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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

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Letters From War (Ron Speirs x reader)

Here is Part 3 of my Eye Candy series! Yes, Eye Candy was supposed to be a one-shot but I’m having too much fun with their dynamics.

And because sometimes you just need some soft!Speirs in your life.

Warnings: Speirs being a secret softy and some jealousy, a couple swear words

Words: 3500

Eye Candy series masterlist

Tag List: @happyveday @evelynshelby @sydney-m and @softspeirs (because I mentioned this earlier to you)

Sunlight filtered through the lacy curtains, casting the hotel room in a soft glow. A subtle ticking of the clock was the loudest sound in the room. Laying there in the silky sheets felt divine. No one was screaming orders outside of the barracks as they ran their platoon. One of my fellow nurses was not shuffling around inside trying to be quiet but failing as they slammed their stuff on a cot or on the hard floor. No, it was blissfully quiet. Something I had not realized how much I missed until I started my training at Camp Toccoa and was constantly surrounded by others.

I rolled over onto my side, eyes bleary from having just woken up. Peeking at the clock on the far wall, I could see the little hand pointing at the eleven. Not what I was hoping to see. My weekend pass meant I did not have to be back to base until this evening but if I did not get up now, I might go AWOL just to lounge around in these sheets with the sunlight warming me.

I groaned quietly as I sat up, the soft sheets sliding down my naked body. There was a freeing feeling with sleeping naked. Not that I did it often. Or ever. But the few times I had...I could see the appeal of it being a regular occurrence. Especially with these sheets. Were they made from cherub’s wings? Nothing could be as soft and silky as these sheets. I promised myself after the war, if I made it, I would buy myself a set. Something to look forward to.

As quietly as I could, I slid my legs over the side of the bed, ready to stand up when a deep, gravelly voice stilled my movements.

"Where you think you're goin'?"

I smiled at how perturbed he sounded. Glancing over my shoulder, he still lay on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, face buried in it. It was amazing he did not accidentally suffocate himself. "Ron, it's eleven already."

He grumbled, words muffled by the pillow. "So?"

"We need to get up soon."

"You said that two hours ago when we woke up."

"And yet, we're still in bed."

"Mmm…" He tipped his head to the side so one of his half-lidded eyes could glare at me. "I don't see the problem."

"Well some of us can't be lazy like...Ahhh!!" I squealed when an arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back, moving far too fast for someone who just supposedly woke up. Abruptly, I found myself with my head back on the pillow and a broody Lieutenant hovering over me. His bare chest was only inches above mine; and although I could not see it, I could feel that he had not put his Army issued skivvy back on. Just that realization alone bloomed a warmth in my belly.

"You were saying?" He said with a smug look.

"We need to get up."

"Mmm…" He slowly inched his head down, meeting my eyes until his lips trailed down my neck, leaving butterfly kisses.

Without a conscious thought, I tilted my neck to the side, giving him better access. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, loving being under his touch. A small part of my brain berated me for not getting up while I still could. There were things I had planned on doing with my day. But an open mouth kiss on my collarbone caused a moan to fall from my lips and all thoughts of escaping his hold to fly away.

"You were saying?" He repeated.

Through the slowly growing, lust-fuel haze in my mind, I tried to remember why it was so important to leave the bed. "Was I?"

He chuckled, the feeling of it reverberating in my chest. With a quick peck to my lips, he laid his head on my chest, half his body weight on me and an arm wrapped around my waist possessively. I started carding my fingers through his hair, humming softly as we lay there together. The sheets were rumpled around his waist, the only thing keeping me warm was his body. A peacefulness descended. Something very rare in preparation for war. It only encouraged neither one of us to leave the bed, else that peace vanish and reality sink back in. We laid there silently for some time, the only sounds being our breathing and the ticking of the clock.

My thoughts swirled in my mind about the coming weeks. So many unknowns lay before us, like a minefield that we had to walk through. We just had to keep moving forward.

"We leave on the train tomorrow." I stated, staring up at the ceiling. My fingers continued carding through his hair. I would never tell a soul but I knew the feeling immediately relaxed him. Whenever I started doing it, he would practically go limp on me and lay there like a cat sunbathing.

"Mmm."

"Do you know where we are going?"

"Yes."

I swatted him lightly on the shoulder. Of course, he knew. He had the uncanny ability to always be where information was being shared, even if it was not directly relevant to him. It would not surprise me if he snuck into the intelligence officers' offices at night and peeked through their papers. Though I would never tell him that. Plausible deniability is a glorious thing.

When he refused to answer, I swatted him again. Immediately, he growled and nipped at the valley between my breasts, making me squeak. Before I could incite or escape his further wrath, he settled himself back on top of me. When I made no further move, he roughly grabbed my hand and placed it back on the top of his head. I smirked up at the ceiling, and followed his silent order. Perhaps in a past life he had been a cat. It would explain some of the moodiness.

"Tell me." My fingers slipped through his hair, occasionally scraping his scalp, making him hum. "Please."

"I overheard Nixon talking to Sink." He tilted his head to look at me, those dark, piercing eyes meeting mine. "New York."

I connected the dots in my head. "Europe?"

He made no reply as he continued to stare at me, rubbing his thumb along my ribs.

"Can I write to you?"

I felt him stiffen slightly. We had never defined what was between us. Obviously there was attraction and passion, the bruises on my hips and the half-moon indents on his back attested to that. Yet there was also a peaceful companionship I think neither of us expected. He would listen to me ramble about things we learned in class and different techniques to use in the field or the silly things my friends and I had done. On the rare occasion he would vent about one of his men and their stupidity. But I knew he was trying not to make attachments. There was a solid steel wall around his heart he had raised as soon as he stepped foot in Camp Toccoa. He knew his superiors would die. His men would die. He could possibly die. It would be easier to not know their hopes and dreams, their stories and fears. There was one thing we both knew but never acknowledged.

Somehow, I was the exception to his rule.

As we laid there, I tried not to let his silence bother me. I knew it was a long shot to even ask him. I would not be entirely surprised if he said no. We were not even sure that our paths would cross again. I was to be stationed as a nurse for the paratroopers but it had not been finalized for which battalion.

Finally he spoke, looking just over my head the whole time he had been thinking. "Let me think about it."

"Um, ok… well if I meet some other fella who sweeps me off my feet and writes…"

He leaned up and kissed me soundly, interrupting my potential future plan.

"You can't just kiss me to keep me from talking. That's rude." I huffed when he finally allowed me to breathe again.

"No." He stated flatly.

"No? You don't want me writing to someone else, no? I've already had a few soldiers ask if they could write to me."

"No."

"Ron, that's not how this works. If you don't want me writing to you, that tells me you're done with me. I don't do one-night stands."

He quirked an eyebrow, stupid smirk on those kissable lips.

I blushed, swatting him again. "You know what I mean." This was not our first rendezvous together where we snuck away from others while on a weekend pass.

He sighed, dropping his head back on my chest. "And if something happens to me."

"Then I'll mourn but I'll keep doing my job. Who knows? I might even miss you."

He chuckled then lay quietly. I thought he had fallen asleep until he spoke up, so softly I almost did not catch it. "No one was supposed to miss me."

"Mmm," I hummed, tracing the muscles on his back with my finger. In a spur of the moment decision, I decided to be honest, my whisper hanging in the air above us. "Too late...I don't think I can help it now."

We lay there contently for a time, just basking in our own thoughts, the warmth of the morning sun and each other's body.

"Ron, we really need to get up…. stop ignoring me."

He grumbled then suddenly rolled fully on top of me, pressing open-mouth kisses on my neck and chest. "One more."

"How do you have the energy for one more? Christ! Is it possible to die from so many orgasms?"

He froze, slowly his eyes met mine. I knew that look.

"No...no, Ron, NO! That wasn't a challenge...please, oh, shit!"

As I tried to wiggle away from him, he pinned my hips down with his arm and with that dark, seductive look which sent my heart racing, he lowered his face to where I could feel myself throbbing for him.

Needless to say, we did not leave that bed until the afternoon.

*****

The train car rattled along the track, the forests and open fields of the East Coast passed by in a blur. Honestly, at this point I had no idea what state we were even in. Somewhere on our way to New York. Then troopship. Then England.

Soon war.

It was a weird feeling. We had been training and preparing for it. Gathering all the knowledge we could and practicing saving lives until our backs cramped from being bent over pretend bodies and our fingers almost bled from the constant chafing of bandages, syringes and textbooks against them. Yet now on the cusp of war, I felt wholly unprepared.

Pushing the thought away, I rubbed my tired eyes. I picked up my pencil, continuing to try and write a letter to my folks back home before one of the girls found me. I had been sitting in a train car with Lucy, Mary and Rebecca. After a while of listening to them gossip and talk amongst themselves and with the other nurses nearby, I decided to step away. I claimed I needed the quiet to write my letter. Truthfully, I just needed some quiet. I loved those ladies but Christ could they be LOUD.

Staring at the paper in my lap, words seemed to fail. How do I tell my family about everything I was preparing for? All my fears? All my hopes? All my worries? Do I lie and pretend everything is alright?

"Keep it simple." I muttered. With a sharp inhale, my pencil met the paper.

Dear Dad and Mom,

I hope everyone is doing well. I miss everyone. Sometimes I find myself thinking about home and wonder how soon it'll be till I see it. And you guys, of course.

My friends are doing well. Mary has been showing off a picture of her newest nephew to all the nurses. I don’t know how I would have survived all this training without them. They help keep my spirits up during this time. And do not worry, dad, no one has proposed yet. Well, this week at least. There will be no ring on my finger until the war is over.

Just last week we were learning about different types--

"This spot taken?" A rough, rasping voice asked, disturbing my concentration.

I looked up to see a paratrooper standing at the end of my bench seat. I was surprised but wondered if maybe he just needed a space away from his buddies. Most of the other benches and seats were filled up with paratroopers in this train car, a good amount of them sleeping, writing their own letters or gambling. The few voices eased into the background as I sat there, making me momentarily forget I was not actually alone.

"No, it's open." I slid further down, closer to the window. Across from me was a different paratrooper I thought I recognized from Fox Company. He had been in a deep sleep even before I sat across from him, if the small puddle of drool and soft snores said anything.

"Thank you, ma'am. It's damn near impossible to find a quiet spot on this train." He dropped down onto the bench, removing his garrison cap.

I hummed, returning my eyes to the letter. Maybe I should not mention the proposals, even if they were all in jest. Though thinking about them brought up images of a pair of intense, dark eyes and strong hands that had come to know my body almost as well as I did. A blush warmed my cheeks at the thought.

It had been several weeks since we first began seeing each other. In public, we continued in our separate roles. Ron was not one for public affection, even if he always glared a hole in the head of any man he caught talking with me. I had heard through the rumor mill that word spread- I was Speirs' girl, even if no one ever saw us interact in that way. If Speirs purposefully started the rumor or my friends did after seeing the hickeys he left on my neck the first time... either way, the flirting and catcalls involving me dropped to a minimum.

In private, when we could sneak away or secretly meet up...he had no problem showering physical affection on me until I was seeing stars and melted into a puddle in his arms.

I wondered where he was on the train. Before I got on, I caught a glimpse of him directing some of his men on the platform. There were so many unknowns for us. My own feelings for him had grown like weeds since he kissed me. Part of me knew it was trouble. We were heading into war where nothing was certain. Yet the other part of me craved him. He was like no man I had ever known before. With one glimpse of him, my heart practically beat out of my chest. In his arms was quickly becoming my favorite place to be. I loved how there was never a need to fill the silence while with him.

Was this love?

I shot that thought down before it could plant anywhere. Last time I talked to Ron, he never confirmed if I could even write to him. I knew being with me was not easy for him. Although he never explicitly said it, I wondered if he thought he was going to die during the war.

That rasping voice interrupted me once again. "I'm John Billings, Private first class, Baker Company."

"Nurse Y/L/N." I nodded, glancing at him. Short, cropped blond hair, vibrant blue eyes, dimple on one cheek and broad shoulders. If he was inclined, he looked like he could bench-press me. He was attractive...but I was not interested.

"Ah, come on, you not gonna tell me your first name?"

I shrugged, still keeping my gaze on my letter, hoping he would take the hint.

Apparently not.

"Any guesses on where we're heading? One of my buddies thinks Africa. I think we're headed to Italy or something like that. Either way, Nazis are gonna regret starting this thing when we come in and fucking finish it." He laughed. When I did not respond, he slid a little closer, legs spread wide like he owned the bench seat. "Where you from? You sound kinda like my ma."

