#Pretty Things Beer & Ale Project

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 38

Anxiously, I sit along my front porch the next day awaiting the arrival of everyone who would like to participate in my little get-together. Part of me thinks that absolutely nobody is going to show up for some reason, but I know that a few definitely should show up. Leah and Elliot being two that will come support me no matter what. As for everyone else, it’s hard to say. I desperately wish for Haley to hopefully feel better today as well so she can come over too. I would hate for her to miss out.

My farm is scattered with supplies and items for people to examine, admire and taste test. I know it’s not a tasting contest, but the best things to display usually taste the best. That and the people will need things to eat while being here. I have other refreshments set up that aren’t meant to be picked for display too.

Today feels more like an autumn day than ever. The air is crisp and if you don’t have a sweater it will be chilly for sure. I have a small campfire going on for people to warm up by if they need to, as well as blankets to sit on or warm up with.

To my joy, the first few people arrived at my farm. It was Sam, Vincent, and their mom, Jodi. Vincent takes one look at my farm as his eyes light up in excitement. Behind them, I see a whole wave of people walking up to participate in my event. I quickly stand up from my front porch, ready to greet everyone and explain what is going to go on. Unfortunately, I did not see Haley in the wave of people.

“Hi everyone! I didn’t expect such a crowd. I didn’t think anyone would want to come,” I sheepishly scratch the back of my neck.

“Of course we would come, Danny. You’re great!” Leah shouts from somewhere at the back of the crowd. It makes me chuckle but I continue my speech.

“I just wanted to say how grateful I am that you all welcomed me into your amazing community of Pelican Town. This little thing I got going on here was me hoping to thank you all, but also get everyone interacting and involved with my stand at the fair next week. I have such a hard time deciding on things that I need a LOT of help. So feel free to look at things, pick up things, dig up the crops that are marked with a star, taste things, and find things that you think I should put up for display at the fair next week. I have an empty table set up for everyone to put their voted items on, so I can go over what has been picked and narrow it down from there. Does anyone have any questions?”

To my demise, the only person raising their hand is Sam. I let out a small sigh and gesture to Sam to speak.

“What’s with all of those?” he waves his hand over to my project area that I’ve marked off limits. I feel my cheeks heat up and I shyly turn my face away as I reply.

“That’s…for Haley…”

The whole crowd erupts with “awws” and “ouuus”. I do an awkward smile and let everyone get it out of their system.

“We should have guessed,” I hear Elliot call out from the same area as Leah was. I see everyone start nodding their heads and laughing.

“Now not to be cliche or anything, but the most important rule is to have fun. Actually it’s “don’t hurt the chickens” but I know you guys wouldn’t do that. Please be nice to my little munchkins.” I gesture to the chicken coop which causes Vincent and Jas to immediately start running over there. The rest of the crowd breaks apart to go their separate ways as well, finding stuff to look at. I stand with my arms crossed, feeling pretty proud of myself.

I watch Pam immediately bring a glass of beer and a glass of pale ale to the empty table. She then went back over to where the other glasses were and started chugging them. I’m going to run out of beer and pale ale very quickly.

Leah and Elliot are giggling away by the wine bottles, each with a glass of some in their hand. I decided to make my way over there to talk to them.

“Someone’s been having an eventful few weeks,” Leah nudges me in the shoulder when I get closer.

“Yeah it’s been crazy. I can’t even keep up at some points. It’s all going so fast. I can’t believe I’ve almost been here for a full year.”

“Yeah only a few more months! I take it you are not going to leave any time soon?” Elliot asks.

“I don’t plan to. I have the life I’ve always wanted here. I could not ask for a better life at this point to be honest. Best decision I’ve ever made.” I start leaning against the table with the wine, kicking my boots around in the dirt.

“You could always go and get Haley a mermaid pendant if you are so set on staying and enjoy life here so much…” Elliot looks behind him, pretending like he wasn’t the one to just suggest that.

“I mean… isn’t it a little soon for that? We haven’t even been together for that long.”

