#BUT from there and after being a very spiteful bandit he pulled himself together and was genuinely happier for it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scootsaboot · 6 years ago

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rhysothy western au from patreon a few years ago. follow up to this

It’d been nearly a year since Tim had escorted Rhys safely across the desert to what was left of his family’s legacy out in Eridium Blight. Rhys had easily taken control of the ATLAS mining facilities there; he’d gotten in touch with former employees who’d left after Rhys’ father passed, promising them things Tim wasn’t sure Rhys could really deliver on. Money, health benefits, a safe place for them and their families. It shouldn’t have worked, not after the brutal and bloody murder of Rhys’ father, Thomas Caplan. It’d been big and showy on purpose--meant to scare people away, to leave to ATLAS facilities free for the taking.

Tim could admit that he’d perhaps underestimated Rhys’ charisma, his ability to manipulate people into doing exactly what he wanted them to. Tim was still here, after all. He had the money Rhys had promised him, and then some, but every time Tim thought about moving on, maybe heading back to that little nowhere bar he’d grown so fond of, something stopped him.

Rhys’ hand wrapped around Tim’s arm, stopping him from climbing out of bed. “Don’t go.” Rhys said when Tim turned to look at him. His hair was ungelled and messy from sleep. It made him look soft, what with those pouty lips and that baby face. “S’too early.” Rhys murmured, craning his neck to press a kiss to Tim’s hand.

“It’s nearly eleven in the morning,” Tim replied, keeping his voice low in spite of himself. A quick look out the window showed the sun high in the sky, peering in through the drapes of Rhys’ lavish bedroom.

Their bedroom, Rhys always insisted on calling it, but Tim never could. This arrangement was only temporary, he told himself. He’d be on his way soon, start looking for work again. Real work. Being Rhys’ keeper paid well enough, but it wasn’t as if Tim was rescuing him from bandits. Anyone could do this job. Plus, Tim had some notions about the separation of business and pleasure. His relationship with Rhys hadn’t been professional for a long time now.

He let Rhys pull him back to bed. Tim rested his hand on Rhys’ boney hip and kissed his forehead. “Ten more minutes,” he said. “And then we’re getting up.”

An hour later, Tim and Rhys were washed and dressed and headed to Rhys’ office. The housing district was a ten minute horse ride from the mining facilities, and the path between them was well worn, with imprints of hooves and boots alike.

“So,” Rhys said once they’d made it inside, away from the noise of drilling. “I have some news.” He took a seat behind his large oak desk and leaned back in his chair, sliding one leg over the other.

“Good or bad?” Tim ask, slumping into the seat across from him. It wasn’t as nice, just a little cushion on hard wood. Tim was pretty sure Rhys kept the shitty chairs because he liked making the people who came to talk with him uncomfortable. It had to be a power thing. Rhys held all of it here in the heart of his little ATLAS compound, and if you asked nicely, he might make you think you had some too.

“Mmmm…” Rhys hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Bad.”

“Well, lay it on me, boss.”

“It’s your brother.” Rhys said.

Tim blinked, looking at Rhys’ face, met his eyes. He didn’t look like he was joking. Tim sat up a little straighter. “Jack?”

Rhys nodded. “I got a letter from Vaughn a few days ago. Jack was in Concordia causing some trouble, I guess. Some woman was with him.”

“What kinda trouble?” Tim asked with a frown.

“The murder-y kind.” Rhys said. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out what must have been the letter he received. Rhys unfolded it and slid it to Tim. “He killed someone called the...meriff?”

Tim laughed, couldn’t help it. “Yeah, that’s as dumb as it sounds. Sheriff and mayor all rolled into one. Can’t remember the guy’s actual name.” He picked up the letter and skimmed it, eyes trailing over Vaughn’s familiar script.

“Sounds like a tool.” Rhys said agreeably. “Anyway, Jack and his friend have killed a few other people, they robbed a bank…”

“That’s--I mean, that’s what Jack does.” Tim said, eyebrows furrowing. He put the letter back down without finishing it.

It was the truth. Jack had been a troublemaker since they were kids living out in Sanctuary. He’d only done petty crimes back then--pickpocketing, vandalism, stole a couple horses. Tim had even accompanied him on some of those sprees. As they’d gotten older though, Jack decided that he wasn’t happy with his lot in life. He wanted more. He wanted to be rich and powerful--he wanted to be everything a street kid wasn’t. He wanted to be a hero. Jack figured the best way to do that was to become a bounty hunter--though he never called himself that. He and Tim hunted bandits together for a few years, had gone what seemed like halfway across the globe chasing down dangerous men and women.

Eventually, that wasn’t enough for Jack either. He had a very single minded way of doing things, and when someone got in his way...well. Tassiter had been the first, but certainly not the last who’d tried to keep Jack on a leash. It didn’t end well for him. Tim decided to go out on his own not longer after. His brother was violent and unpredictable, to put it mildly, and Tim had decided that seeing him scoop out some poor fuck’s eyeballs one time was one times too many. He hadn’t seen him since.

“Why’s this important now?” Tim asked.

“Vaughn...sent something else along with the letter.” Rhys said, sticking his lower lip out. He looked concerned enough that it worried Tim, made him want to lean over the desk and smooth out the wrinkle between Rhys’ brows.

Rhys slid another sheet of paper across the desk. It was a poster, ripped and stained in a few spots, but easy enough to make out. Tim’s twin brother’s face was staring up at him, his usual smirk in place, one eyebrow quirked. Just beneath the picture it read in large, blocky letters:

Timothy Lawrence

Man With Two Faces

wanted Dead or Alive

For bank robberies and murder of Huxter T. Meredith

There was a reward listed for ten thousand dollars.

“This…” Tim started, staring at the poster, his hands tightening and wrinkling the paper. “He…”

“I don’t know if he’s been saying he’s you, or if there was a mixup with the marshal's office,” Rhys said. “But everyone in Sanctuary thinks you’re the guilty one. There’s no way Roland hasn’t sent someone to come after you.”

“Fuck.” Tim hissed, anger boiling in his veins. Fucking Jack. No way this was a mistake. Jack did this on purpose. He wanted Tim’s attention, wanted him to come back maybe. Tim set the poster back down on the desk with a little more force than necessary.

“Look,” Rhys drawled, “either way...I can’t have a fugitive hiding out at ATLAS. It’s bad for business.”

Tim looked up, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Rhys’ words were like a slap in the face. Tim didn’t expect anything from Rhys, didn’t expect his protection, but to be tossed out like yesterday’s paper? Tim thought...well, he’d thought Rhys liked having him around. He certainly pulled Tim into his bed often enough. Was Rhys tired of him?

“Oh stop with the puppy eyes,” Rhys said. “I’m not kicking you out, Tim. Well, I am, but I’m going with you.”

“You--huh?”

“Well, no one’s going to believe you if you go to Sanctuary and tell them it wasn’t you. So we go find Jack and turn him in and get your name cleared.”

Tim swallowed, feeling a warm flush crawl up the back of his neck. There was relief somewhere amid his embarrassment. Rhys didn’t want him to leave--Rhys wanted to help him. Tim pursed his lips.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He said. God knows what Jack had planned for when Tim caught up with him. It couldn’t be anything good. Tim didn’t want Rhys anywhere near his brother. “I can find him on my own.”

“I’m going with you,” Rhys said again. “End of story.”

And Rhys did go with him. They set out not long after that conversation. Rhys left his CFO in charge and had her tell his employees he was going on a business trip, which was probably one of the whiter lies Rhys had told this year.

They found Jack nearly two weeks later, in the heart of the bandit-town Lynchwood, under the blazing hot sun. Jack was sitting on the wooden step in front of a run-down looking inn, leaning his back against the post. He was twirling a revolver in his hand, snapping the barrel open and then shut again, over and over.

“Jack.” Tim said, resting his hand at his hip, over his own gun.

Jack looked up from beneath his wide-brimmed hat with an even wider grin. “Heya Timmy.”

Tim took in his appearance with a start. The scar was new, etched deep into Jack’s skin and carving an upside down ‘v’ into his face. His left eyes was a milky white where the scar ran through.

“What, this?” Jack gestured to his face when Tim continued to stare. “Ya like it? Makes me look pretty badass, don’t’cha think?” He rubbed his chin. “Might have to change my nickname though. Handsome Jack is kinda false advertising. You wanna trade me?”

“What happened?” Tim asked, stepping closer to his brother. Anger stirred inside him, at whoever’d done this to his brother. Jack might’ve been a violent outlaw, but he was family, and he and Tim had always had each other’s backs even when they were miles apart.

“Met the business end of a brand,” Jack said, his smile turning sharp. “That redhead bitch Lilith was holdin’ the other end. Ooohoo, don’t you worry Tim, she’s gonna get what’s comin’ to her.”

Jack’s eyes shone with dark promise. Tim felt Rhys step up behind him, his finger’s brushing against Tim’s. Jack’s gaze slid from Tim’s face and landed on Rhys, looking him up and down.

“Who’s the kid? Here I thought were just having a nice family reunion.”

“You know why we’re here.” Rhys said, coming to stand beside Tim. He stood nearly a whole inch taller than Tim, and he used that impressive height to look down his nose at Jack, his arms crossed. “And I’m not a kid.”

Jack tipped his chin up, not intimidated by Rhys in the slightest. “Sure, sweetheart.” He looked back at Tim. “Yeah, I know, that little mix up in Sanctuary. Don’t give me that look, baby brother.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t a mix up. You told them you were me.”

“Yeah, so what if I did?” Jack shrugged. “What’s the point in sharin’ a face with someone if you can’t trade identities sometimes?”

“They think I murdered the sheriff, Jack.” Tim’s hands tightened into fists.

“Meriff.” Jack corrected him. “He was the mayor and sheriff. Tacky son of a bitch.”

“Whatever he was, it doesn’t matter! Roland’s sent someone after me because of it. I can’t--I don’t--I have a real job now, Jack. A life.” Tim’s throat threatened to close around the words, around what he hadn’t known was true until he said it outloud. Something he wasn’t willing to give up. “I can’t have some bounty hunter knockin’ on my front door.”

Jack looked between Tim and Rhys again, something like recognition lighting behind his eyes. “Oh, I get it now. Pretty boy takes you home and now you’re too good for anything else.”

“Don’t even start.” Tim said. He pointed a finger at Jack. “You fucked this up, you’re going to fix it.”

“Yeesh.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your undies in a bunch. Look, Lilith oughta be rolling back into Sanctuary right about now, she’ll tell Roland the poster’s got the wrong mug on it, and you’re off the hook. Then you and your kid can get back to the dollhouse.” Jack puffed out a breath of air. “And it’s not like I’d be able to do it again.”

Tim...deflated, his shoulders dropping. “I’m...still mad.” He said with a frown.

“Sure,” Jack got to his feet, holstered his gun and brushed the dirt off his pants. “Come on inside, you can stay the night. Nish’ won’t mind.”

“Jack--” Tim tried, glancing at Rhys.

“Won’t even charge ya for it.” Jack talked over him and held open the door to the inn. “Come on.”

Rhys met Tim’s eyes and after a quick, silent conversation, they both followed Jack to the door. As Rhys stepped over the threshold, Jack followed him with his eyes.

“Hey princess, you got a name to go with those long legs of yours?”

“Rhys,” Rhys said as he breezed past Jack without so much as looking at him. “Rhys Caplan.”

Once he’d stepped into the Inn and up to the bar on the far side of the lobby, Jack leaned in towards Tim. “You always did like the bitchy ones.”

Tim shoved him. “Shut your damn mouth.”

Later, after they’d met Nisha and she drank Rhys and Jack under the table, Tim and Rhys retired to one of the guest rooms.

“Your brother…” Rhys started, his words a little slurred, his cheeks pink from alcohol. “Is a real asshole.” He was struggling to unbutton his shirt, his fingers slipping on the metal.

“Mhmm,” Tim nodded in agreement and gently pushed Rhys’ hands away so he could undo the buttons for him. “He’s been that way forever. You get used to it. Eventually.”

“Ugh.” Rhys groaned. “Can’t believe we came all the way out here for nothin’...”

Tim slipped the shirt off of Rhys and reached for his pants--he folded them both and set them aside on a chair. “Think of it like a vacation,” Tim said, pulling his own shirt over his head and leading Rhys to the bed. “You needed one.”

“You needed one.” Rhys grumbled, stumbling over his feet before safely landing on the bed with a quiet laugh. Tim pulled him close under the covers and kissed his forehead. Rhys closed his eyes and settled in, curled up in Tim’s arms. Tim wondered how he ever thought he could walk away from this man.

Tim sighed and reached over to turn off the oil lamp, leaving the room dark. He tucked his face into Rhys’ neck and smelled the alcohol on him, the dust from their travels. No doubt he’d want a bath in the morning. He’d whine in Tim’s ear until he got one, with warm water and bubbles and one of those fancy soaps he liked so much. He’d whine about his hangover and he’d whine about breakfast. The feeling of fondness rather than annoyance at the thought maybe should have alarmed him, but Tim only pressed a kiss against Rhys’ neck and closed his eyes for sleep.

#rhysothy #man!! i tell u what rhysothy is a good ship and i miss it #scoot fic

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arthurmorganthings · 6 years ago

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Happy Birthday

Pairing: Dutch x Anna

Summary: Anna surprises Dutch on a very special day.

Arthur’s Note: Happy belated to my favorite man with a plan :’).

Explicit +18

“Darlin’ you know I hate surprises.” He speaks in spite of following through with Anna’s idea. Eyes sealed shut through a tight, velvety cloth as he followed the push of her dainty fingers on the small of his back to guide him to their destination.

Though Dutch couldn’t see her physically, he could’n t begin to imagine how amusing it was to see her lover be placed in such a compromising position. Dutch was usually the man that asserts dominance whenever he walked into a room, he lets his presence be known—the Alpha, one would call him.

“C’mon now, it ain’t much farther.” She replies in obvious irritation at his onslaught of questioning. “My god Dutch, you know if I ain’t know no better, I’d assume you had life given to you from a silver spoon.”

He frowns. “Well excuse me princess, but did you forget the price on my head? I don’t have time to step away from my duties for even a second—.”

“You don’t think I know that? Just, trust me..” His gentle shoves comes to a cease. Anna’s chest came to close proximity to Dutch’s back; wrapping her arms around his body in a warm embrace. “All I ask of you is a few hours of your time—please.”

Goosebumps dare mark the surface of his skin in betrayal to his lovers eloquence. As if he wouldn’t fly through the gates of heaven to assure that she was happy—he’d be a fibber. A sigh escapes his mouth before placing his hands on his hips. “Fine. Just a few hours.”

There he goes, the same tone used to heed warning, was the same used to place his own rules. Dutch was in control, and as long as Anna allowed him that fantasy, she’d be taken cared of.

She pushes him past the abundance of orchards near the fields of West Elizabeth. A few steps later, she stops. “Okay.”

Soft hands grazed past his temple to remove the cloth from his face. Ashtonished, his glance ventures to the neatly decorated tent alongside an assortment of candles, flowers, and dimly lit campfire. Additionally, Anna did the honors of having his favorite whiskey be displayed next to his gift.