"I don't think that's your business."

"Hey, doll, no reason to get upset. I'm just making small talk."

"Well, I'm trying to write a letter."

"Alright, I get it. I'll leave ya alone." He laid his arms on the back of the bench, on either side of him, staring towards the front of the train car. His hand lay right behind my shoulders, almost touching them.

I rolled my eyes.

Several more minutes went by and finally I finished my letter. Well, at least I could not think of anything else to write home about. I folded it up, stashing it and my pencil back into my satchel to mail once we reached New York. My last letter written in America. That thought scared me more than I cared to admit.

"Letter to a sweetheart?"

"No," I replied. "Letter home."

He nodded. "I need to do that myself or my ma will find me no matter where we are and spank me with her wooden spoon."

I could not help the giggle that bubble up at the image evoked. "That sounds like my grandmother. I swear even the devil is terrified of her."

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back, eyes crinkling.

We both stilled when our sleeping companion shifted in his seat, running a hand over his face. Just as soon as he began moving, he stopped once again, snores filling the air.

I looked back out the window, watching the countryside pass. How soon would it be before I saw America again after I left? Would I ever? How much longer could this war drag on for? How different would I be when I returned home? Would my family even recognize me?

"So, you gonna tell me your name yet, beautiful?" My other companion teased, sliding slightly closer.

Before I could open my mouth, a deep, husky voice spoke, sending shivers down my spine. "That's Nurse to you, Private."

I looked over to see Ron standing in the walkway, arms crossed. His signature glare aimed at the paratrooper next to me. Death in his eyes.

My companion froze under the intense look, like prey just waiting for the predator's jaws to rip them apart. "Yes...ah, yes, sir."

"I suggest you find yourself another seat."

The Private scrambled out of his seat without a backward glance at me, mumbling something at Ron before briskly walking away and finding a seat further up the train car.

"Awww…. I think you scared him away."

Ron stared at me for a moment before glancing around and settling into the seat just vacated. "Why aren't you with the other nurses?"

"Just needed some quiet for a minute so I could write a letter home."

He raised an eyebrow. That man could carry entire conversations with just his facial expressions.

"The Private came after I was already sitting." I explained, knowing that was what he wanted to know.

He seemed to think it over before taking my hand in his. Something he had never done in public before. A small smirk teased his lips as he entwined our fingers. "Did you write home about me?"

"No. Should I have?"

He sat there quietly, rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand.

"I thought about it." I admitted, looking at our hands. Though I could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on my face, I did not meet it. "But… I did not want… they would think then…"

"I want you to write me."

My head shot up, eyes wide and lips parted. "Really? Are you sure?"

He mock-glared at me.

"Will you write me back?"

To my endless surprise, he leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, leaving me speechless. "I'll think about it." He winked before getting up and smoothing back out his impeccable Class A uniform. "I'll find you when we arrive."

"Ok." I answered meekly, my brain trying to understand what just happened.

With one more longing look, he nodded and started back down the train car, disappearing just as quickly as he appeared.

He wanted me to write him...and he would write back!

And he kissed me.

In public!

To anyone else it may seem insignificant but for me...this was monumental. He was claiming me as his girl. Not just rumors anymore. It was ridiculous how my heart swelled at the thought.

A softly spoken "damn" made my head whip round to see the Private who had been sleeping now staring at me with eyes as big as saucers and mouth hanging open slightly.

"Damn." I echoed back, touching my lips, still in shock.

I was such a goner for him. Though, I could not find it anywhere in myself to be upset about that.

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #ronald speirs #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #fluff #soft!speirs

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casualcatte · 4 years

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RP Journal: 08/11/2020

It was a quiet day in Kugane while I commissioned a gift for Edgard before he left for Ishgard. I took some of the feathers from the Kouyou Twintails and had them fashioned into a hair ornament to be braided into his hair. Or, I suppose he could attach it to one of his packs or his favorite belt, wherever he wants to tie it. I wanted to commemorate his first hunt, so I thought this might be meaningful to him.

(Courtesy cut for length!)

Imagine my surprise when I could hear the idiot yelling for me from across Kugane. Oschon’s Worn Sandals, that man has a set of lungs on him! I followed the yelling until I found him in a hot spring cove on the beach with some raen woman, him in little more than his skivvies! For a moment, I was both embarrassed and infuriated. I’ve said before that I don’t care who Edgard spends his time with -- and I really don’t -- but I don’t want to be included in his conquests!

The raen woman told me she was Mu-Onna, at first I didn’t believe her, thinking it was some lie that Edgard had told her to tell if they got caught. Mu-Onna was hyuran and a far cry from this raen. I thought for sure Edgard was doing this to play some kind of practical joke on me, to have some last laugh to lord over me before he left for Ishgard.

But then the woman approached me and related things that only Mu-Onna and I had spoken of, things we said and did that night in Kugane that only Mu-Onna would have known. It made me glad to see her, though she had a /lot/ of explaining to do. It also made me feel momentarily bad for thinking Edgard would’ve been so crass. He’s an idiot and a fool sometimes, but he’d never do something so disreputable. I’ll make it a point to apologize to him the next time I see him. He’ll no doubt rub it in, but I owe him that, at least.

Mu-Onna took the time to explain to me what was going on with her. Sometime during the course of that conversation, Edgard fell asleep behind us. The hot springs must’ve really relaxed him or the hunt yesterday must’ve really worn him out, maybe a bit of both

The situation with Mu-Onna worries me, though. I know it should be none of my business, given that I haven’t known her long at all, but the situation itself bothers me. She’s practically enslaved to some entity that holds her aether in thrall and he’s threatening to take that aether out of her body and… I don’t even fully understand it all, bad with aether as I am. I’m sure Rae-Hann or Yihm’ura would. She’s asked that I speak of it to no one, however, so I can’t even bring it up with them to try and help her.

If this guy had a physical body, I’d just shoot him if he tries to come for her, but he doesn’t so I can’t. Don’t ask me, journal, I can’t say I understand it myself, which makes the situation all the more frustrating. I can do nothing more than be her friend, listen to her, and try to ensure that this one week of life she has is the best week she could possibly have.

I hate that it sounds like she’s dying. That her life is ending and we must simply make the best of it. I don’t /want/ to accept that this is how it is and we just have to roll with it. I want to find this jerkface and stick an arrow in his gullet.

In light of my frustrations, she gave me a task. There is a tombstone along the shoreline of the island near Sui-no-Sato -- her tombstone, she said -- from her family believing her dead. She asked me to go and visit that tombstone, to pat it a few times for good luck so that she’ll grow more powerful. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s such a small, easily fulfilled request that I agreed. If it meant she’d be strong enough to battle whatever it is she’s facing, then I’d pat that thing all night long.

She wondered what Edmond was like. I wish I could tell her. According to Edgard, his brother is so vastly different from the man I remember. It’s strange to think on, given that it’s only been two weeks? Three? Can a man really change so much in so short a time? I know Edgard himself has made big strides, but at his core he’s still the same man. From what he’s told me, Edmond has turned into a ladies’ man in his own right. He even claims that Edmond is better at wooing both ladies /and/ men better than he can! It’s really strange to think about.

As the evening wore on, Mu-Onna gave the suggestion that we draw on Edgard while he slept, she even had an inkpot for the task. Naturally, I could /not/ say no to that kind of offer. So, I drew a googly-eyed paissa on his right cheek while Mu drew a stick-dog on his left. On his left shoulder, she drew a goofy little namazu, so on his right I drew a moogle.

There was a moment in there, however, when Mu-Onna’s expression softened and she took a moment to brush a lock of Edgard’s hair back. I briefly felt like I was intruding. Part of me wondered if she had feelings for Edgard. I’d seen her kiss him, hold his hand, touch him in various ways over the course of having known her and it all spoke volumes of an underlying affection. It made me feel wrong about flirting with Edgard yesterday, even though we both know it’s harmless. If Mu-Onna has real feelings for Edgard, I can’t interfere with that.

Maybe I’ll encourage him to spend more time with her. She went on to talk about how she wanted him to smile; not his stupid, goofy devil-may-care smile, but something true and genuine. I’ve seen those smiles cross his face, so I know he’s capable of them. I have no doubt he’ll smile for her soon if she continues on as she is. It’s clear she cares about him, he /should/ give her those kinds of sincere, honest smiles.

As we carried Edgard back to the Bokairo, Mu-Onna mentioned that she’d grown “endeared” with him, which only confirmed what I already knew. I told her that if he found out, it would probably go straight to his head, but that she should probably tell him anyway. I don’t know how he’d take it, but I think he deserves to know. If it were me, I’d want to know.

She won’t tell him, though, because she’s apparently got issues of her own to work out. (I swear, does anyone NOT have issues with love in Eorzea?) And she doesn’t want to tell him since her future is so uncertain. I mean, for all we know, she could be gone in a week.

Once Edgard was put to bed, I took the gift I’d bought for him back to my room with me. There would be plenty of time to give it to him tomorrow before he left. I’d much rather give it to him when he’s wearing clothes anyway.

Mentions @therpperson for Edgard Beaumont @yokasaris for Rae-Hann (briefly)

#Journal: Rhythm of the Night #Aultena Sephimiri #FFXIV #FFXIV RP #FFXIV Roleplay #Balmung RP #Balmung Roleplay #Balmung Roleplayer #Crystal RP #Crystal Roleplay #Crystal Roleplayer #Character Journal #Edgard Beaumont #Friendship: Pathfinder #Hazakaya Yukuza #Mu-Onna #Friendship: Secrets in Steel

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purrpickle · 5 years

Text

Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #332

A/N: So parts of this were featured in previous RPTOTDs, but this quickly (and lengthily!) veers off from them. Enjoy some more amazing @thedeadflag (and me) awesomeness! :D Just, uh, be warned - FEELS ahead.

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purrpickle sent a post Every Time

jupiterjames:

ao3: they were trapped in a blizzard, a single vacancy at the motel with only one bed. What will happen between them?

me: *clicking on the fic* omg what will happen between them?!

*sparkly eyes*

thedeadflag

XD that's me 10000%

purrpickle

...I just had the thought of Santana, forced in close to Rachel, one of her first thoughts being that Rachel's nightly routine smelled fucking GOOD on Rachel's skin.

There was no way Rachel was allowed to smell so good. Was RUDE.

thedeadflag

It was rude and obscene and maybe she'd put on a totally appropriate display of aggression like physical intimidation via standing close to Rachel and being in her space. To non-verbally express how rude she felt it all was, and definitely not to, you know, be able to smell her better

purrpickle

...Which is shattered later, of course, when Santana's half asleep, Rachel sprawled all over her with Santana's nose in her neck and Santana mumbles a weak protest that Rachel's not allowed to smell so good.

thedeadflag

But of course. And of course Rachel eventually figures this out. And as much as Rachel absolutely would mentally plan out a speech to Santana about how she doesn't appreciate being harassed for the crime of smelling apparently unexpectedly nice (which of course earns its own subsection in her rebuke), she sees it as a prime opportunity for bonding

purrpickle

And then the lights go out. The power lines are down. And Rachel's terrified, almost shaking, because this is one of those old hotels where the bathroom is actually out in the hall, and she REALLY needs to pee but she doesn't want to go alone.

Santana's like, "Nuh-uh, bitch. I's not going out there with the serial killers, etc. etc."

thedeadflag

But Rachel's being all pushy and getting in her space, and Santana's having a hard time thinking with Rachel smelling illegally fine. And before she knows it, she's getting dragged out of the room and into the hallway, Rachel yelling about her father's connections with the ACLU startling her out of her stupor, but it's too late by then, they're already out of their room and down the hall

purrpickle

Santana's in her underwear, nipples practically falling out as it's SOOOO COLD, while at least Rachel has her camisole and, like, actual pajama shorts because somehow, freakishly, Rachel was prepared for anything - and, like, so what if Rachel had tried to tell her to be prepared too and she'd just tuned it out because she was watching Skin Wars while Rachel rattled annoyingly in her ear through her phone? - but at least they had light courtesy of Rachel's flashlight app, but then Santana realizes Rachel's taking it with her inside the ancient bathroom and going to leave her outside in the hallway, sexy and alone and premo cannibal or ghost bait.