“I thought lesbians always move faster than usual in relationships?” Elliot adds, making Leah laugh out loud.

I hold my hand up in Elliot’s direction to stop him from saying anything else, trying hard not to crack a smile. I didn’t try very hard because I broke into a huge smile with a few chuckles.

“I can’t believe you guys. You crack me up,” I say to the two of them.

“You have all winter to think about it since it doesn’t rain during our winters. Do whatever you think is best, Danny,” Leah tells me.

Our conversation is interrupted by Sam, Sebastian, Alex, and Abigail hollering me over to where I cut wood blocks.

“Oh no,” I whisper to Elliot and Leah. They give me sympathetic smiles and pat me off into their direction.

“What did you guys do?” I hesitantly ask, afraid to hear the answer.

“Nothing! We just wanted to know if you want to have a wood chopping competition?” Abigail asks me, all of their eyes looking at me with anticipation.

“You guys realize that with me here it’s hardly a competition, right?” I say while rolling up my sleeves, getting ready to join them. “What happened to finding things for the display?”

“We already found our stuff! It’s already on the table,” Alex points to the overflowing table. I cringe just looking at the mess realizing I still have quite the narrowing down to do despite everyone trying to help.

“Alright let’s make this quick then so I can go look at what everyone has picked,” I clap my hands together and yank my axe from the stump I use as my base. The rest of the townsfolk around my farm begin to gather to form an audience to watch our little competition. We decided that whoever gets the most wood chopped in a minute wins.

“Who is going first?” I question the competitors. They all pointed to Sam who was the only one pointing at me. He frowns when he sees that everyone was pointing at him, but takes the axe from my hands reluctantly.

“If you INSIST,” he hisses. I run into my house and come flying back holding a hand held timer I use for cooking. I crank it so that it will start at 1 minute and count down from there. I hold it in place until Sam announces he is set to go. He quickly throws a chunk of wood on the chopping block and calls out for us to start the timer.

We all watch in amusement as Sam has an absolute struggle of a time trying to chop the wood. His aim is quite off and it requires a few hits to each block of wood for them to finally break. When the minute had passed, he managed to chop 2 and a half.

Abigail had volunteered to go next. I know she has a bit of experience with swinging swords, so it should be a bit easier for her to do this than poor Sam. She sets up her first wood block and I start the timer. She manages to surpass Sam after half a minute, but only by two in the end. In total, she chopped 5.

After Abigail, Alex took the axe and decided to go. Repeating the same thing as the other two, I set the timer, let him set up the block, and let it go when he was ready. Alex constantly works out, so I have high expectations for him. He doesn’t need to worry about the strength, just the aim and form of swinging. If he can land it okay, he should be fine. They really aren’t huge chunks of wood, so it’s not super tough to break them on the first swing. He did manage to get nearly all of his split on the first time except for a few he missed his aim on. In total, he chopped 7.

Sebastian was last to go before me. I gestured for him to go next since I know this will be a piece of cake for me. He better go before me or else he won’t want to even try. I have no idea what kind of experience Sebastian has with this, so it will be exciting to see. I’m going to guess he will do just under Abigail, but maybe he will surprise me and beat her score.

One last time, I do the whole routine and he goes on his way, chopping at the blocks. He was better than expected, but he didn’t beat Abigail’s score. He ended with a score of 4 and had just almost the 5th one. He didn’t fully break it in time.

Now it was my turn. I cockily strolled up to the chopping block after handing Sebastian the timer. I snagged the axe from where Sebastian left it and got settled in place. I gave him a slight nod and off I went.

Just as I was about to hit the 7th one, I saw someone entering my farm from the corner of my eye. I hesitated on bringing down the axe because I was too busy looking over. It was Haley who had made a wonderful appearance. I quickly dropped the axe and bolted over to her, leaving the competition without a second thought.

“Where are you going?!” I hear them shout after me. I quickly point to where Haley is, not breaking my stride.