Dutch was speechless.

“How?” His voice, dropping a few octaves. “How did you know?”

“Hosea was never fond of keepin’ secrets.” Her smile causing his heart to swell as her palms gently combed through his soft locks. Dutch found himself lost for words as he took in her appearance. “Happy birthday, my beloved.”

He hadn’t even noticed her application of red lipstick, and smokey eyeshadow. Her scent was riveting, a play on warm rose with an undertone of jasmine musk was enough to imply her secret rendezvous at a bathhouse near camp.

“Anne, you—you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t right?” She teased, playfully pulling at the hem of his vest, suggestively. “But considering you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, what—with runnin’ a gang, I think this is just what you, need.”

“Oh?” Dutch quirks an eyebrow while his hands crept to the small of her back, going lower. “And what is it that I exactly need, sweetheart?”

His cock hardened when she places herself in front of his slacks, looking up at him with those doe-eyes as the silhouette of both lovers illuminates off of the camp-fire.

Dutch wanted to grab her by her coils and fuck her senseless, it was his birthday after all—but the night was still young, and would not wish to rush things. Anna thoughtfully made this happen so that he would enjoy another year. Her hard work is to be rewarded.

She teases him, slowly unbuttoning the seams before making work of his zipper. “You need to shut up, and let me hone my skills.”

One thing about Anna was that she always wanted the last laugh. In accordance to Dutch, their personalities clashed every time when faced with conducting future plans of their inevitable future. For lack of better words, Anna was that of an intelligent sort.

But Dutch wasn’t here to analyze his lover so his paitience wore painfully thin. He grabbed his girth from his trousers, his free-hand cupping her face as he forced her glance to into his brown ones. “I understand this little game of cat and mouse seems amusing to you.” His voice husked as her mouth grew full from the protrusion. “But I’m getting too old to entertain you. Then again, this is my gift.”

She gags instantly, the friction of his cock hitting the back of her throat made work of her eyes. Warm pools of her essence soak her union suit as she rubs her thighs together to get a bit of relief. Her eyes never left his facial expressions while getting fucked in the face. Eyes shut, jaw slacked, head titled backwards—all at the expense of her mouth.

“God,” he whispers, grabbing at her hair in encouragement to continue. “You feel so good around me darlin.’”

Anna’d be lying is she didn’t think seeing a man with so much power be minimized to mere putty wasn’t a ego booster to her—she notes to tease him about it later. When he forces her to pull away, trails of spit attached from his cock to her mouth as she exhales raggedly. Her eyeshadow on the brim of coming off altogether as he motions her to lay on her back near the bedrolls she took the time to make.

He makes haste with her lips, the taste of wine flooding his mouth while his free-hand aid in removing Anna’s skirt before unbuttoning her union suit. His fingers toyed with her wet mound in return of a long sigh. Dissatisfied with her response, he pistons two fingers into her wet cunt, the only sounds evident were the squelching of Anna’s pussy, and the cackling fire that barely masked her cries out in the wilderness.

“Haaah yes, that’s it daddy.” Dutch couldn’t help but groan at the petname he grew fond of behind silken sheets. He continues his ministrations but with the help of his tongue, flicking at the clit as his fingers curled in a ‘come-hither’ motion.

Anna’s entire body tenses, her eyes sees white before rolling back into her skull as her mouth opens in a silent gasp. She screams his name like prayer before marking his bedroll with her slick cum. He removes his hands from her overstimulated cunt, chuckling.

“I’m willing to give you what you need.” Dutch states with hooded eyes, stroking himself with his freehand, while the other gently grabs at Anna’s hips. “So, what is it that you need, Anna?”

Dutch was a man that valued communication during the act of coitus. Nevermind the embarrassing vabrado in Anna’s voice whenever he put her over the edge into bliss, he’d rather here her talk about his unadulterated cum to the mouth, or any part of the body for that matter. He was a man of acquired lust, even it that left a sleazy taste in Anna’s mouth.

“Well?” He asks, impatiently as he lines himself into her entrance, causing her to shiver.

“I want you.”

“And what is it, that you want me to do?”

Grabbing him by his cheek, Anna stares into his eyes, rage-filled nearly. “It’s your goddamn birthday Dutch. I want you to fill me up with you. I want all of the bandits that straggle tonight to know who’s fucking me so good. I want you to break me, Dutch.”

That was enough to set a switch off in Dutch’s head as he shoved most of his length deep into her womanhood as Anna throws her head back in pleasure. The sounds omitted from her body were embarrassingly loud as Dutch’s well-endowed shaft protruds at her walls, she couldn't even think straight as she clawed at his vest.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She repeats, staring up at him with her brows furrowed. Dutch had to count times in betwixt intervals of when he could look at Anna to prevent premature ejaculation. “Oh.”

"There you go, darlin,’ on your back.” Dutch replies. His entire being was enough for her to go crazy, now imagine how it felt after a round of this and some crudeness on the side. “Taking my cock so well like the little whore you are.”

"Don't stop.” Anna swore, eyes growing heavy at the fullness in her belly. Her moans prolonging his roughness as his left hand wraps around her neck gingerly. “Fuck, daddy.”

“How good is daddy making you feel?”

“So good, please.” Anna pleads biting at her lip while his cock pistons in and out of her.

Within seconds Anna’s body weight shifts so that her stomach kissed the soft bedroll on top of the ground while Dutch adjusts himself inside of her. His size didn't take her all the way as he goes in at slow pace into her wet cunt. She was so wet Dutch had to evade thoughts of fucking her roughly despite wanting to so desperately but opt for allowing Anna a bit of rest—for a little while.

Once she'd taken most of his size, he picked up the pace. Skin slapping against each other was the only sound that could be heard around said lovers, basking in the noise of beautiful pain, nothing could feel more euphoric than this. Anna wasn't the type of girl to overstimulate either, but the way Dutch was deep inside of her causing a slew of curse words to rise out of her mouth, she’d be surprised if she wasn’t sore tomorrow morning .

She could tell he was near his peak of coming, the way his hands tightened around her neck, his gritted teeth, and primal growl was enough indication for her to provoke him. Anna’s cheek still grazing the bedroll as she so happened to catch Dutch grinding his pelvis into her cunt. “Are you close daddy? Do you want to finish deep inside?”

A groan dare escape his lips as a glint of mischief appears onto her taut face as she whimpered, her legs curled at his change of pace. “Ohhhhh, Dutch.” eyes rolling back again.

“You love it when daddy treats you like his little harlot? Fucking you with your legs wide open for strangers to see?” He husked now forward so that his lips whispered sleazy nothings into Anna’s ears.

"Mhm.” She responds , her whimpers drowning out the open space while her eyes flutter closed; Shit, she loved Dutch, she loved fucking him even more. "Please," she begged, indicating that she wanted to release badly, and merely on the precipice telling by how her voice grew higher in pitch.

“I’m coming, hah—“ Anne squeals as Dutch releases a loud grunt as he empties his seed into her. Anna falls limb onto his bedroll, was trails of cum slick from her cunt, still shaken by the aftershocks of an intense session of love making.

While Dutch catches his breath he watches Anne’s eyes grow heavy, not before inquiring about Dutch.

After placing himself back into his trousers, he goes underneath the the quilt before hovering over Anna. He wraps his arms around her soft skin before burying his lips into her neck.

“Thank you.” He finally says. “For the best birthday an old man can ever ask for.”

Anna chuckles softly. “You were always the romantic sort, Mr. Van Der Linde.”

“Please ma’dam, you are to address me as such in public.” He whispers his next word. “But in private, daddy is the only name you’ll ever give the privilege of calling me.”

“Okay. Daddy.”

He growls, “You’re playing a dangerous game, woman.”

Anna smiles wholesomely before replacing it with a yawn, sleep beginning to take its toll as she wishes her lover one last happy birthday.

His response. “Thank you, Mrs. Van Der Linde.”

KSKSKD TAGGING @songofproserpine @jungle AND ALL OF MY FELLOW DUTCH HOES YA FEEL 😆😆😩💦💯

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x oc #anna x dutch #west elizabeth #hosea matthews #charles smith #arthur morgan #john marston #saint denis #sadie adler #me #notsfw #daddy dutch

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kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

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Extremely happy, @incorrect-r6s!! ♥ And I hope you are too, seeing as I apparently can’t stop writing about them :) So here’s more Montagne/Bandit in which Bandit says no and both of them are unhappy about it. (Rating T, emotional hurt/comfort, ~4.8k words)

The other parts can be found via tags (I tag my fics on here religiously) or here on my Masterpost! (Mobile version here)

It’s strange. As one of the most commonly used words, Montagne would think he’d be used to hearing it by now. As the answer he expected, Montagne would think he wouldn’t be surprised upon it actually being uttered. As the response for which he prepared himself, Montagne would think he’d know how to react.

And yet the simple no throws him off completely.

Bandit’s eyes have hardened which is probably why he doesn’t aim his gaze at Montagne directly – he doesn’t want him to feel the full effect of his stony expression. He makes no move to explain himself or add anything, so the single word hangs in the air heavily between them for a few seconds during which Montagne struggles to compose himself. The bluntness of it hurts, he can’t deny it, but he’s willing to give Bandit the benefit of the doubt regardless. Around them, conversations trickle on, now and then someone laughs loudly though overall the canteen is typically quiet for this early in the morning. He chose to raise the topic now because he anticipated Bandit closing off or wanting to withdraw to ponder his suggestion, which is why he refrained from mentioning it the night before.

That, and Bandit’s urgency actually worried him a little. It was obvious his absence was detrimental to Bandit’s overall well-being, which constitutes another issue he planned to address later.

“Why?”, he asks and regrets the question the moment his lover glares at him. This isn’t how he pictured the conversation to go, not at all, he expected a fight maybe or hesitant refusal which wouldn’t waver in the moment but over time, yet this, this is looking like genuine anger and rejection.

“I don’t want to”, comes the curt answer. “I just don’t. Stop asking.”

He can’t. Not when he’s met with a wall out of the blue and is now determined to figure out how to bypass or climb it. “Dom, I respect your decision and I will stop asking if you want me to. But I would still like to know why. You don’t need to tell me now, it’s fine if you need to -”

“You’re not good for me.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. Montagne sits silently, trying to recover from the blow whereas Bandit listlessly stabs his scrambled eggs without eating any of it. He’s lost weight over the two weeks Montagne was gone, hasn’t slept well, others have reported his mood as being rotten – is this what he’s referring to? Montagne hopes to God it is. Regret is creeping into Bandit’s expression now, a kind of self-hate Montagne has encountered before, often born from misguided pride. A result of pushing those away who’d otherwise refuse to leave his side. “What do you mean?” His throat is dry and he, too, has lost all appetite. If he’d known it’d turn sour this quickly he would’ve waited after they’re finished eating.

“You don’t want to be around me all the time.” He’s trying to divert attention from what he previously said but Montagne can’t un-hear the words, can’t pretend they’re not weighing him down. “Right now it’s fine because you can throw me out of your room if you want and we don’t have to be together all day. But if we lived together, that’s not – you wouldn’t want that.”

“I know what I want”, he responds firmly yet gently, “and that is exactly it. I do want to be around you all the time. It’s what we’re doing already, Dom. We sleep in the same bed every night.”

“We didn’t for the last two weeks”, he states bitingly and it sounds as if he’s blaming Montagne for this.

“And I missed you every night. It wasn’t my decision to leave and I didn’t enjoy being away from you. It made me realise how much I love your company and I do believe we would be happier if we lived together. Right now, you don’t seem to feel at home in your room but see yourself as a guest in mine. We could have a place which belongs to both of -”

“No.” The insistence behind the word silences Montagne. He doesn’t, probably can’t understand why Bandit is so against this, not with the information he’s been privy to so far. It can’t only be insecurity. Both of them remain mute for a long while during which Montagne tests out a million different approaches in his head – Bandit is feeling cornered for whatever reason, so it’d be best to back off, agree with him for now, drop the topic. He knows this. And yet he can’t get those words out of his head. “I don’t want to need you”, Bandit eventually raises his voice again.

Montagne is instantly reminded of the very beginning of their budding relationship. I don’t fucking need you, Bandit had said and been very wrong about it. It might be that he feels he’s the only one, Montagne may have not been vocal enough about his own reliance on his lover. “I need you too”, he offers weakly and earns a sneer.

“That makes it worse.” He shakes his head because he doesn’t think it does yet Bandit is adamant. “Can we just – take a step back? I’m not… I don’t like this.”

They’ve lost each other at this point and Bandit seems to be saying only half of what he means. It’s a mess and Montagne should interrupt them both before it devolves even further or before either of them come to a conclusion they’ll end up regretting and yet something in him demands to prod further, push Bandit to a point where he can’t turn back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s ugly spite, an inappropriate want for revenge for directing such painful words at Montagne, words he’s fairly sure he didn’t deserve – he only knows that he needs to stop talking and that he won’t. “What do you mean, a step back?”

Bandit’s mouth is doing something odd, looking like he’s either going to cry or yell in anger, seems to be biting back a torrent of words possibly even worse than the ones already inhabiting Montagne’s thoughts. He’s forced to say it now, Montagne made him. “I don’t know. Go back to being fucking casual. This is too much.”

We were never casual. The sentence itches on the tip of his tongue, as true as it is unhelpful. Bandit doesn’t mean it, can’t mean it. Regardless, it’s Montagne’s turn now: “No.” Eyes lock with his as they’ve done so many times before in so many different contexts, though never quite like this, never with that much dismay in them. “I can’t do that. You mean too much to me, I can’t pretend you don’t.”

Further into the corner Bandit goes, visibly uncomfortable with the open declaration. It feels like Montagne is doing everything wrong. “So you’d rather, what? End it? It’s either nothing or me suffocating?”

This hurts. Does it really feel that way to Bandit? It can’t be, Montagne knows it not to be true and yet his conviction wavers in the face of this broken expression in front of him. “Those aren’t the only two options”, he offers but it’s futile, at this point Bandit won’t listen to anything he has to say.

“Yeah, they are.” And with this, Bandit gets up, abandoning his breakfast, abandoning his lover, stalks away with a scowl and evades anyone who tries to talk to him on the way out.

Montagne is left to blankly stare at the table, wondering what in the world just happened. An hour ago, he felt confident enough in their relationship to suggest living together and now – what? Where do they stand? It’s impossible to believe that all this build-up, the moments they shared, problems they addressed and largely overcame, their mutual trust and affection could be invalidated this easily but it might just be what happened. He’s aware of Bandit’s commitment issues, knows about his hesitancy concerning anything intimate (though he, for some reason, didn’t seem to consider sex intimate at first), but never fathomed they’d surface like this.

He needs to talk to him, that much is obvious, once he’s cooled off, once he’s had the time to think it over. It might take more than a day.

Montagne has to find Blitz.

