#nosy maria? why the fuck are any of you back here- you all deserve whats coming to you at this point .
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thinking about the differences in how maria reacts in ch2 era cc & nosy, respectively, to the friends returning twenty years after the house.
cc maria, she's more hesitantly receptive to them to a point. depends on what they do, if they still try going after the family like they originally planned or not, if they try getting her to run off back home. because by that point she's so tethered to johnny who has been her literal only real pillar in the last two decades, and the familiar-but-grown faces of her old friends and sister are at that point basically strangers to her. twenty years is such a long time for people to change and for all she knows, they arent the same people who was close to back then and she knows she isnt the same girl they knew all that time ago, either. but i say she's hesitantly receptive because truly, think she keeps away from them as much as she can until she gets some sort of cue from johnny whether or not he feels its safe to engage really.
nosy maria would have had the same outlook had it not been for that reuniting with donnie about midway into those two decades & the friends never seemingly bothering to look for lee. that entire scenario shuts her off almost completely to nearly any sort of hesitance by the time ch2 rolls in. the hardest ones still are with ana and danny, thats her little sister - of course its going to be difficult and complicated even then. and danny was her longest friend of the group, its equally as difficult facing him, too. but them all coming back around makes her think that donnie likely said something, at some point, and the fact that he does show up again... but, she's angry. at all of them. because them coming back twenty years down the line means that they - to her - just simply never bothered to try coming back at any time in those two decades when they easily could have. they want to show up now instead, midlife-crisis? guilt eating away at them for leaving her and lee to rot back there without even trying to come back? without trying to get officials to come out to look for him at least?
maria just doesnt understand why. why bother coming back at all, now?
in twenty years, her & lee made a new life for themselves among the family, with johnny, moved past their old lives for the most part. why bother coming back all this time later for no other reason but personal revenge, considering they all believed they were just dead to have buried empty caskets for them both? to maria, its just: you all had your "closure", as fake and selfish as it was, it was understandable to a degree, i get it. but then why pretend like you give a shit now when you didnt back then. when you havent all this time. when i doubt we were at the forefront of your minds all these years - because you werent for mine / ours. we moved on. why couldnt you?
and i think like with maria's reunion with donnie -- altho probably not with ana & danny -- but similar to that reply, i think maria develops that hazy-face when looking at them all. makes it easier to disconnect further from their familiarity, makes it easier view them as any other target, any other potential victim.and i think, if shes alone when any of them stumble onto her, she slips into toying with them - plays role of captive all over again, disarms them. lets them get comfortable with her, lets them spill who all tagged along with them, what they planned to do coming back, where they left their cars, etc. depends how it all goes down truly.
#cc maria? hesitant. but if johnny allowed it? would be more willing to approach them on neutral terms.#nosy maria? why the fuck are any of you back here- you all deserve whats coming to you at this point .#[ ♡ ] ── * maria f. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * no one saved you.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * cold case.
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Together Without You: Chapter Four
A/N: Hey guys! I am SO sorry this took so long to write. I had a bunch of midterms and then it was spring break and then I was in Spain and then coronavirus happened so life has been a shitshow and a half. BUT now I am back! I hope you all like this chapter :)
You enter your apartment and feel that you never want to leave ever again. You thought you had some sort of direction to how Nikki would react to this. He was a rockstar for a living, guys like that don’t want kids. Guys like that just want to live the bachelor life until the end of their days. Yet, Nikki said the unthinkable, he wanted this baby. Your baby. His baby.
You walk over to the couch and collapse. Everything inside of you just wanted time to stand still. You did not want life to move forward to the point where you would have a child with a man who you did not love. Being that girl always seemed second class to you. Something that you were above. Something that you laughed at when you saw girls your age with baby carriages. But here you were, about to be that girl you looked down upon. You sigh and lay down on your side, staring at the wall in front of you. How could you sit around for three days waiting for him to call? What if he doesn’t even call? You did give your phone number to Mick as he seemed to be most responsible out of the remaining three men. These thoughts rattled through your head at such a high of a velocity that you did not seem to notice Maria wander in.
“Long day at work?” She sits beside your horizontal body.
“One could say you,” You say, feeling like this has got to be some sort of cruel joke.
“Wanna talk about it?” You look up at her, she’s looking at you with a concerned expression on her face.
“Maybe later.” She nodded at that and stared at the spot on the wall that caught your attention.
“Well,” She looks back at you, “If you change your mind and want to talk, I am right down the hall.”
“I know, Mom,” You say mockingly, not before feeling a sudden pang in your gut at your accidental choice of words.
“You know I’m always on your side (Y/N).” Now she was acting suspiciously. You slowly look up at her. “You should never have to feel like you cannot tell me something. I’m not going to judge you. I care about you a lot and I just want you to know that I am here for you.” She knew.
“When did you find out?” Your voice putters out of you.
“Earlier today. Saw the positive pregnancy test and knew it couldn’t be mine.” She places a hand on your shoulder.
“I should’ve hidden it better.” Maria snorts softly.
“Or maybe I should have been less nosy.” You smirk. She was the household’s busy body. You both were silent before Maria brought up what was truly on her mind. “So what’s the plan?”
You sit up.
“That seems to be the million-dollar question.” You run a hand through your hair and let your palm fall into your lap. “He wants it for some fucking reason.” You were getting worked up.
“Do you want it?”
“I have no fucking idea!” You almost screamed in frustration, a lump beginning to form in your throat. “This was never the plan, ever.”
“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” You rested your head on her shoulder and held her tight. You both stayed in that position, quiet. You did not want to move from this comfort but you also did not want to be pitied any more than you already have been in the last few days. You pull away from your friend.
“I think I’m going to bed early tonight.” She nods. You get up, walk over to your bedroom, and lock the door. You collapse on top of the comforter. These next three days were going to be tedious.