*falling OFF

*not out. *giggle snorts*

thedeadflag

purrpickle

Rachel would only be so lucky.

thedeadflag

Rachel would probably faint tbh

And then lay out an overly wordy half-apology about her reaction, because Santana is a human being, but Santana really ought to have listened to her when she told San to prepare for the trip

Because she, otherwise, would not have had a nip slip :P But yeah, Santana's not staying out in the hall with the serial killers and children of the corn

purrpickle

Oh, she gets a good look when she opens the door and illuminates Santana in front of her, Santana actually in the process of lunging forward and pushing Rachel back into the bathroom and slamming it shut and cursing as she scrabbles for the lock - because she heard a creepy ass noise, okay? But honestly, Rachel had expected a push up bra or something otherwise padded, not the thin thing she got, gloriously putting Santana's cleavage on display and being very, very clear that Santana's cold - "ONLY cold, Berry," Santana growls, "It's not like seeing you in your skivvies is doin' anything for me."

And yes. Thin enough to slip when Rachel hangs onto her in fright, burying her face in her chest. Ooh. Poor Santana. Hot breath right on her sensitive parts.

thedeadflag

And Santana's having an internal conflict over whether to hold her close or push her away until Rachel kind of nuzzles her cleavage, asking if Santana uses cocoa butter, and it's absolutely 100% not the time for any of that when there's probably a crazed lumberjack hunting them down

purrpickle

I want to say it ends up being the hotel owner's dog (let's be real, this is more like a bed and breakfast now, old European style so Santana's also grouchy because they both had to pitch in money to pay for the night and it was very much more expensive than she would have liked), having pushed his way out of the kitchen and roaming the halls. All Santana heard was panting and claws clicking on the floor coming up the stairs, and that's it, she was gonna barge her way into the bathroom - with Rachel fortunately opening the door before she slammed her body into it. "Now is NOT the time, Berry!" Santana hisses, swallowing as Rachel exhales again, making her legs shiver, "We gots to arm ourselves. And turn off that damn light - we'll be seen!"

Rachel NOT AT ALL ON PURPOSE drops her hands to Santana's ass as they wait for the "serial killer" to move on, ears pricked to make sure it doesn't try to break into their room because, for the grace of god, Rachel remembered to bring the key with them and locked it behind her. Santana's body's just warm, okay? And she's sweating a little with cold dread and Rachel's hands slip down her naked, tight back...

thedeadflag

And Santana's about to tell Rachel to get her hands off the goodies, because she swears she hears breathing in the hallway and she needs to focus on that and not how rudely nice it feels to have Rachel pressed up against her and palming her butt, but then there's a bump against the door from the other side (the dog's wagging tail lightly impacting against it, unbeknownst to them) that startles Rachel and suddenly those hands on her ass are squeezing hard

purrpickle

Squeezing hard and pulling Santana into her so their hips knock together and Santana swears Rachel's mouth slides down completely on top of her nipple as she buries her face harder into her chest - also accidental, of course - and Santana's mortified, absolutely MORTIFIED that a low, husky groan leaves her mouth completely involuntarily, and she's freezing and grimacing, it not helped at all by Rachel squeaking and shushing her because she doesn't want to die and they need to be quiet!

But she's also sorry for squeezing Santana's... derriere.

thedeadflag

The seconds that pass after that are agonizingly long, Rachel's hot breath washing over her breast, Berry's hands no longer clutching at her ass but still firmly cupping it, that tiny body pressed her against her and holding them close as they listen for any noise, the muted clacking of feet slowly fading into the distance and down the stairs.

And as the fear and near-death anxiety slowly leaves Rachel's body with every breath, maybe she finds a particularly ample amount of curiosity filling that vacancy. And maybe Santana's body is gloriously warm, but by the frustrated and mortified expression etched across Santana's face, maybe there's even more heat hiding in those cheeks of hers. Cheeks she might openly consider cute if it wouldn't likely get her defenestrated

purrpickle

Rachel only realizes when Santana's strong hands wrap around her shoulders and pushes her away, that she's still nestled into her. Santana's glaring at her, then telling her it's HER time to use the bathroom, and Rachel's gonna wait outside like a good dwarf, okay. Rachel protests quietly, telling her the serial killer JUST left and what if he turns around? Santana scoffs that that's not HER problem, but unless Rachel has a fetish for watching people pee and a thousand dollars to pay Santana to let her watch, she's out of luck. Finally, her own face burning, Rachel just leaves and tells Santana she can knock on the door when she's done - but ONLY two knocks followed by a pause and then four more so she knows she's not the serial killer - and MAYBE Rachel will let her in. Inside, she's planning on using the time to think about what had just happened and unpack it and figure up a way to apologize for groping Santana like that.

Rachel hears Santana stumble down the hall before the heel of Santana's hand bangs on the door, followed by a sharp curse, then, as Santana's doing the knock Rachel told her to do, Rachel's already answering the door, pulling her inside and closing and locking the door behind her. "Come on, come on, into the bed, Santana Lopez! You're freezing!" Rachel rubs her hands up and down Santana's arms, pointedly keeping her eyes from where the light from her glowing phone shows off her still hard nipples. They dive into the bed, and somehow, grumbling and huffing the whole way, Santana finds herself wrapped around Rachel again, nose buried in her hair, sharing body heat with her ears still pricked for someone trying to break down their door. Rachel STILL smells so good. It's so unfair.

thedeadflag

There are two things that Rachel notices immediately. The first is that for how chilly Santana's extremities were when she pulled San into the bedroom, they quickly turned into a warm cocoon of limbs practically the moment they tumbled into bed. Sure, Santana's torso ran as hot as ever, but Rachel knew her rubbing alone couldn't spur on that sort of warmth that quickly. The second part was that after settling in against each other, Santana huffing and puffing the whole way and still more tense than normal, Rachel couldn't help but feel Santana's heart-rate increase. And sure, there was a statistical probability that there was a serial killer roaming around, but the noise had faded, and as seconds of silence turned into minutes, Santana only seemed more tense, more worked up. Which was bizarre, because as cognizant of the threat outside her room as she was, she couldn't help but feel safe, a swell of relaxation pushing her fear toward the edges of her mind as she breathed Santana in, the strangled moan from earlier echoing in her mind. She hardly even noticed her hands drifting back down to Santana's hind-quarters again before a low half-aborted moan escapes Santana.

purrpickle

((I'm not sure how to work it in here, but I almost want Rachel to put her hand on Santana's forehead and ask her if she's coming down with a fever. XD))

thedeadflag

Haha, okay, but she would. because Santana moaning and feeling overly warm is (in Rachel's mind at least) much more explainable as a fever than, you know, attraction. And Rachel's squirming a bit, trying to gauge Santana's temperature and test her for a fever, and she's making so much noise, and Santana just wants to (A) avoid being murdered, and (B) get some quality Zzzzs, but Rachel's making that impossible, and she's just everywhere, and smelling SO GOOD, and Rachel insists she's sick (Santana insists she's not and she's just sick of Rachel poking and prodding her), and that Santana's coming down with something (which only gets Santana thinking new, dangerously alluring thoughts about going down on Rachel to see if she tastes as good as she smells, which only gets her more flustered because WHY IS THIS HAPPENING)

And maybe Santana's so frustrated that she lets slip, in trying to control the situation, that Rachel needs to calm her skeeterbites and put her hands 'back where they belong', while re-securing Rachel's hold around her (back a half inch or so above her butt) Which of course sends Rachel's mind spinning at a certain B-word in there that suddenly casts a different light on recent happenings

purrpickle

(Is the b word belong?)

(Also yes. Yes to everything.)

thedeadflag

Haha, yes. Because Rachel's insecure, she would wonder if she belonged as a part of Santana's inner circle, someone she counted as a close friend. Someone Santana would willingly involve in her world. And she knows Santana's abrasive and defensive and doesn't always mean what she says, so she's gotten better at not taking it all to heart, but now.... ...Now she's been physically close with Santana for a short time and Santana's already admitted she smells nice, and that she wants Rachel to hold her, and there were moans on two separate occasions (and then light consideration of past interactions over the years of Santana complimenting her, the consistent themes of their duets together, or those intense dark eyes lingering on her in what she thought was anger but might have been something else instead), and maybe a new conclusion is forming as to a far fetched but now not entirely impossible way that Santana considers her. And suddenly the bonding she wanted to accomplish this weekend is cast in a new light. Because Santana's so warm and her heart is racing

purrpickle

Rachel's breathless. She has near perfect breath control, but she's breathless. She's scared, too, but feeling so warm and safe, and she buries her face into Santana's neck, pulling her closer into her.

"Santana?" she asks softly, feeling like her voice is catching in her throat even if it doesn't sound like that. And Santana grumbles, her heart triple beating as Rachel's soft nose and warm breath brush along her neck. She inhales, almost gritting her teeth as Rachel's scent grows stronger in her nose. "What?"

"I... I really would like to kiss you, if you were interested."

thedeadflag

And all sorts of curse words are filling her head for being so damned transparent, but Rachel’s so soft, and warm, and smells so damn good, and if this is to be her last night on earth before being murdered by some michael myers slash norman bates wannabe, then maybe kissing the lips she'd spent years admiring wouldn't be the worst way to go out. Maybe kissing Rachel wouldn't be the end of the world, even if it'd probably lead to drama and endless rambling on Rachel's part, meaning a total lack of sleep ahead of her. But with the room as chilled as it was, Santana was in no rush to leave the bed, or the arms of the girl pressed up against her. Santana reluctantly removed an arm around Rachel and gently prods berry's chin up, angling them on path for a collision course. Even in the pitch darkness, Rachel's eyes are just gleaming, making Santana halt a breath away as one last stray defensive, inadvertently illuminating thought fell from her lips. "Fair warning: If you pull cat calendar craziness on me I'll ends you"

purrpickle

Heat and shock ripple through Rachel's chest, and her mouth is pursing open as the thought of SHE'S REALLY SUGGESTING A *RELATIONSHIP*? runs through her, and she's inhaling deeply, eyes wide open and seeing Santana's shining in the light and the squeak of, "Oh-okay," is on the tip of her tongue - and that's how Santana finds her lips, plush and warm and trembling, pursed and pillowing her upper lip, and Santana groans, increasing the pressure, her fingers under Rachel's chin moving forward and down to map out her neck, Rachel's throat muscles swallowing under them.

((I'm just laughing because one part of Santana's mind is sputtering because, "Aren't we hiding from a serial killer? How did it end up like this???"))

thedeadflag

XD yep. Like, she's not one to turn down a hot macking session, especially when Rachel's only getting more and more intense in her kissing as time ticks by, and damn. But still, there was a serial killer, like, right outside their door! She wasn't just hearing things! So it makes her feel like one of those girls she hates in horror movies who are too busy making out or having sex to notice the serial killer creeping up, but damn it, how can she stop?

purrpickle

Not to mention the adrenaline of almost certain death is making both girls more brazen, and it's not long until they're practically rolling all over the bed, gasping and moaning into each other's mouth as each girl takes a turn being on top. They're definitely not cold anymore.

However, when Santana elicits a loud, sharp moan by sucking on Rachel's neck, they both freeze, shocked back into reality.

thedeadflag

You know I'm not sure what idea I like more... Hearing a muted bark from the other side of the hall, letting them know they'd been freaking out over a damned dog this whole time, Santana wanting to go out and scare the thing away but Rachel's arms are snug around her waist, fearful that Santana would kill the poor pup...

...Or the both of them freezing for a full minute and a half before letting out relieved sighs. Santana telling Rachel to be quiet and putting a hand over Rachel's mouth, only for Rachel to kiss her hand, eyes full of mischief. And Santana's super pumped that Rachel's into it, but now that reality's setting in, she's got all these previously unearthed feels rising to the surface and she's already blabbed on enough tonight, but the idea of this being a one-off and messing things up is already getting kinda scary for her, and she's not sure how to handle that, not when Rachel's usually the one rambling a mile a minute but seems content to just keep kissing, which Santana's not sure how to interpret, and everything just starts feeling so tight in her chest

purrpickle

The second second second second one. Insert even more meaning and emotions into this thing!

thedeadflag

And Rachel, she's too spooked about Santana's disparaging remarks about her wordiness in the past to even approach talking about this, at least not until maybe the morning, but she really, desperately wants to. She just doesn't want to scare Santana away, because ever since their lips brushed against each other's, all these moments in the past have started to click, so many confusing moments in their history and confusing feelings coming under new clarity, and it's all so heavy in her and building and building and all she can do is hold on. As cared as she is of the potential serial killer roaming the property, she's terrified to the bone of losing whatever this is before she had a chance to foster it and get neck deep in it. It's the most frustrated she'd felt because she'd so burdened with all this clarity and with the knowledge that if she put it to words, it'd likely slip right between her fingers. She'd always been a dreamer and she's never let one die on her before, so she wasn't about to start now.