On the way, he made a mental list of all things necessary to address, planning to keep the conversation professional and short – he doesn’t like bothering others with personal problems, prefers helping to seeking help and therefore has to fight down initial embarrassment upon needing to talk to Blitz at all. But it all crumbles when the German, previously engaged in conversation with a beaming Rook (and this is something Montagne has kept his eye on for a while already), takes one look at him and asks sharply: “What did he do?”

His chest constricts as he tries to answer, attempts to come up with an explanation despite not even having one in the first place. Yes, Bandit did something, potentially ripped apart the seemingly solid structure they built together, but he can’t be sure, only knows he’s not good for him and suffocating him and how can he tell Blitz any of this?

Before he can even consider telling the two that he doesn’t know, Rook is already hugging him and this is when he realises he’s crying. He can’t even remember the last time he cried, probably in the context of his divorce, dating it back almost a decade, and so he doesn’t know what to do, how to make it stop. His hands are trembling and so he grips Rook’s pullover tightly instead, forcing down a sob and desperately scrambling to compose himself again – they’re in the middle of the hallway, everyone could see them and it’s the last thing he wants. After he’s taken a few shuddering breaths, Rook’s hand soothingly stroking over his back during all this, he withdraws again, wiping his eyes and ready to apologise yet halts when he notices Blitz’ expression.

Where Rook is regarding him with a worried and concerned one, Blitz’s a mix of shock and pure unadulterated fury. “I’m going to fuck his shit up”, he murmurs and prompts a half amused, half sad laugh from Montagne. They wordlessly pull him into Rook’s room and lavish him with care for a bit, providing him with a glass of water, cracking jokes to momentarily distract him and actually manage to feel him better in the end, not so alone and less guilty about seeking someone else’s advice. When his voice doesn’t shake anymore and he’s regained the ability to think about Bandit without feeling like an all-encompassing void is going to swallow him the next second, he recounts their conversation and watches Blitz’ face darken and Rook’s turn confused.

“He’s such a dumb idiot”, Blitz eventually states, earning himself a frown from the young Frenchman. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it, none of it.”

Montagne’s brows lift. “How sure?” At this, Rook inexplicably whips out his phone and begins furiously tapping on the screen, seemingly not interested in the conversation anymore.

“I’ve known him for a while now, and to be honest, I’ve never seen him this happy before. Stop doubting yourself, he’ll have to realise -”

Rook interrupts the two by shoving his phone under Montagne’s nose, displaying a picture of a decidedly grumpy Bandit crossing his arms and glaring off to the side. Before Montagne can ask him what he wants to achieve by this, Rook tells him: “Swipe to the next one.” He does and though the following photo seems to be taken only a few minutes later, the person in it seems completely different, his aura changed wholly: his body language is more open, his face has lit up considerably and he’s smiling down at his phone in genuine joy. He looks endearing and seeing him like this feels both like a stab to the heart and a salve for his soul simultaneously.

“What is this?”, he asks weakly, fighting down the urge to get up, find Bandit and just hug him.

“From last week”, his teammate explains quietly. “He looked like this every time you messaged him.” Did he really? Breathing becomes difficult all of a sudden. The replies he received were often curt but now that he thinks about it, usually came back immediately. He knows Bandit doesn’t like to text much and yet he did so unfailingly for two weeks. “There’s one more.”

This one increases the longing unbearably. It’s a photo of his own room, more specifically of his bed, Bandit lying on Montagne’s side, tightly hugging his lover’s pillow and his phone half buried under the side of his face. It must’ve been taken after one of the evenings on which he talked Bandit to sleep and he belatedly realises he’s wearing one of Montagne’s t-shirts. It’s so heartwarming he can’t take it.

“He was actually late because he overslept and we were worried because he didn’t find him in his room, so…” Rook gestures at his phone and puts it back into his pocket after Montagne nods in understanding. He knows what his teammate is trying to tell him and it does help immensely, calms the self-doubts raging inside him. It wasn’t a delusion when he thought of Bandit being happy with him.

“I need to talk to him”, he says determinedly but hesitates when Blitz shakes his head.

“Give him some space. He apparently doesn’t deal with this well, so it’s best to let him come to his senses first.”

He heaves a sigh but eventually agrees. “Can you do me a favour though? Keep him company if we’re still not talking tonight. He hasn’t seen No Country For Old Men but he’d like it, so suggest watching it some time after midnight. He’ll probably fall asleep halfway through, you can turn everything off and go to bed then, but give him the blue blanket, it’s the thickest. Thank you in advance.”

The other two exchange a meaningful glance and offer him a slight smile. “I think you’re going to be okay”, Rook tells him, reaches out and squeezes his hand.

Montagne is imbalanced for the rest of the day. Uncertainty gnaws at him, an odd mood has taken up residence in his mind and refuses to leave, dulling all positive interactions to a mere neutral and making all inconveniences seem like insurmountable obstacles. He drags his feet and feels his gaze drawn to anything and everything not only of Bandit himself but also reminding him of his lover, which, as it turns out, is a whole lot, yet nothing comes close to going to sleep in an empty bed. He tosses and turns, endlessly recounts the one conversation which hopefully didn’t destroy what he held most dearly and wonders how he could’ve lead it better, how he could’ve averted all this.

For most of the day, Bandit managed to ensure they didn’t end up in the same room which hurt just as much, if not more, than being ignored in his presence, though he admittedly didn’t seem very chipper either. It’s obvious he’s dissatisfied with the situation yet makes no move to change it, which fits to what Blitz said about him needing space. Montagne gladly would’ve granted him some had he only asked – he’s not clingy; even if he prefers to be near his lover he can survive just fine without breathing the same air as him constantly. But he’s gotten used to his cool body next to his own when he’s dozing off and without him, his bed seems depressingly empty. The last two weeks were a necessity. This isn’t.

Unsurprisingly, he ends up not being able to sleep. He browses his phone, makes the mistake of re-reading older messages which he now sees in a very different light, picturing Bandit’s pure and delighted smile again, thinks back to the evening Bandit masturbated in his bed. He was wearing his clothes. Not only that, he probably slept in his bed the whole time.

Eventually, he gives up and paces his room restlessly, wondering whether Blitz followed his suggestion and made sure Bandit doesn’t eat himself alive from boredom or worry or guilt. It’s one in the morning already, and though he vowed not to force it, not to corner Bandit once more, he can’t help himself. He sends him a text: are you still up? It doesn’t matter to him whether he’s busy or not or whatever it is he’s doing, he wants to see him. Even if they don’t talk. Even if they don’t even touch. His presence is enough.

A minute later, he gets an answer: no. While he frowns down at his screen, unsure how to react to this, two more things pop up: dsl and jtm.

It’s all he needed. Despite only being in pyjama shorts, he throws his phone onto his mattress and storms out of his room, wondering on the way when Bandit started understanding and even using French text speak, the first abbreviation being désolé, sorry, and the second je t’aime. I love you.

Even though he was so ready to forgive Bandit immediately, seeing the back of his head peeking over the couch in the lounge triggers an anger born from relief – now he knows it’ll be fine, but he’s been put through this misery regardless. The film is still playing, seems to be about halfway and yet Bandit isn’t sleeping but instead wrapped in the blue blanket and eating ice cream directly out of the tub with a tablespoon. He doesn’t look up when Montagne approaches, doesn’t move when he sits down next to him, eyes glued to the screen.

“Are you angry?”, Bandit wants to know very quietly.

“Yes.” Brown eyes slide over to his, apparently not expecting this answer. “I had an absolutely horrible day.”

“Me too.” He stuffs a large spoonful of basically all sugar into his mouth. “I don’t like being addicted. I know what it’s like. It’s the worst.”

“Dom, you’re not addicted to me. Relying on somebody is completely different.”

He scowls as if to disagree, yet doesn’t object out loud. “Dependent on you then. I eat and sleep when I’m with you and when I’m not, I don’t. That fucking sucks. You’re not my goddamn nanny.”

The mission must’ve made him aware of this, prompted him to critically evaluate their relationship in this regard and come to the wrong conclusion. Montagne sighs, scratches his head. “I know I can’t fix you, but I can help. How can you focus on yourself when you’re not sleeping because of nightmares? How can you concentrate on getting better if you’re physically too weak? Please. Let me just… be there. I want to.”

Bandit stays silent for a while, following the action on the TV for a bit before reaching out for the remote and pausing the film, which is when Montagne notices they’re not actually alone: Blitz and Rook are sleeping on the sofa next to them, Blitz stretched out and Rook draped over his chest, resting between his legs. “What if you leave?”, Bandit asks. “And don’t give me that bullshit about never leaving. You could die on any mission.”

“Then I suppose you have to decide what you’re going to do – whether you’ll take that risk or not.” Montagne offers a tentative smile which is met by a softening of Bandit’s features. “But I think you’ve made that decision already. You’re just doubting it right now.” If Bandit hadn’t wanted to become attached, if he hadn’t wanted to love, he wouldn’t have remained by Montagne’s side voluntarily.

“I’m fucking terrified.” Bandit’s voice is small. “I’ve only moved in together with one partner ages ago and it turned out to be a disaster. I don’t want to be annoying. I don’t want to put you off. And I definitely don’t want you feeling responsible for me.”

Hearing him voice his concerns is like a breath of fresh air, clears Montagne’s lungs and his thoughts alike. Bandit is ready to listen now and it’s an immense relief. “Barely anything is going to change between us. But you’ll hopefully have a place to call home. You can hide from the world if you want to or invite it in. That’s all. We already eat breakfast and dinner together, sleep in one bed, read in one room.”

He mulls it over while emptying the tub, staring at nothing, the cogs in his head turning furiously. “It’s more than that, though. If we break up, it’s awkward. And what if the walls are thin and we have to listen to some old couple doing it? Do you want to get leather sofas?”

Montagne wordlessly scoops him up and pulls him onto his lap, smiling into his hair and holding him tight when Bandit discards the empty ice cream, wraps all his limbs around him immediately, buries his face in the nape of Montagne’s neck. Both of them are radiating relief now though Bandit clings to him a little too desperately for his taste. “We don’t have to do it any time soon”, he whispers and kisses the top of his lover’s head, “I mostly just wanted you to know that I’d like it if we lived together. If you change your mind or just decide you don’t want to, it’s fine. But please, never do anything like that again. Alright?”

“I know”, comes the mumbled reply and his guilty conscience is audible, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, my love.” He draws soothing patterns on Bandit’s back and basks in the physical contact, enjoying the warmth of Bandit’s blanket covering them both. Despite the most obvious issue being resolved, a troubling one remains. “I need to know which parts you actually meant though. Am I suffocating you? Do you need more space, more time to yourself?”

His answer is a decisive shake of the head. “No. No, you’re not, I was just – I don’t know. I wasn’t in a good place this morning.” It seems he wants to leave it at that but remembers Montagne’s request to at least tell him why, so he struggles to come up with a better answer: “I dreamt of you once or twice and it wasn’t… good. I missed you. And last night, I think I realised how much I really need you and it scared me. Fuck, saying this out loud is the worst, I feel so fucking stupid.”

Montagne feels a smile pull on the corners of his mouth and gently massages Bandit’s scalp until he relaxes into his embrace. “It was a little stupid”, he agrees and feels Bandit’s hug tighten, “I would just like to know that I can count on you telling me if there’s something wrong. Before it escalates.”

“Yes. I’ll try. I’m not – I’m not good at it. At talking. But I’ll try. I’m sorry.”

The words soothe his soul and he nods contently. One thing is for sure, he needs to become better at reading Bandit, understanding his moods and navigating difficult conversations with him – talking about what bothers his lover is a good start, allows him to get a better feel for what goes on inside his head. Sometimes, when he watches Blitz interact with his lover, he realises with a pang how adept Blitz is at predicting Bandit’s behaviour which probably is to be expected since they’ve been close friends for much longer than Montagne even knows him.

And yet there’s a variety of things Blitz has stated he’s never witnessed Bandit do – among them quite a few actions Montagne has seen him take, the most recent being talking about his feelings as well as apologising. There are a few others, like cuddling as a source of comfort, kissing without sexual intent or turning down sex in general, all of which Bandit did at some point. It’s not without pride that Montagne notices he seems to bring out Bandit’s softer side, a side even Blitz isn’t familiar with.

The thought makes him glance over to the other two operators and he notices with a mix of alarm and joy that Blitz is returning his gaze, visibly distraught, probably because he’s witnessing Bandit doing so many things for the very first time. It’s an odd relief to be shown this unambiguously that the relationship he has with Bandit is so unique in many ways that his best friend even is astonished at the bond they share. Just to show off a little, he lifts Bandit’s chin and initiates a deep kiss into which he sinks gladly, relieved at apparently being forgiven and as of yet unaware of Blitz’ attention. Montagne keeps it going for a while, strokes over Bandit’s tongue with his own and hums into it which is met with a soft purring. When they finally break apart again, breathing heavier, he asks: “Want to go back to my room?”

His intention is clear and yet, as he expected, Bandit simply declines, not in the mood for more, still yearning for affection and affirmation. “Not yet. Can we just… stay like this for a bit?”

And at this, he can’t help himself, he has to look over to where Blitz is gaping at them in open disbelief, staring at Bandit like he sprouted another head and yet trying not to move so he doesn’t wake up Rook. Frowning, Bandit follows his lover’s gaze and returns Blitz’ for a split second before basically panicking. His entire body stiffens and he jumps up, declares with reddening cheeks: “Okay, we’re leaving. Not a single word, Elias, or you’re fucking dead.”

Blitz’ shock is slowly dissipating and making way for a wide, gleeful grin indicating he’s not taking the threat seriously whatsoever and merely itching to let everyone know of how Bandit turns into a kitten in Montagne’s arms. This, in turn, prompts Bandit to throw a look at the peacefully snoozing Rook on top of him. “You don’t say anything about what you think you heard and I won’t tell everyone about the brat and you. Deal?”

His teammate pretends to ponder the option, looks down at the brown shock of hair fondly and finally nods, following them with his eyes as Bandit takes Montagne’s hand and drags him out of the room, ignoring his wide smile and the blush on his own face. They navigate the dark corridors easily, having done so numerous times before, and end up in Montagne’s room, Bandit still holding on to him even after closing the door behind them. “Did you know he was awake?”, he accuses the Frenchman by his side and narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“What is with the two, anyway? They’ve been hanging out a lot”, Montagne steers the topic away quite conspicuously and yet Bandit jumps on it readily with a sarcastic reply.

“Yeah, what do you think? The same as us two.”

“Oh, so they’re madly in love? So bad they don’t know how to deal with it?”, Montagne prompts and earns an eye roll.

“And one of them behaves like a fucking idiot and almost ruins it? I hope not. Because that would suck for the both of them.” With this, Bandit melts against him once more and curses quietly. “I’m really sorry. If you’d said to me half of what I threw at you, I wouldn’t forgive you so easily.”

“That is how it works though. I’m not going to give you up because of a few words spoken in anger or defence.”

“You wouldn’t back off even if I told you I didn’t want to be together with you anymore?”