You spent those days doing everything but thinking of the life growing inside of you. You cleaned the whole apartment, worked doubles and slept. Your brain was constantly occupied, so when you finally got the phone call, it took you by surprise.
“Hello?
“Yeah, hi, I’m coming over.” You were caught off guard.
“Excuse me, but who is this?”
“It’s Nikki. Where do you live?”
“627 Maple Street” You felt your voice soften slightly.
“Alright, be there in five.” And then you heard the dial tone. Well shit, guess he was coming over. As he said, he was there in five minutes. When you opened your front door, he looked as how he always did, stoned, pale and dangerous. He left his sunglasses on as he walked past you and sat on the couch. He leaned back into the cushions and took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lighting it with the lighter that had magically found its way to his other hand. He did look like a masterpiece of some sort, that bad boy that every girl wanted one night with just to prove that they could. Unfortunately, you could.
“So, what exactly is this conversation going to be?” You say as you sit on the couch as far away from him as humanly possible. He took a deep puff of his cigarette and seemed to stare off into nowhere.
“You and the baby,” He said curtly, “And how I will support you both.” You did not like that phrasing at all.
“Well when you put it that way, it sounds like I’m going to be your fucking burden,” You let the anger come through into your voice. “Besides, I don’t even think I want this baby.”
“No,” He looked over at you, “You are having this baby.”
“Why do you even want this?” Your confusion was beginning to get to the same level as your anger, “This is a baby you made with some random girl you met at a party. Why would you want this kid?”
“Because it’s my chance to do something right for once,” His voice now was rising, “Do you know what it’s like to be a fuck up all your life? Your Dad leaves and wants nothing to do with you. Your Mom is a whore who wants you out of the house the second you turn fucking 15. They were a bunch of assholes who never forgot to remind me how much they didn’t want me and it made me do shitty things. Now this baby is the chance for me to do something good for once in my life like my dad and mom never did for me. I would love that kid unconditionally because that is what a kid deserves and what I want to do.”
You sat there silently taking in all the words. This was so much more than you originally expected. Not only did he want this kid, but he also wanted to love it too. You stare at him as he takes another drag from his cigarette, letting out a frustrated huff of smoke.
“Nikki… I understand where you are coming from,” Well that was a shitty way to start that sentence, “But my life is also just starting. You may have millions of dollars and an established career, but I have none of that and a baby will just make it so I can never get anything remotely like that.” He sighed and put the cigarette out on your coffee table.
“I know I am asking a lot out of you, I’m aware of that.” He took his sunglasses off and you could see the exhaustion and sadness in his eyes, “And I know you don’t know me and you only know the side of me that parties. I can be more than that and I want to be.” He moved toward where you were sitting and suddenly pulled your hands into his. “I never beg, but please give this a chance.” Even when he touched your hands, you felt something that he didn’t. There was no way that you could say no.
“Fine.” You let your hands remain in his, “Let’s try this.” You saw the essence of a smile on his lips. It went away as quickly as it appeared.
“Ok,” He pulled away from you and put his sunglasses back on. “We have to figure out-”
“But,” You cut him off and he turned to you, “That does not mean I trust you. Nikki, I have heard about what you do and I know that you and your lifestyle are two things I am not familiar with. If you fuck over me or my child, we’re leaving.” He pursed his lips and avoided eye contact with you. He relit his next cigarette.
“I won’t-”
“I don’t know that Nikki.” He took in a deep drag.
“Fine,” He looked at the floor, “If I fuck up, you can leave.”
“Good,” Although he was beautiful, he was like gasoline. Anything he does wrong could ignite something that would have God knows what kind of consequences. You could not help but stare at him as he lifted himself off your couch and began to make his way to your door.
“I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for next week,” You said as he was halfway out the door, “You should come.” He looked back at you and nodded.
“I will,” And at that, he was gone again.
#nikki sixx#nikki sixx fanfiction#nikki sixx fan fiction#nikki sixx one shot#nikki sixx fan fic#Motley Crue#Tommy Lee#tommy lee imagine#The Dirt#Douglas Booth#douglas booth imagine#The Dirt 2019#the dirt2019#theatre of pain#doctor feelgood#Vince Neil#Mick Mars#rock#glam rock#80s rock#nikki sixx imagine
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“Everything you think I need isn’t what I need. What I need is you.” take your pic I'll be stoked with anything you write
for you, @ubiestcaelum! i hope you like it :) [also, y’all, just in case: warnings for non-graphic panic attack & references to child abuse & PTSD.]
EDIT: Now with a companion fic from Alex’s POV.
want to send a prompt?
Michael has no idea how to help Alex on bad days. The airman had been right, when he came to the trailer and pointed out that they don’t really know each other – they’ve never spent a lot of time talking. As teenagers, they had to sneak around to spend time together, and there were far more interesting things to do. And then, well – after that, there was never enough time. They’ve been better about it lately, while trying to learn how to be friends, but Michael still doesn’t know how Alex lost his leg, or what to do when the other man turns pale and withdrawn in the middle of the Wild Pony during a particularly raucous bar fight.
The crowd is thick and loud around them, talking and laughing as Max’s coworkers haul the two combatants out the front door. Everyone else sitting around their table returns to their conversations; Liz is leaning against Max’s shoulder, laughing at something he murmured in her ear, while Isobel and Kyle Valenti toss verbal barbs back and forth across their beers. And all the while, Alex seems to get smaller and smaller, pulling into himself and
It blows his mind that no one else seems to notice how Alex has pulled away from the conversation and looks like he’s about to puke. He smiles and nods along when he’s forced, but Michael can see the facade, and the way it seems to slip lower with each passing second. He glances at Liz, hiding it with a long drag from his beer bottle. She’s one of Alex’s best friends; surely, she’d notice Alex’s tension? The way none of his smiles reach his eyes, or the slight trembling in his fingers when he forgets to grip the bottle in his hands tightly enough to hide it?