“I guess I win then!” Alex flexes for the crowd, bowing dramatically as he gets a round of applause.

When I met up with Haley near the entrance of my farm, her eyes weren’t focused on me. She was busy looking past me to somewhere off in the distance. Nearly forgetting, I finally clue in to what she is finding so interesting.

[trivialbob]

The Good, the bad, and the Ugly

The Good - For Christmas Sheila signed me up for Surly Brewing's Bottle Project. Four times a year I get a limited edition beer. I love limited edition beers.

This week I went to the large brewery and restaurant to pick up the first bottle. There was also a metal water bottle for me. A lot of people there for the same reason. Surly also had a small tasting event for us.

We got to try a sample of what's in that bottle: North, a barleywine ale aged in fernet barrels. Very good.

Then we sampled Tattersall distillery's amaro and fernet, two bitter, aromatic spirits. I liked each, but probably not enough to buy a 750ml bottle of either.

The Bad - Last night I opened the dishwasher to put in a final glass. I peered inside to admire my handiwork before pressing the start button. Nothing caps off the end of my day like starting the dishwasher, then going to bed while it works, and I sleep.

Some people don't care how they load a dishwasher. But I do. I like to imagine things get more clean when the plates are aligned, pieces of silverware all face the same direction, and cups and mugs are thoughtfully placed at an angle where they don't accumulate water if the bottoms are concave.

Feng shui matters in appliances too.

My wife, standing behind me, watched. Earlier, she had turned one plate around. Two plates now faced each other. A good host doesn't seat a left-handed person to the right of a right-handed person. Their elbows will bump. Always something to think about. And plates shouldn't face each other in the dishwasher because... well, just because.

She laughed as I corrected the placement. Then I started the machine and retired to the guest room for the night.

The Ugly - Friends of ours parked a vehicle in our driveway while they were in Mexico for a few weeks. We live not far from the airport and don't mind dropping off people so they don't have to pay for parking. Last night I picked up the couple in their own vehicle.

It's a 29-year-old Jeep Grand Cherokee. At one time this was a very nice, expensive SUV with leather seats, automatic climate control, and other luxury features. The paint had been white, I think.

Today it's their winter beater.

Before I could drive to MSP I had to jump start the Jeep for the second time. I had run it the day before, to make sure it would start, after jump starting it the first time.

To unlock the hood I pulled on Vice Grip pliers that were permanently affixed to a cable under the dashboard.

Once the Jeep was running, it was loud. The exhaust system apparently was vacationing in Mexico too, leaving me with a deep rumbling, rusty Jeep.

Driving along I-494 made me think the road was covered in ice. It was just the Jeep. The right side tires were not in agreement with the left side ones, or the front with the back either. Like four kids fighting in the back seat, except I couldn't hear them over the sound of the exhaust. The power steering didn't work either. Driving in a straight line required two hands at all times and much concentration. What an ingenious way to keep a person from texting while driving.

At the cell phone lot I waited briefly while our friends collected luggage and went through customs. There was no way I was going to shut off the Jeep, for fear it wouldn't start again. So I sat next to two unfortunate drivers who surely could hear and feel the Jeep's exhaust. While stationary, I began to smell that exhaust too. Only my sense of sight was spared from it. Had I seen the toxic gas inside the Jeep I probably would have simply abandoned the vehicle where it was parked.

Finally I picked up the couple in the arrivals section. Traffic was pretty bad. After they were belted in, I tried to leave but was blocked all around. An officer directing traffic must have been tired of the sound, smell, and sight of that Jeep.

He--and I'm not exaggerating--stopped two lanes of traffic, made another car move forward, and directed me to get the Jeep into the far left lane so I could leave. I waved to him in thanks. H probably rolled his eyes.

On the way to my house I good-naturedly remarked about the condition of the Jeep. The wife of the couple laughed, then asked: "You're not writing about this on your blog, are you?"

Of course not.