Montagne tries to picture it, tries to emulate what happened last morning. “No. Not as long as there’s a chance you didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t deserve you.” And before he can object, can tell Bandit that he deserves even better, deserves peace and all the love in the world, deserves to be happy most of all, they’re kissing again, short kisses this time and only interrupted by small smiles and gentle caresses. Bandit undresses in the meantime and slips under the covers with him, pressing close but more than satisfied with his presence.

“I’m going to ask Six whether it’s possible for us to only go on missions together from now on”, Montagne tells him, speaks against his temple and touches it with his lips as he rubs circles into Bandit’s side. “She should agree, seeing as she usually picks teams based on compatibility anyway.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

They’re both tired and so it’s the end of their conversation, both of them drifting off to sleep while holding on to each other. The last thought Montagne has before dozing off is: I should ask Rook for those photos. He’s sure they’d make perfect wallpapers for his phone.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #fanfic #protection mountain #thank you so much magehir for some of these ideas #you're a well of creativity and I love you #even if you're disowning bandit for this #also please imagine blitz freaking out in total silence #just WHAT #WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO BANDIT

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laschatzi · 7 years ago

Text

Privacy And Pancakes

Hello @whimsicallyenchantedrose here’s the very belated fic for your prompt “caught by the parents”. You sent it way before pancakes on the show happened, and it took me way too long, and then I didn’t know how to do it without copying it... anyway, here we go.

summary: You’d think Snow has learned not to use her spare key. Well, she hasn’t. And this time, she brought David.

word count: ~4,2k

rating: G and CP for chicken parm. Also B for bathtub

also on ff.net and ao3.

“That was quite the closure for our honeymoon,” Emma sighs as she descends the gangplank, Killian right on her heels.

“A bit of a storm,” he agrees and adds smoothly, “but I've weathered worse.”

“Showoff,” she huffs and stumbles for a second when she steps on the dock, having to adjust to being on firm ground again for the first time after a ten days' sailing trip. In was indeed their – slightly belated – honeymoon, and they're home half a day early, due to the storm that pushed them forward.

Killian grabs her elbow to steady her. “Admit it,” he chuckles in a low voice, “I'm a hell of a Captain.”

She can't help but lean into his touch when he uses her momentary unsteadiness as an excuse to press himself to her. “You are,” she concedes and turns her head to look at him. “I'll poof us right home if you're okay with it?”

He nods with a smile – as eager to get home as she is – and she transports them to their house in a whirl of magic. She brings them right outside their door and not directly inside, because she enjoys the ritual of coming home to their own place so much: walking up the stairs, unlocking the door and going inside, taking off their boots and lining them up on the mat behind the door. Normal things, like normal couples. They haven't had much time yet to truly enjoy their quiet domestic moments, so none of it is routine so far, and every day is a new chapter in the adventure of True Love.

“Go ahead,” she tells him and motions to the stairs, “I'll get us some cocoa to warm us up. I'll be with you in a minute.”

“I'll be waiting,” he replies and wiggles his eyebrows, accompanied by a grin that lets pleasurable warmth spread in her belly and promises her their honeymoon isn't over yet. She can't help but lick her lips and turns towards the kitchen while he sneaks up the hardwood stairs on his socked feet.

Emma makes quick work of heating up the milk and adding the cocoa; before topping it with whipped cream and cinnamon, she pours a healthy amount of rum into it from the bottle she keeps in one of the kitchen cabinets. She hums absentmindedly – something she never used to do – and when she notices, she smiles to herself and shakes her head a little. That's probably the most amazing thing: the joy brought to her simply by Killian's presence in their home. She doesn't even have to see him, the knowledge is already enough. In fact, she's noticed that whenever she's home alone and hears his key in the front door, her lips pull into a smile all by themselves.

For a moment, she's contemplating calling her parents and telling them they're already back, but then she decides against it. How foolish would that be, depriving herself of one more precious half day of no one knowing they're around, of having them to themselves. She risks a quick glance into the fridge and decides they'll probably have to order in, but that's something they can decide about later.

She's still smiling as she's hurrying up the stairs embarrassingly fast, but then again, she doesn't care. Her father was right: life's made up of moments, and she simply doesn't want to miss a single one of them – she's already missed enough. When she enters the bedroom, she finds it empty and frowns.

“Killian?” she calls and puts the two steaming mugs on her dressing table.

“Here, love,” comes the reply from the bathroom, and her smile widens. Joining Killian under the hot spray of the shower whenever she feels like it, that's one of the perks of living together she has come to appreciate a lot. If she can talk him into having a shower, but that's never a problem, really.

The butterflies in her belly hum excitedly as she opens the bathroom door only to break into a confused buzz when she immediately notices that the shower stall is empty. A second later she spots her pirate husband in their claw-footed bathtub, peeking at her over a heap of creamy white foam, his elbows casually resting on the edge. Before today, she's seen him only maybe once or twice in the bathtub, whereas he has developed a fierce passion for abundant showers. She recalls fondly how he used to call the shower rain bath when he still had problems getting his 21st Century vocabulary together.

In spite of his nonchalant stance, he's looking a bit sheepish right now, and Emma flashes him an amused grin. “What are you doing there?”

“Why, taking a bath, of course,” he replies, in what seems to be a slightly offended voice, “as I do all the time.”

She crosses her arms and tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “No, you shower all the time,” she corrects him, “and it's not even that chilly outside. Why the bath?” She recalls that he took one some time ago, on one of the rare occasions he got a really bad cold, and she adds, “Are you sick or something?”

“Nonsense,” he waves her off, “I was just in the mood for a good, old-fashioned bath, that's all.” His tone is a little defensive now... almost too defensive.

Then she thinks back to the storm they've had to weather today – it has taken a physical toll on her, too, she can feel it in her aching muscles – , and a suspicion dawns on her. “You had to work really hard to get the ship safely home today,” she remarks casually.

“Naught I haven't done before,” he waves her off almost grumpily and runs his wet hand through his hair, trying to distract her, but she remains focused.

“I'm sure you have,” she nods with a cheeky grin, takes three steps forward and hunkers down in front of the tub, leaning her forearms on the edge. “Achy bones, old man?”

He raises his eyebrows in that ah-so-you-want-to-play?-manner. “Sore muscles,” he corrects pointedly, “and those have nothing to do with age. They're due to,” he runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth, “hard labor.”

She will never understand how he does it, create innuendos out of nothing, with innocent words twisted by his wicked voice, caressed by his sinful tongue and his devilish expression. If he aims at it, he can make the temperature in a room rise to scorching degrees only by talking about nautical techniques, she's witnessed it. She's felt it. Right now, she feels a pleasant shiver running down her spine and can't help but bite her smiling lip. “Hard labor, huh?” she echoes a little lamely, knowing she can leave it up to him to lead her through the dance of seduction this is undoubtedly turning into.

“Aye.” He tilts his head and leans forward, his nose almost touching hers as little clouds of steam rise from the tub when he moves. “Get in here and I'll show you some of it, Mrs. Jones.”

***

“Why don't we just invite them over for dinner?” David grumbles, his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead as he drives his pickup towards the house of his daughter and son-in-law.

Snow sighs beside him. “David. Technically, they're still on their honeymoon. They might want their privacy.”

He grips the wheel a little harder. “What for?” he snaps. “They've been...” he wrinkles his nose in disgust, “private for ten days.”

Snow giggles, knowing exactly that any hint at Emma's and Killian's marital bliss is still a red rag to him, even if he's completely happy with their marriage. “I know you missed your mate,” she teases him, “but–”

“What?!”

She puts a soothing hand on David's arm. “We'll invite them over tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbles.

They park their car right behind Emma's yellow bug, the fact that it's there not raising any suspicion. When they departed, David and Snow had taken them to the docks with their baggage, and when they'll get back, Emma can simply poof them home. David opens the passenger's door and takes the casserole his wife insisted on making for the travelers.

Snow uses the key Emma gave them for emergencies, and he hands her the casserole before going to take a quick look around the house and in the garden to see if everything's okay and the recent storm hasn't caused any damage. They aren't worried for Emma and Killian; they have complete faith in their son-in-law's sailing skills.

Snow takes the casserole into the kitchen to stow it away in the fridge, when she suddenly hears a faint noise. Stopping mid-move, she listens closely and frowns. Then there's the sound again, something she can't quite define, like a dull thud followed by a light tone, almost like... a voice? Her first thought is that some animal maybe snuck into the house, which would be the normal thing to suspect in such a situation... but then again, this is Storybrooke, home of magic and fairytale characters, and when has anything ever been normal here? She can't think of any danger lurking around these days, but to always be vigilant is something that has been ingrained in her very being during her bandit days when death could always be waiting behind the next tree. Carefully, she places the casserole on the kitchen counter, snatches a knife from the knife block and sneaks out of the kitchen and up the stairs without waiting for David who's obviously still in the garden.

Following the muffled noises, Snow tiptoes along the corridor and through the open door at its end, leading into the master bedroom. She quickly scans the room and finds it empty; the two mugs with cooled cocoa on the dressing table escape her attention. There are undefinable sounds again, definitely from behind the closed bathroom door, and now she hears what's clearly the sound of splashing water.

Without thinking further, Snow grasps the knife tightly in her right hand and reaches for the doorknob with her left. To take advantage of the momentum of surprise, she turns it very slowly, then throws the door open and bursts into the room.

“Who the hell is... oh.” She stands rooted to the spot, the words dying on her lips, when she sees Emma in the middle of the bathtub in what looks a bit like a weird position, peeking at her over a mountain of white foam, face bewildered, hands instinctively raised to defend herself. The floor in front of the tub is precariously wet where the soapy water has obviously been sloshed around.

“Mom?!” Emma gasps in disbelief, shock evident on her face, and in the next second another face emerges from the foam and blue eyes are staring at her, not less shocked. Although it isn't, Killian's hair looks raven black, wet and plastered to his head like that.

He's obviously at a loss for words, something that doesn't happen very often, and Snow processes within the blink of an eye what's been going on here. “Oh,” she repeats slowly and a little sheepishly, a dreadful feeling of déjà-vû settling in her belly.

Killian tries to keep the situation ridiculously civil and tilts his head in his usual greeting, as if she hadn't just walked in on him being naked in a bubble bath with her daughter, about to do – or already doing – God knows what. “Milady,” he murmurs, sounding a little short of breath, and a wet hand comes up to scratch behind his ear.

“Why are you here, Mom?” Emma sputters, and although she looks still mortified, the tension seems to dissolve the tiniest bit, and Snow waves her hand apologetically. “I... we were just...”

“We?” Emma echoes in an alarmed voice. “Is Dad–“

“Snow?” comes a smooth, slightly worried baritone from behind, “Where...”

Emma's eyes pop open even wider while her mother puts her hand over her mouth and makes an oops! face. Killian throws his head back and rolls his eyes with a groan, “Wonderful.”

Before Snow can pull back and close the bathroom door, David peeks around the corner. “There you are!” he comments, and a second later, when he's soaked up the scenery, his pale blue eyes are as wide and horrified as his daughter's.

“Dad,” she sighs in defeat and closes her eyes, sinking a little deeper and trying to disappear into the void, or at least into the foam.

“What's going on here?!” David blurts out, and Snow can barely suppress a giggle, guiltily appreciating the involuntary humor of the situation.

Killian has enough now, rubs his hand over his face wearily and mutters under his breath, “Apparently, not much.”

His remark wakes Emma from her paralysis. Her head snaps up, and even though she feels mortified and tries to avoid looking at her father, her voice is firm as she urges, “Would you mind?”

“Oh! Of course!” Snow nods eagerly and ushers David back by pushing at his chest with her shoulder. She doesn't even have to look at him to be able to guess the grim set of his jaw. He stands there like a rock, and she pushes a little harder, until he finally retreats. Feeling sorry for Emma, she tries to soothe her with a wave of her hand in the vague direction of the stairs. “We'll just...”

“We'll be with you in a minute,” Emma sighs, and Snow waves almost dismissively at her.

“No need to hurry!” she assures, and, already pulling the door close behind her, quickly adds over her shoulder, “Take all the time you need!”

“Mom!” Emma moans, “really?!” but the bathroom door is already shut.

Killian grins to himself, because he didn't fail to notice the only ever-so-slightly amused undertone in Snow's voice. Again, she wasn't able to hide her bandit streak, in spite of her royal origin. He could have sworn he saw a bit of devilish amusement lurking in the corners of her green eyes. There's a reason he always admired his mother-in-law from the start.

Slowly, Emma turns around to face him, her face scrunched like she's in pain – and she kind of is (part of him is, too, but that's a completely different pain). “This is awful,” she complains.

He tilts his head. “It could have been worse, love,” he comments almost nonchalantly, hoping to calm her nerves.

She stares at him in disbelief. “Worse?!” she hisses. “My parents just walked in on us while we were...” She interrupts herself and squeezes her eyes shut for a second. When she looks at him again, she shakes her head. “What could possibly have been worse?” she asks. A rhetorical question, but Killian has an answer, like most times.

“Well, they could have waited two minutes longer,” he replies dryly, his eyebrow twitching as he continues, “and walked in when things got really interesting.” That reminds him of the opportunity that just got lost, and his momentary amusement is dampened by his frustration.

Emma makes a gagging noise. “Oh please, just the thought makes me sick.” She shakes her head in disbelief that this has happened again, just worse this time, and sighs, “Let's get out.”

Killian tilts his head in regret. “So much potential wasted.”

She leans forward, sloshing a little more water on the floor, and presses a kiss on the freckle underneath his right earlobe. “Tuck it away for later,” she breathes, a promise to him (and to herself) in her husky voice.

He groans in complaint, “I'm not sure that's physically possible.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You will survive, and so will your... potential.”

Ten minutes (and a rather cold shower) later they descend the stairs and head for the kitchen where they suppose Snow and David are waiting for them. Emma has calmed down a little, and even though she isn't looking forward to facing her parents and having the awkwardness bubble all up again, she's determined to get it over with as gracefully as possible and then just forget that this incident ever happened. She isn't so sure about her husband, though; Killian's penchant for sarcasm paired with her father's temperament could make for an explosive moment.

Before they enter the kitchen, she holds him back with her hand on his hook. “Are you okay?”

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Bloody fantastic.”

That doesn't really calm her nerves. “Don't be too hard on them,” she pleads.

Killian gives her a pointed look from under his raised eyebrows. “Your choice of words is not very helpful, Swan.”

He strides into the kitchen before she can reply anything, and with a nervous sigh and eye roll she follows. David and Snow who have been sitting at the kitchen table practically jump to their feet simultaneously, looking a little sheepishly – although, she notices with alarm, David looks almost more grumpy than sheepish.

Snow speaks up without further preliminaries. “Killian, Emma,” she wrings her hands and then raises them apologetically, “We're so sorry that this happened... again.”

David's face falls, and he turns to face his wife with wide eyes when he hears the word again.

A muscle in Killian's jaw ticks, and he tilts his head, deliberately keeping all annoyance out of his voice, and really, he has calmed down, for he knows there surely wasn't any bad intention behind his parents-in-law's barging in. “There wasn't any harm done,” he says generously, and Emma looks at him with a grateful, relieved smile.

