#I went over for game night and we played a flattery game for FOUR HOURS ���� it was agony. I didn’t know anyone and I’m supposed to choose

[icterid-rubus]

Successfully fended off The Group Chat on a THIRD platform.

[4riesluvrgrl]

this is my first shot at writing a matsukawa fan fiction. this will hopefully have two more parts to it

category: fluff, angst

tw: mentions of controlling behavior, swearing, slight alcohol use, not nsfw yet but that will probably be in other parts

pairing: matsukawa x reader

five years.

it had only been five years since you had been wished away to start a new chapter of your life with your newly wed husband.

five years.

of constant encouragement when you moved away to tokyo from your hometown, with the promise of new job opportunities.

up until the very end your husband had been your rock, your foundation.

as there is with any relationship, of course there was the behind the doors that no one knew happened.

the fact that your husband had never wanted to start a family, even when you had begged him to start one with you.

the way that he would sometimes drink too much with his work friends, and would come back home with lipstick stains along his collar.

he was a good husband. never would have done anything to hurt you, and always made sure that you had everything you needed (intimacy is arguably a want in his opinion not a need). you had never wished for him to pass so suddenly.

you were still in the prime of your life, having just gotten married the summer after your shared third year. although you had been told this many times by your loved ones it was always hard to believe. you felt as if your life had stopped at the moment his heart did.

days blending together, resulting in so much pain an agony. your family took care of most of the affairs when you moved back to miyagi prefecture. they didn’t push you to go out or do much of anything knowing you needed your time.

they didn’t know that the time they were giving you only caused you more damage. resentment.

the little things that your late husband would do that you started to notice. the way he would constantly complain about your cooking. the way he would slowly convince you to stop seeing your friends on weekends. the way your clothes never seemed to suit you by the looks he gave you.

yes there was grief, but it slowly morphed into a bitter taste left in your mouth. that no matter what you did you couldn’t get it out.

realizing that the comfy job you had gotten had been one where he could keep a close eye on you. noticing that while intimacy had long been a thing of the past between you two, he would come home disheveled with the scent of something sweet lingering on his clothes.

by all means you should have been happily married. he was your childhood friend turned high school sweetheart turned lover.

family members always commented on what a perfect smart couple the two of you were. they didn’t see behind those closed doors.

when getting his items from his office you didn’t miss the way his boss lingered in the empty room. you didn’t miss her muffled sobs.

it had long been on your mind he was seeing someone else. you just didn’t want to have to face her so soon after it had happened.

bitter angry thoughts continued to cloud your judgement when she would bring flowers by your house. how did she get your address again.

all rational judgement out the window knowing good and well that it was on his company record that he had his address. your address. but in that hospital room while he took his final breaths, you weren’t surprised when she had walked in. another emergency contact he had.

his beloved boss.

the one who had signed off on you getting a job in the company’s sister branch just three miles away. three miles away from the shared glances she and your husband had shared while finishing up paperwork.

it was all too much to handle.

you had had enough of being cooped up in your childhood bedroom having these thoughts run rampant in your mind.

sick of sleeping on the bed where he had taken your first kiss and much more.

a happy wife. yeah right. a bitter widow. you ran the title over in your head a few times for good measure. yes the title did seem to suit your current state better.

after a week of being stuck inside you had your mind set on walking around the town that you so desperately tried to get away from. to start fresh, and not remember all the shared moments you and your husband had together here.

the look your mother gave you as you walked out seemed to be very knowing yes albeit concerned. she was another that didn’t know what would happen between the two of you, but always seemed to sense something was off. when you wouldn’t visit for holidays or respond to any of her letters.

the streets all seemed tainted by his memories. kisses under streetlights, late nights in park benches, all of it was overwhelming.

you hadn’t realized that you he’d ended up in front of your old high school. oddly enough he wasn’t flooding your memories there.

you had been so active in so many different activities in your days there. so many extra curricular activities that didn’t involve him. you were always more for the additional things that school had provided while he remained diligent in his studies.

it was around noon so classes were still in session. the fall semester, so students were probably picking their clubs as you stood reminiscing on your days spent doing the same.

you had tried so many different sports, none quite suiting you. opting for different clubs; theater, newspaper, calligraphy, even judo for a time.

the one that you had stuck with for your three years there was the volleyball club. you tried your hand at playing your first two years, and we’re some how convinced into managing the boys team your third year.

you had already been friends with most of the boys beforehand. having gone to competitions with the girls team. cheering them on from the stands while they won match after match.

those were some of your best memories.

only beaten by actually being court side seeing everything so close up. seeing the determination in each boys eyes. you would be lying if it wasn’t contagious.

managing the team you would catch yourself screaming louder than they were. feeling as if you were in the game. as if you were doing the plays that they had been running through for months.

watching as their spikes serves played out perfectly. every little thing that they had been drilled with coming to life on that court.

while your late husband had never come to any of your games much less the boys games you never felt lonely or lacking anything by him not being there. if anything it forced you to make better connections with the people who were there with you.

never on your life would you have thought that the tooru oikawa would have been invited to your wedding, let alone give a toast to you. true to form there was extreme self flattery on his part throughout. the occasional slip up mentioning the time you had come into their room at training camp and seen kunimi’s entire backside. that one landed you a not simp nice glare from your newly wed husband. nonetheless he and most of the team had shown up to your wedding with promises to stay in touch even after you all went your separate ways.

it’s been four years since you spoke to any of them, save for the occasional selfie oikawa would send you from argentina. you would never respond back. your husband always accusing you of being too close to him, and asking why he is sending you pictures and if you sent any back.

slowly during the first year of marriage you stopped talking to any of them. your friendship, your bond, a thing of the past. just another thing left behind when you had moved away.

tainted corrupted thoughts about him once again clouding your vision. as you tried to recall the amount of late nights spent in those gyms tossing to the boys, or practicing your very slight libero skills from your time on a team. the amount of hours spent on buss rides with them usually ending up with one of them falling asleep on your shoulder. the way their last match went and the night you had spent in the gym with the rest of the third years and the tears shared. that was the last time every third year had been together in that room.

while you had invited every member of the team both boys and girls, a couple didn’t show.

matsukawa.

him being the one who’s absence you had noticed the most. makki had come up to you while an upbeat song was playing, and your husband was downing a bottle of champagne. something family related had come up. you smiled and hugged him. brushed it off as if it didn’t hurt.

matsukawa. his absence hurt the most. you had never been unfaithful to your husband not even while you were dating. but there had been a week early on in your third year where he had wanted to take a break from things to get more serious about his studies he had said. you took it to heart. confiding in your fellow third years looking for answers. they came up short with any.

oikawa had been the one to initiate the third year sleepover claiming that it would be for the betterment of the team if all upperclassmen were a unified force. everyone agreed on iwaizumi’s house.

it all started off innocent enough. as innocent as it could be with those four. oikawa was already sprawled out on the couch a bowl of soba in hand as he yelled at the tv screen. recordings from the past games played out before him as he yelled at his televised team members with a full mouth.

“shittykawa if you don’t stop yelling with your mouth full.” a less than empty threat from the kitchen had him slurping his food down faster and keeping silent. brushing past the amusing scene of oikawa with a face full of food hitting his fist in the air wanting to scream out, you headed to the kitchen to let iwaizumi know you had arrived.

“oh y/n i didn’t even hear you coming in over that idiot yelling.” he shot a glance at oikawa but went back to getting some more food ready for when the other two arrived. “trust me we aren’t going to be watching old matches all night. he just got here early and insisted on watching last weeks games.”

you gave him a soft smile as you made your way to the fridge to grab something to drink. settling in just water for the time being you took place beside him chopping up some scallions he had laid out. “iwaizumi you know people usually order food in for things like this.” nudging him slightly as he continued to mix a sauce together.

“i tried but everyone said they had wanted soba or ramen so it’s easy enough to make and i already had everything here.” shrugging as he placed the noodles in the water.

“what’s it like being the dad and the mom of the team.” you teased picking up his sauce he had mixed together and giving it a taste. “more ginger.” you said softly mincing a bit more.

he smiled over at you, a sight only seen occasionally from him. “with you here the mom role isn’t as difficult. especially with the second years they listen to you as well.”

you nodded continuing to adjust the sauce just slightly for him thinking to the time where you had to take kyotani out of the gym to talk to. him being surprising receptive, letting his guard down when no one was watching him.

“iwa-chan, y/n-chan who knows where makki and mattsun are it’s been hours.” a complaint from the living room rings through to the two of you.

“if you had come on time and not right after practice you wouldn’t be waiting hours.” iwaizumi growls back to him. he lets out a defeated sigh getting up to bring his empty bowl to the sink.

“did you even shower before coming here.” poking at his oversized shirt. he didn’t smell bad he probably showered quickly.

rolling his eyes and evading your prodding, “you act as if i haven’t got clothes hidden here so that i can shower and change.” earning him another glare.

“no fair!” he suddenly exclaims looking at your helping cooking. “i got iwa’s bland noodles, y/n is a much better cook i want her to make me some more.” he pouts.

“your lucky that i don’t throw this on you stu-“ the door opening and slamming shut was enough to save oikawa this time.