[kamryn1963]

So Long, London- Chapter 6

I'm a sucker for nicknames and that's pretty obvious this chapter lol

TW: Mentions of self harm are also in this chapter

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Antonio asked the next morning. Al had showered and they were now eating some omelets Antonio had made. 

They hadn’t talked much since Al suddenly arrived the night before. They shared some beers the night before and watched a movie but Antonio knew Al wasn’t in any state to talk about what had happened. He had called Trudy when Al was in the shower so at least she knew Al was safe but now he wanted to get to the bottom of what happened. 

“Nothing”. Al replied as he took a sip of his coffee and avoided his friends' eyes. 

“You're such a liar you know that?” Antonio responded, getting a chuckle in reply. 

“I love you too Tony”. Al said sarcastically but he also knew Antonio would keep pushing until he got an answer that satisfied him. 

“Nothing really, I just worry I’m overstaying my welcome, you know? That Trudy probably wants her space again without me bothering her with my fucked up life”. Al didn’t look up until Antonio moved his chair closer and grabbed his shoulders until Al looked up. 

“Alvin, I’m going to say this and I’m only going to say it once. If Trudy didn’t want you at her house she would tell you, alright? We both know that women say what she want and don't sugar coat things. And Trudy’s your friend, O. She wants to help you because that’s what friends do”. 

Al nodded though he was still having trouble accepting it. Last night he had started looking for apartments. Even if Trudy was okay with him staying it had been two months now. That was enough time for Al to move on. 

“Yeah, I’m still going to look for a place though”. Al replied and Antonio finally released his grip on Al’s shoulders as he sat back in his own chair. 

“And that’s fine, natural even after a divorce, just don’t do it because you think you're a burden okay?” 

“Okay”. Al could do that. Well he could try. That was the best he could give right now. 

“You and Trudy should talk though. Especially since you did leave without a word in the middle of the night”. Antonio responded and as much as Al wanted to protest that he was a grown man who could do what he wanted, he didn’t. Trudy probably was worried. 

Knowing Trudy she probably also called Hank who would’ve been equally as worried. So he didn’t argue as Antonio texted Trudy. They both finished their meals with light conversation. Antonio talked about how his kids were doing and Al talked about Lexi and how she was in her last year of highschool and nearing her graduation. 

He tried not to think about how Lexi’s graduation meant he would have to see Meredith in a public setting and not a controlled one like he had since he made the decision to leave that night. 

Quicker than he had expected, and Al thought maybe some speeding was involved, Trudy arrived. Antonio went into his bedroom after getting her some coffee to give them some space to talk. 

“So are you going to tell me what happened and why you left without leaving a note or a text?” 

“My phone died?” Al said weakly though they both knew that was a weak excuse. Besides, his phone died last night after he was already here. Trudy didn’t need to know that. 

“Olinsky”. 

“I just, I needed to leave. It was honestly just supposed to be for an hour or two to clear my head but then my car was too low on fuel and Antonio’s house was the closest”. Al knew Trudy already knew that. He had overheard Antonio telling her on the phone after his shower. 

“You were just clearing your head? Not doing anything stupid?” Trudy asked and Al saw the barely concealed worry in her eyes. The concern. And Al knew exactly what she was thinking of and he felt horrible now. 

“No, no I promise Dee. I just needed to clear my head. I’m okay, still clean”. Al reassured and for once he was actually telling the truth. 

Trudy visibility relaxed when Al said that and she could tell from years of friendship and knowing him, that Al was telling the truth this time. 

“Good, still leave a note next time will you?” Trudy asked sternly and Al couldn’t help but to give a small smile as he leaned into her side. 

“Of course”. 

They sat like that a little longer. Al leaning into Trudy’s side and her just wrapping an arm around his back. Soon Antonio came back muttering about them having caught a case. Al and Trudy got up and the three of them ended up on the front porch. 

Antonio hugged Al before they split ways knowing Al needed it. 

“I’m always here to talk, man. I understand exactly what you're going through”. Antonio said sincerely and Al nodded. 

“I know. Same goes for you, Tony”. Al replied before breaking away from the embrace. 