The way David silently sways his head indicates that he hasn't yet decided if he's harmed for life or not; the sight of his daughter and her pirate husband naked in a bathtub anyway isn't something he ever wants to experience again, even if thankfully there wasn't much to see, really.

“We surely wouldn't have used the key if we'd known you were home,” Snow affirms and adds hastily, “I mean, of course, I didn't mean we'd use the keys to get into your house during your absence, unless it was an emergency...” She licks her lips a little nervously, and her eyes dart to and fro between Emma and Killian.

The latter raises his eyebrows. “I believe that's exactly what you did, Milady?” he replies, ironic amusement evident in his eyes when he revels in the former bandit's predicament (because it serves her bloody well), while Emma shoots him a suspicious glance.

“No!” Snow exclaims and, when his eyebrows rise even higher, adds with a sheepish head shake, “I mean, yes, but...” She stumbles over her own words and draws a deep breath. “Look,” she starts again when she seems to have recollected her wits, “we didn't expect you back before tonight. I thought you wouldn't be in the mood to cook or go out, so I brought you this.” She picks up the glass casserole dish with transparent lid she has deposited on the kitchen counter and places it in the middle of the table.

Emma is secretly touched by the homely gesture and smiles at her mother while Killian eyes the casserole suspiciously. “Lasagna?” he asks, a skeptical eyebrow ticking up.

“Chicken parm,” Snow replies in an almost defensive tone.

“That's really sweet of you, Mom,” Emma says while Killian continues to scrutinize the casserole pensively. “We came back earlier than we intended because we had a storm in our back pushing us forward.”

“Anyway,” David throws in a little stiffly, speaking for the first time since they got downstairs, “next time we'll make sure we knock before we use the key.” And, directed at Snow, “Let's leave them to their...” He lets his voice trail off while he waves his hand vaguely in their direction, crinkling his nose in barely veiled disgust. He just can't bring himself to say the word privacy.

“Where are you going?” Killian interrupts unexpectedly.

“Well, home?” David replies with a frown.

“Now, while I'd never dare to doubt this dish is delicious,” Killian drawls and motions to the casserole, “it's surely much too abundant for two people.”

Emma smiles to herself, pleasantly surprised, while her mother cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “What are you saying, Killian?”

“Well, I suggest,” he nods his head towards the basement door, “I'll fetch a bottle of Merlot, and you set the table for us? Always assuming your little lad is taken care of.”

“Henry's with him,” Snow confirms and throws a quick look at her daughter to see if she's okay with this, but her smile tells her she is.

“Then it's settled,” Killian declares and turns to David. “I think we still have some berries in the freezing box–”

“Freezer,” David corrects automatically.

“Whatever,” Killian waves him off nonchalantly. “Maybe you can whip up your famous pancakes for dessert, mate?”

That was a devious move, of course, but his grin is disarming, and really, David has no excuse for being grumpy in the slightest way, and he knows it. Killian's sincerely welcoming invitation was unexpected, his compliment an obvious signal that for him, the family peace is still intact, and David's the last one to keep things awkward when there's basically no reason to.

So he shrugs off his leather jacket. “Sure, I'd love to.”

In the end, it's a pleasant family dinner; Emma and Killian recount the adventures of their sailing trip, while David and Snow fill them in about the latest shenanigans that have been going on in Storybrooke during their absence (not that there have been any of a more serious kind). The atmosphere is relaxed and familial, and David registers with appreciation that, unlike Emma, Killian seems to have the appetite of a Romanian power lifter when it comes to pancakes.

Shortly after the dessert, they finish the last drop of wine, and Snow's eyes are especially bright when she murmurs something about privacy and pancakes on their way out.

Emma cleans up the kitchen with a flick of her wrist – normally, she refrains from that, but today she feels like she can't be bothered with washing dishes, and she feels the heaviness of the day settle in her limbs now. With her arm wrapped around Killian's waist, they climb the stairs.

“That was sweet of you,” she remarks, “to ask my parents to stay for dinner.”

Killian shrugs. “They meant no harm. And besides... how could we not?” He opens the bedroom door and lets her enter with a little tilt of his head, always the gentleman. “I mean, your mother made chicken parm for me,” he adds.

Emma turns around on her heel and crosses her arms. “For you?” she asks skeptically. “Isn't that a bit presumptuous?”

“It's not,” he replies in a determined tone and clicks the door shut. “Chicken parm is my favorite dish of hers,” he points out, “and she knows it.”

“Oh?” She frowns. “I'm not sure if I should be touched or slightly annoyed that my mom makes your favorite dish, plus Dad and his pancakes.” She raises a teasing eyebrow at him. “They deserted to you with flying colors.”

“As you should be well aware of, love,” he tells her smoothly, “I tend to have that effect on people.”

She laughs and shakes her head, while he purses his lips into a smile and starts to unbutton his shirt. “You know what's the best thing about going on an adventure?” he asks after a short pause.

“What's that?”

“Coming home to people who missed you.” He shrugs off his shirt and tilts his head in an almost casual gesture. “I never knew the feeling.” Huffing a little laugh, he quickly adds, “Getting almost copped by your parents is a small price to pay.”

Emma who was just about to pull her t-shirt over her head lets her hands sink and scrutinizes him closely. In spite of his best effort to keep his voice nonchalant, the melancholy in his eyes hasn't escaped her, and once more she realizes how much of kindred spirits they really are. “Yeah, feels good to be missed, right?” she asks softly and steps into his personal space, putting both hands to his bare chest. “It's just a pity that we didn't get to enjoy that... relaxing bath.” She looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes.

“Ah, well,” he replies and rests his hand and hook against her waist, “I guess it will have to wait until next time.”

“Mhm. okay.” She nods and pulls her lower lip between her teeth as if she was contemplating something. “But what about your sore muscles... old man?”

He cocks his head. “They're fine, love, just fine.” His eyebrows rise high when he fixes his eyes on hers, the blue darkening. “And I believe that makes it twice today that you called me old man.”

Emma has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning too broadly. “And that in spite of all your... potential. My bad.” Her eyes are glittering with mischief. “What are you gonna do about it?” she challenges.

“Well...” Killian sways his head and pretends to ponder her question, but then in a quick move dives down, wraps his arms around her still jeans-clad thighs and throws her over his shoulder, making her gasp in surprise. He announces, “I'll make you pay for it.” Emma squeals with delight and laughter as he dumps her on the bed and pins her down on the mattress with the warm weight of his body, a devilish spark in his eyes as he adds, “Twice.”

#cs ff #cs fluff #cs #captain swan #captain swan ff #privacy and pancakes #my ff

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gimmetheheadcanons · 6 years ago

Text

Public/Relations 3/?

A/N: It’s long. It soooo drags. But at least it’s here. TW: Mention of death/suicide.

3. Three

They walked in silence. The young actress in front of him, huddled up in his arms as he directed her through an obstacle course made up of swaying guests. As they entered the final leg of the night, a desperate DJ stepped up his efforts, blasting music appealing to waning legs one last time.

After finally having delivered them both to the privacy of the concierge’s front desk (and with minimal interference from any loiters in the venue’s large lobby), Klaus impatiently ushered the valet to return to him his black Aston Martin Vanquish. Fast. There was the grave matter of a shaking woman in want of whisking away; and naturally, ever the leading man at a moment’s notice, Niklaus Mikaelson was dying to be of assistance.

It felt odd. That unearned intimacy between them.

Bonnie Bennett, so small and exposed; and Klaus, determined to keep peeling at the layers until she appeared without a thread of cover.

Yet the sudden way their sniping subsided made him wonder if maybe – perhaps – there could be a second chance at a more favourable first impression.

Almost instantly embarrassed by the ridiculous notion of him being required to make any sort of adjustment or impression, Klaus cast the sappy thought aside.

This was Elijah’s doing.

Or any of the others.

Those damned detractors and the low regard with which they held him.

Klaus had always found spite to be an excellent motivator, except thanks to the champagne lending a hand in fuzzing up his thoughts, he couldn’t quite work out what on earth it was he was trying to prove on this exact night. On any ordinary day, no matter how inebriated, he’d always have enough nous left to barricade against any dangerous ideas a weak heart may have. Meet the forces gathering at the base of skull, head on, and cut them down without mercy. Stop himself from doing silly trite things such as slipping away from his own celebration for the sake of impressing a girl.

A girl.

Yet Klaus could do little to deny it; something had changed upon observing the overwhelming pain on Bonnie Bennett’s face. The quick, cruel death of that airy little laugh he quite liked. Those blazing eyes worryingly wet and weepy. That firestorm which had so quickly excited him, suddenly snuffed out. All put together, such a pathetic picture had the power to pull at his chest, instantly inspiring an untried impulse

He actually wanted to help this girl.

Get her far enough away from here so he could once again poke and prod until this frightful cocoon burst and the Bonnie Bennett emerged, hopefully ready to take a second stab at that magical, made for syndication, sitcom banter he unashamedly sought after.

Make their own laugh track to muffle the sobering realities of unscripted life.

Klaus frowned a little as their carriage finally approach.

But then what? Where would they go? And more importantly, would she stay with him? Or without any polite notice, just up and go. Cut her losses, just as his dear brother had.

The clock ran out. The moment for deliberation gone as Klaus was confronted by the bane of his daily existence – flashes of white light in the distance brewing up a terrible storm of tabloid scandal.

Of course the parasites would’ve congregated to catch a glimpse of his court. Klaus groaned inwardly, feeling disappointed twice over – once for momentarily forgetting this detail and then for remembering.

The paparazzi, or more accurately those unable to deceive their way to legitimate press status or forcibly gain access to his guest list, had set up their own party across the street. Careful to adhere to the minimum distance required to avoid any altercations and additional days in court (and Heaven knows how Klaus enjoyed those); three men and a woman took a flurry of hurried photos of their favourite meal ticket.

Klaus rolled his eyes, imagining the gleeful eyes cowardly hidden behind monstrously oversized contraptions, hideously glued to where a human face ought to have been. On his own, each snap of him was worth a decent sum but whenever a beautiful woman was involved the rate tripled.

He was certain the bidding for any pictures taken tonight would be especially high.

Klaus turned to his right. Bonnie, still in a state of quiet distress, thankfully hadn’t noticed the vampires. Best to keep it as such by disappearing quickly.

Unfortunate for them both however, was that this latest unfortunate development meant Klaus’s plans were in drastic need of amending. He couldn’t very well risk a high-speed pursuit with a valued asset of the Disney corporation in the passenger seat.

Oh won’t you think of the children Niklaus!

Klaus let escape a small but grim laugh at his favourite past-time, pulling out from the depth of his memory a rather unkind impression of stuffy, proper, pain in the arse Elijah.

But with none of the awkwardness of having to admit defeat to a flesh and bone version of his brother, Klaus was free to heed the words of caution offered by his figment.

“No bother.” He called out, finally having made up his mind to return inside and thus throwing back the keys to the man who’d just delivered them to him. Klaus casually waved his hand over the car, attempting to deflect any questions with a masterful performance of his usual indifference. “I have no need for this now. Take it back.”

“And once again, need I remind you – be gentle.”

He received a swift nod from a quaking man familiar with the implied consequences. To Klaus that terrified trembling was just a perk he got to enjoy after all the diligent work he put in to consistently educating his fellow man, wherever he went. He watched as the valet and car disappeared at once, then turned to deal with the wrath of a woman he knew to be unlearned and unafraid.

“Why?” Bonnie shouted angrily at the apparent act of betrayal. Klaus withdrew slightly so as to avoid any possibility of being struck in the face.

Still composed but only barely – Bonnie spared him.

Cautious not to indulge the oglers and sadly unsure how long Bonnie’s self-restrained would last, Klaus carefully positioned himself with his back to the cameras before answering in a low whisper.

“Why should we be the ones to abscond into the night like bandits? I swear to you love, nothing but merriment awaits – should you choose return with me.” Klaus said ensuring his voice was soft and sweet enough to assuage her fears, offering up the sincere and practical solution of support against Parker.

One word from her and the buffoon should find himself flung out on his arse, free to model on this very curb for the long-lensed vermin he so adored.

“I won’t leave your side Bonnie.”

But Bonnie perceptive eyes signalled to him she saw through to his core. The man they all sensed him to be. She saw through this obvious glitch in his programming, all the way through to the selfish curiosity under the surface inspiring such chivalry.

“No.” She answered predictably, inviting a sad smile from him.

Yes, there was a story here, Klaus could admit that whilst focussing in on the beautifully pained face before him. A story he desperately hoped to know. Meanwhile, was it so hard to believe that his instinct to protect her ran just as deep as his desire to distract himself from the foul mood his bothersome brother had left him in?

“Then perhaps I can offer you an alternative solution. One more agreeable to you.”

And for the second time that night, Klaus Mikaelson took hold of Bonnie Bennett’s hand in a bid to lead her to a safer haven.

-----

When they finally arrived at their new much more discreet location, a private penthouse located within the same building, Klaus couldn’t help but show off a little. After all, leading a life of luxury meant he had the luxury to do so.

The noticeably awe-struck young woman in his company drank in the immaculate interior of the space. He followed the music of Bonnie’s heels connecting with the limestone tiles. As she took lead, soft yellow lights fixed high above were coming to life to greet her and celebrate her bravery. She didn’t have to travel too far from him to explore, her eyes doing most of the work, scanning the entire open space all the way to high glass walls revealing a fully furnished outdoor seating area and a sky pool in the distance.

“Make yourself at home.” Klaus called out, pointing towards the richly black Edelman leather sofas as he made a beeline to the built-in butler bar. He was about to pour two glasses of something comforting for them, when it dawned on him mixing drink and despair may appear slightly predacious to his watchful guest. Instead, Klaus returned to Bonnie’s side holding a less sinful (and therefore much less fun) bottle of mineral water which she politely accepted.

“Thanks.”

A genuine warm smile spread across his face at the tiny one he spotted her lips were failing to fight back.

“I usually keep this space for the after party. A handful of noteworthy individuals, for light debate followed by much needed debauchery. However…seeing how deeply loathed I am by everyone and their mum at this point in time– a fact my dear brother reminded me of a couple hours ago – I’d rather put it to better use tonight.”

Again, Bonnie thanked him, causing his chest to swell up like a balloon.

Klaus knew the automatic, monosyllabic, society taught reply shouldn’t have warranted such a reaction from him; yet there was a potent power in being able to receive Bonnie Bennet’s praise. Perhaps he could set himself a new challenge and keep a tally of exactly how much gratitude he could gross over the course of the night.

“To harbouring fugitives.” Klaus said raising his own bottle of water for a toast.

Bonnie resisted to clink plastic, choosing instead to roll her eyes at the bon mot.

“I’m not a fugitive.”

Klaus shrugged his shoulders, the glint in his eyes still very much intent on teasing her at the cost of the night’s takings.

He glugged down his drink partly in bid to appear unconcerned about the way she left him hanging and partly to try and rehydrate enough so he could have his wits about him before attempt to engage with Bonnie once more. She stood with her own bottle unopened, stealing subtle glances just as he was.