“did you tell us the wrong time, everyone is here already.” makki’s voice echos from the front door. there are some keys shuffling and being placed into the hook and then they are both standing at the kitchen.

the softest blush creeps across your face. mattsun. standing slightly behind makki, looking relaxed and mostly bored. he was the one thing that could get you flustered. having confessed to oikawa his feelings towards you in your second year, to which oikawa immediately told you. he had known about your boyfriend, but insisted that he just had to get it off his chest. the two of you never spoke of it but you could sense that his demeanor towards you had changed when you walked into the gym crying two days before having just been told about your boyfriend wanting a break.

maybe it was just wishful thinking. possibly curiosity, as all your intimate interactions had only been with your boyfriend having never so much as missed anyone else. regardless of that something about him seemed different, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined kissing him before.

the boys all teased you or would lean in for a kiss after you praised them for a good play. then knew when to stop the joke before they got you into trouble. this was usually oikawa or makki trying to get a rise out of you. the time that mattsun had done it left you confused and flustered. it was in a practice against a college team he had blocked one of oikawa’s setter dumps, as he was playing on the opposite team for the match. you couldn’t help but shout because oikawa had everyone else convinced he was going to set to the left side.

his eyes locked with yours immediately. a pink tint racing to your cheeks. oikawa called a time out and the boys headed over to the sidelines where you were keeping score. “a little excited about that play miss manager?” he questioned leaning down to your seat and resting his hand lazily against the back of it. closing you off but not intimidating.

“i was sure he was setting for the left wing spiker, i can’t believe you caught that.” it was true the other blockers had been heading to that side.

“it’s in the eyes.” he said. close. getting closer. “yours are very expressive as well,” his breath ghosting over your face missing just where you felt you needed him most. “not always saying what you mean.” his face a mere inches from yours.

as soon as it happened he reached behind you to grab his towel and water bottle, and proceeded as if nothing more of it.

it had you thinking for weeks.

“y/n?” you looked up at oikawa realizing you had been lost in thought. “we all said we don’t care what we watch tonight it’s late anyways. as our resident girl, what do you want to watch tonight?” if they knew you were lost in thought no one let on probably assuming you were still hurt over the abrupt halt on your relationship.

“anything is good we could honestly watch that anime you were all talking about at practice or a shitty romcom that you’ll inevitably cry to.” you beaded nudging the dumbass beside you.

“anime it is because we all know that you cry over every anime death, even if it’s the side character.” he retorts filling his bowl with more noodles and the sauce you had finished.

everyone followed suit getting their own bowl and took places on the couch. makki leaning against your legs along with mattsun leaning back onto his. iwaizumi taking place sitting on a cushion on the floor and oikawa taking up the entirety of the love seat across from the couch.

the sound from the tv covering up everyone eating or taking a swig from the few bottles of sake that makki has some how got his hands on. they were being passed around as everyone focused on the show.

food now long finished makki was laying on top of you with mattsun on top of him both of them within arms reach so you messed lightly with both of their hair. makki grabbed you hand and threw it to the side eyeing you. “stop that i cant stand people touching my hair.” just encouraged you to mess with it even more taking your hand from issei’s head and ruffling makki’s even more.

this resulted in him taking both your hands into into one of his and keeping them out of reach from his head.

a moment passed one of the bottles making its way over to you, makki grabbing it with his other hand and teasing you with it. “awe did you want some?” he questions before bringing it to your lips himself letting you take a larger swig than what you had wanted. passing it back over to mattsun still keeping your hands from him.

“hiro just because you’re fucking head is too sensitive,” mattsun chides, “doesn’t mean i wasn’t enjoying it.”

makki scoffs letting go of you hands slapping them away from his head instantly. “fine you big baby switch spots with me, wherever.” he groans switching places so mattsun is now laying against your legs.

your fingers immediately intertwine into his hair massaging soothing circles as you all continue the show.

“well i should have realized this would be an issue.” oikawa groans getting up from his place on the love seat stretching slightly only to be caught off balance slightly inebriated. “there are three rooms and four no five of us.”

iwaizumi groans show bing his friend to the ground. “obviously y/n would take my brothers room and we will each go two to a room or someone can sleep on the couch.” having already seen this outcome. “don’t want shittykawa corrupting our manager or scaring her away so soon into our third year.”

oikawa feints hurt looking over at you almost completely asleep on the couch hands still intertwined in mattsun’s hair who doesn’t look much more awake.

makki throws a couch pillow toward the two of you causing you to shoot up. “i wasn’t fucking asleep, and pervykawa i wasn’t even intending on staying the night.” sending a playful glare over towards him.

“you aren’t driving home drunk, my brothers door locks so no one will bother you. i’d say you can take my parents room, but two people are not comfortably fit on the other bed.” iwaizumi’s words still carrying authority even if he had finished more sake that anyone else.

you shrug yourself off the couch and head to the bathroom groaning about mattsun weighing too much and your legs being asleep.

you quickly washed your face and brushed your teeth, having assumed something like this would happen and packed just incase. slipped into your pajamas which were much more comfortable than your school uniform and headed towards the bedroom.

just probably the wrong bedroom.

you saw mattsun pulling his shirt off. not something uncommon. you’ve seen all the boys shirtless they tend to take them off sporadically through practice matches. just never realized how good his back looked.

“oh shit, y/n, i am not staying in this room just makki pushed me out of iwaizumi’s room probably to jerk it or something so i was changing in here since the bathrooms were taken..” he says eyeing over you not so subtly.

you brushed the thoughts running through your head about how good he looked like this, eyes half lidded, shirtless, hair messy.

“it’s nothing issei,” you say walking towards the bed not noticing how his body goes rigid at the casual mention of his name. “just tired.” and with that you slump into the bed legs still dangling off the end.

composing himself rather quickly he lifts your legs up and onto the bed sighing about how you’re hopeless.

“issei?” calling towards the door as he heads out.

“of course y/n?” he leans against it casually glancing back over to you. if he knew what he was doing he had to know how damn good at it he was. arm flexed, full chest on show.

“can i play with your hair again? till i fall sleep?” you say reaching an arm out towards him. a lazy smirk plastered on his face as he walks towards you and sits at the end of the bed where your hand can fall directly onto his head.

you giggle softly reaching towards his shoulder and pulling him up to you. not much work on your end as if you could lift him up from the ground with one hand. “what’s this?” he questions cocking and eyebrow towards you resulting in more giggles from you. maybe you had a bit more sake than you thought you did.

“why are you on the floor silly? you were laying on me earlier.” he reluctantly complies and slides you over in the bed so he can lay atop the blankets. iwaizumi was right. this bed was definitely not meant for the people to lay together unless it was in a compromising position.

“you know this bed is too small for this. my feet are hanging off the end.” he fake groans at you but any frustration he has is instantly pushed away when one of your arms snakes itself around his torso palming your hand on his chest and the other goes to his hair.

he reluctantly lets you move the blankets to cover him but stays flat as a board as you position yourself to be facing him laying your head against his shoulder. “what am i going to do with you.” he sighs wrapping his arm closest to you around your body and pulling you into his warmth.

“love me or something you mummer against his chest. his heart stops for a moment. head shooting down towards you only to be met with a slight grin. you open your eyes up to him and giggle softly. “come on say it.” you urge pulling only slightly on his hair still in you hand. his throat now feeling incredibly tight and full of cotton not knowing what would possess you to say this to him. did you know the feelings he kept deep down towards you?

“it’s okay,” you sigh still gazing up at him wrapping a leg around his to cuddle even closer to him. “you don’t have to love me issei.” you grumble. it was almost as if everything was moving in slow motion for him. your eyes closing the way you scooted you so you were closer to him, the way your hand in his hair pulled him ever so closer. then everything was on fire the moment your lips touched. he felt as if he would let go that instant that it wasn’t right, but at the same time he never wanted to let go for fear of never having this moment again. he never wanted to forget the way your lips felt on his. the way you were holding onto him as if everything in your life depended on it.

this moment. he wanted to live in it.

“i love you issei.” breaking the kiss before he could memorize everything about your lips. every curve ridge and slight crack. he wanted those lips on his forever.

before he could process anything that just happened, ask you if you really just did that you were already back in place on his chest fingers no longer moving against his hair and breathing completely even.

he sighed throwing his head back, careful still of your hand. it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“i love you too.”

looking up from your daze of all your old high school memories you hear it again. “y/n? is that really you?”

your eyes meet. those eyes you longed to see. the eyes you had permanently etched in your brain. the eyes you for so long wanted to wake up to. those eyes that could see right through you. the eyes you missed seeing at your wedding.

“issei?”

[angstymarshmallow]

friends with benefits (bryce x mc)

[A little note: I’ve been writing all day on and off and managed to finish this. Surprisingly it took a turn I wasn’t entirely expecting but I’m happy with it so here it goes!]

[Words counted: 2258]

The colour at the bottom of Maci’s shot glass was starting to look a little bit strange. It was supposed to be a startling sea-green and now seemed a little…greener than it should. The longer she stared at it, the worse it was beginning to look. She blinked at it for a moment, her lips forming into a faint scowl until she heard him.

“No need to rush a good thing Maci.” His voice, ever the sound of something she could only describe as undeniably smooth floated across the table. “The night is still young.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his smirk. She didn’t think she could ever get tired of looking at him – smirk and all. He was decisively too distracting, especially without the scrubs. He knew how good he looked. Still, it was the way his smile lit the rest of his face when she’d challenge him at a drinking contest.

