slides into Patrick’s tight heat.

“David,” Patrick moans, “oh, fuck, yes.” He’s reaching for David, trying to pull him into a kiss, and it’s messy and breaks David’s rhythm and he doesn’t care, it’s so good, Patrick wanting him like this. David’s heart is slamming against his chest in time with his thrusts, and Patrick is writhing underneath him. The slick slide of their bodies feels so good, David doesn’t know how he can hold it all inside.

“Patrick, baby, I love you, I love you,” David pants out, heat pooling inside him, a familiar tightness building.

“Come on, David, oh god, come on,” Patrick pleads roughly.

David’s hips are moving frantically now, his muscles burning. He’s shaking, dripping sweat everywhere, and he’s close, he just needs to keep going a little longer, for Patrick, he can do it.

“David, I’m so close, oh god, you can, David-” Patrick gets a hand on his own cock and pulls, and David feels him, feels him quaking and shivering.

David comes with a rush of sensation, light exploding behind his eyes. Patrick is almost there too, and David gets a hand on him, both of their hands on Patrick’s cock, twisting together, over and over. Suddenly Patrick’s back arches and his whole body convulses as he comes, head thrown back in ecstasy, a long whine falling from his open mouth.

David collapses next to Patrick on the bed, turning his head to press his face against Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick drapes himself over David’s side, arm sliding over his back, nose digging into his collarbone. They lie there until the aftershocks subside, and then some, not wanting to move.

“Gonna have to change the sheets,” David finally says.

“That’s the first thing you think about, at a time like this?” Patrick teases, a shaky hand brushing David’s hair out of his face and onto his forehead.

“No, it’s not,” David says. “But it’s the first thing I can say without blushing, and I don’t have the energy for that.”

“David,” Patrick says, pressing a kiss to David’s lips, then pulling back before David has a chance to enjoy it. “Are you feeling things tonight?”

David snorts. “I’m feeling quite a lot. Seemed like you were, too.”

Patrick starts to hum <i>“Feeling Groovy”</i> and David can tell it’s coming, he can tell before Patrick even gets a whole phrase out, and he slaps a hand over Patrick’s mouth.

“For once could we finish up our lovemaking without a concert?”

Patrick is laughing against David’s hand, and he bites gently at the ball of his thumb. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his breath warm against David’s skin.

“No,” David confesses, too open to argue even about this, about Patrick’s awful love songs whispered in his ears at highly inappropriate times. “I don’t want you to stop. Don’t stop any of it.”

“Deal,” Patrick says, easing David’s hand away from his mouth and wrapping him in his arms. David settles in, not caring anymore about sticky sheets and sweaty skin. All of that can wait for tomorrow. For now, he’s just going to focus on how wonderful it feels to drift off to sleep with the love of his life holding him close.

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #kayaking #David x Patrick #sexytimes

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marvelmadam08 · 4 years

Text

Baby Blues 14/?

Summary: Chris takes Alex out on a date.