Once his thirst had been managed, Klaus lazily swiped at his wet mouth, his left hand unable to mop up each rebellious drop he let carelessly slid down his chin and onto the naked flesh peeking out from the top of his loosened-up shirt.

“Well…” He said sensing Bonnie’s discomfort at the intentional combination of silence, staring and so-close-together-standing.

“Now that I have obliged you so, will you – at the very least – grace me with an explanation as to why we have been banished from my own party.”

Bonnie hesitated for a moment before turning her face away and answering in a low voice.

“I don’t need to see him.”

Klaus’s jaw tensed at the distance she insisted on putting between them. Screwing back on the lid, he disposed of his bottle by frustratingly flinging it onto a nearby armchair, where it landed with a soft thud.

“That much I gathered.”

She appeared unable to get comfortable with him, her body still on high alert as she slowly began pacing the room whilst aiming to maintain the guise of leisurely browsing the full stocked bookshelves.

It was frustrating. The hold that idiot Parker seemed to have over this woman. A woman, Klaus, in the short span of time they’d become acquainted, assumed was fearless.

“Rest assured, there is no tail in need of shaking here.” Klaus promised again urging her to take a seat on any of the numerous chairs in the room.

Bonnie however denied him once more, continuing to evade him by staying constantly on the move.

A little heavier handed and a little more in character, Klaus proceeded to press harder.

“As an objective third party observer, I find the only thing pursuing you at this moment is your personal demons regarding Mr. Parker.”

She appeared to tense at his direct reference to her co-star, halting in a stride long enough for Klaus to close the gap between them. Good, he thought, pleased with the result of the harsher tactic he chose to employ. Perhaps now she would be more open to his assistance, whilst he was still gracious enough to be offering it.

“Demons,” Klaus continued in a slow purposeful drawl, inching nearer and nearer until able to see the specific shades of brown – from dark to light – of each individual hair strand on the back of Bonnie’s head. Klaus observed the beginnings of a couple of soft curls marching out of time, at odds with the rest of her perfectly placed and professionally straightened locks; and he wondered, how many more would join their marvellous little mutiny by morning.

With her back to her, Klaus had to guess what was going on inside Bonnie’s head. Instead his mind was preoccupied with the way her thin shoulders rose and fell as she breathed in and out more deeply. Charmed by the rhythm, Klaus’s own breath followed hers – his nose taking in the scent of sweet feminine fragrance on her skin. It was warm and comforting, like rich berries in a summer fruit crumble drowned in smooth vanilla custard. Meant for consumption during the blackest of winters, to heat the soul and stain the corners of your mouth a bloody red.

She turned to face him, without any warning and almost startled him.

Almost.

“These demons. I’d be glad to exorcise them for you if you could just make them more corporeal, love.”

The sequence continued on whilst she was facing him – that up then down, in then out – until Klaus interrupted it by gently resting his hands atop Bonnie’s shoulders, commanding them to steady.

She didn’t gasp for him.

His disappointed eyes watched her doubtful ones, unable to win them over; her silence just about to start reminding Klaus that his patience was a finite resource in need of constant replenishing.

“Details Bonnie.” He said, following up with a more insistent growl he knew he would come to regret. “I demand them.”

Klaus found his planned interrogation aborted quite suddenly. However, not by any hostility of Bonnie’s but by the gentle interruption of beeping coming from somewhere on her person. It was the sound of an incoming text message, she chose to immediately answer.

Phone in hand and pushing past him, her shoulders savagely cut across his chest like a rugby player’s.

After a silent second, Bonnie let out a furious scream.

Shaking with rage, her livid eyes were glued to the screen.

Intrigued, Klaus approached her to peer over her shoulder pryingly. Unfortunately, he was unable to catch the communication in its entirety when Bonnie once again shrieked.

“Argh! Damn it Alaric! Thanks for the heads up asshole.” She cursed upon having fully read the script herself, angrily smashing down her water on the marble counter in front of her. Not having noticed him walk up behind her, Bonnie bumped flat into his chest as she turned around.

“How about a little personal space?” She said her tone acerbic as she lashed out at him for the sins of another.

Hardly offended Klaus obliged, cordially stepping out of the way but not before mockingly putting both hands up and throwing her a wink.

Bonnie ignored him, angrily pressing away at the keyboard on her phone screen.

Alaric Saltzman, Klaus knew the man as well as he did every agent who tried their luck at claiming him as a prize. For a time, Klaus toyed with the idea of striking up an alliance with the man, before quickly recognising that Saltzman’s body of work, in all its underwhelming mediocrity wouldn’t have been well-suited to Klaus’s needs.

Not in the long run anyway.

Klaus wickedly grinned, thinking back to wholesome redheaded he freed from a potential life sentence as the second Mrs. Saltzman; realising that for a short while, there was a need the agent – or to put more accurately the agent’s fiancée – did satisfy.

His indulgence and mischief however had cost him in a way. Word got round and no agent in this town since managed to last beyond a couple of weeks managing Klaus. Each finding him too – what was it that Josh said – “mega intense and scary like a medieval torture expert guy”.

It was a gratifying sacrifice, if undertaken solely to punish Saltzman for his insolence. For the crime of daring to believe he and Klaus could be equals, the actor extracted his revenge most viciously. Taking from the man the love of his life, compelling her to lose herself in a moment of weakness, debasing her and discarding her. Still, it took just that on time of mixing pleasure and business for Klaus to see how quickly most fled from him.

Afraid of joining the pile of bodies he left in his wake.

Young Joshua must’ve been a glutton for punishment when he signed on with Klaus. Since the Saltzman affair, the pitiful boy had the pleasure of pulling double duty on all of the actor’s booking needs. Naturally, he did this collaborating with the patient people at William Morris Endeavour.

Done sending her text, Klaus wondered if Bonnie’s displeasure meant she could someday be persuaded to leave that dullard agent of hers and join him at the rival agency. Except, he quickly realised, that would require her to start viewing him in a much different light.

She must’ve been distracted enough by the unpleasant news she received, it slipped her mind to hold him to account for his earlier pushy behaviour. This would’ve been an ideal time to cease testing the patience of his guest, yet wholly undeterred and his impulsive nature getting the best of him, Klaus continued.

“Still waiting love.”

“Look Klaus,” Bonnie said finally snapping at him; the woman before him, far away from the timid, torn up creature he needed to coax into that lift. “Thank you for the rescue but you can return to your party. Okay? I’ll be out when I’m ready.”

This Bonnie, the one prone to turn on her heel and storm away from him, required a far more delicate touch. “Perhaps I can make arrangements to have you returned to your place of residence?” Klaus offered in a plea to appear reasonable.

But Bonnie didn’t need a moment to muse over his suggestion. Shaking her head immediately but looking somewhat despondent about having to do so, she replied weakly.

“No. I can’t. Not after tonight.”

With another piece of the puzzle in his possession yet somehow saddened by what it held, Klaus wavered a little.

“Then I have a suggestion you may find either entirely pleasing or wholly preposterous.”

“Stay here.”

It was out there now. That dangerously weak heart of his finally successful in its intended coup; and Klaus’s deepest desire for company – a secret no more.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Klaus replied fully committed to this idiocy now.

Bonnie took another look at the grand apartment he’d just made available to her. “I guess this is okay.”

Catching herself venturing into a territory occupied by the far more ill-mannered, Bonnie tried again – a little more enthusiastic this time. “Good even. I mean – it’s good. Thank you, Klaus.”

Another Bonnie Bennett thank you for Klaus’s book. The idle angel on his shoulder sure had an unusually amount to brag about tonight.

“Well, not so fast.” Klaus added, reminding Bonnie there were terms attached to his offer. “I cannot vouch for what kind of pay there is in television but there are a few items here that’ll fetch a pretty penny online. Morbidity of fame I suppose.”

Deciphering his meaning with narrowed eyes, Bonnie finally conceded.

“Fine stay if you must.”

“Just don’t bother me okay?”

Klaus clapped his hands together jubilantly. “Now we’re finally seeing eye to eye, I’d like to revisit my earlier queries.”

He walked over to the largest sofa and sat, his hand outstretched hovering over the space next him where he’d visualised she should be. “Come sit with me.”

Bonnie let out an ironic laugh at the proposal. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“You’re not gonna trick me into some ridiculous Dr. Phil situation Klaus.” She promised with a resolute look on her face.

Klaus lazily stretched his arms out above him and yawned, before satisfyingly settling his back against the soft cushions further. He then cast a relaxed smile in Bonnie’s direction, hoping to entice her to come do the same. Her day must’ve started as early as his, if not earlier.

“Come now, you’ve been standing in those heels for long enough love.”

“No way. No matter how comfortable the couch, I refuse to share it with you.” Bonnie repeated.

Frustrated, Klaus grabbed the soft white throw pillows, snatching them out from under him and busily began rearranging them. Without looking at her he muttered under his breath what he knew could only be received as a menacing attempt at intimidation.

“I’ll be sure to send Kai Parker your most affectionate greetings when I go then.”

Once again, Klaus made sure to use his full name for effect.

Dissatisfied with the thought of missing her reaction, Klaus put away his angry pout and turned to face Bonnie, adding with a sneer. “I so did enjoy him in this summer’s must-see superhero flick. Really remarkable how far he’s come from his humble beginnings as a teenage witch.”

Bonnie did not blink. It looked as though she’d been inoculated to his mean mouth after the first incident. Klaus was about to try something different to get that reaction he craved when she cut him off.

“Why are you doing this?” She demanded, completely throwing him.

“Why are you fucking with me?”

Not sure how to reply to such a straightforward question, Klaus hid behind a mocking gasp of shock and opted to childishly mutter about her use of foul language instead. Unfortunately, the aggravated actress firmly stayed on topic.

“All night in fact! Do you even see what you’re like?”

All of a sudden, Klaus had been stunned into silence by her more measured tone and the crashing waves of righteous rage radiating from her threatening to batter his unprotected body.

This was nothing like he’d ever dealt with before. Similar words from his siblings often fell short because of their own failings being so laughably apparent to him. No, blasted Jiminy Crickets would seldom manage to escape without being mercilessly crushed by his fist.

Yet here was Bonnie and having a bloody good go!

And it was different, he noted. Her inquires into his very character held no pretence of a search for higher moral reasoning. She didn’t care to teach him anything or even win for that matter. She just plain and simple wanted to know.

Demanded to know.

Why was he, Klaus Mikaelson, fucking with her?

It was a brilliantly phrased little question, simple in every way and yet something told Klaus he was in no way capable of delivering the complexity of its answer.

With no response coming her way any time soon, Bonnie groaned, wearily throwing her arms up in the air.

Her annoyance flared up once more when Klaus made the mistake of smiling. Her eyes flashed widely in disbelief at the action.

“Why are you grinning like a villain? Have you really nothing better to do?”

Ready to incur another deadly glare, Klaus was surprised to see her face soften.

“Come on man, why all this,” She whined in response to this uncharacteristic quietness she had to endure from him. “I don’t even know you.”

The plainly said statement, a desperate final attempt at trying appeal to his better nature. There are protocols in civilised societies, she beseeched him The pools of hazel staring back at him called for the decency to mind one’s own bloody business.

Except, that’s where Bonnie Bennett had gone wrong.

Klaus Mikaelson, more beast than man, was hardly civilised.

“Oh don’t be daft.” He laughed for a second time, crossing his arms under his head casually, further propping up the pillows. “Of course, you know me. Everyone does.”

“Great.” Bonnie said, her face clearly regretting her efforts to try and reach him. Klaus frowned a little at how easily she gave up. “So where’d your babysitter go? The big brother?”

Her casual mentioning of Elijah replicated the same discomfort Kai Parker’s did. Klaus shifted awkwardly in his seat and Bonnie noticed.

“Oh wow. You’re all of a sudden bored of twenty questions when it’s your turn?” Bonnie said with a sneer ugly on her pretty face.

Determined not to lose to her, Klaus answered frankly. “He should be where he prefers to be. Back in his hotel room in a deep untroubled slumber. Miles away from here. From me.” He said bitterly.

His earnest confession as to the reason for his aloneness had an unexpected outcome.

A sudden crash and the empty space next to him became occupied.

Bonnie let out a tired sigh, appearing exhausted by everything leading up to the moment to collapsed down next to him. It was odd having her choose to not only sit, but then to do so closely.

As her thigh pressed against Klaus’s, he turned his head slightly to get a better look at the profile of her face. Her heavily lashed eyelids were shut as she inhaled deeply, sinking further into the comforting cool leather. Using just the tip of her toes, she flicked off her right shoe followed by the left. Her perfectly pedicured and painted toes then giving a little victory wiggle.

“It’s a nice couch.” She hummed, her still lids shut.

“It is.” Klaus chuckled.

“So jerk brother huh?” Bonnie asked, her eyes opening to look around the room as if she had misplaced something.

Up close, Klaus noticed slightly dry flakes of darkly stained skin peeling off insides of her lips, revealing a fleshy pink in contrast to the impeccable matte coat of chestnut brown from earlier this evening.

Without being asked, Klaus found himself on his feet and heading to the counter, returning with her discarded bottle in his hand. Again, she thanked him when he opened it for her and Klaus counted that as being five now in his favour.

“Jerk brother.” He concurred taking his seat once more.

“And what of your handler? Your agent, Saltzman was it?”

Bonnie’s mood soured at the mention of the man. “Urgh, just found out he ditched me to deliver his twins.”

Klaus was surprised at her answer.

Why the old bugger sure bounced back rather marvellously! So, it was two sets of tiny feet, and not his own cold ones that kept Alaric Saltzman away this evening. But why instead of being elated for her mentor, was Bonnie Bennett clearly furious? Surely there had to be some greater transgression than this? Or was she a far pettier person than Klaus had realised.

“What a monster.” He said mockingly.

Bonnie snorted. “Yeah well, he could’ve drop a warning he was going to be leaving me with one.”

“Poppycock! I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

When Bonnie allowed herself to giggle at his exaggerated exasperation for even a second, Klaus noted how his ears, coming through the other side of a severe joyless drought, were beginning to grow fond of the sunny sound.

“Like hell you have.” She said slipping on a brief smile, comfortable enough to lazily slap the side of his thigh with the back of her hand without really looking at him. The impression left by her touch tingled for a moment thrilling him. Then the smile, just as easily slipped from her face leaving nothing but a pool of quiet bitterness in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean you.” Bonnie added in a low whisper, unblinking eyes gazing into the distance.

Klaus inhaled deeply, the solemn air between them thick and heavy.

Alaric Saltzman’s failings finally revealed.

A heads up.

“Kai Parker.” He said without even the faintest hint of a sneer. She hadn’t anticipated on him being at the party. Alaric must’ve withheld that information from her.

“Yep.”

Klaus shook his head sadly, trying on for size the part of a supportive friend. “He seems like such a prince too. Making the rounds at children’s wards in his silly tights and cape.”

“Well what do you want me to say? That Disney money got him playing you all 24/7 okay?” Bonnie retorted, straightening up.

Klaus knew he’d gone wrong, his attempts at sincerity rang false.

“Okay.” He said yielding to her and hoping she’d return to that almost tranquil state of earlier, teasing him with a touch or two.