But even if Liz knows Alex well enough to pick up on the signs that he’s so good at hiding, she’s too lost in Max to notice tonight. He almost wishes he could be that oblivious … but for the past two months of friendship with Alex, he’s made a study of the man’s tells and nonverbal cues. He has an intimate knowledge of the slope of his shoulders and the lines in his face, and can close his eyes and picture exactly the way Alex looks when he’s relaxed and smiling. It’s a little pathetic, he supposes, his inability to look away from Alex. It’s been made clear, time and time again, that Alex doesn’t want Michael as anything more than a friend, and friends definitely don’t do that sort of thing. But there’s no switch to flip, no way to force himself to let go of the feelings he’s had since the day he stole Alex’s guitar from the music room, and Michael doesn’t think he’d do it, even if he could.
“Alex?” No one else is going to do anything, and Michael is physically incapable of watching Alex struggle alone right in front of him. “Hey, you good, man?” He keeps his voice quiet, and leans forward so that only the intended recipient of his whisper will hear. Michael knows enough of who Alex is to know that he wouldn’t want attention brought to the faraway look in his eyes, and he certainly wouldn’t want anyone fussing over him. So, uncertain as he is, Michael shoves his own chair between the others and Alex, shielding him from view with the bulk of his body, and tentatively reaches out to brush his fingertips against the back of Alex’s hand in an effort to get his attention.
A full-body flinch is the response, and Michael yanks his hand back as Alex finally turns his head to look at him, the motion jerky. Awkward silence falls between them, even as someone turns the music back up on the jukebox in the corner, and Michael rubs at the back of his neck uncertainly. “You want to get out of here?” he asks finally, after another minute of staring, wherein it seems like Alex is trying to say something without opening his mouth, and all Michael can worry about it overstepping one of the many lines that have been drawn between them.
The responding nod is immediate, if a little uncoordinated. They didn’t come together, but Michael doesn’t think he can just walk Alex to his car and watch him drive off like this. What if he’s too distracted to drive safely? What if there’s something really wrong, and he shouldn’t be left alone? There are too many questions and Michael’s too chicken-shit to ask for the answers. He’s been shoved out of Alex’s life so many times that he’s still recovering from the whiplash, and Michael doesn’t know if he can take another round. But Alex is looking at him with something bordering desperation in his familiar, dark gaze, and Michael isn’t soulless enough to let that look go unanswered.
“Guys, I’m gonna call it a night,” Michael announces to their assembled friends, standing up from his chair and shoving it back into place beneath the table.
“Michael Guerin, calling it a night after one drink?” Isobel teases, lifting her lined eyes to his. “No way! Stay here and drink with us!” She’s already pretty drunk, judging by the way her speech slurs and she doesn’t make a single disparaging remark about the bar. Max is going to have a hell of a time getting her home, but he’s got Liz and Valenti for backup, and it’s not like she doesn’t deserve to try to drink her sorrows away after everything she’s been through in the past few months.
“I’ll see you for dinner at your place tomorrow,” he promises her, leaning forward to brush his lips to the top of her hair. Michael glances at Max while she can’t see him, and his brother nods once, a resigned quirk of his lips obvious only to those who knew him well. He’s as worried about Isobel as Michael is, but nothing but time is going to heal the wounds that Noah left in their sister, and for now, Alex is a more pressing concern.
He turns back to the other man after he finishes his goodbyes. He’s still pale, but seems to have pulled himself together enough to wave at the others. Then, Alex gestures down at his leg with a small sigh, glancing at Michael and then away, like he’s ashamed of something. “Think you could give me a hand?” The question is quiet and a little strained, but hearing Alex’s voice relaxes Michael a little. At least if he’s still talking, things can’t be that bad. Can they?
Without a word, Michael holds out his hands. Months ago, he would’ve just grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up, relishing in the proximity of their bodies. But things are different now, and the only way he touches Alex now is if the other man makes the first overture. He doesn’t have to wait long; Alex’s shaking fingers wrap around Michael’s steady hands, and he pulls him up out of the chair, automatically taking his weight when he stumbles. Vaguely, Michael hears Max and Liz asking if they need help, but he just waves them off and makes sure Alex is steady before starting toward the entrance of the bar. They’ll have plenty of questions to answer when they face their friends again, and most of them will probably be annoying and nosy, but that’s a problem for later.
The moment they’re outside, Alex stops pretending that he’s supporting himself and slumps against Michael’s chest in a rare show of vulnerability. His cheek rests against the top of Michael’s shoulder, Alex’s rapid breath making the side of his neck feel humid and sending a ticklish thrill down his spine. “Hey,” Michael murmurs, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do with his hands, now. He can’t let go without worrying that Alex will fall, but part of him is afraid that the longer he holds on, the harder it will be when he has to let go. “You okay?”
Alex’s responding chuckle is mirthless. “You already know the answer to that,” he says, the strain of holding casual conversation obvious in his voice.
Michael doesn’t bother to deny it. “You checked out on us during that fight. You faked it pretty well for a while, but I – I could tell something was wrong.” It’s as close to asking what’s going on in Alex’s head as he’s going to get. “You want me to take you home? Maria won’t let anyone tow your SUV.” Talking so nonchalantly is harder than it should be with Alex’s warmth seeping into him. This is the closest they’ve been since they had sex before that night at the drive-in, and Michael wants to bury his head in the sand and pretend that the proximity isn’t just because Alex is looking for any port in a storm.