But at the same time, in Santana's head, her composure's chipping away with every second Rachel's not using her big over dramatic words to clarify what she meant to her. Because Rachel was moon-eyed for Finnept and Jessie St. Jackoff right away, incapable of shutting up about their 'burgeoning romantic potential'. Was she not good enough? Did she not measure up? Was she just a warm body and a nice bit of adrenaline-induced entertainment for Berry? And damn it if all of that doesn't have her eyes stinging, forcing her forward to pull Rachel into a kiss to keep Rachel from noticing, to try and derail the path her emotions were on. Maybe if they kissed hard enough, maybe if they touched each other in the right places enough, maybe she could sidestep the persistent presence in her head telling her that, yet again, she wasn't good enough.

purrpickle

(I both love and rue you. This is perfect. Do you think they're in high school here? That's what I was picturing.)

(I ask as I formulate what to add next.)

thedeadflag

I wasn't committed to any particular time frame tbh, but high school was a definite possibility.

purrpickle

I like the idea of high school Pezberry because the sheer drama of it, the intensity of being unsure but WANTING so much.

Rachel's confused, inside. Santana's kisses are almost more... Desperate now. Hot. The girl having taken her hand away and replaced it with her mouth again, body pressing into Rachel's from above, from her chest to her hips, and she's... Like Santana's way of expressing panic at near certain death is getting translated by her hands running up and down Rachel's sides, tangling in her hair, the girl ONE second away from starting to rock into her. And yes, it made Rachel's heart pound, and her body squeeze, as her own hands swept up and down Santana's burning, smooth back, palms catching against her bra, but there was just something... OFF that filtered through the haze inside her own mind.

"W-wait," she gasped - mindful, barely a whisper, unable to stop a whimper when Santana's lips brushed along hers as she dropped her head back to put space between them; undeterred, Santana just moved her attention down Rachel's chin, administering to her neck again, almost as if she'd forgotten it had made Rachel moan before. "Sa-Santana. WAIT." Sure, she was screaming inside her own head that she was going to ruin EVERYTHING now, that can't she just, this ONCE, stop the babbling inside her head - - but this hurts.

thedeadflag

aAaauughhh I am slain! Seriously, this is so good and it hurts so good

purrpickle

I knooooow.

It's the rewarding, GOOD type of painful angst.

thedeadflag

Santana doesn't hear Rachel's first 'Wait'; not really. She's too worked up, too frantic, too in need not to hear it for what she's used it as before...rejection. A soft form of it, perhaps, maybe even a polite one allowing for prospects of improvement. Which is why she moved to Rachel's neck, scraping her lips along its column in frenzied fiery kisses, hands scrabbling against Rachel's expanse, knowing that against all reason and logic, this felt right. This felt right and she didn't want to lose it so quickly. But Rachel's second protest hits her like a railway spike to the heart, pinning her down in breathless agony, waiting for the inevitable late Christmas gift of coal she'd be getting in the form of a roaring ten-tonne full-steam train of rejection. And maybe one of those god damned squeaky whimpers escapes her at the prospect of being trapped in that room to fester in it, what with the storm, and the serial killer outside. And maybe a tear or two fall, and maybe Santana wonders what she's going to do about that because she can't live with Rachel's pity, but she's half a breath from falling apart, and even if this is all just a shameful one-time romp, she wants it too much not to latch onto it. To latch onto Rachel, burying her face in the diva's neck to hide from the scrutiny Berry was sure to unleash on her, even if there'd be no hiding from being told again how she wasn't enough, that this wasn't right. And maybe she just really needed Rachel to either shut up and just hold her tonight without pitying commentary, or to just keep kissing her without pitying commentary because she really fucking didn't need to hear Rachel babble on about how there'd be someone great out there for her in the world, not when she lived in Lima fucking Ohio, not when she always felt so damned lonely, especially since Britt shacked up with the transformer. She'd heard enough about how it 'gets better', she wanted to be okay right now. Why was that so wrong?

purrpickle

When Rachel realized the wetness on her neck isn't just from Santana's lips and tongue, she froze, knowing something truly WAS wrong. "Santana?" she whispered again, hands curling on the cheerleader's shoulders, as if she was about to attempt to push her up, but paused, listening to the both of their heavy, stilted breathing loud in the suddenly cold air of the room. Santana was warm, burning hot on top of her, shoulders trembling, and Rachel wanted to sit up, to curl the shaking girl into her arms, stroke her cheeks and ask her what was wrong... But she knew what was wrong, didn't she? Reality had hit Santana.

Who she was with. Why they were huddled together. Fear came roaring back into Rachel's chest, now emotional and not just for her own mortality. This was wrong. This was all wrong. And in sheer mortification, Rachel could feel tears pricking her own eyes. She was only a teenager, and this was too much. First getting stranded, then the serial killer, then the rather fast-tracked discovery of her feelings. She didn't want to die, to lose herself, or ANYTHING to change that would ruin EVERYTHING.

thedeadflag

*a gif of Ron Swanson saying "Boom, sadness"*

Because that just tore out my heart

purrpickle

I know.

I just keep on thinking, "Those poor little miscommunicating assuming babies!"

thedeadflag

They need to be loved and happy :(

purrpickle

And they can be! It's a good thing they're stranded there, honestly. Makes them actually talk to each other (eventually). As well as circling back to sweet lady kisses. But... More reverential, after confessing kisses.

As well as figuring out it was a puppy all along.

thedeadflag

(Just one way I see this going down, but there's a lot of ways to pull the trigger on this) Santana feels Rachel freeze underneath her, and no matter everything she's known in the past, that chill quickly rises up into her, knowing that even her best efforts weren't enough to win Rachel over, to convince her she was worth it. And combined with that massive hit to her pride that she was trying to prove to anyone that she was worth it... "Whatever, Berry, I get it, alright? But if you speak a damn word about this, I'll show you how we do it in Lima heights adjacent" Santana knows her voice is squeaky and strangled with tears but it doesn't stop her from grabbing the covers as she rolls off Rachel, cocooning herself in them the best she can, knowing the levee of her composure is on the verge of breaking from the emotions storming inside her, and she's not sure she'd be able to reel herself back from this one so easily.

And Rachel's just laying there perplexed, because she'd been waiting for the words in that second sentence so intensely that she almost missed them, having been caught off guard by the first words out of Santana's mouth. She expected being told to shut up. To never speak a word about Santana's spiral into the depravity of kissing and touching HER of all people in desperation. After all, she was Rachel Berry, social outcast, heavily-maligned diva extraordinaire, blabbermouth 'treasure trail', but... She'd spent most of her life growing up alongside Santana. She didn't survive this long without knowing when Santana was defensive, or when Santana was hurting. Both scenarios were liable to break out into pandemonium and collateral damage, so while her brain was tossing up all the red flags it could muster, the not-quite-concealed despair in Santana's opening words had her taking a rare moment to think before she reacted, before she inadvertently made this worse and ruined everything in a way she hadn't foreseen. Because, despite all logic and history between them, it halfway sounded like Santana was trying to spare herself the shame of being rejected, rather than sparing herself the shame of admitting she'd kissed and touched Rachel Barbra Berry with passion and fervor. And that thought, as impossible as she would have thought it an hour ago, left her colder than the crisp chill of the draft permeating the window and walls. She'd striven all her life for power and control, but hearing Santana's squeaky, half-muted cries from the bundle of covers beside her, Rachel was positive she'd never wanted this. If this was what it meant to be desired and wanted badly enough to reduce someone to tears, it'd make for a good half-censored entry into her memoirs, and a solid experience to draw upon for her future acting career, but their hearts had beat alongside each other just a few seconds ago. She could feel the aching vacancy grow with every passing second, but she didn't know how to bridge that gap, if she was even right about what it was between them. She couldn't just do nothing, though. Not with her heart yearning to be close to Santana, to feel Santana, to develop the spark they'd had together tonight into something bigger and brighter. She had to take a leap... It just needed to be a calculated one, one that Santana would understand, and one that would keep her from being murdered.

But at the same time, she was frozen in place by consequence, nothing about their situation allowing her even the slightest relief in order to catch her breath.They'd just narrowly escaped death and, more importantly, the loss of her dreams, and she deserved time to process that, and to heal from it, and yell and scream about it and all the fear bubbling up in her lungs and tearing at the sinews between her ribs. She had every right to be terrified and exhausted and bewildered, and to take a breather, but the cries from the girl next to her stole that from her. She deserved to have time to process ad think things through and make a game plan for how to approach this, complete with a series of power points and diary entries and emotionally cathartic musical performances, but they were stranded, alone together in a serial-killer's hideout that masqueraded as a bed and breakfast, and Santana was so utterly unpredictable right now that there was no right answer and she needed one just as much as she needed Santana back in her arms again.

purrpickle

((Honestly? I think the phones are down as well, the snow's piled up to the rafters, almost, and they're forced to spend another night at the bed and breakfast. So in between staring at everyone suspiciously and staring yearningly at Rachel [until the girl looks at her] - because let's be real. The girls are both exhausted. Maybe Rachel gets a quiet, reluctant, "We'll talk tomorrow," from Santana before her overworking mind makes her fall asleep still thinking about pulling Santana back into her arms. But they DO wake up tangled together - Santana's face down on the bed and groaning into it when Rachel comes back from the bathroom, the door to the room quietly clicking shut behind her.))

((Frankly put, they both make mistakes that first night.))

thedeadflag

Haha, yep, they're both too romantically clumsy not to fumble their way

purrpickle

It won't be easy! But it'll be worth it.

Definitely worth it.

I can ALSO see an almost self righteous Rachel being steamed and snapping at Santana to sit up, face her, and they are going to TALK.

To which Santana apathetically says something about "serial killer proofing their room."

'Cuz maybe Santana had been ignoring Rachel, trying to shelter her own heart and lick her wounds.

thedeadflag

Absolutely, I could def see Santana using some distance along with misdirection/deflection to keep herself safe and not aggravate her heartache any more than it already was

purrpickle

Santana also "convinced" the proprietor of the bed and breakfast (also! Let's say there's terrible to no cell service there, either, to cover those bases) to "give" her an extra large shirt that has, like, the logo of the bed and breakfast on it, so she can sleep in it, make her feel a little less "exposed" when in front of Rachel. Rachel both appreciates and hates it, because a) it covers up her distracting cleavage and abs and skimpy, skimpy underwear, but also b) it makes her legs look even more attractive somehow, and she can barely look at Santana without drooling because it's just so... It's almost like Santana's more attractive half clothed than half clothed in underwear.

thedeadflag

And as time passes, Rachel just grows more and more frustrated. Loves the way that the tops of Santana's thighs peek out with every swish of the shirt, loves the fact that despite the boxy shape of the top she can see hints of those familiar curves behind it, knows those curves intimately and it only reminds her of what Santana felt like by concealing them. However, she hates the fact that it essentially symbolizes Santana closing herself off, especially with how confused Rachel's been since the previous night. It only reminds her of the opportunity slipping through her fingers. She wants... No, she NEEDS answers. And despite knowing it could blow up in her face, that it could unleash a lot of heartbreak against her, she eventually loses her ability to put up with it later the next night, entering the bathroom while Santana's brushing her teeth, and locking the door behind her.

(At this point, I'm not sure what Rachel would do. One part of me thinks she'd be courageous and go for broke in dramatic fashion, singing something like Norah Jones' "Turn Me On" as a gambit, knowing that if Santana had a really bad reaction, there was no way Santana would ever speak of it when they found a way back home, not with everything that happened. And if Santana felt like murdering her, it would have happened last night, not when Santana was sullen and distant)

(And the other hand, I also think that Rachel would be so worked up and so buzzing with plans and ideas that she'd probably mix up her words and accidentally demand that Santana disrobe ('Stop hiding behind that silly shirt, Santana! You know I deserve to get a feel for what you're keeping from me and I'd like to think my relentlessness and dedication is too well known to you by now for you to deny me") when in her mind she'd cobbled together a sentence demanding Santana stop hiding from her in a more general sense, but that danged t-shirt just kept teasing her and before she knew it, she'd insinuated that she was going to physically ravage Santana whether the girl consented or not. And she'd be 100% aghast at herself for that, but then the most peculiar thing happens... Santana starts fiddling with the hem of her top, taking hold of it as if she's thinking of pulling it away.)