“Do you have enough fuel for the gas station down the street?” Trudy asked as they both headed to their respective vehicles. She handed him her bank card before he could say anything. 

“Yeah I do, thank you”. Al got into his car and started the drive to the gas station. 

There was so much uncertainty Al knew he’d have to face. And part of him didn’t want to, part of him was fine with living with Trudy because at least he wasn’t alone. Al hadn’t lived alone in god knows how long and he was scared to. 

Maybe that’s why he had only just started looking for apartments in the last couple days. His fear of being alone outweighed his fear of being a burden to Trudy. 

Al was also scared of what he might do alone, when the thoughts got to be too much. When he lived with Meredith he knew that if she saw any fresh cuts she would tell Hank or Trudy and that always kept him from doing it. Well at least doing it anywhere Meredith might be able to see. 

There was also the fear of Lexi seeing but now that Al wouldn’t be seeing her everyday and would be living alone, nobody would stop him and that scared Al more than he would ever admit. 

He parked the car and took a deep breath before getting out. He would be fine, he always was. 

Al couldn’t help but fear it might be different this time. There was no use worrying about that now, about something he couldn’t change. 

So Al filled his car with gas and then drove back to Trudy’s. They ate lunch together and Al told Trudy about him looking for an apartment before she left for work. Alone with his thoughts again, he sent Hank a text message asking if he could get back to work in the next few days. 

He got a reply soon and Al was set to come back the next Monday. He wanted to protest that it was only Wednesday and he could come in tomorrow but Al also knew that Hank had been over and knew about what happened and wasn’t going to budge. 

At least he’d be back to work soon and wouldn’t have to be stuck with his thoughts all day. 

[artsychowroamer]

Pick of the Month: Trattoria di Montaluce

AUTHOR: ARTSY CHOW ROAMER

Pick of the Month:

TRATTORIA DI MONTALUCE

Whenever I’m wanting a taste of Italy in my own backyard, I head up to Montaluce Winery in the beautiful hills of Dahlonega. It’s the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the views with a bottle of their wine and some great choices of small plates, brunch, lunch or dinner.

The architecture follows that of any small Tuscan village around Italy with the red clay tiled roofs, stone walls and high ceilings with elegant chandeliers. The grounds are so beautiful with rows of grapevines, ponds, lush landscaping and tall trees creating lovely shady spots to enjoy the breezes.

SOME HISTORY

The original building opened with a gracious tasting room, dining room, event spaces and outdoor patio. The general manager, Matthew Garner, was brought on to help build and maintain every aspect of the big project that included villa rentals and some very special residences.

It was an ambitious vision for sure and there were times of struggle but the ship righted itself. The soil and weather conditions in Georgia make for a longer growing season with grapes that provide strength, complex flavor and aromas. Their award-winning wines are produced in their own in-house winery at the farm making them one of the top three in the state.

two restaurant choices

While the restaurant in the main house is wonderful, in 2021, they opened the Trattoria di Montaluce kust next door and that is where we headed on a lovely Sunday afternoon to check it out.

Stepping inside the cozy dining room, you smell the heavenly aromas of Italian herbs and warm bread from the large orange pizza ovens on full view in the open kitchen. The staff regularly look up and call out welcomes to arrivals like you’re a regular they recognize.

Several big screens around the bar show soccer, golf and other sporting events from around Europe which makes it a great spot to gather and catch a few games with a beer or signature cocktail. The place was already pretty full inside and the outdoor dining and patio were packed when we got there.

COCKTAILS & FIRST COURSEs

There’s a lot on the menu which will take you a bit to get through. Trust me, anything you choose will be traditional and just like your Nonna would make. You will want a drink of course as the bartenders are super. A wide flat body glass choice on the traditional martini with three stuffed blue cheese olives was a big success while a negroni in a short glass filled the bill nicely for my husband; both pretty and delicious.