Warnings: Swearing, nudity, Mature content 18+

A/N: I had to reevaluate some things, but I’m back now.

~~~~~~

8 Weeks (And 5 Days Old)

Ace's new favorite place to nap was on his momma, Alex couldn't even attempt to move away without waking him. Ace could sleep through almost anything except that. The doorbell? No reaction. Dodger or Chris making noise? Nothing. Alex moving him so she can pee? He screams bloody murder.

Which is how Alex conducted her video call with Sarah, her editor, in bed and Ace sleeping on her chest.

"He is just so freaking cute." Sarah pouts "And he looks just like Chris."

"I know." Alex turned the camera back to her face "So what's going on? What's the talk around the publishing house?"

"You or rather the fact that you aren't back yet."

"I've been a little busy."

Sarah laughs softly "They know, and they want to know if you got the baby gifts. And I think I speak for everyone when I ask: what's going on in that head of yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your next book. People are awaiting the next Alex Evans best seller."

Alex chuckled "I haven't thought about writing since Alexander was born. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Well, maybe a spin off series from your last one? Everyone loves a different perspective."

"No." Alex shook her head "Doing that just feels like I've run out of ideas and I'm trying to hang on to my fifteen minutes of fame."

"Fifteen minutes my ass, and I say that as both friend and editor. I know you have something floating around in that head of yours and plenty of abandoned drafts on your laptop. I've seen your desktop."

Alex shrugged "I guess I could look through those. Maybe it'll spark something."

Down the hall Alex heard the front door open and close followed by Dodger running through the house, and Chris's voice.

"Al?" Chris called out

"In here. I'll talk to you later Sarah."

"Okay, think about what I said."

Chris came in and saw Alex and Ace lying on the bed, and the smile he already had on his face got brighter. He crawled up on his side of the bed, keeping himself propped up on his elbow.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" He asked

"Hello to you too."

"I'm sorry, hi.” he leaned over Ace to give Alex a peck on the lips “Do you wanna go on a date with me?"

"Chris, we're married." Alex jokingly reminded him

"And I want to take my gorgeous wife out on a date tonight." He slightly pouts

"You must have another wife, because this one doesn’t plan on doing anything that requires a bra.”

Chris smirked “You don’t have to put on one. C’mon Al, you deserve it, you've been all about Ace since he was born. We need a night out together- alone."

Alex smiled "Baby as much as I love the gesture, it's last minute. Who's gonna watch Ace?"

"I called my mom and she said yes before I could even finish."

"You're serious?"

He nods "Go get dressed, I’ll watch the offspring." Chris pulled Ace out of Alex's arms, giving him soft kisses when he began to stir "Hey sleepyhead, guess what, you’re gonna hang out with Grandma tonight."

***

Getting Alex out of the house was more difficult than Chris expected. She changed twice, then Ace spit up on the third outfit, which wouldn’t have happened if Alex wasn’t trying to sneak him in the car. And then Alex went into extensive detail about Ace’s sleeping and eating schedule and the escape plan in case of disasters.

"Al, the the fourth time you've checked your phone. Ace is fine, if something went wrong, which it won't, my mother would call us." Chris assured her

"I know, I know." She sighed then set her phone face down on the table "I'm not gonna check it anymore."

Both Alex and Chris looked at the phone, he knew she would reach for it and she knew he would try to stop her. It only mattered who moved faster to grab it.

"I’m just gonna check my email."

Chris pulled her phone away before she could attempt to reach for it, then proceeded to shove the phone down his pants.

“No phones.”

“Fine, no phones.”

"Good, because I want your undivided attention." Chris lightly traced patterns on the back of her left hand, playing with the ring on her finger "Is it a crime that I want to spend some quality time with my beautiful, sexy wife?"

"Not at all, when she gonna get here?" Alex picked at the food on her plate

Although it was meant as a joke, Chris could see the sudden discomfort in Alex's eyes. "What's that about?"

"What’s what about?"

"You've been brushing of my compliments all night. Actually you’ve been doing it for a while now. Are you okay?”

She shrugged “I’m fine really. I’m just thinking about Ace right now. He did the cutest little thing the other day, he sneezed so hard that he woke himself up from his nap. And today when he was taking his nap and I was talking to Sarah, he was snoring the same way you do.”

“Are you getting ready to start writing again?” Chris smiled “That’s great.”

“I didn’t agree to anything yet, she just wants to know where my head is.”

He nodded “And?”

“I told her the truth, I’ve been busy with Ace and I haven’t thought about writing at all.” she sighed “And I think I’m blocked, both mentally and physically.”

“Babe your breasts are not broken.”

“Thanks, but that not what I meant.” Alex whispered

Chris raise and eyebrow “Then what do you mean?”

“What happened the other night when you stormed off? Was it me? Did I say something?”

“No, no it wasn’t you.” he shook his head “I’d gotten so use to you saying no, I jumped to conclusions.”

“Well I kind of gave you room to jump.” Alex huffed “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately, I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself. I looked in the mirror before we left and I still didn’t recognize myself without Ace napping on me. And physically-”

“What?”

“I know you’re trying but, you can’t tell me that I don’t look different since I had Ace.”

Chris chuckled and moved his seat next to Alex’s.

“What are you doing?”

“About to whisper everything I’ve wanted to do to you for the past few weeks.” Chris’s eyes darted down to low cut neckline on her dress “Al-”

***

Alex fumbled with the keys in her hand, unsure if it was because ti was dark or because of Chris nibbling on her ear. He slipped his hand between the slit on the dress.

"Can I get the door opened first? You wouldn't want the neighbors to see would you?"

"I don't know we've never had an audience before." Chris kissed along Alex's exposed skin, his hand squeezed her thigh. "Could be fun."

Alex gasped "That mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble."

Chris's fingers skimmed along the lace of Alex's panties "Hello Trouble."

Alex pushed the door open, she nearly fell forward until Chris caught her by the waist. They manage to stumble their way into the kitchen. Chris sat Alex on counter, slipping his hands underneath her dress and hooking his fingers on her panties.

"I see date night went well." Chris's mother announced when she entered the kitchen

"Oh shit- hey Mom." Chris cleared his throat and awkwardly stood between Alex's legs, his hands still on her ass and his pants getting just a bit too tight in the groin area

"Thanks for watching Alexander for us on short notice." Alex straightened her dress out, pushing Chris hands back

"Any time, he was such a sweetheart." Lisa assured "I just put him down, so be quiet, because if you wake my grandchild I'll be furious."

"Yes ma'am." Alex half laughed still embarrassed from being caught

"I'll let myself out. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Both Alex and Chris waited to hear the front door close before breaking out into fits of laughter

"I can't believe we forgot she was in here." Alex covered her face with her hands

"Me either." Chris moved Alex's hands from her face, then leaned in, pressing his lips to her neck "You wanna keep going?"

"Yeah." Alex pulled the at knot keeping her dress closed, the top half slipped off her shoulders and down to her waist. “Now where were we?”

Alex pushed her hips forward, she could feel Chris's raging erection on her thigh. Chris kissed and massaged Alex's breasts, he enjoyed the small whimpers that left her mouth with each flick of his tongue.

"Chris..." Alex pulled at his hair

“Ah!” Chris pulled away from her, covering his eye

“What happened?”

“You- squirted me in the eye.” he laughed

“I what?” Alex felt something wet trailing down her chest “Oh I’m leaking.” she gasped “Oh, I’m leaking!”

Chris wiped the excess breastmilk from his cheek “And you have surprisingly good aim.”

"I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean to." Alex hopped off the counter giving Chris another kiss before rushing out of the kitchen "Don't move I'll be right back."

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta pump.”

Chris groaned “Don’t we all.”

#chris evans x reader #dad!chris #mature #marvel fanfiction #black reader #chris evans x black ofc #100 days of productivity #voteearly

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