There was something softer behind it this time.

And it was doing crazy things to her heart. Not that she would ever voice that opinion out-loud; their game only worked when they were both playing. Maci had no intention of adding real feelings to the mix simply because it wasn’t a part of her ten-year plan.

Bryce was always a good time and balanced out her edges – especially when she had multiple ten-hour shifts almost back to back. It was probably the way he grinned. Despite when it wasn’t always directed at her, it was still the pinnacle of his self-confidence.

It was just her luck that she was in a mood to do far more than drinking tonight. 

Pushing the idea aside before it could fester, Maci tilted her head slightly and tsked at him. “Worried about me?”

He snorted, even his snort was sexy. 

“Worried that this’ll be over too soon, sure.” Dark magnetic eyes met hers’, followed by a teasing grin. “I like taking my time, Maci – you know that.” He drawled, “getting a chance to really wring out every bit of pleasure – especially for things like this,” his eyes momentarily skimmed the rest of her, and spent nearly a second too long at the gracious amount of cleavage from her dress. “Or did you forget who won our last wager?”

Maci pointed a finger at him. She hated being reminded of her failures, they were usually far and in-between. “Being a scalpel jockey gave you an unfair advantage at darts.” She said accusingly.

He chuckled and her eyes momentarily dropped to his lips.

She had been thinking about them much too frequently – almost too much when she had almsot forgotten to pick up a patience’s report earlier this week.

Maybe I need to simply get him out of my system.

The thought wasn’t surprising, but the need she felt behind the words were. Distractions were distractions but craving someone was a dangerous thing.

Yet, hadn’t she asked him if he was free tonight? On her first night to herself, his face had popped into her head. “Besides, I didn’t hear any complaints when you got your reward.” she tapped the edge of her glass with one finger, remembering his dramatic dip before he kissed her.

There had been other moments too – stolen ones in a supply closet and sneaking off together during their breaks for a heavy make-out session until they were both breathless and left panting, but their first kiss had started it all. It was the reason she constantly wanted more.

“What’s there to complain about?” He shrugged, grinning coyly at her. “You’re pretty damn kissable.”

Smooth. He was too smooth. Maybe that was why she couldn’t get him out of her head.

Bryce was leaning towards her as he spoke. It wasn’t until he was close enough for her to catch the nearly intoxicating scent of his cologne that his eyes paused intently at her. “And I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.” There was a husky edge to his voice as it dropped an octave.

“You mean with these lips?” She pointed at them, and fluttered her eyelashes in a not-so-innocent gesture. From underneath the table, her feet slid upwards until they reached his thigh.

He sat a little straighter, but otherwise appeared unaffected. “One in the same yes,” he replied, his hand finding hers’. He leaned further towards her, separating the inches left between them at the same moment she did, until they were barely more than a breath away from each other.

Maci couldn’t look away. His eyes demanded her not to. She watched as they turned a shade darker until something inside her chest fluttered. Frowning slightly, she managed to tear her gaze away and focused her attention back to her glass. “Then it’s a damn shame you’re not gonna win this time.” She taunted. Leaning back until her back pressed against the softness of her seat, she downed the rest of her drink in one go.

Bryce whistled.

Maci caught one of the server’s attention with a flirty smile and ordered another round of shots. 

“A woman that wants to drink me under the table is a woman after my own heart.” Though his voice still held a teasing edge, his eyes hadn’t broken eye contact while she offered him another drink.

“Flattery will get you everywhere Lahela.”

“God, I hope so.” His hands held on a little longer before he accepted with a small word of thanks.

She hid her smile before tipping her head back. This time it went down almost too easy.

“Wow, I think I felt that one.” Dropping his empty glass on the table, Bryce wiped an imaginary sweat off his brow until Maci sputtered a laugh. “I think I love that sound.” He mused.

Taken off-guard by his words, Maci ignored the sudden heat rising to her cheeks. “I see what you’re doing here.”

“Oh?” Now it was his turn to look innocent. “And what pray tell am I doing?”

“Stop trying to thwart me, it won’t work.” She warned stubbornly, lifting a perfectly arched brow.

“Can’t a guy tell you how sexy your laugh is?” He held up his hands in surrender as her mouth slid open to protest. “It’s just a simple observation.”

His cheeky grin had her stomach doing summersaults. She scoffed, “a simple observation to throw me off my game. I’m on to you.” She reached for another shot almost at the same time he did. Their fingers touched and Maci shivered at the electricity that seemed to jump between them.

A hesitant beat later and neither one of them had retrieved their hands. “If you’re on to me, we would have left this place already.”

She sucked in her next breath and saw the flash of satisfaction in his eyes that his words had gotten such a response from her. Swallowing past the abrupt dryness in her throat, Maci waited for her composure to return before she managed a taunting smile. “Does that mean you concede?”

He dropped his hand first and but kept his body angled towards her. “I would if that means getting out of here, yes.”

She licked her lips and saw the swift motion of his eyes following the gesture. Desire coiled in her belly and she had a difficult time keeping her expression calm and collected, when she was feeling anything except that. “Let’s say for argument’s sake I agreed - where would we go this late?”

His eyes shifted with growing interest. “You haven’t shown me your new place yet.”

“True,” she agreed with a laugh. “But I also happen to have four roommates. It’s not exactly private.” Even at this hour of the night, someone would be up watching Netflix and she was nowhere near ready for that explanation. Especially since it was all supposed to be casual. Meaningless. Besides, having him in her space wasn’t a step she thought she was ready for.

Bryce seemed to have understood without any further explanation. “My place it is.” Standing, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. Placing his hand on her lower back, he steered her to the front – only pausing with the intention of paying for their drinks.

“Oh no you don’t Lahela.” Maci physically stepped in his way, stopping him. Reaching blindly for her purse, she only glanced up to ensure he wasn’t paying behind her back. “We pay separately.”

“I don’t see the big deal.” He laughed, his voice sounding half-amused as she shoved a bunch of cash into the server’s hands. “Unless it’s about the principle, then I get it – you’re your own woman. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

“That isn’t why. But I appreciate the sentiment,” she gestured between them as Bryce moved to grab their coats. “This was not a date.” She muttered a-matter-of-factly.

“Really?” His smirk was back and the sight of it was suddenly infuriating.

As if he knew something that she didn’t.

“Really.” Maci insisted as took her coat from him, pushing his hand away when he tried to help her with it. “Dates are pre-conceived notions involving people who actually want more than friendship.” She continued, because once she started rambling – it was difficult to put a stop to it when liquor was added into the mix.

“Then what are we?” She wasn’t unaccustomed to his teasing but beneath it she thought she saw something more. Something real. “Friends with benefits?”

She nodded emphatically. She didn’t particularly like his choice of words but nothing else could describe as aptly put of their current circumstances than those three little words. “Precisely,” she patted his arm, if not a bit awkwardly as he hailed a cab.

Bryce made no comment.

-

The night had been much cooler than it had been in the day. Bryce had shoved his hands into his coat pockets as they stood close to the edge. They were waiting for the next barrage of cabs and for people to flock them. He didn’t want to wait long. He was already thinking about all the things he wanted to do with Maci before the biting chill had forced his thoughts elsewhere.

She shifted a little closer, nearly startling him. Smiling to himself, he retrieved one of his hands to wrap his arm around her, bringing her impossibly closer.

She buried her face into his side.

The gesture was too adorable not to poke fun. “Friends, huh?” Those weren’t the words he was looking for, but they were the words that had left his lips. He hadn’t even realized he was still lingering on the word. Friends with benefits. It wasn’t a new concept for him, he had his fair share of lovers in the past and couldn’t place his fingers on why he thought of them now.

“Sssh, I’m burrowing. For warmth.”

His laugh rumbled his chest, and she angled her chin to peer up at him. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“And I’m about to be luckier in a second.” Without waiting for her response, Bryce dipped his head low enough to capture her lips. Kissing her was the only thing he could think of doing when she looked at him like that. The worse part was she probably hadn’t realized she was doing it – staring up at him with such naked honesty, with a sparkle in her eyes. It had done something to his heart. And all he could think of doing was kissing her. His other hand came to cup her cheek and he heard her appreciative moan as he deepened the kiss. God, kissing her was easy. It was stopping that was hard.

He felt her hands gripping the folds of his jacket and her soft sigh when his tongue slid between her waiting lips.

The sound of a taxi blaring their horn had jolted Bryce enough for him to tear himself away. When he glanced back at her - her eyes were slightly wide, and her cheeks were slightly red against her dark skin. Damn, she was beautiful. And he wanted to kiss her again.

Barely stifling the urge, Bryce took her hand and ushered her into the back of the cab. He hesitated for a moment when the driver had turned expectantly at him. Despite their earlier exchange he didn’t Maci wasn’t in the right state of mind for what he had planned.

Besides, he wanted their first time together a little more romantic than stumbling drunkenly into his home. Smiling at the driver, he directed instructions for separate addresses before leaning back into his seat.

Almost immediately, Maci had shifted enough to rest her head on him and her dark hair spilled across his shoulder as she yawned.