But it wasn’t to be. As if only just slowly waking from a hazy dream and suddenly aware of her surroundings, Bonnie Bennett’s guard came up in full force.

“Are you friends with him?”

It was Klaus’s turn to jolt awake.

“Excuse me?”

“I said are you friends with him?” She demanded more sternly.

Klaus’s chuckles were dismissive. “Why? Did he pass along a lovely little handwritten note asking us to be mates love?”

Bonnie shot up.

On her feet and at a distance, she repeated herself.

“I mean it Klaus. I need to know.”

“Are you friends?”

“No.” He said but by the time he answered they’d returned to their earlier roles. “Bloody hell. I said no didn’t!”

To his horror, Bonnie would not abide.

In one swift motion, Klaus rose also. Back to facing off with Bonnie, but now with a much greater height advantage than the barefoot actress.

“We hardly travel similar circles. Just the overcrowded ones in need of a good cull if you ask me.”

Sensing she needed more than that Klaus decided to spell out for her exactly how he felt about the Kai Parkers of the world.

“I never thought of him as anything but a self-centred, man-child with mediocre flair for the arts yet an unmatched need for constant attention.”

He was met with raised eyebrows from the young woman.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He insisted growing increasingly irritated she would continue to question him. “I mean it love. Believe me, we have nothing in common. He’s a hack. A Buzzfeed quiz favourite, constantly clamouring for followers across his social media like a harlot.”

Finally, Bonnie grinned a little. “Hashtag blessed.” She quipped in a voice much too heavy to be actually humorous.

Finally, Klaus watched as she settled back into her seat and convinced he did enough to ease her her doubts about him, followed.

“Well, I guess you know better than anyone not to believe what you read in the papers.” Bonnie observed, her head turning to face him. Her nose may as well have be touching his cheek but Klaus was too troubled by the mystery she still hid from him to take any joy in his triumph.

“On the contrary love, when it comes to me, I must urge you – believe every word.” He said completely unironically.

“Even Carol Lockwood?”

“I – sorry – I didn’t meant to – ” Bonnie stammered her face utterly changed by the dark weight behind those words. Her mouth slammed shut; Klaus��s grim look, a judge’s gavel coming down on hard on such the feeble defence her lips were aspiring to form.

“I don’t know why I said that.”

The choppy waves threatening to form above Klaus’s brows instantly settled, the flood of emotion never quite reaching the shores of his eyes. Gripped by the eerie stillness of a drowning victim, he sat unresponsive.

There was hardly any point to it. The pens dripped in poison had done their job, effectively killing this conversation as it had the one with Elijah.

“The topic exhausts me.” A whisper of life left in him confessed.

Klaus shifted in his seat slightly ready to resist any and all of Bonnie’s resuscitation attempts. He expected a taste of his own medicine; bracing himself for a barrage of prying questions meant to unsettle.

Bonnie, far kinder and empathetic he thought the descendants of Adam could ever be, simply decided to nod.

“I understand.”

Understanding. His heart ached a little at the prospect of such a thing – he was the keeper of far less publicised ghost stories. Ones good souls would greatly struggle with.

“How could you possibly love.”

Gallons of redness spilling over the sides and onto the tiles, setting Klaus up to lose his footing and fall when he found her. A bathtub transformed into an overfilled wine glass. His mother, always such a careless drinker, had decidedly drained herself. The shirt he wore that day suddenly a bib, soaking up the mess she left for him as Klaus lost consciousness on the floor.

Last thought on his mind?

She finally did it.

Escaped them all to other side.

#klonnie #tvd #bonnie bennett #klaus mikaelson #fanfiction

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roslinadama-sinequanon · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas in Connecticut-Chapter 13

A little fun Christmas fluff-Because it’s pretty evident that Andy is a dog person. Anyone else ever notice how much he seemed to like the dogs they came across on the show, he had real affectdion for them (as a dog lover I noticed and appreciated this). I remember the little one he raced off to catch and was then cuddling in his arms--Provenza made him give the dog to Rusty to walk and get back to work. Provenza is NOT a dog person. Anyway, that’s where the inspiration for the first scene comes from.

Also in this chapter we meet Sharon’s sister and brother in law, Christine and Ed. For reference, when writing them I pictured Dana Delaney and Brian Dennehy.

You can find Chapter 13 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293105/chapters/30889320

and here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12789981/13/Christmas-in-Connecticut

and here:

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening In the lane snow is glistening A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight Walking in a winter wonderland

Gone away is the bluebird Here to stay is a new bird He sings a love song as we go along Walking in a winter wonderland

In the meadow we can build a snowman Then pretend that he is Parson Brown He'll say, "Are you married?" We'll say, "No man" But you can do the job when you're in town

Later on we'll conspire As we dream by the fire To face unafraid, the plans that we've made Walking in a winter wonderland

***

“So, you like dogs?”

Andy glanced away from TV at William’s question. He’d been so engrossed in the football game, he’d hardly been aware that Guinness had jumped up on the couch and had his big golden head resting on his lap. Or that he’d been patting that head.

“Yeah, I do. We had one when Nic was a kid. Cute little mutt.” He’d lost Bandit in the divorce, along with Nicole. At least with Nicole he’d gotten visitation rights. Not so with Bandit. “After my divorce there was no way I could take care of a dog on my schedule. You can’t have a dog when you’re getting stuck at work for sometimes 13 or 14 hours. But someday, maybe when I retire, I‘d like to get another one.”

“That’s why Mom never let us have a dog,” Ricky said. From the tone of his voice, Andy could tell this had been a bone of contention in the Raydor household.

“Ricky, you know I would love to have had a dog, but like Andy said, it wouldn’t have been fair to the dog. I didn’t work the crazy hours he did, at least not once I moved to the PSB, but with work and you and Emily and all your extracurricular activities there just wasn’t time.” She left out the dealing with everything “on my own” but it was there, and they all knew it.”

“Besides, Mom let us have cats.” Emily jumped in to her mother’s defense.

Ricky nodded. “Princess Buttercup.”

Rusty raised an eyebrow. “Princess Buttercup? That’s what you named your cat?”

“It’s from the Princess Bride,” Emily said.

“What’s the Princess Bride?”

“You’ve never seen the Princess Bride? What did you, live under a…” Ricky stopped himself, horrified at his open mouth insert foot moment.

Rusty flushed, as the room grew quiet. He was embarrassed to know they were all thinking about his horrible childhood of abuse and neglect, but before the moment could become even more awkward with Ricky starting to apologize, Andy interjected.

“It’s a great movie.”

“You watched the Princess Bride? And you liked it?” Rusty snickered at the idea of Andy Flynn watching a movie with that title.

“Dozens of times. It was Nic’s favorite movie. And yes, I liked it.”

“It’s still one of my favorite movies,” Nicole said.

“Don’t let the name fool you. It really is a great movie,” Ricky agreed. “It’s not just some sappy girly love story. It’s funny.”

“And full of swashbuckling adventure,” Andy added.

“Swashbuckling?” Rusty was still skeptical.

“Yeah, you know, pirate stuff, sword fights. When we get back to LA, we’ll have a movie night and watch it together. It’s one of your mother’s favorites too.”

“Not that there is anything wrong with sappy girly love stories.” Sharon ruffled Ricky’s hair as she walked past him to sit beside Andy on the couch. “And as far as pets go, let’s remember that against my better judgment, I let you get a lizard.”

Andy turned to look at her. “You had a lizard?”

“I didn’t have a lizard, Ricky did.”

“After she refused to let me get a snake.”

Sharon shivered at the memory. “No snakes in my house. We compromised on the lizard…What?” She asked at Andy’s grin.

“Nothing. I was just thinking--you’re the master negotiator at work AND at home.”

“Yes, well, that negotiation came back to bite me on the…well, rear end,” she said, keeping it clean for the little ones who were laying on the floor playing ‘Chute‘s and Ladders‘. “Ricky broke his arm playing Pop Warner football and guess who had to clean the lizard cage?”

“Terrarium,” Ricky corrected.

“Cage, terrarium, whatever you want to call it, I had to clean it.”

“Aw, Mom, you know you developed a nice little relationship with Draco.”

“If by nice little relationship you mean I stopped nearly having a nervous breakdown every time I had to pick him up, then yes, I did.”

Andy squeezed Sharon’s hand. “You have a great mom, Ricky. If I’d ever had a lizard my mother would have let it die before touching it.”

****

White wash!” Ricky raced out from behind his fort like a World War 1 soldier charging out of the trenches and chased Emily with a large pile of snow in his hand.

“Don’t you dare!” She shrieked, slipping on the ice as she tried to avoid being slammed in the face with the pile of snow. “Ricky stop, I can’t afford to hurt my foot again.”

Ricky stopped, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Oh, you’re good sis.”

“What’s a whitewash?” Scott asked, ducking his head behind the wall of snow that protected him from the snowballs whizzing overhead. Everyone had gone out to the front lawn bundled up against the cold to help the kids build a snowman, after which Ricky had suggested building forts, picking teams and having a snowball fight.

Andy grinned at the boys and bent to pick up a pile of snow before approaching Sharon with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll show you what a whitewash is.” Seeing what he was all about she turned to make her get away but he grabbed her by the coat before she could bolt.

“Andy, Andy stop!” Her tone was far more commanding that Emily’s shriek.

“Just trying to educate the boys.”

“Andy I mean it---”While trying to twist out of his grip, they both lost their balance and fell back into a large snow bank. Andy rolled on top of her his eyebrows twitching in what he thought was a menacing manner but which only made Sharon giggle.

“I’ve got you just where I want you pretty maiden.”

“Andy.” Her voice grew low, threatening. “I swear to God if you whitewash my face there will be a certain part of your anatomy that will not be functioning properly for the rest of this vacation.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“You‘d be cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

Sharon lifted her knee. “Try me.”

Andy dropped the snow and quickly rolled off her. “Okay, you win.”

“Oh for goodness sakes. She can‘t knee me in the balls.”

With that statement, Sharon felt an icy handful of snow smashed forcefully into her face.

“Now that boys, is a whitewash.”

Gasping and sputtering, Sharon quickly rubbed the snow out of her eyes so she could see her assailant. There she stood, familiar hazel eyes dancing with mirth, her hands on her hips and a cocky smile.

Sharon rose, eyes narrowing in her best Darth Raydor glare. “Christine Mary O’Dwyer Simmons, YOU are going to pay for that.”

“Oh yeah, who’s gonna make me?”

Before Christine could even blink Sharon had hooked a foot behind her calf and pulled her feet out from beneath her so she fell into the same soft pile of snow, then treated her to her very own whitewash.

“That’s enough girls.” Colleen had come out of the house when she’d heard the car drive up and was surveying her daughters with a shake of her head. “You two sound exactly like you did when you were eight and nine years old.”

Sharon and Christine grinned at each as Sharon extended a hand to help her sister up out of the snow. “Good to see, sis.” She said.

“You too.” Christine pulled her into an exuberant hug. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that? I didn’t even see it coming.”

“You don’t mess with a cop, Chrissie.”

“Geez. I guess not.”

Andy watched the sisters with amusement. This was a completely new side of Sharon. “You must be Christine,” he said stepping forward with interest. There was no denying the two were blood. Though Christine was a little shorter than Sharon was and as he got closer he noticed that her eyes were hazel rather than Sharon’s vivid green, they shared the same porcelain and rose complexion dotted with a few whimsical freckles and the same thick auburn hair, though Christine wore hers in a shorter pixyish cut while Sharon’s fell over her shoulders in waves. If he had to classify them, he’d call Christine cute, while Sharon was beautiful. Then again, he might be a touch biased. No one, in his eyes, could hold a candle to his Sharon.

“Must be. And you must be the very dashing Andy Flynn.” After shaking his hand, Christine looked him up and down. “You’re even better looking in person.” Andy laughed at the flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes.

Sharon groaned. “For God sake Christine, do you have to say absolutely everything that pops into your head?”

“Uh, yes.” Christine was as irreverent as Sharon was circumspect.

“Are they always like this?” Andy turned to the heavyset bearded man who was also watching with amusement.

“Pretty much.”

“Hey Ed.” Sharon stepped into the big man’s embrace.

“Hey, gorgeous. I don’t know how you do it Sharon; you get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Quit flirting with my sister.” Christine’s protest was belied by her affectionate smile.

“Just stating facts. The O’Dwyer girls are something to look at, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” Andy agreed.

“Andy, this is my brother in law Ed Simmons. He‘s not even Irish but he‘s got the gift of the blarney. Ed, Andy Flynn.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too. You’re a cop right?”

“Yes, a lieutenant with the LAPD.”

“And Sharon’s your boss.”

“Yep.” Andy grinned, not at all put out by that fact. “Best boss I‘ve ever had.

“I bet. So, what’s that like? Is it kind of sexy, being bossed around by your girlfriend? That can be a turn on.”

“Ed!”

“Actually, sometimes it is.”

“Andy!” Sharon shoved at him with her shoulder.

“What? I’m just saying…. “

Sharon cut him off, turning to the rest of the family. “Why don’t we all go in for some hot chocolate? How does that sound? “

“It sounds like you’re changing the subject.” Andy fell in step with her as everyone began heading back toward the house. “And you’re turning a pretty shade of red.”

“Must be a hot flash.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Andy chuckled at her discomfort.

“You need to behave. “ Sharon pointed a warning finger at him, which only made Andy laugh harder.

“There you go again, getting all bossy. “ He leaned in closer so only she would hear. He didn‘t want to completely embarrass her. “It is a turn on, you know.”

“Andy Flynn you’re incorrigible.” Her reprimand was laced with amusement. This boyish, playful, slightly naughty side to Andy had always been irresistible to her.

“Mmmhmmm. And you love me for it.”

Oh yes she did.

***

Once inside the foyer, with coats and hats removed, there were hugs all around. Sharon was hugging her youngest niece Bridget who was in grad school and had come down from Massachusetts with her parents when she saw Christine hugging Ricky. Her sister’s eyes clouded over with pain, but it was only for an instant and anyone who didn’t know her as well as Sharon might have missed it. By the time she had pulled back, to look up at her nephew Christine was grinning and teasing him about his scruff.

“Hard to believe this tall young man came from your body, isn’t it?” she said to Sharon.

Sharon turned wistful. “It is. I can still remember so clearly how easily he fit in the crook of my arm.”

The sad look touched Christine’s face again compelling Sharon to take her hand, squeezing it gently. Their eyes met, acknowledging that pain without a word.

TBC

#sharon raydor #andy flynn #shandy #Major Crimes #christmas in connecticut #sharonmattered

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zacknano17 · 7 years ago

Text

Day 17: words 32,099 - 34,020

In which....wow, I think this is like 2000 words of nothing? In which, nothing happens whatsoever. Sorry, I’m at the stage where I’m only continuing out of pure spite.

Taako kept his face congenial and friendly while his brain went into panic mode. While it was quite clear that these people didn't have any idea he was wanted, the fact that this Magnus had so easily recognized him was not really very encouraging. Of course, this was the kind of town where the rumors would spread right through town if anyone had heard, so he was probably good.