(Or maybe something else, I'm not sure, there's so much that could happen)

purrpickle

God, Rachel SO WOULD garble something like that out, thinking she's saying something more, well, non-sexual and not so directly telling Santana to strip.

Santana, for her part, is plussed, almost staring at Rachel with her jaw dropped, but damn if it doesn't also make her heart pound.

The fire, the passion in Rachel's eyes, and her voice, it momentarily shocked her still, surprising her out of her normal usual instant anger.

thedeadflag

Absolutely, because Santana does not really like being told what to do (at least outside of certain specific contexts), but her frustration over Rachel ordering her to strip is not nearly as intense as the bevy of thoughts storming in her mind over what Rachel's relentlessness and dedication would look and feel like, and she wants that passion burning in Rachel's eyes to be real. She takes a step forward as she grabs the bottom of the shirt and pulls it over her head and away, a flash of anxiety coursing through her in the half second where the t-shirt obscured her view, dreading that Rachel's expression would change like a mirage of an oasis to someone dying of thirst, but the diva's molten gaze only grew darker, pupils almost completely blown as Santana stepped up to her. Her heart was like a school band's snare drum, each beat quick and sharp, unsure if this yearning of Rachel's was just for her body or more. As scared as she was of 'more', standing a breath away from Rachel, she came to the stark realization that she needed it. This couldn't just be physical. She couldn't handle another night like last night.

"Well, Rachel? Here I am."

purrpickle

Rachel's shock is what saves her, saves them. It stills her tongue, doesn't let out a scandalized sound or gasp of outrage. Rachel won't realize it now, her eyes glued to Santana's body, all the air sucked out of her lungs as if Santana had stolen all of it, but she will, later, wrapped up in Santana's arms, so warm and excited and HAPPY, and thank Lord and Barbra she didn't stop them when they'd barely started. It's already chilly in the bathroom, the power still out, and no fireplace inside like some of the fancier b&bs Rachel had seen on HGTV before, and Santana's body... Reacts to the removal of her shield. Goosebumps are evident on her arms, when Rachel drags her gaze away, but that's not where her eyes are snared. Currently the only light in the bathroom is supplied by a flickering candle, Rachel's phone long dead, and what it does... How it frames Santana's lean frame, and definitely NOT lean chest or strong line of her hipbones leading down to her skimpy, skimpy panties... The girl's brazen, but almost as if she could reach into Santana's mind and deconstruct and take her apart, she can see she's vulnerable, too, and even if that wasn't what Rachel expected, telling Santana not to hide behind her shirt, she can't help letting out, her hands coming up to cover her mouth, in a near-gasp, lungs working overtime to draw in enough air even just to keep her STANDING, is, "You're beautiful."

Also, she's painted in shadows and moving light, and it makes Rachel's heart pound even more than the unexpected nakedness.

thedeadflag

*fluff-driven eternal screaming*

purrpickle

You know, I also think it's a turning point for Rachel. She's so used to thinking of Santana as "hot" (the hottest girl in McKinley, after all), but right at that moment... And it means SO MUCH to Santana, too, that that's where Rachel's mouth went.

thedeadflag

Absolutely. I often headcanon Santana always hearing she's hot/scorching/etc., and that Brittany's called her pretty a small handful of times, but that's about it. So Rachel saying she's beautiful just... Means everything to Santana in that moment, because everyone who only wanted her for her body always said she was hot... This connection with Rachel was new, and there Rachel was throwing a new word her way she'd never been called, at least not by anyone who wanted her. Which is a huge relief, with how it offers the notion that Rachel doesn't just want her for sex, but there's something more

And yeah, Santana's always had this more or less very put together facade/presentation in public, and it sort of plays on and lends to her reputation, but here Santana is, nearly naked physically as well as emotionally, and it's absolutely a case of Rachel realizing she's seeing Santana in a new light. All the same familiar features, but just like a song that's been transposed to a different key, there's no mistaking the difference. And so many of the old familiar words she often applied to Santana fell away, no longer viable as she sought out a more fitting vocabulary, and it's then that the simplest, easiest word that forms in her mouth comes out. Beautiful

purrpickle

The expression on Santana's face after those words left her lips is heartbreaking.

(I'm kind of conflicted what happens next. I can't see Santana being, you know, unsure about showing her body, being a cheerleader and all, but I think it's different because this is an emotional vulnerability. Not to mention it really IS cold in the bathroom, and if she's not sharing Rachel's body heat...)

thedeadflag

100%. I don't think she'd be shy about her body, but I do think she might be a little... Cautious about the way she opens herself to Rachel's touch. She'd absolutely be emotionally vulnerable, and Santana's panic threshold in those moments can be like a hair trigger at times, and so i could see her not wanting things to progress, on a physical level, in a way that's too familiar. I could see that if Rachel's touching her in ways that make her a little scared that she was wrong, that this really was just physical... I could see her moving Rachel's hands, her head, her lips, I could see Santana slowing things down to test Rachel's patience, I could see her definitely feeling on edge, and a bit uncomfortable with the newness, not to mention the chill in the air.

Not that she'd necessarily need to exercise all of that caution. Rachel, seeing Santana all new now, I think she'd take a new approach. She's always been a perfectionist, incredibly thorough and meticulous and detail oriented, and I think she'd want to learn Santana like her favourite song, inside and out, and that would mean a lot of exploration. A lot of reverence and awe. Rachel loves to learn, and as much as she'd be all for Santana guiding and teaching her, she'd absolutely take initiative and have her own priorities. And she, too, would not favor the chill, and would probably do well to keep their bodies close until either of them decided to drag each other back to the bedroom to the comfort of their warm bed

purrpickle

Agreed with all of that (though I was thinking it would be more likely someone would knock on the door, wanting to use the bathroom before too long). Just, how would they even START Rachel touching her?

I think it would be Santana who took the initiative to pull Rachel into a kiss in the bathroom, so gratified when Rachel moans and trembles against her, her skin so soft and cool against Santana's heated, bare skin, only thin fabric keeping Santana's goodies from meeting Rachel's, only her camisole between them.

Rachel's hands settle, jumpily, on Santana's sides, Rachel exhaling into Santana's mouth as Santana keeps her cheeks cupped in her hands, having taken a step forward and drawn her in. Rachel's heart is pounding, and she's acutely aware of Santana's burning skin both under her hands and against her front. She both wants to slide her palms up and down and in and back... But as much as her heart is telling her to dive in, to wrap herself up in Santana and never let go, Rachel knows, somehow, that pushing too much, too soon, will break the spell, make Santana skittish. It's her psychic ability kicking in, perhaps, but she also remembers the night before when Santana had frozen when things had gotten... Handsy. And Rachel doesn't think she could stand a repeat of last night. So as Santana expertly, slowly, explores her mouth with her own, Rachel doesn't try to speed them up, or let Santana's near nakedness get to her. It's chilly in the bathroom, but Santana's minty toothpaste is addicting, and maybe, if she presses in close enough to Santana, it'll keep her warm, too.

thedeadflag

Santana is so deeply immersed in Rachel's kisses that she nearly jumps out of her skin when a loud knock sounds at the door. One of the other guests at the B&B asking to use the bathroom, and while it could be a serial killer, she doubted the portly dude and his wife were capable of much violence given the dude calling out from the other side of the door was hobbling around the whole time she'd seen him. Rachel, courteous as always, announced loudly that they'll be finished in a second, making the decision for both of them, stepping away from her. Which sends a fresh panic spiking through her heart until Rachel's returning with her top and slipping it back over her head, those smouldering eyes not breaking focus from her own. So maybe she's not as spooked when Rachel opens the door and steps out. And maybe when the man rushes in and Santana squeezes out past him, and Rachel takes hold of her hand and gives her this entirely Rachel Berry sort of look, the same one Berry gave her before marching off to perform "Don't Rain On My Parade" in their first Sectionals, maybe her heart skips a beat and she clutches that soft, lithe hand of Rachel's.

And Rachel leads her back to their room, to their bed, tugging her to follow Rachel under the covers. The sheer relief Rachel exhales as she wraps Santana up, foreheads pressed together, Berry pulling her into a languid kiss, has her melting. Rachel didn't need her naked. Rachel didn't need her curves or her orgasms. Rachel just wanted her, no real pressure to escalate, nothing telling her Berry wanted to use her. And maybe Rachel still hadn't talked endlessly at her, but she'd looked at her like she was something special, and she was being so patient and careful, and maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And Rachel can feel the tension and fear slipping away inside Santana, heart bursting with pride at the happy little sounds escaping Santana with each of her kisses or ministrations,

In a moment of pure emotion and impulse, Rachel whispers "We're going to hold hands in the halls," between kisses, startling herself at letting those words slip after working so hard to contain them only for a bit of hand-holding between the bathroom and their bedroom to undo all her hard work.

And, after a moment, Santana startles as well as the words register, but when all she sees is confusion and yearning in Santana's eyes, Rachel continues. "When we get home. I'll refrain from 'cat calendar madness', but we'll hold hands. We'll hold hands in the halls and walk each other to class. You'll sing occasional duets with me in glee. And I'll take you to Breadstix on Thursdays because that's the night they expand their vegan menu, and I've always wanted to have a regular date night. I think it'd be important for our burgeoning romance." She worries she's not been concise enough, and then that she'd been too concise and ended up sounding authoritarian, not wanting to order Santana around so much as lay out her expectations. She needs to be clear. Before she gets too deep and has her heart broken again, before they get too intimate, she needs to be clear. The words had been building up over their time stranded together, and she couldn't hold them in any longer. She'd already put up such a gargantuan fight on that front, knowing Santana hated her rambling.

purrpickle

Santana's eyes almost melt, looking wet in the muted flickering of the candlelight from the bedside table that filtered through the bed sheet above them. "And I'll," Santana husks, her hand coming up to curl in Rachel's hair, fingers almost trembling as her palm brushed along her cheek, "I'll give you my Cheerio's jacket. If we make it out of here..." She searches Rachel's eyes, "I... I'd... Maybe you won't wear it at school, but," Santana inhales, her eyes darting away, as if she was starting to realize how silly or stupid she sounded, sounding a little uncomfortable even as a soft yearning threaded through her words, "I'd like you to have it. If you wanted it." She shrugs, hand sliding down Rachel's cheek to rest, a little heavily, on her shoulder. "I dunno."

It was like Santana had lost nerve somehow, for some reason, obviously in the midst of remembering something that made her uncomfortable, and Rachel frowns, hating how the sight made her heart ache. She wanted to reassure her, but there was still one thing that she wanted to make sure, for her heart. "Would you... Not want me to wear it at school?" she whispers reluctantly, convinced Santana could feel the faltering of her heart in her chest, "Because I'd... I'd really like to."

(Santana's faltering because of many reasons - she never was able to give Brittany her Cheerio's jacket as she had her own, and besides, it would be a reminder to Rachel that Santana had been part of - and still was - the institution that had made Rachel's life terrible, as well as... That was so big. So huge. To give her the jacket. And what if Rachel turned her down? What if Rachel wasn't as eager for this as it seemed? And... Even though she'd offered it, was SANTANA really ready to give it to her, either? And what would people say at school? It had seemed a good idea at the time, when she'd first brought it up, but now, it seemed like more and more doubts started to grow with each new word she'd uttered.)

thedeadflag

Rachel can see her words haven't registered, that Santana's too lost in her own head, eyes growing glassy. Whatever was going on in there, she needed to stop it before Santana worked herself up enough for them to lose this new connection before it ever really began. She brings a hand up to Santana's face, risking the less secure hold on the girl for a more intimate cradling of her cheek. "Santana..." She speaks clearly, each syllable deliberate and with purpose, drawing Santana's focus, even if the girl seems a little shaken now. Truth was, she was a fan of PDAs, and wearing Santana's jacket would count as a huge one. It was far and above what she'd spoke of, which were largely things that random passersby could chalk up as friendly occurrences, much as they had between Santana and Brittany, or at least most had. As much as she appreciated the offer, as much as she yearned to wear it despite the troupe's history with her (after all, it would be a clear sign of her conquering her past with them and claiming acceptance by their leader, evidence that she hadn't succumbed to their past efforts against her, and instead rose above and thrived in spite of them), it was a major step. As much as she wanted to sing an intimate a-capella version of Sara Bareilles' 'Brave" to the trembling girl in her arms, there was time for that at a later date. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day they get back to Lima. "Santana...I want to hold hands in the halls, and sing duets in glee, and have date nights at Breadstix..."