Bryce knew he had made the right decision. He tucked his arm around her and she snuggled closer. “I just need a second,” she mumbled. Another yawn escaped as she closed her eyes, “just a second to catch my breath.”

“Uh huh. Are you sure?” He wasn’t convinced. “I wouldn’t want to get in between you and burrowing….for warmth.” He flinched suddenly as a stinging sensation came from his side. “Ow! Did you just – did you just pinch me?”

“I plead the fifth.” She murmured.

Shaking his head, Bryce watched her for a moment longer before leaning his head back. The rest of the day had finally caught up to him and it was more than his feet that had been aching by the end of his shift. Nevertheless, he hadn’t allowed his exhaustion to stop him from saying yes tonight. He wanted to see Maci. More remarkably, he wanted to see her more and more - instead of less and less. Maybe friends with benefits wouldn’t always be enough. 

“Tonight was fun. Good change of pace for me.”

He hadn’t realized she heard him until her voice had broken their companionable silence. “Me too.”

-

[plaidshirtjimkirk]

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” for Chahura if inspiration strikes.

Pairing: ChahuraSeries: Star Trek TOSRating: MSummary: Two things are certain for Christine Chapel: Starfleet is a bureaucracy and Nyota is simply gorgeous. [AO3]

.*Universal Constant*.

Christine wasn’t sure what boggled her mind more: the expanse of the Alpha Quadrant alone, or that Starfleet could secure a runner-up position for most bureaucratic organization this side of Antares. It was a staggering achievement, given the vast amount of fascinating politics (to put it politely) in the proverbial starry seas.

That wasn’t to say she was a woman of anarchist philosophy, though—no; standards and regulations, rules and directives were of sure necessity where the complexities of space exploration were concerned. The calling of these formal social parties in luxurious locations, however…well, that was a different story.

Red Tape Events were how they’d been described by anyone without their backside weighing down a chair in San Francisco. In theory, a starship captain always wanted to receive an invitation to one, because it meant their crew’s valiant efforts were recognized by the top brass—and standing out as an individual from the entire fleet was no minor triumph. On the other hand, there were very few captains who relished the reality of actually attending, and those who did simply weren’t in the know of the grander implications.

Opulent scenery, alluring music, rivers of liquor: entertainment and good times to be had abound, and all under the watchful eye of executives just looking for either mistakes or recruits for operations…or both. Blackmail was a hell of a compelling thing, after all. It was a conundrum, hosting an affair to laud best behavior so the very same honorees could be scrutinized and coerced down different paths because Admiral So-and-So needs a new Title-of-the-Week. Absurd.

In any case, Andorian champagne was similar to its pale ale cousin, just with more effervescence and sparkle as one might imagine. Her half-filled glass cradled by graceful long fingers, Christine glanced around the venue, taking in the view of crew mates outfitted as much to the nines as she, herself, was.

Flowing dresses, stark tuxedos, the best of both worlds captured in vest tops blended down into cascading ruffled skirts, and a whole array of formal attire in between filled the space with color and vibrancy, while individuals from all walks of life cavorted about each other and their ever-observant brazen overlords.

She’d already made her rounds tonight, served her time. The rest was up to the good graces of the captain and first officer, and not to mention one very grumpy Chief Medical Officer who was expertly hiding his annoyance over a tumbler of Saurian brandy on the rocks.

Unable to keep the smile from hinting at the corners of her lips, Christine let her gaze drift through the hazy pearl lighting, slowly taking in the sight of the people she’d grown so close to over the last four years.

There were Hikaru and Pavel in their stylishly coordinated suits, side-by-side as ever and brushing arms while they laughed softly through quiet conversation. And Scotty, who was putting on just as impressive a show as McCoy for someone who would damn definitely rather be holed up in a Jefferies tube than having his ear talked off by Admiral Nogura—the poor man. Naturally, Janice was flawless as ever in a coral dress of twining silk and lace, set off by another extravagant updo.

And then…there was her. And not for the first time, Christine’s heart pounded its ribbed prison a little harder.

As expected, Nyota was surrounded by others, conversing and her face alight with joy while her company chortled in kind. She was in her element, a star in her own right as birth name suggested, and looked downright stunning amid the dewy atmosphere of the hall.

Their eyes met then and one of Nyota’s fell in a slow, flirtatious wink while her lips pursed. Christine exhaled through her nose, and with a small shake of the head, couldn’t fight the grin which pulled outward to her cheeks—or the blush, for that matter.

Two could play this game, of course, so she broke visual contact with a graceful turn and floated toward the open balcony doors, as light as the sash curtains framing them.

~

Moonlight spilled silver over an ivory stone floor—nothing short of storybook glamor, and complete with a faint scent of jasmine permeating the air.

With her elbows braced against the balcony ledge, Christine’s fingers entwined lazily together over the side as she took in the view of a rolling valley that stretched to the glittering horizon. And when the familiar pointed taps of stilettos informed her of approaching companionship, she tried to maintain the hard-to-get facade to no success.

Who could resist the presence of a living, breathing goddess, after all?

The mauve dress danced with elegance about Nyota’s curves as she closed in slowly, her eyes half lidded as Christine straightened her spine and pivoted to receive her.

“Nurse Chapel,” Nyota purred with a regal tilt of her face. She reached out to Christine’s forearm and took gentle hold, the pads of her fingers massaging in small back-and-forth motions. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Funny, how this woman could steal the very words from her mouth before they even had a chance at leaving her tongue. Christine covered Nyota’s hand with her own, her digits folding in and coaxing it free; she brought it to her lips. “Lieutenant Uhura,” she replied with the same level of sensuality before bestowing a kiss there, “It takes one to know one, wouldn’t you say?”

A soft chuckle fell from Nyota and her eyes fell closed with an exhale. “What’s with all this flattery?”

“Flattery nothing. You’re stunning, Nyota,” Christine insisted without pulling her attention from her girlfriend’s ravishing features. “I thought for sure you’d choose the tux tonight, but this dress…” A soft hum followed. “It was definitely the right decision.”

“Let’s just say I was dressing to impress someone,” Nyota began matter-of-factly, and after a beat added, “…and we’ll leave it at that.”

“They’re very impressed, I promise.” Before releasing the hand she still held, Christine peered down to admire the intricacy of nail art adorning the tips. “These are so pretty. Did you put them on after I left to meet Leonard? I like him just fine but I still wish we could’ve arrived together.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Nyota lifted her pointer finger in the air and beckoned Christine closer. “And what’s more, let me tell you a secret.”

She leaned forward—felt Nyota stroke a lock of curled hair behind her ear before breath feathered lightly over her sensitive skin with a whisper. “They’re coming off again tonight.”

Blinking, Christine went to pull back and meet her gaze, but not before Nyota placed a small kiss to her cheek. “Just a little FYI, Nurse Chapel,” she declared in an airy, sing-song voice and stepped back. “A little…something to think about, right?”

Exasperation was in the subsequent reply. “Nyota…!”

“If you’ll excuse me now, I have to get back in there to manage those admirals.” With another wink, she purred, “I’ll see you later.”

And like the breeze, she turned to resume her task, nodding gracefully at McCoy passing by her on the way.

“Nyota,” McCoy drawled with a kind smile and tip of his head. He repeated the greeting when he arrived at Christine’s shoulder. “Came out to escape the heat from inside but it’s damn warm here too.”

“I’d say…” Christine exhaled, agreeing for more than one reason. “You have to admit, there’s a lot of hot air in there for a place that’s supposedly air conditioned.”

McCoy chuckled and lifted his glass before indulging. “Amen to that.”

Oh, it was going to be a longer night than expected…

~

It was after much too many hours when they finally, finally, found themselves back in the hotel room. Christine braced herself impatiently at the edge of the bed as Nyota knelt on the mattress behind her and undid the lacy bodice ties of her dress—slowly.

“Nyota,” she uttered in a half whine, half whisper.

“Yes, Christine?”

“Could you…” A moment so she could swallow. “…hurry, please?”

Nyota dropped the ribbons and took hold of Christine’s shoulders, leaning in with mock concern. “I’m sorry, are you in a hurry for something?”

A groan came forth and Christine let her lashes fall.

“Oh, I suppose I should stop being cruel, huh?” With that, Nyota made quick work of unbinding the rest of the material. “I don’t know why everyone hates these parties so much, Chris.”

“Red tape, Nyota.” Christine stood and let the garment fall free, slipping down her body to pool at her feet.

“Yeah? And I love unraveling you from it.”

Drawing a deep inhale, Christine’s eyes widened, and with burning cheeks she turned quickly on her feet to pounce at Nyota. “Oh my gosh, shut up!”

Nyota fell back against the soft bed, her chin tilted up while she laughed heartily. Upon stopping, another huff left her as she looked into Christine’s eyes. “Make me.”

Their lips met once, twice, and remained locked until the necessity of breathing pulled them apart again. They shared those same breaths before diving right back in, hands entwined and hearts beating to the same metronome: a universal constant.

[pepperf]

Cloud Number Nine

There's no such thing as too close to your team (or, "Jack And Sam Do SG-1").

Again, this is unfinished (this is Sam/Vala, Jack/Cam, Sam/Teal’c, Jack/Vala, and Jack/Sam, but would eventually have included four more SG-1 pairings), and unedited. It’s very freeing to let go of all these fics.