“I can –”
“If you’re about to try to tell me you can drive home, save it. I know you’re a badass, okay? I know you can take care of yourself, and you don’t want me around when you feel like shit because we’re just friends, or whatever your problem is this time. But your hands are shaking, and I’m not letting you drive until I’m sure you’re going to make it the whole way out to that cabin safely.” God, why is it so fucking hard for Alex to let Michael help, just a little? He’s not asking to spend the night! He just wants to make sure he’s safe. Are they really on such bad terms now that he can’t care at all?
There’s a beat of silence. “I was just going to say that I can send her a text tomorrow and ask her to have someone drive it to the cabin,” Alex says, so quietly that Michael can barely hear it. His entire body has gone rigid, and before Michael can figure out what the problem is, he’s pulling away to stand on his own. “I’d appreciate the ride. If you don’t mind.”
The formality makes Michael want to rip his hair out of his head, but he bites back a snappish reply and just nods to his truck, parked almost directly in front of them. He wants to ask if Alex can get in on his own; he seems awfully unsteady on his feet, still, and Michael assumes that something has gone wrong with his bad leg, but again, the questions just turn into a lump in his throat. Alex manages on his own, though, rendering that a moot point, so Michael walks around and climbs into the driver’s side silently.
Neither of them speak for the first ten minutes. Alex spends the time with his hands curled into fists on his thighs, his face pale and drawn in the moonlight that shines through the windshield. He doesn’t seem to be any better now that they’ve left the bar, which Michael had hoped would be enough. But it isn’t, and he’s not able to just leave things this way. “What happened?” he asks finally, the question shattering the tense silence.
“The guy Hank punched fell on me,” Alex answers abruptly, the words short and terse. “Just for a minute. But my damn leg has been aching all day, and he jolted the prosthetic. It hurts, and I don’t – I can’t –” His breath is coming so rapidly that it sounds like he’s panting, and Michael looks toward him, ready to pull over as soon as Alex gives him a reason. “I panic, sometimes. When it hurts. It’s stupid, and there’s no fucking reason for it, but -”
Michael thinks he gets it. Sometimes, when his hand spasms in the middle of the night, he wakes up sure that Jesse Manes is in the trailer with him. It always takes some time for his heart to stop racing, after that, and he never quite manages to fall back to sleep. Alex’s trauma is so much worse; it doesn’t surprise him that the same thing might happen in his case without the added disorientation of sleep. “Panic doesn’t usually need a reason,” he says evenly. “Anything I can do to help?”
They’re pulling into Alex’s driveway now, and Michael can practically see his chance to be with Alex and actually do something to help slipping away. Alex will go inside to lick his wounds privately, and Michael will be left on the other side of the door, waiting and wondering and wishing, until he’s forced to give up and leave.
As soon as the engine turns off, Michael finds himself locked in a staring contest with Alex, who’s eyes have that same desperate and expectant look in them from back at the bar. Michael returns the look helplessly, wordlessly conveying that he doesn’t know what Alex wants or needs from him. “Alex –”
There’s no time to finish the thought before the other man has his hands in a death grip, clutching so tightly that Michael can feel his fingernails break skin. It makes his bad hand ache a little, but that’s not nearly a good enough reason to pull away from Alex. In fact, Michael could have been bleeding out, and he would’ve still held Alex’s hand. “Don’t make me ask, Guerin.” The whisper catches him by surprise, and Michael’s mouth closes with a surprised snap. “Please?”
“Isobel’s the mind reader, Alex,” he retorts, a hint of defensiveness running through the words despite his best efforts. “I can’t just look in your head to figure out if you need space, or a ride, or hand to hold, or whatever it is you’re angling for right now. You’ve gotta actually say it.”
Alex sighs, and shakes his head. “Everything you think I need isn’t what I need,” he says, and for the first time in the last hour, his gaze is steady. “I mean, maybe the handholding thing would be nice, but I’ve had so much space lately that I can’t stand it. This isn’t going to get any better, Michael.” His fingers tremble around Michael’s hands, and wordlessly, Michael reverses them, so that he’s holding Alex’s clasped palms between both of his, keeping them still. Alex stares down at their entwined hands for a long moment, biting at his lower lip, as if he can’t decide how to finish, or how much he should say.
“I’ve been trying to stay away from you until I get my head together, because I don’t know that I can be what you need, right now. And it’s not fair for me to keep running away every time you help me keep it together. I’m a fucking mess, and I don’t – Jesus, Michael, some days I can’t even get out of bed. What kind of man does that? What kind of boyfriend could I be? But – I think, maybe – what I need is you. If there’s even still a chance of that.”
Michael just stares at Alex for a long moment, trying to put that speech and its ramifications into the boundaries and lines drawn between him and Alex. It doesn’t fit, it doesn’t make sense – but it does, at the same time. Because of course Alex thinks he’s a mess. Of course Alex has been struggling since he lost his leg. It’s so ingrained in Alex to think that’s he’s the problem, that his issues are an inconvenience thanks to his fucked-up, psychopathic father – and Michael should have known that. He should have been here a long time ago, rather than sulking about his broken heart.
But he’s here now, and he can’t change the past.
“Ask me,” he says, bringing Alex’s hands up to press his lips to shaking fingers. “Just ask, Alex.”
Uncertainty wars with hope in Alex’s eyes, and Michael wants to reassure him, to tell him to forget the words, and just take him inside and wrap him up in his arms, if that’s what Alex wants. But there’s a chasm between them, put there by years of mistakes and harsh words on both sides, and Michael needs to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what Alex’s expectations are. What he wants. Because if he fucks this up now, Michael doesn’t know if he’ll be able to come back from it.
“Stay,” Alex says finally, his voice cracking. “Just – stay.” His hands break free of Michael’s and scrabble at his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer, or maybe hold him there, like he’s afraid the word will send him running. And Michael doesn’t hesitate; he leans awkwardly over the center console and hugs Alex tightly, ignoring the damn thing as it pushes into his side.