“That's Sizzle It Up With Taako, dear,” Taako heard himself say. “Yes, that's right, I remember now. Seafood pasta, right, since you're right on the sea here. I always did try to demonstrate dishes that were relevant to the area.”

Taako suddenly found that his hand was clasped with Magnus', who was trying to rip his arm off. Or, shake his hand, maybe? “Great to meet you,” he said enthusiastically. “What brings you back to Raven's Roost? To be honest, the rumors going around town say you were grievously injured or something, but if you're here to do another show...”

“Oh, no. I'm afraid I'm not here on business,” Taako assured him. “I was just traveling on through. My caravan got attacked by bandits, and, while I put up a good fight, I was, eventually, overwhelmed by sheer number. I did get hurt pretty badly, but I managed to crawl my way here before collapsing. Lucky for me, Julia here was out for a walk and happened upon me.”

“Poor darling took an arrow to his back and then walked the whole night,” Julia supplied. “Ms. Nerissa fixed him up with some stitches and a potion, though. In a few days, he'll be good as new.”

“That's awful,” Magnus replied, looking very serious. “Any idea how far out you were when you got attacked? I don't like the idea of bandits running around here.”

“I'm afraid not. I was running all night, and I'm not even sure which direction I came from,” Taako admitted.

Magnus continued to frown for a moment, but then his expression lifted slightly. “Well, I'm glad you're all right. But what's going to happen to the show without your wagon?”

“Oh -- darling, don't worry. That ship has sailed. There is no more Sizzle It Up With Taako.”

“What? Really? Why? You seemed to be doing so well.”

“Sure, sure. But one has to move on, you know? Sometimes you wake up one morning and realize that what you've been doing hasn't been what you're meant to be doing,” Taako remarked, waving a hand. “Even someone as popular as me can't just do a cooking show forever.”

“Ohh. I guess that makes sense,” Magnus said doubtfully.

“You planning to give up carpentry any time soon?” Julia asked him playfully. “Move on and find a new way of life?”

“My life just isn't as interesting as Taako's,” Magnus replied, laughing.

“Staying in one place just isn't my style,” Taako replied. He had to admit, in spite of some serious misgivings about the conversation, he was having a very good time, talking about himself. “Anyway, as it stands, I owe your wife here a good deal.”

“I have an idea!” Julia said. “You can return the favor by cooking us dinner tonight. Your recipes are simply to die for, and...”

“Oh -- no. No, I can't do that,” Taako put in, raising his hands up in front of him.

“We'll provide the ingredients and everything, don't worry,” Julia said.

“And you can use our kitchen. I'll even help, if you want. I'm not half bad in the kitchen, but I know most chefs don't want untrained help...”

“No, no, I couldn't. I can't. I don't, um, I don't cook anymore.”

Julia and Magnus shared a glance.

“Well, I mean, you don't have to teach us or anything,” Magnus said.

“No. I don't cook at all anymore. Never. Nunca. Nada. Sorry, folks. I already agreed to teach Juju some cantrips, and how's that for returning the favor?” Taako insisted.

The silence lasted just long enough to be considered awkward, and then Julia smiled and clasped her hands together. “A couple of cantrips sounds like a fair deal to me” she decided. “Magnus, Taako here is something of a wizard.”

“Oh, sweet! You can do magic? I've always loved magic, but I can't sit long enough to learn.”

Taako looked him over, with his giant muscles and his enormous build. “Can't help but think a big guy like you doesn't need magic.”

Magnus laughed heartily. “Well, it's true, I do okay without it,” he admitted.

And with that, the topic of cooking and the demise of Sizzle It Up With Taako was dropped. Taako resisted the urge to let out a giant sigh of relief, but he did feel that ever present knot of anxiety in his chest fade to the back of his mind a little bit. He knew he hadn't been terribly subtle, and anyone with half a brain could probably figure out that the fact that the show was no longer around was probably directly connected to the fact that he didn't cook anymore. But there was no way they were going to guess it was because he was responsible for the deaths of forty people.

As for Julia and Magnus, well, he found he rather liked them. Generally speaking, the overly enthusiastic types like Magnus usually irritated him, but he found that Julia was a good temper for his excitement. And Julia herself was somewhat too shrewd for his liking, but she seemed to genuinely want to help. They were good people, and, while he definitely didn't trust them, he didn't mind sharing space with them. It seemed good that it had been Julia who found him rather than someone else.

Magnus cooked them all dinner and Taako tried very hard not to critique his use of basil. True to his word, however, Magnus did know his way around the kitchen pretty well, which was kind of a relief after that tasteless soup Julia had made earlier.

And after that, Taako knew it was about time to move on out of here.

He attempted to help with dishes, only to be shooed away, and then began packing up his belongings. The Burnsides had done more than enough for him by now, and the last thing he needed was to overstay his welcome. Magnus and Julia might be nice now, but that didn't mean they always would be.

Besides, he didn't know them at all. Who was to say they wouldn't try and kill him in his sleep or something? He didn't know why they would, but you still never knew. The nice ones sometimes turned out to be serial killers.

“Do you have some sort of inn or something around here?” he asked Magnus, while Julia cleaned up the dinner mess. “I should probably try and check in soon if I want a room.”

“No need to bother,” Magnus said. “We have a spare bedroom.”

“Sure, but Taako needs his space, my dude. A place to throw all my shit down and not worry about someone else feeling like they ought to clean it up for me. You know what I mean?”

“Um, well, no, not exactly. I sort of -- well, never mind. If you want to get out of here, I guess I can't blame you. Liam's got a tavern down the way, and he rents out the rooms upstairs sometimes. Other than that...we'd have to talk to Rosie. She runs a little bed and breakfast, but, um, we don't get a lot of tourists around here, you know. She's closed up for the season. If we go in tomorrow, though, she might be able to clean up a room for you.”

“Let's just go see this Liam guy for now,” Taako decided, somewhat relieved that Magnus wasn't going to try and keep him here. That always was trouble.

“But, you know, you really can stay here,” Magnus said, apparently deciding to ruin everything. “The guest bedroom locks from the inside and all, plus we won't go in there if you don't want us to.”

“You got some kinda beef with Liam that you don't want him to get business?” Taako asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! No. Nothing like that. It's just...” Magnus lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned forward, cupping his hand over his mouth, despite the fact that they were just sitting in his living room. “It's just he's known to have bedbugs and shit.”

“Oh. Oh. Grosseroni,” Taako agreed, making a face. There were very few things in this world worse than bedbugs. “And you're bedbug free, here in the Burnsides Inn?”

“You betcha. Here. Let me just show you, and if you wanna go sleep somewhere else, that's cool,” Magnus said, standing up. “I mean, I get it. But we're just trying to help, you know?”

“Yeah, sure, sure, I got you. Let's go see this room.”

The room was made up as nicely as the rest of the house, although it seemed to have a dual purpose of being a storage room. There were a few boxes of things stacked in the corner of the room, and the closet was full of dusty old clothes that neither of them had worn in a good while. The bed was roughly hewn from some pale wood, but in a way that was probably more an aesthetic choice rather than a lack of talent. Taako remembered that Magnus was a carpenter and guessed it had probably been made by him. The bedspread was dark reds and greens, with cute little bears sewn in as the pattern. Adorable. This room, like the rest of the house, was thick with rustic charm.

“Sorry about all our stuff. We weren't really expecting a guest and all,” Magnus commented, waving a hand at the stacks of things in the corner. “It's easier than dragging all our Candle Nights shit down to the cellar every year, you know? Anyway, here's the door lock I told you about.”

Taako checked the windows out of habit and pulled back the covers on the bed. It was clean, and he didn't see any bugs or anything within. It was very tempting, and he was sorely tired, he realized, now as he was looking at a bed. Elves didn't really sleep the same way humans did, nor did they need as much, but he had spent the entire night past running for his life.

“...and the toilet's just down the hall, but you've probably figured that out by now,” Magnus was saying, clearly having just done an entire rundown of the room while Taako had been not paying attention. “Our room is straight at the end of this hall, if you end up needing anything during the night. Oh, and help yourself to anything in the fridge and all that.”

“Uh huh,” said Taako, dropping his pack on the bed. “I guess I could grace you with my presence an extra night. Tomorrow we can talk to that lady about a bed without bedbugs where I can stay until another caravan comes through here or whatever.”

“Sure! But, uh, you know caravans don't come through here very often, right?” Magnus said. “Like, we're a little out of the way. You might have better luck taking a trade boat.”

“Ugh. I hate sailing. I think I'll take my chances waiting.” He would have to find some way to pay this Rosie lady back for the room, but he was pretty good at making himself useful.

#returning to raven's roost

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babygotbachfantasy-blog · 7 years ago

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Bachelor recap, Ep. 3: Wrestling with a charmless Bachelor

“Ladies and gentleman, the Kissing Bandit, ARIE LUYENDYK JUNIORRRR!”

Chris Harrison is standing at the center of a makeshift ring, putting on his best wrestling announcer voice, when Our Bachelor emerges in a full black suit and black mask with poorly cut eye holes. This is hardly a wrestling costume, unless the alter ago Arie is after is “The Lame Ranger”. But, as he’s already proven, being charming to a group of women is not really Arie’s thing. Even if that’s the entire premise of The Bachelor.

Unable to feign any semblance of enthusiasm, Arie offers a limp wave to the women, who are cheering as if Dwayne Johnson himself has entered the ring. But there is nothing cooking here. The acronym “GLOB” was meant to describe the women wrestling -- and earn some Netflix ad money -- but it is a more fitting word to describe Arie’s presence on this date, and on the show in general.

It’s not uncommon in the history of Bachelordom for the Bachelor to be stripped of personality. Most of the men chosen for the dubious honor are boring or safe. They care too much about how they look for #BachelorNation to be anything but politically correct. They are the kind of men any mother would call A Very Nice Boy.

Arie, however, has taken this lack of personality to another level. His most interesting trait has already been mentioned 75 times in three episodes. Spoiler alert: There’s probably not much else there.

“I don’t know anything about wrestling,” Arie admits. “I’m a racecar driver.” And yet, in spite of the show’s insistence, he is definitively not a racecar driver. He is a real estate agent, who used to be pretty bad at racing. I’m beginning to wonder how anyone buys a house from this guy, let alone date him on national television.

But for reasons no one seems to understand, none of the women have figured this out. It’s probably no coincidence that the first two group dates offered a high probability of brain trauma.

Before the women take on each other in four oddly sexual wrestling matches, Arie puts on a red cape and stands on the ropes of the ring, making for perhaps the least sexual moment in the history of the Bachelor. Wearing what appears to be a large child’s Halloween costume, Arie manages to look as awkward as a man advertised to be charming and smooth can possibly look.

I never thought I’d find myself wondering why a Bachelor wasn’t shirtless. But here we are.

In the scene that follows, Arie -- with the tucked-in shirt and slacks uniform of a less-than-intimidating wedding DJ -- gets the crap beat out of him by Kenny King, the former wrestler from Rachel’s season. Considering Kenny’s genuinely charming personality, he is not allowed to speak on camera, so as to not outshine the Bachelor.

(Serious question: Why isn’t Kenny the Bachelor? Could he still stage a WWE-style coup?)

Of course, the match ends with Arie pulling a “move” to pin Kenny and win. The women swoon. Apparently, it is now sexy to watch your man get beaten up. I’ve been out of the game too long, I guess.

Later, while sitting down with Tia, Arie gets his chance to feel manly again. Embarrassed that she cried at the verbal abuse from their two GLOW mentors on the date, Tia confides in Arie that she “felt weak.”

Arie attempts to console her. “I can make you feel better,” he responds.

“That makes me feel like a man.”

Really. He said that. You see, at any other moment, Arie is merely a horny man-boy whose emotional intelligence extends to making out and talking about making out. He’s the kissing bandit, after all, America! Haven’t you heard?? Sure enough, seconds later, Arie and Tia are kissing. Mid-kiss, he touches her chin.

“You did so good today,” he says, in a voice one uses when rewarding a dog that just learned a new trick.

As far as we can tell through three episodes, Arie appears incapable of adding anything of interest to a conversation with a woman. His plan appears to be, “When in doubt, make out.” This has worked a frightening amount of times thus far.

But in Wine Country, it does not. In the show’s third 1-on-1 date, the most stimulating conversation between Arie and Lauren S. is about what time they go to bed. Mid-date, it’s clear both of them knew things were going south. Arie is actually shown eating food on camera. When that happens, shit has already hit the fan. Lauren S. is soon sent home, becoming the earliest unsuccessful 1-on-1 date in recent Bachelor history.

Another sign that things are going downhill: Talking about not kissing the Bachelor. If you aren’t kissing the Kissing Bandit, you should probably take the hint.

Naturally, Annaliese does not. She is too worried about bumper cars and scary puppies to understand that nothing is worse -- in any romantic circumstance --than asking for a kiss. It is, for lack of a better cliche, the kiss of death.

She does it, anyway, confronting Arie twice at the cocktail party and finally asking if he’s into it. He’s decidedly not into it. Because, well, if you can’t makeout, then why are you here?

Annaliese is eliminated early, leaving just before the ceremony. I think we can assume this experience will lead to tens of thousands in psychiatrist bills.

In reality, there is only one woman on the show with enough deep-seeded emotional issues to be in the driver’s seat right now. Krystal has created a delusion in which she believes that Arie has already decided on her, but must go through the charade of this reality show. She plainly tells this to Marikh, who, needless to say, is still vying for Arie’s affection.

“These girls, they’re living in such a false reality,” Krystal says. “I really just feel like I’m going very far. I really feel like we know we want to end up together, and this is just a process that has to be done.”

Um, it’s called The Journey™, Krystal. And something tells me it’s not going to work out well for you. No matter how many whispery makeout sessions there are along the way.

MOMENT OF THE WEEK

Bibiana has set up a romantic spot for her and Arie in the driveway, lighting candles and setting up a day-bed and telescope. The effort alone should’ve gotten her rose. Except .... she forgot to ask him to actually use it.

Soon, Lauren B. found her not-so-secret spot. Obviously, they made out on the bed. Others came. Others made out. Bibiana was not one of them.

In fact, Bibiana didn’t talk to Arie at all until after the cocktail party. She “didn’t deserve this,” she later said to the cameras, after Arie said goodbye.

Snooze you lose, I guess.

EPISODE MVP

Bekah M. The ageless nanny has Arie eating out of the palm of her hand. She’s already psychoanalyzing him; though, God knows, there isn’t much there to analyze.

Arie, she says, likes her because she’s “unsafe”.

“You know that I don’t need you,” she told him. A brilliant move. The group date rose was hers right then.

It’s no easy feat to play hard-to-get on a show like the Bachelor, but Bekah is making it work. Here’s hoping she stays on as long as possible. Or at least until she can celebrate her 21st birthday.

IN MEMORIAM

Lauren S. Just one more Lauren left!

Annaliese. Just one trauma too many.

Bibiana. The mic dropped ... and it never recovered.

#recap #the bachelor #arie

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