---

.1.

"Have you seen her yet?"

"Working on it, Cam," Vala muttered brightly, freeing another button. Sam snorted softly.

"Because I could come in and help you look—"

"We'll be fine," murmured Sam, with admirable composure. Then quickly put her hand over the radio mike hidden in her feathery hair ornament, and groaned. Vala's mischievous fingers were pressing harder against the seam of the black leather pants that fit Sam so snugly.

She'd sworn she'd never be able to get into Vala's leather pants, when this undercover operation had been proposed. How wrong she had been.

"You know you can't, anyway." Vala was still talking quietly to Cam. "We'll be just fine." One of the serving wenches passed their table, and Vala leaned into Sam, giving the girl a wink. "We're just fine, aren't we, baby?"

"Yessssssssss—"

Cam made some suggestion about putting on a dress – he was remarkably keen, reflected Sam – but they both ignored him, knowing there was no danger of interruption by inconvenient teammates. He'd be stopped at the door: no men allowed in to this exclusive club, at which they were supposedly searching for a Lucian Alliance trader called Y'tall. Sam really hoped Vala was keeping her eyes open for the woman, because she definitely wasn't.

Vala's lips landed on hers, quashing that hope. Oh well, thought Sam, surrendering dizzily. Not to worry...

"Are you absolutely sure you don't need backup?"

Vala's hands – lips – the slight weight of her body – her warm scent... "We're just fiiiiiiiiiiiii—"

.2.

"There's no such thing as too close to your team," the General told him. Cam hadn't been asking, but he had been thinking, and he gave the man an uneasy glance. There'd been nothing about psychic powers in any of the reports... "They taught me that. Eventually."

"Yes, sir," agreed Cam. Not that he was in any danger of being too close to his team. He could still feel them looking at him and weighing him against the man in front of him now. And he had the worrying feeling that he wasn't quite measuring up.

The General looked him over, eyes unreadable, fingertips tapping against the beer that Cam had turned down.

"Are you fucking any of them yet?"

Cam choked.

"Or all of them?" continued the General. Apparently he was on a mission to give Cam a heart attack.

Cam laughed uneasily, deciding it was some sort of goddamn weird test. How the new leader of SG-1 stood up under pressure. "Sure, sir," he said. "We have a rota."

The General didn't crack a smile. Instead he looked him over again, until Cam was about ready to give in and squirm uncomfortably, like he'd not done since boot camp. "Give it time," he said. He sounded almost... conciliatory. His expression was softer. "And stop worrying." The order was soft.

"Sir?"

"You're one of them."

Cam frowned. The damn man was psychic. "Yes, sir," he said, hoping they could please stop this weird conversation and go back to the reports.

The General, though, rolled his eyes. "Come on in the house. Wanna show you something." He got to his feet, groaning slightly, and when he thumped his beer down on the table Cam followed quickly. Hopefully it'd be some good blackmail material he could use to keep his team in line.

Two minutes later, with the General's fridge at his back and the General's tongue down his throat, Cam realized that there weren't going to be any photos.

"You're SG-1," growled the General, pulling back and holding his gaze. Cam swallowed, terrified and unbelievably turned on. "I can see it."

"Sir..." The General stepped his leg between Cam's, pressing his sharp hip against Cam's erection, and Cam groaned and forgot what he'd been about to say.

"And SG-1 is mine," concluded the General, fiercely possessive.

.3.

She ceased crying very soon, but held on to him for a long time, releasing him only reluctantly. Acknowledging her neediness with an averted gaze and a half-shrug, she invited him to dinner at her house. He gladly agreed. He had not given up hope, but he was beginning to accept the possibility that they might never see Daniel Jackson again, or learn the fate of Colonel O'Neill. With due respect to Jonas, it felt as though they were the last two members of SG-1. He felt bereft.

On the drive and as they waited for their pizza to be delivered, conversation was subdued, and skirted around the topic of rescue operations. It was as though, over the past few weeks, they had forgotten how to converse about anything else, and now that the options were becoming exhausted, so too was their ability to talk.

They remained physically close all evening. She sat beside him on her couch, sharing pizza from the same box. When their hunger was sated, she curled against him, and they watched television in silence. It was not uncomfortable – neither the silence, nor the closeness. At some point during a documentary on the 1969 lunar landing, her breathing eased into the soft rhythm of sleep.

Teal'c stayed put, feeling a sense of contentment that soothed the gnawing loss. At least one member of his team remained safely under his protection. He turned down the volume, tugged a blanket down over her legs, and switched off the lamp.

Some hours later, in the darkest part of the night, she awoke with a quiet gasp. She turned quickly in his lap, but relaxed again when she met his eyes, sleepily murmuring his name. The world outside was so still, he could feel the nightmare-speed of her heart. He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, and she blinked up at him, coming to full wakefulness. Slowly, tentatively, she ran a hand up his arm, and a voice inside him stirred, murmuring of possibilities long ignored. He drew in a soft breath, surprised at the strength of yearning that sang through him. She paused when her hand reached his shoulder, and left him the next move.

Teal'c paused, considering. Should he decide that it was a bad idea, he knew that she would simply turn her head and it would never again be mentioned. On the other hand...

On the other hand, he wanted to be bound to her more tightly than ever. In the end, it was beyond resistance.

.4.

Vala knew men of power. She liked men of power: she understood their weaknesses, and how to use them. So when General O'Neill came to visit the SGC, and she realized that he was Jack of the reminiscent smile and series of annoyingly incomplete sentences ("Do you remember the time Jack—?", followed by laughter), and that, furthermore, Jack was General Landry's boss... well, that was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Or at least that had been the plan. But he'd been frustratingly unresponsive to her overtures. Flattery hadn't worked, nor had feigning an interest in his work, nor her attempts to discover whether he possessed great wealth, tracts of land, and/or a large vehicle (and that was a nasty cough that Daniel had developed). He'd remained mostly silent, hunched over a table in the commissary, dressed in the same nondescript, baggy, un-General-like green outfits that everyone wore, while Daniel made sarcastic remarks into his coffee and shot her meaningful looks – which, of course, she ignored; the poor boy needed to learn the art of unsubtlety.

So she wasn't exactly sure how they'd ended up in this position, except that when she'd given up on O'Neill and focused her attention on Daniel until he'd fled, fingers in his ears, she turned back to find Jack laughing hard and silently, forehead resting on his crossed arms. When he sat up again, he seemed younger, somehow. Then he'd asked her about his former teammates, and had listened intently, eyes bright, as she talked. When she'd asked him to walk her to her quarters, he'd agreed. When she'd invited him in "for coffee", his face went still and thoughtful, but he'd followed. When she'd wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, he hadn't resisted – and just when she was wondering if she'd have to do all the work, he'd begun responding with enthusiasm.

He walked her backwards to the bed, but then pulled back slightly. She took the opportunity to start undressing him. "Listen, it's... been a while since my Captain Kirk days, so..."

"I'll be gentle," she promised, tugging his shirt down around his elbows so he was entangled and easier to shove onto the bed. She pounced, and he gave an 'oof', and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her down for a warm kiss.

And as it turned out, although he wasn't in the slightest bit interested in playing power games, he was quite happy to partake in some mutual entertainment, to their mutual satisfaction.

.5.

It's in his cabin, squeezed between burying her father and calling off her wedding and taking up their new roles. Officially, they ought to wait, but Daniel and Teal'c aren't going to tell, and it's been eight long, hard, hard years, and don't they deserve this one thing?

Still, they're trying to keep quiet – mostly because they don't want to be mocked tomorrow – and for some reason this has reduced her to helpless giggles, to Jack's secret delight. "Shh," he insists, as he peers over her shoulder, trying to work out whether he's actually undoing her bra or somehow tangling it into some terrible Gordian knot. She snorts so hard it has to hurt, and buries her face in his neck, her whole body quivering with suppressed laughter. She can't see his face, so he stops fighting the broad grin that's been trying to break out all evening. Ever since she'd stood on his dock and kissed him.

"I think they hoped we'd be done with this already, that's why they took so long to get up he-mmmmf." Lips locked, they back towards his bed, but he's so absorbed in her – her taste, the softness of her skin, that sweet little moaning sound she just made – that he forgets this bed isn't the same as his one at home in Colorado. They fall over the footer, Jack bangs his shins, and lands heavily on top of her.

"Ow," they both complain. And then grin goofily at each other, like lovesick teens.

They shuffle up the bed into a more comfortable position, and he really doesn't care about his shins because she's in his bed and in his arms, and nothing else matters. Nothing at all.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Sand in Your Shoe (pt 17)

As Mickey makes eggs he tells Ian about Reuben. Churro guy, hopeless gambler and Mickey’s erstwhile patron when he first arrived, although it seems to have come full circle now.

“I only came here because I wanted to get to the beach, you know? I figured I was gonna get caught any day and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t planning on being taken alive, man.”

Mickey says this in such a matter of fact way that Ian chokes on his coffee, completely unprepared.

“Fuck, Mick! Seriously?”

“Yeah. Juvie was shitty but compared to actual jail … no way I was gonna spend the rest of my life there. Couldn’t do it.”