“You’re okay,” he promises, one hand cradling the back of Alex’s head while the man burrows into the space between his shoulder and neck, his entire body trembling. “Just breathe, Alex. I’m not going anywhere.”
There’s more to be said, he knows, but Michael isn’t cruel enough to make Alex spell it all out tonight. He got what he needed; for now, he’s going to give Alex what he asked for. And maybe, when all’s said and done, they can keep each other from falling apart.
#malex fic#michael guerin/alex manes#my fic#this feels a little off#but i like the overall feel#so i'm posting it anyway
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That Woman Over There - Chapter 2
A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic
Rating: Teen, for some mild w|w eroticism (You bet your sweet ass)
Word count: 4452
Warnings: none
Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.
Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
She woke with a gasp.
The sofa bed was nice enough, but her back ached for her own bed at home. She could’ve gotten a hotel, but Livvie insisted she stay at the house. Her and Alex wanted to take care of her.
Her heart rate decreased to something normal, and she realized why she was scared.
It was too damn quiet.
In her apartment in the meatpacking district, there was always noise. Dump trucks emptying bins full of glass bottles from all the nightclubs and restaurants. Foreign assholes driving around in their souped up sports cars, their engines roaring. Drug dealers screaming to each other from their respective corners. And underneath it all, the thrumming, coked-out heartbeat of the city.
Here, in this lovely little oasis, there was nothing. Not even the big-throated crickets that sang American suburb-dwellers to sleep. It was strange. She rolled out of bed and checked her cell phone. It was a little after 3 AM, local time.
It was 11 PM in New York. She usually went to sleep around that time when she was in the planning stage of her installations. She stretched and looked around at the dark living room. Everything seemed to be in the saturated primary colors of childhood, so different from Livvie’s cool, clean, and pastel. Furthermore, Alex’s influence was clear - in the art on the walls, and the upholstery on the furniture.
She stretched, arms high over her head, and caught of whiff of sweat and cigarette smoke from the pub.
“I need a shower,” she said softly to herself, and shuffled quietly up the stairs. Alex and Olivia’s bedroom door was open. Their blinds were up, and a breeze stirred the paisley curtains. They were a painting of domestic tranquility - Liv, snoring softly with her hand still on the rail of the small rocking crib. Monty lay on his back, dreaming. Alex slept on her side, hugging her pillow, her bum pressed against Olivia. Olivia’s other hand rested on the soft hillock of Alex’s hip.
Her chest twitched in a silent sob. She was so happy for her. She had everything she wanted, and deserved. Back when they first met, Olivia was resolved that although what they felt for each other was real, it was just a naughty phase. It was a mess - Connie, the more outwardly passionate one, came out to her conservative Catholic parents immediately, but Olivia refused to ruin her parent’s lives with such unpleasant news. She was angry at the time, but she could never hate her. In any case, experience taught her that people have to come out at their own pace - it should never be forced, even by a partner.
Alex was the one who convinced her to do it - the one she refused to obfuscate about.
She was a lucky woman.
After her shower, she went to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. She felt for the light switch, found it, then decided not to flip it. There was enough light coming in through the window to see her way around.
She rummaged through the cupboards for a loose pod and slammed it into the coffee maker. She looked out the window as she waited for the drink to brew.
There was music, very faint, and another sound that was familiar. A high-pitched whine. She opened the window and stuck out her head. John’s house was dark, but in his garden, there was a large shed whose door was open. That’s where the warm light and noises came from.
“What’s he doing in there at this hour of the morning?” she said to herself. Most probably crouched in front of a computer screen, typing filth on his MRA reddit page. She picked up her cup from the coffee maker and walked to the back door, staring out in curiosity, then decided to step outside. She wrapped her robe tighter around her and looked over the low hedge to his garden.
The music was intelligible now - it was pop, but in a language she couldn’t understand.
“Oh my God,” she said, and a half smile made her lip twitch. It was Kpop. She was sure of it. That leather-clad chode listened to Korean boy/girl bands? It was too much. The light spilling from the open shed door painted a warm yellow wedge on the lawn. It looked … inviting.
Her toes curled on the grass. She noticed the whine had stopped. Had that been a different kind of music? She walked to the hedge to take a closer look. The silk of her kimono caught in the neatly trimmed bush. Sticks poked at her hips. She raised her cup for a sip-
“Why you spying on me?” John said, coming up from behind and putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Virgen Santísima!” she said, clutching at her chest. The cup flew out of her hand and spattered hot coffee on her feet.
“Oh my God - I’m so sorry -” he said, his smile fading to genuine distress. He put down the steaming cup in his hand, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and dabbed at her feet.
She slapped at him. “Get off me! Why the fuck would you do something like that? I almost had a heart attack-”
When he saw the skin at the tops of her feet reddening, he nearly started to weep.
“I didn’t mean to scare ye like that. I saw you snooping through my kitchen window when I was making myself some tea-” He pointed to the cup by his feet. “What are you doing looking over hedges at this hour of the mornin’?” he asked, his accent becoming broad by the end of the sentence.
“I was making coffee, and I heard noises coming from here.” She shrugged. The fact was, she was being nosy. She just didn’t think she’d get caught.
“It’s my shop,” he said simply, still inspecting her feet. “And you need some aloe for this burn.”
“I dunno whether Liv’s got that, but I can put some calamine lotion on my legs.”
He stood up, a head taller than her. “That’s nonsense. I have an aloe plant on my back porch. I’ll cut you a leaf or two. You’ll be good as new by tomorrow.”
He walked through a gap in the hedge and beckoned to her. She stared at him, unmoving.
“Come on. You were already snooping. Might as well get a closer look, eh?”