She brushed her thumb across the swell of Santana's cheekbones, drinking in the increasingly intense cautious focus Santana was sending back at her. "...And when you're ready, I want to wear your Cheerios jacket if that's something you want to give me. I'd like the whole world to know I'm your girlfriend, but not before you're ready for that. As you well know, I have two gay fathers who have experience in coming out, and I myself have been preparing slideshows and memoir chapters on my experiences and struggles as a semi-closeted bisexual woman in high school, and we've all seen what happened with Kurt and Karofsky so I understand the trepidation and how jumping in deep very quickly could be overwhelming and fraught with concerns, and certainly with your history of singing your romantic feelings in the past I could see Glee being a better environment to have a test run of being open before expanding it to the whole school, so I can be patient for you. I just...I would need a lot of *this*. I'm rather high maintenance, and if I can't get all the attention I need in school, then I'd need more outside of it, which was already my plan of action to begin with with step two being..."

purrpickle

Santana could hear what Rachel was saying, but the words weren't really registering. Instead, she was drinking in Rachel's expression and the feel of her hand on her face, her earnestness and soft, determined look. She had shifted some, resting on Santana's side as she looked down at her, and Santana inhaled deeply, turning her face just enough to press her cheek into her palm, Rachel trailing off. When Santana opened her eyes again, Rachel was gazing at her with semi-furrowed brows, studying her, teeth biting into her plump lip. "Santana?" she whispered.

Santana licked her lips, her hand, almost forgotten on Rachel's shoulder, stroking down, curling softly around Rachel's thin bicep. She took a chance, cobbling together the general idea of what Rachel had been talking about - what had filtered into her mind, at least. "I'm not good with the emotions, Berry, and I'll probably mess this up. Like I did now. Fuck... Look... In... In a perfect world, I'd be able to give you my... Jacket... Like I said, but you're right. Not... Not yet." She took a deep breath, then reached up with her other hand, urging Rachel down, into her chest, arms wrapping around the girl's slim shoulders, hoping Rachel could hear how fast her heart was beating with her ear on her breast, speaking more for her than her clumsy words could. After a second, Rachel having frozen before slowly, gently, making herself comfortable, curling into Santana's side, Santana reached for her hand, wrapping her fingers around the other girl's, her heart jolting as Rachel laced their fingers together. That gave her the courage, along with the silence of the bed and breakfast, almost as if they were the only people around without the hum of electricity giving her nothing but her own thoughts and Rachel's breathing to listen to, "But I DO want this. And wants those 'Stix nights, and..." When she trailed off again, fingers tracing through Rachel's hair, she was almost startled when Rachel's soft voice wafted up to her, her words vibrating against Santana's midriff: "To get to know us?"

Rachel pushed up, staring down into her eyes again. "I... I don't know if you heard me, Santana, but I'm high maintenance."

Santana abruptly snorted, squeezing Rachel's hand as a laugh left her shortly after. She dropped her head back against the pillow, continuing to laugh even when Rachel huffed, tapping her shoulder strongly. "Tell me something I DON'T know, Rache. I know." She smirked up at Rachel, the last tightness in her chest easing as she lifted her chin, pulling Rachel's pouting lips into another kiss, "And you 'totes should know I am too."

(I think it's amusing they're talking about the logistics of being in a relationship before saying they want to be in a relationship, or like each other.)

thedeadflag

At the same time, I think it's perfectly them to get ahead of themselves when they're in the moment

It's one of many reasons why I love them

purrpickle

Oh yes, definitely. It is perfectly them. Which is why they finally figure out that at some point, every so often, they need to sit down and talk and check in with each other, so they're not assuming or forging ahead or the like. All throughout their relationship.

thedeadflag

For sure!

purrpickle

Back to the "serial killer" shenanigans - how 'bout, that second night, after Rachel and Santana have fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, lips swollen and their hearts beating with hopeful plans about how their relationship is going to go, they get jerked away by the sound of barking and paws running through the halls because maybe a raccoon or other critter scratched its way into the shelter of the b&b, like, through an attic window.

((UGGGGGHHHH now I want a semi-angsty New Years Pezberry fic, or maybe have this happen over New Years. XD))

((Or, ooh! They arrive back on New Year's Eve!))

thedeadflag

it'd definitely fit the winter setting

purrpickle

That's what I was thinking!

thedeadflag

And yeah, the idea of getting back NYE, only to tackle the issue of nosy gleeks and various folks vying for each of them to be their midnight kiss... Intriguing

purrpickle

You know both of them would worry that getting back to "civilization" would break them out of their bubble, starting with whoever's driving dropping the other one off to get cleaned up for the gleek party.

Kurt and Mercedes whisk Rachel away, asking how she managed to survive Satan for three days, while Quinn and Brittany do the same for Santana, though more like The Hobbit and did she talk your ears off?

Ooh, Santana's walking through Tina's house when a small hand flashes out from a side room, Rachel all nerves and wringing hands as she's gazing worriedly/hopefully up at Santana. Her chest's warm, heart beating quickly, but she doesn't want to lose this, lose Santana, and as the hours had passed with only glances across the room and shy smiles every now and then, nothing had happened. It's not that she's expecting Santana to announce them yet, not at all, after their conversation last night, but she's feeling needy and worried. "I..." she starts, drawing herself up to apologize for pulling Santana bodily, but then Santana's eyes dilate and she moves in, hands cupping Rachel's cheeks to tilt her head up, soft lips coming down to kiss her, softly, lingeringly, but also direct and hard, as if she's been waiting, wanting this too, eager to reassure herself that this is real, too.

thedeadflag

*swoon*

purrpickle

"It's nice to know it still feels so good even without the threat of a serial killer," Rachel breathes as their lips part, eyes still closed, her cheeks pinkening as she realizes she's said that out loud.

Santana laughs, shaking her head and kissing Rachel again. "Dork," she says affectionately.

#pezberry #rachel berry #santana lopez #thedeadflag #thought = headcanon = almost complete fic/drabble inspiration = if i had energy to flesh it out more #rptotd #332 #somewhat formatted from its chat beginnings and edited #but again #too much effort to do much more #and i just wanted to share it!#the first day of snow at my place #:D #(AND IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THEDEADFLAG'S FIC YET WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THEY'RE SO GOOOOOOOD)

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theweddingofthefoxes · 6 years

Text

Keep Close For Warmth

E-rated Clyde Logan x reader fic that I’ve been promising! Have some sweetness and smut.

You'd asked Clyde once, just playfully, what he'd do with a billion dollars. "Besides the obvious -- your family, stuff like that." You really were curious. He wasn't really the sort for sports cars or gold bars or Picasso paintings. His idea of fancy was the sit-down steakhouse, and maybe the kind of scotch only a bartender could really appreciate (though secretly, he was just as happy to drink lemonade). What would he pick?

He surprises you. "Central air conditioning."

"With a billion dollars?"

"Reckon I'd have some left over."

You can't help but laugh. "Just a little bit."

"The rest, I dunno, maybe I can pay some of those Japanese scientists to grow a new arm in a test tube. They can do that now. If you got the money."

"A billion's a lot," you agree.

"But it ain't much good if that one's sweatin' as much as the rest of me."

Summer in Appalachia starts early, end of April, practically, and is syrupy-hot. Even walking as far as the mailbox is like swimming in a pot of cooking oil that's been on the stove a good long while. By ten in the morning, the flowers are wilted, and by three in the afternoon the world is as hazy and bright as the ruins of a nuclear apocalypse. It's not until the sun begins to go down that any beauty emerges -- the pink streaks in the deep blue sky, the pretty owls with faces like dinner plates that roost up in the trees, the thick scatterings of fireflies (though Clyde calls them lightning bugs) just off the roadside. They had fireflies in Baltimore, but not like this.

It is air-conditioned in the bar, though, and that's where you stay for as long as possible. Clyde lets you charge your phone in the outlet that the jukebox is plugged into and plies you with Sprite, like he's a chaperone at a school dance. You go home with him regularly, but you both hate how hot it's become in the past few weeks. Sure, it sounds like it'd be sexy, a leadup-to-a-porno kind of situation, where both parties shed their clothes and get it on. Instead it is misery, and no amount of stripping down to skivvies makes it any better. Even at night, the heat is oppressive, and the fans can only do so much. It'd be like having sex in a sauna, exhausting to think about. You two fool around in your cars instead for now, where the bass of the radio and the movement of your bodies both have the cab shaking on its wheels.

You don't get much of a chance to visit the baking house as the summer progresses anyway, since he's in prison. You don't tell him this, but it sort of only adds to his appeal, that he has a record now, especially since nobody got hurt and there wasn't any malice. He seems surprised you'd bother to stick around, but how could you stay away?

When he's out, he calls you. He tells you again that he missed you, like he hasn't said this a million times before. You feel rather pleased by the prospect of being so missed, even though you missed him too, really badly. He doesn't want to talk much about what happened. He calls it the 'accident', even though the town gossip has made it sound like slamming into that storefront was pretty damn purposeful.

He sounds tired, but he wants to see you. Soon. Not right this moment, not that he says that bald-faced -- he's far too polite for that -- but the tone of his voice says it all. You feel a pang of pity for his weariness and assure him he can have all the time he likes. You two arrange a date to meet up again in a few days, a proper reunion. You want to give him space, time to see his family first. It seems only polite, let the man settle a little bit, but it seems hardly improper to masturbate in anticipation while you wait it out, thinking of being reunited. Steel bars do, in fact, make the heart grow fonder. It's fucked up, and you won't tell him so unless he steers the conversation in this direction himself, but you fantasize about riding him ragged in his cell, maybe having paid off a guard or something. Bad boy.

But when you do see him again for the first time, you are reminded of how goddamn sweet he is, how good it feels to hug him. He looks just the same, at least as much as you can see in the middle of his bear hug, he's had time to shower and properly groom. Look nice for you, that sort of thing. When you pull away, though, you realize one of the arms that is wrapped around you is one you haven't seen before. It's not the inflexible beige plastic one that reminds you of a doll arm, but something far, far more badass.

"God!" you exclaim, taking a closer look at it once you've finally managed to pull yourself away. "Where did you get that?"

"Made it in the prison woodshop," he teases.

"You're so full of shit."

He smiles, like you've told him something far cuter than what you actually said. Though he always says that everything that comes out of your mouth is cute. "Naw, I just decided I was tired of the other one. Got some savin’s, thought I'd hold onto it for a rainy day, but you know what they say. You can't take it with you." Perhaps being without the common comforts and conveniences of the life he loved so much for ninety whole days made him decide he could do a little better.

However, it is clear that when it comes to partners, he thinks there is no upgrading possible. He takes you into the house, letting you know that there is ice cream in the freezer, and beer and wine in the fridge. But you don't get three steps into the front hallway before you stop, delighted. "Air conditioning!"

"Thought it was about time for that, too," he responds, pulling you by the arm like a puppy straining at its leash.

"Thought that was only something for billionaires or whatever," you tease. "I got the money together," he concedes. "I'm glad you like it."

"It's such a relief. Now we can think about something other than how hot it is..." The end of August is normally hot and humid enough to make any man suffer out here, but not in Clyde's updated house. Now, it's almost too cold, though at this time of the year, there's really no such thing. You came over sort of hopeful that you two would get right down to business, but it's been such a joy just talking to him -- really talking, privately, freely talking, without any kind of timer, without anyone else waiting to use the phone. It chases any thoughts of pouncing on him from your head, at least for now, and by the time a natural lull forms in the conversation -- you're now so full of ice cream and white wine, too -- it's late, and he murmurs something about bed. Instead of opening every window and keeping all of your fingers crossed for the mercy of a breeze, you can pull a blanket over you and not want to cry, thanks to the AC. Just as well. The sky was dark with clouds when you had arrived, and you would both be liable to get soaked at some point in the night.

Around two in the morning, you renege on your thoughts about it not being possible to be too cold. You wake feeling like you've been thrown into an icy lake -- geez, how low did Clyde put the temperature? Careful not to disturb him, you sleep out of bed creep over to the new screen that's attached to the wall in the hallway, dial it back from its highest possible setting to one that's a little more reasonable -- at least for a house that's now properly cooled down. You swear you can see your breath...but it's its own reward to snuggle up to Clyde as you return to the tiny spot of warmth you've created and press your face into his broad back.

He's awake after all. "Chilly, hm?"

"Just a little," you whisper. "Did I disturb you?"