Mickey shakes his head as he whisks the eggs and Ian has to resist the urge to knock the bowl out of Mickey’s hands and crush him against his chest.

“Anyway the plan was to sit on a beach, get wrecked until the cops came. I stayed a few nights, slept in my car, got up in the mornings and got something to eat from Reuben’s place – I kept waiting for sirens but they never came and I started thinking that maybe I got away with it and if I got away with it I needed a plan.”

Mickey sips his coffee and smiles at Ian

“I considered doing a couple hold-ups or turning over a couple houses but that seemed like fuckin’ beggin’ for trouble so I took a chance on Reuben and I asked him how a guy could get money around here.”

“Really?”

Ian is surprised that Mickey would take a chance on anyone but actually thinking about it, the person who has been providing food every morning without asking any questions is probably the person Ian would have chanced too.

“Anyway long story short, Reuben is a gambling man and he was, kinda still is, part of a underground circuit in this bar. Though as soon as I bought it I shut that shit down. I don’t know where they play now. Don’t care either.”

Mickey slaps bacon in the frying pan and likes the salt from the pad of his thumb in a way that distracts Ian from the million and one questions he wants to ask long enough for Mickey to regain his thread.

“Turns out, Reuben is a wicked good player when he’s sober but once the drink starts flowing…meh.”

Mickey makes a tilting motion with his hand and shrugs

“We teamed up. I gave him all my money ...”

“You did what? Was that the money I gave you? You just gave it to some guy?”

Ian looks a little pissed and Mickey clucks his tongue impatiently.

“Yes it was the money you gave me. But I was a little testy with you at the time, on account of you fucking off and leaving me, and giving it all to some dude to stick on black or whatever you do in poker made me feel a little better.”

“Ha! I knew you were pissed at me!”

Ian slaps his fist into his waiting palm triumphantly and Mickey rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Yeah, I was but I got over it … Not over you, I didn’t say that!”

He counters the crestfallen look on Ian’s face quickly and then sighs.

“I needed to turn dollars into pesos and I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”

“Go to a damn bank, Mick. Jesus. That was my entire savings and you just gave it to some guy to gamble?!”

Ian grumbles but there is no real heat to his words. He picks up his coffee mug and rolls it between his hands, the warm porcelain smooth and reassuring. He knows he shouldn’t be mad at Mickey for gambling his savings, it isn’t like Mickey even wanted the money, but it still stings that Mickey had wanted rid of the help Ian had been able to give.

“A bank? With all the cameras and shit? Yeah, no, by all means get pissed because I didn’t go to a fuckin’ bank, Ian!”

Mickey snaps irritably and begins plating up their breakfast, slamming spoonfuls of eggs with more force than is necessary. Ian puts his coffee down on the table and steps up behind Mickey, wrapping his arms lightly around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been shitty.”

Mickey’s shoulders remain tense for a few seconds longer and then relax a bit.

“Don’t worry about it. I probably shouldn’t have told you that bit.”

“No Mick, I want you to tell me anything and everything you care to. I guess I just feel bad and it hit a nerve.”

Ian squeezes Mickey slightly who allows himself to relax fully against Ian’s chest and smiles slightly.

“Take your damn breakfast and go sit down.”

They eat in silence, neither of them big on chatting over a meal, but the minute Mickey finishes his last mouthful, Ian is urging him to carry on with the story.

“Ok, well so we got in there, the game is in the basement and Reuben sits at the table and I’m just hanging back watching, I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ on but Reuben knows that if he fucks my money up, I’ll fuck his face up.”

“Yeah I bet he got that vibe.”

“Right, and the game goes on and one by one guys are dropping out and I’ve gotta take a piss so I head upstairs and when I get back the game is clearly fuckin’ over cause Reuben is grinning at me like a fuckin’ maniac waving fistfuls of cash and yelling that we won.”

Mickey grins at the memory

“Man, the other guys were pissed. This one guy started to come after us and I warned him but he kept comin’ so I shot him in the leg. Not the kneecap though cause for all I know he didn’t speak English so benefit of the doubt that he maybe didn’t understand me telling him I would shoot him if he didn’t fuck off.  His friends were yelling at me and someone pulled a knife which was fuckin’ stupid cause I just shot his buddy so what the fuck does he think I’m gonna do to him? After that the rest got the idea and left us alone. You want more coffee?”

“Uh … no.”

“Mind if I finish it?”

“Go ahead.”

Ian waves him on, marvelling at the change of direction as Mickey happily helps himself.

“Thanks. I tripled my money that night and next day I went back and offered my services as a security guy, cause apparently there had been a shooting in the area. When I had enough money I bought the place off the owner who was fuckin’ desperate to get rid it and I kicked the gambling squad out cause who needs the fuckin’ aggro?”

“But Reuben still plays with them?”

“Yeah and he drinks cause I’m not there to knock it out of his hand. Hence, he loses money and owes money. He’s a dumbass, but he could have ripped me off and he didn’t, so I like to help him out.”

Ian collects their plates and washes them up whilst Mickey sips his coffee.

“You know, your money is what bought this place.”

“It was your money, Mick. I gave it to you.”

“Well all the same. The way I see it, Galagers is as much yours as it is mine. I want you to know that. You said you need to have a boat … this is your boat, Ian. It’s here if you want it.”

Ian can feel Mickey watching him for a reaction, maybe looking for any sign of Ian not being completely sure of this towering emotional inferno that has reignited between them in less than twenty-four hours of being back together.

“I’m all in, Mick. I already decided that. You don’t have to offer me half your bar.”

“It’s not charity, it’s just what’s right.”

Mickey shrugs and moves to stand beside Ian, looking up at him with sincerity

“and I’m all in too, just so you know.”

They don’t need to say more than that. Mickey picks up the dishcloth and dries the dishes as Ian places them on the draining board.

*

Reuben greets Mickey with a hopeful smile and the sort of two-handed handshake that Ian thought belonged solely in old movies like ‘The Godfather’. He ushers them into a small living room and they both sit on the tattered old sofa whilst Reuben’s wife serves them small mugs of hot, gritty coffee.

Reuben makes polite small talk until she leaves the room and then glances pointedly at Ian.

“He’s with me. We’re together.”

Mickey answers simply and the small frown on his face clears in understanding.

“They came back Mickey, they want more money this time and I told them I will not pay.”

“Did you tell them you’re my friend?”

“They did not believe me. You are legend. I am just old.”

He spreads his hands on his lap, his face a mask of hopelessness but Mickey only purses his lips, unmoved by the flattery.

“Do you owe them the money?”  

His tone is cold, almost stern and Reuben blinks at him, the muscles in his jaw twitching guiltily.

“I owe 20,000 pesos. They ask for 50,000. Interest.”

Mickey sighs and nods before picking a little of the coffee grain off the tip of his tongue. Ian is kind of intrigued by the dynamic here. As a younger man, Mickey would probably have been the one shaking Reuben down and Ian can see the faint urge to do some sort of violence to the rather pathetic looking man before him simmering beneath the surface. However, after a little consideration Mickey licks his lip and says

“Pay them what you owe. You can’t get outta that and I’m not gonna fuck someone up because you suck at poker when you’re drunk. But you can tell them to come and ask me for the interest if they really want it.”

“Thank you Mickey. You are truly my dear friend.”

Reuben visibly sags in relief and Mickey stands up. Clearly, the meeting is over.

“Stop fuckin’ gambling with these assholes. Next time this happens, I’m gonna charge you a security fee.”

Mickey frowns before flicking his eyes toward Ian and jerking his head toward the door and leading Ian out.

*

“Don Milkovich, huh?”

Ian grins when they are a small distance away. Mickey laughs and shoves his arm playfully, all traces of his irritation gone now that they are alone.

“Fuck off.”

“You’d look good with a silk cravat though.”

Ian steps in front of Mickey and runs a finger down the open V of his shirtfront.

“Should we be expecting trouble?”

“Nah man. These guys, they play hard but they don’t have the stomach for my kind of rumble. I was the only asshole with a gun in that place and they think I’m some sort of Russian mafia.”

“Why Russian?”

“Because they don’t know the fuckin’ difference between Russian and Ukranian, ignorant fucks. Changed my ID once I got settled here, just to make any nosy pig work a little harder. I go by Alexandre Tereshchenko officially, it was my grandma’s surname before she married Pop Milkovich.”

Ian blinks a little taken aback at this new nugget of Mickey related information.

“I never even thought to ask about your name.”

“Why would you? You know who I am.”

One side of Mickey’s mouth lifts in an affectionate smile and he pats Ian’s cheek lightly.

“None of this shit affects you and me. It’s old and Reuben is wearing my patience seriously fuckin’ thin anyway. He keeps it up he’ll be on his own.”

“What about Christina?”

Mickey shrugs as if it means nothing to him and Ian crosses his arms over his chest, impatiently.

“You clearly like her a lot.”

Ian presses and Mickey nods, narrowly resisting rolling his eyes.

“I do. She reminds me of … well I don’t know. Mandy when she was little I guess. Scrappy and bold as Hell. Kicks her brother’s ass all over the beach when they get into it.”

“Not Yevgeny?”

Ian could bite his tongue in regret as soon as the words leave his mouth because Mickey’s face goes completely cold and he drops his gaze, quickly stepping around Ian and walking on.

“No.”