She rolled her eyes, but followed him. The skin of her feet was beginning to sting. He put his shirt back on - coffee stained and damp - and walked quickly across his yard to the back porch. He took a small knife out of his pocket and sliced a long, meaty leaf from the plant, then expertly began to peel and split it. Her eyes drifted to the shed door.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to the steps. “They’re clean.” She lifted the kimono over her knees.
“Alright, sweetie, lemme get a good look at those welts.”
“Don’t call me sweetie,” she said curtly.
He shrugged. “Sorry. Encarnación.”
“Or that. I really don’t like it.” She was surprised he remembered. Most English speaker didn’t, or when they did, they mangled it.
“Why not?” he said, gently rubbing the cooling aloe on her skin. Despite being tense, she sighed with relief. “It’s like a Spanish puritan name. Very prim and proper.”
“It means incarnation, but it brings to mind red, bleeding meat. It’s grisly.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why my mother insisted on it and not a nice easy name, like Maria … or Rosa. Rosa’s nice.”
“You and roses,” he said softly, pressing the translucent heart of the leaf on a particularly nasty burn.
“What do you know about me?” she snapped, pulling the robe tight around her thighs.
“Olivia talked a lot about you, especially right before you came. Both Alex and I were very curious to meet you. The artist who makes magic with flowers. The beautiful New York socialite who took Liv under her wing and made her visit one of the best times of her life. ”
She snorted.“Olivia exaggerates.”
“Not about you,” he said earnestly, shaking his head. “Not even a bit.”
“Uh, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I should get back.”
“Of course. Away to bed with ye,” he said, wiping the aloe juice on his jeans. She resented his tone, but she didn’t know why.
Just as she crossed the hedge into Olivia’s yard, he ran to her, covering the distance in four strides.
“Yes?” she said.
He held up the other aloe leaf. “Forget to give it to you. For later. Again, I’m sorry. That’s what I get for trying to be cute.”
“Right,” she said, taking it. “Thanks.”
She turned just before reaching the back door.
“By the way, what’s in the shed?”
He gave her a mischievous grin, something he was quite good at. “My own magic,” he said, and gracefully vaulted the waist-high hedge to his yard.
Show off.
He watched her shadow as she walked into the house, then went into his shop.
Cedarwood plants, already cut to size, littered his work table. Behind it, his hand tools were neatly hung on pegs, or stored in the cabinets underneath the table and against the walls. He flipped off his radio and stood at the shed door, hands on his waist, like his grandfather used to do. A jaw-cracking yawn made him tremble, and he looked down at himself. His carefully chosen concert t-shirt was stained and wrinkled.
I didn’t much like the Verve anyway.
He took it off and cleaned the sawdust from the bandsaw, then oiled the blade.
Take care of your tools, his grandfather always used to say. They’re your bread and butter. That, and keep your shop clean. A shop is a reflection of the craftman’s mind. Organized shop, organized mind.
He finished sweeping and brushed the sawdust into a trash bag. He liked it there, in that shed - the smells, the memories, the peace. Lately, he preferred it to parties and pointless affectation. Mannism was his bread and butter though, but after the divorce, his anger had faded to bemusement.
Not all women were horrific, soul-draining harpies with silky skin and soft, lovely parts he still ached to touch. Not all of them were out to use and discard. Alex and Olivia had convinced him of that. But that was only them. It could be a lesbian thing.
He thought of Connie’s burn-spackled legs and smiled. He really shouldn’t have scared her. And he felt awful for scalding her, but happy he was able to care for her afterward. Maybe she didn’t see him as …
Scoliosis boy. He sucked his teeth.
Did he deserve it? Maybe a little. But he was more than his business. He hoped he could prove that, even though he didn’t know why he was compelled to do it. He picked up the pre-sanded boards, ran his graceful fingers along the smoothed edges.
“You’ll have to wait ‘till tomorrow,” he whispered, and piled them neatly at the corner of the work table and locked the shed.
He did some back stretching exercises in the dark, focusing on long, lean, and straight. After, he breathed on his lilies, then went inside for a good sleep.
Olivia woke up before Monty, breasts aching.
The morning sun sliced into Alex’s placid sleeping face. She was so lovely. The last bit of pink was growing out of her bleached locks, and it made her look like an ink-watered daisy.
She put her hand on Alex’s belly, let the ache echo to nothing, then nuzzled her.
“Good morning,” Alex said sleepily. She spread her legs and lifted the blanket to give her access. Olivia’s mouth watered at the smooth heat between Alex’s thighs. “Don’t stop. I’ll pretend I’m sleeping again if you like,” she said, and chuckled.
Olivia sat up.“No, it’s - um, I have to pump, ASAP. My breasts are screaming.” She waved her hands over them anxiously. The pale orbs were painted with fine blue veins, something that Alex had found is quite enticing. They were heavy, warm, and filled with life. Alex crawled to her and pulled on her tanktop strap.
“Why don’t you you just feed Monty?” she said, grazing her fingertips on her swollen breasts. “You just had two glasses of wine last night.”
“Dunno. I just want to pump this bit out, just to be sure. There’s enough bottles in the fridge to get to this afternoon.”
Alex pulled down the other strap, and gently undid her stretchy nursing bra. Her beautiful nipples were chapped red and sore with Monty’s voracious feeding. She cupped her breasts gently in her palms, caressing the hot silk of her skin with her thumbs.
“They’re being slowly gummed to oblivion,” Olivia said, flustered. She tried to cover herself, but Alex shook her head and removed her hand. She sat on her haunches in front of her.
“It’s okay,” she said, and kissed the tops of her breasts, brushing her sleep-warm lips on her skin. Olivia let out a soft wheeze that made her smile. She started to undo the tie on her pajama bottoms, leaning into her until she lay back. She pulled them down past her hips and ran her fingers right underneath where her c-section scar was a fading pink line. Olivia tugged at the post pregnancy belly wrap she still wore.