"Never did fall asleep."

"You didn't?"

"I was tired but not sleepy. If that makes any sense."

"No, definitely."

"Just wanted to lie down awhile. All quiet and cozy. Plus it was nice watchin' you. That's probably kind of odd."

"It's cute," you promise, and encouraged, he rolls over so your face is pressed to his chest instead. You can't help but laugh. "How do you stay so warm, Clyde? You had that air conditioner set to like, forty degrees."

"Did I?"

"Not literally, but you might as well have."

He gives the sort of smile that makes the liquid dark of his eyes sparkle in the darkness -- this is not the sweet, crooked smile that flashes out at you in many small sparkles like a jewel held up to the sun, but something a little more mischievous. A lot more mischievous. "Suppose I did it on purpose so you'd have to get all nice and close to me."

You give him the softest shove in the world, just something to make that smile deepen a little bit. "Did you really think that far ahead?"

"I like it when you're cuddly."

"You just couldn't wait a couple months for it to start snowing?" This, as if you'd rather be anywhere than cuddling with him.

"Now how am I supposed to think about snow when it ain't even September?" he wants to know, hauling you by the hips so you're sprawled on top of him. His intentions are clear, and you couldn't be gladder that you got up to turn down that AC. You hope he liked the way you looked when you were standing there in the dim shine of the distant porchlight, just in your underwear, you hope, with a flash of sudden wickedness, that this is just the sort of thing he was imagining he would get to come home to while he was, to put it euphemistically, away. He confirms your suspicions by squeezing your ass with the hand that he hasn't put away for the night. "How am I supposed to think about anything at all now that I got you back?"

Down to business. You can't help but gasp a little bit at that. How is he so good at getting you wound so tight when he says such sweet things? You suppose it has to do with how deftly his hand is moving down your thigh, not forceful but purposeful. He's never been the most aggressive one in bed, but you suspect tonight might be different. You wonder if you should tell him how many times you got yourself off while he was gone, but then you're grinding against him and your mind sputters and whirls as if you've been hit in the head with a baseball. Somehow you manage to get your shirt off -- an appetizer -- even though you're still seeing stars.

"You're worth the wait, honey," you whisper to him, and you feel his fingers prying gently at the waistband of your panties.

"Coulda said the same to you," Clyde answers. "Good to hear you didn't have any other little boyfriends in the meantime."

"Nobody else knows how to fuck me right," you assure him, and it is the magic set of words that unlock your reward, the intensity you've been desperate for for the last three months. The gentle tug turns to real, desperate action, and it's only a few seconds before he's got your panties down around your knees -- helped, of course, by the way you lift your hips so he can do it more easily. You reach down and toss them on the floor, then strip him of his boxers just as efficiently. It's like trying to ride the mechanical bull down at the club you've been to with Mellie a couple of times, because he wants to pull you into a kiss and let you undress him and line you up so he can get inside you as quickly as possible, and he's so goddamn strong, there's so much surface area to him, that all you can do is hang on.

"Jesus, beautiful, how'd I get so lucky?" he wants to know, and there is a rasp in his voice that lets you know he is entirely genuine. He slides into you without much trouble at all -- you're sopping, you have been since the moment he rolled onto his side so you could hear his heart beating fast when you buried your face in his chest. Want-want-want. All he wants is you. "Soon as you got here -- knew I had everything I needed." Your hands are tight on his shoulders now, he's already sweating, even in the chill, which you've both pretty much forgotten now. The heat of your blood is all you need, even naked in the cold room. High above, yet somehow sounding no higher than the ceiling, thunder rumbles.

"Tell me you missed me," he whispers as you ride him, trying to keep some precision to it but that's a losing game.

"Missed you so badly," you promise, and he soaks it in, his hand tight around your wrist, waiting for more. Now's the time to tip your hand. "You know that sex shop back in Baltimore I, mm! That I told you about? You know I got a good vibrator there, and I damn near gave myself carpal tunnel thinking about you, using it--" This proves to be another set of magic words as he lets the image fill his mind, there are now two of you, one behind his eyelids desperately getting yourself off all alone, and one riding on top of him, egging him on. "And you, tell me -- tell me you missed me, honey--"

His breath is coming out in little snarls at first, it's hard for him to get it all out, but he manages after a beat or two. "Pretty thing, at least you got to play with your fancy toys. I just got to dream, and you were in all of 'em. Couldn't wait to be inside you, couldn't wait to see your face once I had you comin' -- that thought, that's-- that's the best one. Those faces you pull, those could kill a man--" He won't have long to wait to see what he's been waiting for, of course. You both double down on your efforts, satisfied that the other one has suffered deeply enough during this dry spell. The snarls have turned into loud sounds, each exhale practically a shout, and he likes it when your own sounds get higher, louder, less controlled. "Vibrators don't moan for you, do they?" he wants to know, half a tease, half a boast. "They don't let you know how good you're doin', and you're doin' so damn good--"

And of course he's doing so damn good himself, nobody seems to just know how to buck beneath you like he does -- he's always so eager to impress you, like it's your first night together and if he impresses you, you'll stay. But haven't you always stayed, through everything, even this long recent separation? He rewards you with love and listening, with ice cream and air conditioning, with an orgasm that about stops your heart, and you knew he would, once you got around to it. He loves you so dearly that you'd forgive him if he were shitty in bed but that's just it, he's not. Your fingers leave marks on his shoulders that you kiss better later as he hauls you up to your climax with all of the ease of him picking you up and sitting you on the kitchen counter.

Ever the gentleman, his own orgasm chases after, once he knows you're taken care of he lets himself be selfish and takes you, still not enough might to hurt you but with real abandon. He fills you -- Jesus, it was like he was made to measure, that's how good he feels inside. You don't really know what your face looks like when you come, you don't have a mirror handy or anything like that -- not like you'd have the presence of mind to check even if you did. But his, wow, it's so very worth watching, the way his soft lips twist back into an unhelpable cry, and the way his final pants pour out of his mouth and nose. It is the most intense and innocent kind of desperation, and it's spellbinding. By now, you've both been working so hard that the air conditioning once more becomes a necessity instead of a luxury. By now, the rain is tapping loud against the closed windows, but your breathing is still louder.

Vibrators also do not shake out the blankets, while you're in the bathroom or pull you close when you return, back to where it all started, your head to his chest. You dissolve into giggles -- "I can't breathe!" you say, mock-offended, but you only wiggle far enough away to get a noseful of cool air so you don't suffocate. His whole arm snakes its way around your shoulders, and he rests his chin against your forehead.

"You can breathe now, right?"

"I can breathe now, promise."

"Let's stay like this, hm?"

"I'd like that."

"Missed this a lot too. You layin' here with me, us just havin' idle conversation. Missed that a lot."

There is another soft rumble of thunder beneath the pattering of rain, and you're pleased to find that he hasn't bothered to put his boxers back on as you adjust your position beside him. "Just cuddling for warmth, you know."

"I'm quite fond of it."

He truly is sleepy now, but that's okay, because he is solid and close and real and back, he is returned to your arms and your bed and your day to day life. It is so very welcome to come back to the mundane, to worry about getting the temperature right and sleeping positions and other ultimately unimportant things. For the first time in awhile, you are sated, you have scratched that itch that you couldn't reach before, you can sleep easy.

#my fic #logan lucky #clyde logan #clyde/reader #clyde logan/reader #smut

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perksofbeingawaifu · 7 years

Text

the great cat caper

hey yall it’s been 50 million years. so i was looking through my old drafts (of which i have several) and found this nearly finished ficlet. it was based on this amazing and hilarious art by the very lovely and talented @magickitt . i can’t for the life of me remember why i quit writing it (maybe someone else wrote the same fic so i just dropped it?) but here it is very very late. enjoy!~

Eren didn’t know when it started. One day he went to grab a pair of undies from the crumpled clean laundry basket and pulled them on only to find them too small. He shrugged and assumed they’d shrunk in the laundry. Then it happened again a few days later. And again the day after that!

“Armin, do I look like I’m gaining weight?” he asked, checking his gut in front of a mirror.

“You? No,” Armin laughed, turning his eyes back to his term paper.

“No you’re perfect,” Mikasa said flipping through a magazine.

“What about you Titan?” he asked the cat making figure eights between his legs. “Does Daddy look different to you? Hm? I gotta start working out more.”

And he did. He got up to run every morning just as his cranky neighbor from 2B left for work (no but seriously who works that early?). And every morning just as he saw the perfectly shined shoes step outside his door, Eren darted down the stairwell, content on avoiding him. He’d never met his neighbor and had no desire to. The man was quiet except for the times when he wasn’t. He would burst into short, clipped, rage-filled sentences that ranged from threats to his roommate, “I swear to fucking god if you don’t flush the toilet I will personally grind you up and flush you down to float with my shit!” to, “SHIT ON A STICK!” to the worrisome phone conversation of, “I will fucking butcher you!”

He could also hear his neighbors discussing chemical “particles” and “reactions.” He had no doubt his neighbor was involved in pharmaceuticals of the “Breaking Bad” variety. Eren vowed to keep his head down and mind his own business.

Or rather he tried, he really did try.

“Oh no,” he said holding up a pair of skivvies that were most certainly not his.

“Hanji I swear to fucking shit, where the fuck are they?” his neighbor echoed on the other side of the thin wall. “I’m down to my last pair, I’m washing it every single day, where are you hiding them?”

“Bad Titan!” Eren hissed at his cat.

Sure, he’d noticed Titan playing with something last night. And sure, yes, he’d noticed socks and undies stuffed into his slippers or in his backpack. And the nest under the bed. But today he found a pair placed lovingly on his bath mat. Once again they didn’t fit, despite all of his recent activity. He flipped the band to see a Men’s small on the waistband. He wore a medium. At first he thought maybe Mikasa had bought him another package of briefs and simply grabbed the wrong size. But now given the ruckus on the other end of the wall, a horrible chill raced its way down his spine.

“Please, please,” he begged as he rummaged through his drawer grabbing every pair he could find. He dug into his dirty laundry, then his clean laundry, the place between his bed and the wall, under the couch and between the cushions and even behind his television.

Finally he set lay them all out in his living room, like they were all artifacts from some archeology dig.

“Oh Titan, why do you hate me? Is it the discount catfood?” Eren asked as Titan waltzed through the display purring.

As Eren dragged his hands down his face, Titan flopped over and began rolling around on his stolen goods.

What to do? What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Give them back, right? He didn’t know which ones belonged to the man next door. Who knew who else Titan stole from? Eren didn’t know if he could be held legally responsible for something his cat did. He knew what he had to do. He was just too terrified to do it.

Summoning all of his courage, he stepped over to 2B and rapped on the door.

“You’re not the pizza guy,” his neighbor guessed astutely, pulling his gaming headphones down from his neck.

“Hah, no I’m—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped into the mic.

“Uh,” Eren froze.

“Sorry, them, not you,” he indicated his headphones. Then there was a warble of noise on the other end and his face twitched. “No Oluo is not fucking tanking. Erwin is our main Tank and Mike is—no you don’t get to heal either not if you’re gonna piss and moan like you did last time when you didn’t get the roll. Now shut up I’m afk.”

He hit the mute button on the side and shook his head in annoyance.

“Sorry, my guild is a bunch of chodenuggets, what’s up? You locked out?”

“No I—you see—“

“Man our pizza is really late, Hanji, you called them right?” he called back to the other gamer hunched over their desk. “We’re kindof in the middle of something, so what do you need?”

Hi, I’m Eren and I live next door. You wouldn’t happen to be missing a pair of boxers or briefs would you? Because I think my cat may have stolen them.

At least that’s what he had planned on saying, but he was so frazzled that all he managed to get out was, “Boxers or briefs?”

The man finally gave Eren his full attention, snapping his neck to assess him with those cool grey eyes of his.

“What did you say to me?”

“I—I—“ Eren stammered.

“You some kind of pervert?” he asked, taking a step out of the hallway.

“No?” Eren winced putting his hands up in surrender.

“Levi hurry up! Erwin says if you’re not back, we’re going without you.”

“Look, I don’t know what frathouse bullshit this is but—“ Levi said taking another step forward.

“Cat!” Eren blurted out, crossing his hands over his face. “M-my cat!”

“What?”

“Okay, Oluo rushed in and we wiped, so that’s done for now, what’s going on?” Hanji came over.

“This little punk is harassing me,” Levi said, rolling his very thick shoulders.

“I think my cat has been stealing your underwear!” Eren shouted.