“Oh. I just thought … I mean they’re the same age...”

“I haven’t seen Yevgeny since he was basically a baby. I don’t know what he’s like so how the fuck would another kid remind me of him?”

Mickey’s tone is far sharper than he intends it to be and Ian compresses his lips guiltily and hunches his shoulders a little as he matches Mickey’s pace.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a thoughtless prick.”

Mickey’s nose twitches slightly but he smiles up at Ian and reaches up to smooth the fabric of Ian’s shirt across the shoulder nearest him.

“Svet takes good care of him and he don’t get hit, yelled at or any of the other shit I would probably end up doing if I was there. Yevgeny is fine.”

“Hey! You wouldn’t be like that! I know you wouldn’t!”

Ian is genuinely shocked that Mickey thinks he would be a crappy father. Mickey just shrugs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Best that I’m not there for the kid to find out the hard way though.”

“But don’t you want to know him?”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter what I want. Me and Yevgeny were fucked the moment that judge sent me down. Fifteen years? Shit. He was never going to have a dad after that.”

“Svet brought him to see you though.”

Ian mumbles, feeling very much like he should not have started this.

“That would have been worse. Every Saturday he has to get in a car with his mom and drive two hours to see some guy he barely knows to talk to him for ten minutes and then drive two hours back? Fuck that!”

Mickey frowns disdainfully at the idea of it.

“You’re free now though, we could maybe ask Svet about visitation …”

Mickey stops so suddenly Ian has to double back and turn to face him and when he does, Mickey places a hand flat against his chest and looks up at him almost imploringly

“Ian, please? He’s fine. I’m fine. Now you and me are fine too and that is all I need, okay? Please let this go.”

Ian considers trying to get his point across one more time but one look at Mickey’s face convinces him not to push it and he huffs out a sigh instead.

“OK. Sorry.”

Mickey doesn’t respond and the topic is clearly closed between them. Ian isn’t surprised either really. He should have had the sense to see that the subject of Yevgeny was not going to be a popular one and as always, his timing was fucking terrible.

They have come to the main high street and Mickey pauses on the corner to light a cigarette.

“I need a haircut. I look like a fuckin’ hobo compared to you.”

“I like it a little longer. Makes you look all trendy.”

Ian offers, toying with the slightly shaggy top lengths. Mickey inhales deeply and laughs in a cloud of smoke

“Well fuck that! I’m definitely cutting it.”

Ian grins and begins to step into the street to walk up to the barbers but Mickey catches his arm and pulls him lightly back before hastily letting go.

“You wanna … look, we don’t have to, but if you want to …”

Ian follows Mickey’s gaze as it flicks downwards and he gives Mickey a sweetly lopsided smile at the sight of the pale palm offered to him.

He laces his fingers through Mickey’s own and places a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s temple. Mickey takes another pull on his cigarette to cover up how pleased he is and, they cross the street hand in hand.

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s01e22 The Fisher King Part 1 season 1 finale review

Episode 22 – The Fisher King Part 1

Okay, so we’re at the finale of season 1! Wow, that was quick! (At least for me) And I can honestly say I am beyond pumped for the next 11. I have no idea what Fisher King means except for the pretty bird that is named that, but I really have no fucking clue what goes on here.

Let’s see what happens.

Ok, that house is creepy. Just saying.

A mangled male hand running over a sleeping girl’s body, not creepy at all … I think … I mean, why can’t they show us who it is?

Frack, he has a knife.

Why did they cut automatically to the BAU? That is some serious teasing.

Morgan is taking Elle to a resort? No! He should be taking Penelope! No! someone boink this guy over the head.

“Trust me when I tell you it is off the hook. Hot sunny days, cool breezes at night, never-ending tropical drinks with the little umbrellas, and nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories.” Ooh, he should run ads for resorts, cuz mama I am hooked!

Why are you calling him pretty boy? I mean, he is pretty, but why are you teasing Spencer like that baby? Not nice.

Wow. Reid was oddly cryptic about going home. Is something not right? I’m intrigued.

Yay! Aaron is going home, and he is happy about chores? Oh no.

Hahahahahahaha oh my god Gideon just made my entire day and I’m only 02:02 minutes into the show. He’s going to an abandoned cabin in the woods and wants them to not call him. And he’s serious about! He said it twice!

Wow. I love the carvings! Both metal and wood are so elaborate, I’m so impressed.

Okay, now we’re going into medieval paintings that literally freak me out. What?

And why does that freak have pictures of my superheroes?

Why is he whispering? He freaks me out. Ugh.

Oh my god, why is he tying that girl to the bed? Ugh.

Whoa. She just had a major freakout.

Oh my god this is gonna be epic!!!!! And possibly the longest review of the season, guys. Beware.

And Kirsten still isn’t a regular? What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Elbert Hubbard: “No man needs a vacation so much as the man who has just had one.” WORD!!! I had a few days off during Rosh Hashana and when I came back to work I was so disoriented I was like, dude, I need a vacation.

And oh my god, the resort Derek told Elle about is in Jamaica? Wow. He has some good friends, man.

God that water is gorgeous. No wonder the Caribbean is such a touristy spot. I mean, I prefer dirty cities with winds and snows and rain, but I get it.

And oh my god, those are some fresh young hotties. I’m talking of course about Elle and Derek in bathing suits. Holy shit. That is the hottest sight ever.

I’m usually not one for tattoos, but oh my god Shemar’s body is a monument of hotness. Fuck. I want to lick those abs so much.

Wait. Hold the presses. And I can’t believe I’m saying this because I am currently watching scenes of Shemar shirtless and I am the last woman to ever complain about that, but is Jane fucking Lynch in this episode? As what exactly? Yay!!! I’m happy.

Now let’s go back to drooling over Shemar’s flawless delicious succulent chocolate planes.

Lord, Shemar flirting is just illegal. Fuck. Oh my goodness.

Holy shit! I love that guy!!!!! The guy flirting with Elle, oh my god I know him, I have no fucking idea what his name is, but he is one hot specimen, and I love this episode so much for giving me so much eye candy. Yay!

Aw, homey Aaron! So cute! Oh my god, Aaron was pirate number four in Pirates of Penzance hahaha I’m loving this so much.

Wait. Gideon can cook? Oh my god, that is so amazing! He’s making something very fancy, he’s making fucking garlic bread and he has a wine bottle ready to be popped. I want to marry you, Gideon. But obviously you have a lady friend coming over, for whom you are so diligently preparing this delicious meal, so I’ll let you get back to it.

Aww!!!! How does Penelope Garcia spend her weekend off? Gaming! Oh my god, this episode just turned into one of my favorites, holy shit.

“Why can’t guys in the real world be like that?” I agree, Penelope.

“He is not fictional. He is the online alter ego of a real person.” I love you, peaches.

“Look, we meet online at specified times that he is never late to. We spend hours adventuring and chatting during which time I have his undivided attention and he lavishes me with flattery. When’s the last time you had a date go that well?” “See if he’s got a fictional brother, all right?” oh JJ, you are precious.

Wait. No way! Jane Lynch is Spencer’s mom who is locked up in a nuthouse in Nevada? Oh my poor pretty boy, I love you so much.

So she’s very well-educated, yet schizophrenic, and Spencer sends her daily handwritten letters? Oh my god, I just fell in love with his character all over again.

Whoa, she’s a professor for fifteenth century literature? Oh my god, her character is so amazing. I love literature from that era and I just can’t believe how amazing this show is.

So he came all the way and can’t face her? Oh baby.

Oh hot damn, that dancing scene is hot hot hot! Elle looks so happy! I love her! Oh shit, Derek sweaty and dancing is too hot.

Oh shit. I’m getting so turned on here hahaha

Aww Aaron and Hayley met when he stumbled into the theatre department and joined the theatre group just to be with her! Oh my god he is the most romantic guy ever and I love him!

Aww it’s so nice to see Gideon so in love! It’s just such a contrast and I love it.

Okay, I never thought I’d see post-coital Hotchner and it is doing things to me. Seriously.

And who the fuck calls in the middle of the night?

First victims? It’s the whisperer from the beginning ugh.

The youngest holds the key? You must help him save her? What the fuck?

Why is the resort manager getting an anonymous call in the middle of the night that requires him to call the cops? I’m so confused here. Oh they reported a murder in a room? Oh damn.

Wait. Someone hacked into Penelope’s laptop? That doesn’t seem right. What the fuck? What does “All Work No Play” mean here?

Game over? What? Oh hell now!

Someone hacked into the FBI tech analyst computers? Oh no.

Wait, they’re now haunting Gideon too? Oh goodness me.

Whoa, those are blood stains on the walls.

He’s been delivered a package? That’s seriously frightening.

“Save her.” Save who?

Oh shit! That’s a fucking head! That’s a fuckin human head! What the fuck?

Hey! Hey! Whoa!!!!! Why are they attacking Elle? And why are they arresting her? What the fuck is going on here?

I love you Elle! I love you so much! And you, Mr. Jamaica PD detective, are seriously not doing yourself any favors pissing off a woman you just dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

“Where’s the victim’s head?” “Well, I must have dropped it on my way in here, come on!” haha I love you. “I’m here on vacation, man!”

What the fuck? It’s always the same phrase. What the fuck is going on here?