“Monty’s right here,” Olivia said breathlessly.
Alex kissed her, biting her lower lip. “Then be quiet.” Her hand moved down to where Olivia was downy and damp, and she sighed.”That’s yummy,” she said, then quickly removed her sleepshirt. Alex’s breasts were still pert despite the pregnancy - but a bit larger because of it. She was both cursed and blessed, and the glint of steel on her left nipple made Olivia swear. She wanted to give in, but there was something in her that had gone dormant. The thirst she had for Alex before and during the pregnancy had faded to nothing. It’s as if her pussy was broken.
Alex started to pull off her sleep pants, but Olivia shook her head.
“Not now,” she said softly.
“I’ll be gentle, mein frau,” she said, her eyes wet with entreaty. It had been over six months, and oddly, her own experience had not hurt her libido. “You won’t have to do a thing but lay back and enjoy.” She kissed the insides of her thighs. She was so needy that even Olivia’s faint scent made her shiver. Just as her head dipped between her thighs, Olivia popped up.
“No! Please,” she said. Monty began to whine at the noise. “See? Monty’s up.”
Alex sighed, then pulled Liv’s pants back up. “I’ll wash up and prepare a bottle.”
“Nice,” Olivia said, already picking the baby up from the crib and clicking her tongue at him. “Good morning, darling. How are you? How are you?”
Monty gurgled and tugged on her blond hair affectionately.
She watched them from the door, waiting for her blood to cool. She was horny, but so happy. She had Olivia. And a beautiful baby boy. It was not what she imagined at this point in her life - but it was better. The fading pain worked its way to her heart.
It’s what she called it, when she couldn’t face up to calling her by name - Jo. Baby Jo. John knew, and thought it was fitting - it was like having a girl junior. But Jo wasn’t to be. At first, her bitterness made her want to hate all the world in general, and Olivia specifically. After all, if she hadn’t inseminated without consulting her, she wouldn’t have gotten blind drunk and slept with daft John and gotten pregnant.
It was all cause and effect, right?
She wanted to hate her, but she couldn’t. It was impossible, even though she was angry. Olivia was type A to the hilt - a rad barrister, and super-organized and persnickety - but her pregnancy was a mess. She couldn’t be a mum alone. And, even thought at first it hurt to see her own belly shrinking as her’s grew, she powered through, for love.
If she could have no regrets about smoking laced weed at a fucking carnival, or getting pregnant by the dudebro next door, she could stay with Liv. And she did.
She went downstairs and found Connie doing stretches on the living room floor. Her legs were stretched and wide apart, and she leaned into the carpet, breathing slowly. She wore no more than a pair of panties and a tank top with lace cups. In other words, she could see everything. And everything was banging.
She had the body karate going on.
“Oops!” she said loudly, walking past and into the kitchen. She slammed a bottle into the bottle warmer.
“I’m so sorry!” Connie said. She heard her running around the living room, a zipper, and rustling cloth. She came in wearing a pair of jean short shorts and a t-shirt. She smiled bashfully. “I hate being that bitch, but it seems like I’m her regardless sometimes.”
Alex put her hand up. “It’s totally okay. We don’t do much stretching ourselves lately, but it’s still a nice to watch.”
Connie smiled, and dared to touch Alex’s tangled bleached locks. “I know it’s not on purpose, but your hair looks awesome,” she said, pulling on her fading pink ends. “Are you gonna cut it off, try another color?”
“I wanted to cut it off,” Alex said.
“You going straight then?” Connie said, joking.
“Never! I want to cut the pink out and try something else. I was thinking… green and purple.”
“It’s perfect. You’re giving me all sorts of mermaid teas,” Connie said, fluffing her hair. Her body was pressed against her side, and the softness of her breasts made her feel dizzy. Before she could stop herself, she looked down.
“The Eurythmics,” she said, pointing to Connie’s shirt. She tried to ignore the fact her nipples poked through the fabric.
“You like ‘em?” Connie said, puffing her chest out. Alex blushed. “They’re sick right? Annie is, generally.”
“Yeah, sick. Totally,” Alex said, hoping she didn’t notice her ogling, but Connie seemed oblivious.
“Here,” Connie said, took it off, and handed it to her.
“Shit -you don’t have to do that-” Alex said, but took it from her. She averted her eyes, but she could still see lace and perked nipple in the corner of her eye.
“Naw, man. I want you to have it - something to remember me by. Also, I have another one, with her wearing that rad feather headdress from the Why video. I’m good,” she said, and walked back to the living room to cover up.
Olivia came downstairs, and Alex heard a squeal and the smack of kisses as Connie took Monty in her arms. Olivia went into the kitchen, eyebrows high. She waved her hands over her body, cupping her hands underneath her own breasts in a curvy pantomime.
“I know,” Alex said, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her neck.
“She tends not to wear much - she’s been like that since she was a teenager,” Olivia said into Alex’s hair. “I’ll tell her if it bothers you,” she said, but she chuckled.
“Eh … I think I can deal for the rest of the week,” Alex said, winking at Olivia. They both looked into the living room, where Connie swung Monty in her arms to the baby’s delight. She wore an open-sided 90’s MTV t-shirt.
“I get it,” Alex whispered. Monty’s star-shaped hands grabbed at Connie’s breasts. He was hungry.
“Hmm?” Olivia said. Her arm was wrapped around Alex’s ribs.
“I wouldn’t wear much either if I looked like her,” she said.
Olivia swatted her bottom. “You know you’re quite yummy yourself, with your little sailor shorts and see-through tops,” Olivia said. Alex raised her brow. Now she was frisky? But she would take what she could get.