“…What?” Levi stopped short, confusion spreading over his face.

“I mean, you’re missing underwear right? I think my cat has been stealing them. Just…come see?”

A minute later Levi and Hanji examined the carnage that was Eren’s living room.

“Oh my god,” Levi said surveying the scene.

“Sorry I don’t know which ones are yours,” Eren said stepping over Titan and picking a few up off the floor. “I also have no idea who these lacey panties belong—”

“I—here, give me those,” Levi said, snatching the lacey boyshorts out of his hands. “They’re uh, probably my cousin Isabel’s from when she visited.”

Hanji snorted and Levi stilled them with a look.

“So yeah, I’m guessing yours are just the Men’s small and Boy’s XL here,” Eren pointed.

“Okay, well,” Levi said, flushing up to his roots, panties sticking out of his jean pockets. “Just the small are mine.”

“Oh, so not these dinosaur ones because—“

“Pfft no.”

“Because you wrote Levi on the waistband in sharpie.”

Levi winced and also took the Batman Y-fronts.

“Yeah sorry it took me so long to notice he was taking them,” Eren said stepping over the mess. “I kept pulling on pairs I found around the apartment and when they didn’t fit—“

“You wore them?” Levi cried, his lip curled in disgust.

“Y-yes, but I washed them!”

“Oh!” Levi groaned and spun on the spot. “That’s great, that’s fucking great! You wore them getting your skidmarks all over them!”

“Excuse me? I didn’t get any skidmarks on them! Any streaks you see are yours and yours alone!”

Levi gasped, offended. “You know what you are?” he said dangerously. “You’re a dirty pervert panty sniffer. I don’t think your cat stole these, I think you stole these!”

“You think—“ Eren sputtered in protest.

“Yeah, I think you’re the kind of guy who gets off to stolen underwear from the laundry room—“ Levi jabbed his finger into Eren’s chest.

“At least I don’t have three different pairs of Strawberry Shortcake panties!” Eren shot back.

“Boys—boys—“ Hanji said stepping between them. “I know how we can settle this.”

“Yeah me too,” Levi flexed his biceps. “Oh wait—no not that again, Hanji!”

Hanji’s idea proved to be a GoPro that they fitted to Titan’s collar. Levi agreed to hold off on pummeling Eren’s face until they had heard his case and verified his claims.

“Now…we wait,” Hanji said, scratching behind Titan’s ears.

A full 48 hours later they sat in front of Hanji’s computer, Eren a little nervous and Titan rolling about in Levi’s lap no many how many times he shoved him off.

They watched the video in tense silence. There was Hanji putting on the GoPro…there was Eren escorting a naughty Titan back to his apartment…then…nothing. Titan did nothing but sleep all night.

“I thought cats were nocturnal?” Levi asked, as Titan attempted to scale his shoulder.

“Oh no, Titan sleeps like the dead until…yup, there.”

5:35AM, a good twenty-five minutes before Eren’s alarm was due to go off, Titan woke up and began pawing at his face.

Eren watched as he tossed and turned in the bed, Titan smacking him repetitively until Eren stumbled to his feet, scratching at his ass, Titan weaving in between his legs. The camera shook suddenly as a sleepy Eren tripped over the cat and fell hard.

“Okay we can fast forward through this, please?” Eren asked, putting a hand over his eyes.

Levi snorted at Eren’s expense.

Then Titan ate his food happily for a good ten minutes. He spent another twenty minutes licking his ass. Hanji tapped the fast forward button again to zip through.

“Wait what was that?” Levi pointed.

“NO!” Eren said, diving for the controls but Hanji held their keyboard above both of them, slowing it down.

Titan always sat on Eren’s bathmat and waited for him to finish with his shower. Eren stepped out of the shower and then realized that GoPro was aimed right between his legs and collapsed again, grabbing a towel and lunging at Titan.

Both Hanji and Levi tilted their heads to watch the Eren on-screen struggle to cover himself.

“Get out of here!” past-Eren hissed at the cat as present-Eren put both hands over his eyes. “You’re peeping on me you pervert cat! Aw, I’m sorry. No, don’t lick me. Stop it that tickles. Look how fierce you are. I didn’t mean to scare you. Okay now no more spying on me while I’m naked. We don’t want Mr. Grumpy Pants with the Cute Ass next door to see me naked, do we? No we don’t. No we don’t!”

Levi turned and looked at Eren.

“I did not realize it had sound,” Eren choked out in a pained voice.

“Clearly,” Levi said, now looking amused at the situation.

They watched Titan run around the apartment, playing with his toys, grooming, napping. Hanji yawned, tapping on the fast forward button as Titan slept most of the afternoon. Levi shifted in boredom, Eren opened his water bottle and took several long sips. He looked around the room and realized that all the times he had thought his neighbors were drug dealers, they were instead grad students with piles and piles of Hanji’s notes on biochem scattered throughout their desk and Levi’s neatly shelved text books.

Then…

“He’s up, he’s moving! Take it back!” Eren said, slapping Hanji’s chair.

He couldn’t help but be a little excited, here it was, proof that Titan was stealing the undergarments and not Eren!

Hanji took it back right before Titan moved. He suddenly perked up his head as if he heard something. Then ran to the bathroom, stood on his hind legs and managed to flip the switch to the bathroom window.

“…HOW?” Eren asked in awe.

“You are such a little pest,” Levi said, scruffing Titan who only purred in his lap.

Then he carefully padded around the corner, dropped down into the courtyard, hot on Levi’s heels as he parked his motorcycle.

“No…” Levi said as he watched Titan stalked behind him. “I don’t believe this.”

Titan followed Levi up the stairs, ducking behind the staircase as he watched Levi open the door to his apartment.

“There he’s gonna—oh…” Eren said in disappointment. “I thought he’d get in your apartment just then.”

Titan waited and then a few short minutes later, Levi stepped out with his laundry basket in hand.

“Watch watch watch,” Hanji said, smacking them both with their arms.

“Okay! Knock it off!” Levi said, warding off their flailing limbs.

Titan snuck downstairs and watched Levi as he put quarters in the machine.

“Man, he knows your routine,” Hanji said, spewing popcorn all over their desk.

“This is like a scene from one of those serial killer movies,” Levi said.

And yet, Titan waited as Levi washed his laundry, then dried it, then folded it. And never made a move. Instead he left through the open basement window and went over to see the fancy Persian nextdoor. They purred and groomed each other. No undie stealing. No nothing.

“You tried to pin it on your cat!” Levi said, turning on Eren. “Look, he had every chance there and he didn’t!”

“I didn’t do it! Just wait! We’re still on the first day, right Hanji?”

“Yeah but I didn’t do my laundry yesterday,” Levi said, standing up and despite his size towered over Eren.

“Ooh there he goes again,” Hanji said pointing.

Titan left his Persian friend, hopping up onto the brick ledge before leaping up to the second floor windows. He lurked, watching Levi dusting his action figures. He took special care to polish the backside of his Kaworu figure.

“Perfect,” Levi said on camera, giving his own backside a smack.

“Oh god,” Levi in his chair said, putting his fingers to his pinched brow as Eren turned to look around at his shelf of figurines.

“You have a lot of anime characters,” Eren pointed out.

And he dutifully dusted every single one daily as Titan’s sneaky camera documented.

“How…how much more is there?” Eren asked. “I’m wondering when you’re going to start singing to your broom here.”

“Oh he always busts out Nicki Minaj for that,” Hanji informed him. “There it is!”

Now that it was Levi’s turn to be humiliated, he slunk down in his chair. Hanji’s laughter was infectious and Eren laughed along with them—that was until Titan’s hidden camera caught Hanji eating popcorn that had been in the trash.

“…Is that the same bag?” Levi asked, looking from the screen to the bag in Hanji’s hands.

When Hanji took a little long to answer, they both groaned.

“It’s still good!”

“Why are you two even roommates?” Eren asked, a grin still on his face.

“Not for long, I’m moving in with Moblit who isn’t such a clean freak,” Hanji huffed.

“Or he’s just another slob who doesn’t mind you leaving unopened yogurt on your desk for two weeks.”

“Ah yeah, my best friend is moving in with his boyfriend so I’m out a roommate soon as well,” Eren sighed.

Levi’s eyes swept over Eren appraisingly. “When is your lease up?”

“Two months but—“

Levi on screen placed his clothes neatly in their drawers and then left for his computer. Titan ducked in Hanji’s open bedroom window and then raced around the corner into Levi’s room, leaping onto his dresser, wedging a paw in the draw and pulling it open.

“HOW? This cat is better than the entire cast of Ocean’s 11!” Levi said, mouth open.

Grabbing several pairs in his mouth, he raced back to Eren’s room, dumped his loot under the bed and then crawled on top of it purring madly.

“WHY?” Eren asked. “I adopted him from a shelter when he was a kitten, where did he learn this?”

“Maybe he likes the detergent?” Hanji asked.

“Tide with Febreeze?” Levi wrinkled his nose.

“Ooh Mr. Fancy with his fancy laundry detergent,” Hanji grumbled. “We’ve been over this by the way. You can just make your own soap! It’s just Borax and baking soda.”

“Except you never actually make your own soap—“

“Did he tell you he weighs the soap every day—“

“Because you use mine and pour water back in and think I won’t notice!”

Eren coughed into his hand politely. “This still isn’t helping me with my cat.”

“Maybe you just smell good to the cat,” Hanji suggested, leaning over and sniffing Levi.

Titan who had fallen asleep in Levi’s lap clearly liked being there.

Eren leaned over to do the same and inhaled deeply. “Yeah but how different can you smell compared to—“

He stopped and sat up, flushing a little. “Okay well sorry to bother you. And sorry for this little turd nugget. I will keep an eye out and do more to secure the apartment so he doesn’t get out again.”

Eren held out his hands to accept Titan from Levi. Levi looked reluctantly at the sleeping cat in his lap before carefully scooping him into Eren’s arms.

“Bye you little shit,” Levi said, rubbing Titan’s temples. Then in a whisper, “And quit being an asshole to your owner.”

Titan only purred in response.

“And, uh,” Levi cleared his throat. “Let me know how the roommate search goes. I’m just trying to find someone who isn’t a complete slob.”

“I mean…I’m like a normal level of slob,” Eren said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nah, I saw your apartment on the—video thing. It looks like you actually know that food belongs in the fridge and not in your bed.” Levi leaned on the doorway in his sleeveless muscle tank and Eren felt his heart flutter.

“You looked at my bed,” Eren repeated.

“What?”

“BYE!” Eren said, realizing what he’d said and running down the hallway with a startled Titan. He slammed the door behind him and slapped his forehead. “Stupid!”

“Fucking weirdo,” Levi said, shutting the door behind him.

<*>

“Hanji, I love you, I do,” Moblit said on the phone, “but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Moblit, first of all, do you want Levi to move in with us?”

“God no.”

“Secondly, it is nearly Valentine’s Day. I am merely playing Cupid,” Hanji said, crowing to themself as they tossed all of Levi’s underwear drawer into the garbage.

“Hanji—it’s not going to work like you think it will. Don’t meddle okay? Please?”

“I would never meddle. Ever. I am simply performing an experiment,” Hanji reassured him in a voice that was anything but reassuring, sliding the drawer back into place on Levi’s dresser.

Levi stepped out of the shower just as Hanji finished.

“What the…goddamnit! Eren!” Levi pounded on the thing wall. “Your stupid cat stole all my underwear again!”

Levi walked all the way down the hallway in a towel and banged on Eren’s door, except he forgot what he was going to say when Eren opened it.

“I’m naked,” Levi told him stupidly.

“I can see that,” Eren said.

“It’s your fault,” Levi said, finding it hard to get the words out now that he was looking up at Eren’s green eyes.

“We should do something about that,” Eren said, just as idiotically back.

“Yes,” Levi agreed, allowing himself to be led into Eren’s apartment.

When he came back it was a full three hours later and wearing a pair of Eren’s sweats and shirt.

“It totally worked,” Hanji said into their mic as Levi wandered over to his desk.

“What? Really? Did you remember to take the garbage out?” Moblit asked.

“Pfft no, why would I? Levi always does it.”

“Hanji…” Moblit sighed.

“WHY IS ALL OF MY UNDERWEAR IN THE GARBAGE? HANJI!!”

#ereri #snk #drabble #this is ancient #i think it might be over a year old #hahaha oops!#i know it's been a million years since i posted anything and thanks for your guyses patience #life is busy here

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