Frank Giles. Got it.

Oh hell, Derek breaking down doors, yummy.

Whoa, Penelope just went apeshit on the computer systems, I love you so much baby but tone it down, okay?

“You just wait till I’m through with you!” oh shit, I’ve never seen her mad.

Did she just tell Morgan no?

“The information super highway is closed.” Uh oh.

“Someone had the nerve to run a blackhat op into my computers, Morgan. They hacked me, ok? But you can bet your sweet ass I will find them. I’ve got honey pot farms hidden behind uml kernel data packets and a first generation honeynet I personally programmed. My snort logs list every visitor, every server request, every keystroke on this entire network. If I have to back-hack his IP all the way to the frickin’ stone age, I will find this son of a bitch, ok? So bye.” Oh my god, I love you Penelope, you are my goddess.

Oh my god Morgan’s confused face is everything.

So the head Gideon got belongs to the body that was found in Jamaica with Elle and Morgan? Damn.

Thank goodness Hotchner is here.

A dead butterfly? What?

So this guy is a complete psycho? Oh god.

Oh god, this is absolutely dreadful.

Oh honey, she used the wireless internet and he got into her laptop oh dear lord, the poor thing.

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me. Is that a sword sticking out of ohis fucking chest? Shit. And that’s Frank Giles. Oh my goodness.

“Here thy quest doth truly begin” oh my god.

Shit.

“To learn of what should next be done, leave the blade ‘til the hour be none.” What the actual fuck?

Hey Reid! I love you, but you poor puppy.

“Reid, do not go away ever again.” I love you too, Elle.

Yup, this is totally Indiana Jones, except that you need to find the fucking killer not the fucking treasure. Unless those two aren’t mutually exclusive.

Ooh yeah, now Reid gets to use his key.

Oh kay? This is creepy. Why the fuck does he give them a music box as a clue.

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.” What the fuck does that even mean?

What? A DVD with a girl’s lock of hair tied to it? God, this guy is sick to the bone.

Okay, so that guy creeps me out to no end. And the rules of the game are that they cannot use outside help beyond the original seven? Well, that is really helpful, dick.

What the fuck? He sent someone to Hotch’s place? And he could’ve hurt Hayley and Jack! What?!

What the fuck does that piece of paper mean? What, is it like the whole word-line-page numbers form a book? Oh lord. This is gonna be a heavy one.

Why did Gideon have JJ talk to the press if the guy clearly told them not to go to anyone? Oh boy. He’s playing with fire.

Oh my goodness, groggy Elle is the cutest thing ever! She’s so adorable!

Didn’t Hotch tell that agent to escort her home? Why is Elle alone there?

Oh shit! He’s in her house! Oh my god.

SERIOUSLY? They’re gonna stop the last episode of the fucking season on a cliff hanger where you see someone pointing a gun at Elle, the screen goes black and you hear a gunshot? YOU FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love you so much, but what the fuck are they doing to all of my feelings?????

I know I should be writing my opinions on the season, but I’m so caught up that, with your permission, I’m going to just put this here and hurry on to the first episode of season 2, ok? See ya.

[theampreviews]

The Untouchables

#34 - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008) / Dir. David Fincher / Warner Brothers & Paramount Pictures

David Fincher is a Director that has always folded a page corner in my movie memories, throughout his career. For 13 year old me, he gave me my “first” new Alien movie (being only 7 when Aliens came out), something that makes me cherish that one in a way I don’t the others. A few years later, at 16, I went with my dad to see Se7en (as a perennial babyface in my youth, my dad had been getting me into 18s since Pulp Fiction, when I was 15-looking-11) and my perception of Movies was altered forever. Se7en blew my mind. It also gave us the family favorite anecdote of my father leaning over to me during the climax to proudly proclaim he’d figured out the ending “[John Doe] has swallowed a bomb!”, something we ridicule him for to this day. In late 1999 I was a final year Film Student; what better time to see Fight Club? (Our conversations on that film at the time must surely have been toe-curling in their pretension and pomposity). Fast forwarding to 2010/11 and I find myself working for the Studio that released The Social Network and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Whilst I didn’t share four walls with their director for either release, I had spent a morning with him a few years earlier, on his then unreleased The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. 

In London to present the film to BAFTA members and take part in a Q&A at the cinema I worked in at the time, Fincher was slightly leery of digital projection (still in its infancy at the time), having had a screening go south on him back in the US a few nights prior. As such, he requested to sit in on the full rehearsal of the film before it screened later that evening. The part I had to play in this was modest to say the least; I was to sit next to Mr. Fincher and relay any requests he had for sound & picture tweaks to the engineer in the projection room via radio as he watched the film. A simple enough task, but one not without a degree of pressure, in that his scrutiny of the presentation was inherently that of the Theatre I was responsible for. It’s one thing to be sat with the director who had supercharged your love of film a decade or so earlier and keep your cool, it’s another to worry he’ll tell you you’ve done a shit job and ruined his movie. 

Thankfully, despite reports to the contrary suggesting I might, I didn’t have a “Never Met Your Heroes” moment; the rehearsal went well (the credit for which will remain with the engineer that day) and, post-screening, I got to spend 20mins or so chatting about the movie with its director; David-fucking-Fincher who, from my experience, was a quiet, almost shy man, very nervous of how the world would react to his near 3 hour adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s bizarre short story about a man who ages backwards.

Now, that may seem like a lengthy, braggarts set-up, but I shan't apologize for the indulgence; it was a unique way to first experience a film I love and it definitely contributes to my affection for it. Telling the film’s creator moments after seeing it how much I enjoyed it wasn’t mere flattery, I bloody loved it.   

On release it seemed like Fincher’s fears may have been realised. People seemed confused by the guy who’d previously created dark and zeitgeisty pop-culture movies turning in a “Tim Burton does Forrest Gump” (an inaccurate but common appraisal at the time). It did fair well at the box office though, and was well received critically and by the Oscars, winning 3 of its 8 nominations (though it was well robbed of Best Picture). That being said, it certainly seems to be lost to the sands of time now, rarely mentioned when discussing Fincher’s work, except to note it as a curiosity.  

This isn’t where I heat up my take and declare this “Fincher’s Greatest”, but it certainly ranks alongside The Game and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo as his most undervalued (Alien 3 is too often debated to join them, despite it being far better than many give it credit for).

Where Benjamin Button stands out is in its warmth of its emotion. Fincher is typically a cold and clinical director, and this is far from that; sentimental, even. 

The hook of the movie, the condition that sees Benjamin born in his 80s physically, yet emotionally a child, and have his mind and soul age naturally whilst his body heads in the opposite direction, seems ripe for a Robin Williams Comedy vehicle, but Fincher explores the cruel and unusual punishment such a condition would present, making the film far less twee and syrupy than it sometimes feels through it’s folksy, Big Easy charm. The inevitable conclusion is a real tear-jerker, and emotionally it’s as dark as anything in Se7en (a long game that results in a toddler with senile dementia something not even John Doe could have dreamed up). 

It’s also a film just as technically audacious as some of his other work, if not more-so, despite it being somewhat hidden in the period detail. The Production Design, Cinematography and Editing create a richness not often associated with Fincher. Visually, the film reflects the warmth within, having a painterly look not seen from him before (or since); one that uses its digital photography to convincingly sit in digital environs and recreate distressed film stock of varying ages, in certain instances. The visual effects and make-up used to actualise the contrary “aging/de-aging” of Brad Pitt as Benjamin is also state-of-the-art, even by today’s standards (it holds up really, really well - rightfully being awarded Oscars and BAFTAs in both categories).

Pitt, for his part, holds the film together with a performance of endearing innocence. There are parallels that can be read into Benjamin Button and Forrest Gump, and the nature of the Leads can be one of them, but whereas Hanks’ character was of one note (not a criticism, I love that film and Hanks in it), Pitt had a tougher job with Benjamin, traversing the character’s paradoxical aging with a subtle deftness that grows as a performance the more you watch it. 

So too does Fincher’s Direction. Often considered a technician over a story-teller, here the film’s linear and episodic narrative, propelled by the combination of a Benjamin and Daisy (Cate Blanchett) voice-over and a modern day “Hospital Deathbed” scene, set during Hurricane Katrina (some people have opinions about this being used as a device, I am not one of them), is broken up by a series of individual vignettes that really stick in the mind. 

Passages such as Benjamin’s nightly midnight affair with Tilda Swinton in a desolate Russian Hotel, his and Daisy’s golden hour romance montage revolving around their duplex mattress, a Sliding Doors-esque “what if” account of Daisy’s career ending accident and an epic tugboat vs. submarine showdown all linger in the memory like Short Films within the larger Feature. 

A recurring gag about one of Benjamin’s elderly house guests being struck by lightning seven times also peppers the movie with a humorous charm that diffuses what is a deeply melancholic meditation on aging, the inevitability of death and the painful experience of loss. Benjamin Button may appear like a cute and affable affair on the surface, but there’s real tragedy at its core.   

A decade down the line, Fincher’s gamble on a whimsical Fantasy with a dark and aching heart is yet to be elevated to its rightful place as one of the 00s more daring, innovative and interesting films, but its time will come, I’m sure of it because, like Benjamin, the film is starting to look better the older it gets.