“Maybe I’ll wear something nice today,” Alex said, then gently bit her earlobe. The little gold hoop in Liv’s ear clicked against her teeth. The hand resting on her ass finally squeezed.
“I won’t complain,” Olivia said, flushed. Just a half hour ago, everything was dead underneath her belly button. She watched as Connie lifted Monty’s shirt and blew a raspberry on his belly. The baby screamed and giggled, kicking into her flat belly. She stared at the line of her throat, down to the softness beneath. Hers were the first breasts she ever touched, and tasted. All at once, her muscle memories came back. She remembered the different textures and flavors of her, her sounds. Her arm twitched around Alex, bringing her back to herself.
That was years ago. And she had learned a lot since then. She looked down at Alex, who smiled indulgently as Connie pretended to eat Monty’s chubby feet.
“Om nom nom nom,”’ Connie said, then tickled his sides. He wriggled with pleasure.
Alex’s hair smelled like lilac and smoke, a scent she now found comforting. The byzantine blue of her eyes, her easy beauty, made her giggle out loud like Monty. She was surrounded by love.
Connie looked up. “Like mother, like son,” she said, smiling at her. Alex kissed her cheek and walked into the living room.
“Time for breakfast, peanut,” she said, picking up the baby. Connie pouted, and patted the sofa.
“Commere, Liv,” she said. Olivia sat beside her, back straight and knees clenched tight together … until she saw the red blotches on Connie’s legs.
“God, what happened?” she said, tapping the skin delicately.
“Ah, nothing. I spilled some coffee on myself last night in the dark,” she said, shrugging. She didn’t know why she didn’t say what actually happened.
“You would, “ Olivia said. Connie’s clumsiness was a running joke. “I have some calamine in the cabinet. I’ll go get it.” She stood and walked into the kitchen.
“You don’t need to-”
John walked in, fresh as a daisy, wearing a giant grin. She was beginning to think it was his thing. And it was annoying.
“Morning, beautiful. Sleep well? He said, sitting down in the overstuffed chair in front of the window. He wore loose-fitting pants and a tank top. His freckled arms were slim, but well-shaped. He crossed his ankles in front of him, and his long legs seemed to stretch to the middle of the room.
“You’ve made yourself comfortable,” said sardonically, opening her suitcase and digging through it. She had to keep her hands busy.
“You look great. Classic MTV was the balls,” he said. She pulled a silk drawstring bag from the bottom and spilled its contents on the sofa.
“What is that tangle?” Olivia said, coming back with a steaming cup of herbal tea and the bottle of pink mud.
“I thought you hated herbal tea,” Connie said, eyeing the cup.
“It’s for better milk production,” she said, but she made a face. Connie and John laughed together, but Connie stopped. The synchronicity made her want to kick his leg. Olivia plucked at the ball of necklaces on the sofa.
“Why would you do this?” she said, trying to separate a pearl necklace from a tangle of gold and silver chains. She held up the pearls and clucked her tongue. “I gave you these! They’re Mikimoto,” she whined.
Connie shrugged. “Don’t have a jewelry box,” she said.
“But what about the one your mother-” Olivia started, then her mouth snapped shut. “Right.”
John looked back and forth between them, curious.
“What is it?” he said.
“Mind your business, Braveheart,” Connie said. It didn’t have the effect she wanted, since he leaned back, holding his stomach and laughing with his whole body.
“Oh, that’s rich … brilliant,” he gasped, slapping his thighs. His face was pink, his large eyes rimmed with tears.
“Oh, fuck off,” she said, and walked into the kitchen, where Alex had Monty in a high chair. She fed him porridge, which he wore more than ate.
“What’s he going on about now?” Alex said, then gently scraped the porridge from his chin with the spoon.
“Something that wasn’t that funny to begin with,” Connie said, walking to where Olivia had started scrambled eggs.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, her brow furrowed. “I can’t keep my mouth shut to save my life.”
“No biggie,” she said, and gave her a quick hug, and a peck on the cheek. She stared into the skillet. “I’m starving.”
“I know. You like them with dill and green pepper, on buttered toast?”
“You know me too well,” she said, and sat by Alex. She dipped her finger in the warm porridge, tasted, then made a face. “That’s nasty.”
“It’s for Monty. It’s made with Liv’s breast milk.”
“Oh wow,” she said, her face twisted. Alex and Olivia laughed. Porridge flowed out of Monty’s mouth as he smiled, wanting to share in the merriment. Connie made a thumb’s up at Olivia. “Really prime product. Good job.”
John loped in, curious about the laughter, and took some eggs from the pan. “Ooh, that’s better than your usual,” he said, and tried to get more. Olivia slapped his hand with the spatula.
“That is for our guest,” she said, spooning the fluffy eggs onto a plate.
“Aren’t I a guest?” he said, sniffing at the herbed eggs as she put the plate in front of Connie.
John looked over her shoulder. “You fancy sharing a bit with me? It looks like a lot, and I’m sure you’re watching your figure.”
The kitchen went silent. Even Monty seemed to squeal with disapproval.
“I’m not suggesting she needs to...” His voice cracked. The women stared balefully. He put his hands up. “I think I’ll make my own brekkie,” he said, and backed out the door.
“What a twat!” Connie said, her face red with anger.
“Language!” Olivia said, pointing at Monty.
He poked his head back into the kitchen. “ I wasn’t suggesting that you aren’t absolutely gorgeous, mind you. You sure you don’t want to share?” He gave her a toothy grin.
Alex threw the burp rag at him. “Bugger off, mate,” she said.
Olivia just threw up her hands.
Read Chapter 3
#That Woman Over There#you me and him#David Tennant#fanfiction#watch me work#the title's an acronym#I'm so sorry if readmore doesn't work on mobile
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