My suggestion is to begin with a shared bowl of pasta fagioli soup or a classic Cesare salad. We chose the latter, and it was excellent in a way you just don’t get in other restaurants. The art of the perfect dressing of the crisp fresh greens with the salty flavors of anchovy and shaved parmesan is harder to get right than you might think.

Bread service comes with a sharing of veal and pork meatballs that are very light, creamy and packed with herb flavoring of rosemary and garlic. The tasty bread is the perfect dipping vessel for the marinara love on the bottom of the bowl. You will be in the clean plate club when you send it back!

SECOND COURSE

As most of you know, I am a pasta gal and I had to try at least one course. Staying simple is always rule number one for the true test of the best Italian kitchens. Carbonara with guanciale, cage free eggs, salt, pepper and parmesan with a light herb sprinkle was so delicious I hogged most of it for myself instead of sharing like a good girl should.

They are making their own pasta, and it is very apparent. If you want a heavier choice I would go for the pappardelle al ragu with beef and pork. There is a clean Amatriciana and tagliolini di mare with squid ink pasta, clams and shrimp. Simple classics that are sure to please.

Pasta not your thing? Go with the pizza. Those ovens are putting out some wonderful crispy crust on the thinner side in twelve different combinations from margherita to salmon lox. Want to make your own? They offer over twenty different toppings and bases to add to your pie.

There are a number of secondi choices should you have the room for them. Tuscan style short ribs, chicken parm, lasagna and whole roasted sea bass to name a few can easily be shared. If you just want to nosh with your wine, there are three different choices of mercato on a board served with fruit, breadsticks, nuts and house-made jam.

dessert

We don’t always have room for dessert, but the waiter gave us our choices and we thought we had to try a luscious ganache chocolate number that was drizzled with two kinds of sauce with fresh berries on top. Served with a little cream on the side, it was rich and just as light as you would expect a European dessert to be.

after lunch

As families lingered to enjoy their Sunday meals, many were sipping glasses of grappa with a small espresso on the side. We joined in and found the grappa to be the best we’ve had since visiting Italy. The espresso was fresh as well which can often be stale from lack of ordering in other restaurants. When you hear people speaking Italian, you know you are in the right place.

STUFF TO DO

Montaluce is obviously a destination experience but not just for weddings by far. The villa rentals offer a way to stay for a luxury weekend sleeping up to six and coming in at $350-$500 a night. Styled shoots for the photographers in your group are on offer as well as fly fishing, wine hikes with gourmet picnics and Chef’s Table meals with five delicious courses. Don’t forget that Dahlonega offers beautiful mountains, waterfalls, shopping and their own restaurants to explore.

CONCLUSION

I think you can see why Montaluce is one of our favorite places to visit. It’s perfect for a five-star weekend getaway with friends, a romantic wedding spot, the perfect brunch choice and the best Italian trattoria experience around. You can dress it up or dress it down. You’ve got lots of choices. Go make them!

If you enjoyed what you read, you might also enjoy other posts under Edible Fare. There you will find restaurant reviews, recipes, foodie tips and best spots to eat in a variety of cities. I also put emphasis on food experiences in my travel posts under Explore the World. Until next time…

Cheers!

ArtsyChowRoamer

Follow me on You Tube, Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram and Twitter

[alsetat22]

Paris Jackson Goes Back to the Same Hair Color She Had at 12-Years-Old

Contract brewing isn’t a new practice. Breweries like Mikkeller, Stillwater, Evil Twin, and To Øl have built successful brands by brewing their recipes at other, more established production breweries. At one point, Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project, founded by Dan and Martha Paquette, was the golden standard of the ideal nomadic brewery. The Paquettes created delicate, complex beer with a twist…

[thehastfiles]

Where are they now?

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

Max Shaw Headcanons (General + Relationship)

(tw: mentions of drug use, alcohol, and child abuse)

General

First of all, Max is short for Maxwell. Gets so flustered when someone refers to him by his full name.

Nine years younger than Al. He was what some would call a "happy accident."

He was always really outgoing and energetic, ever since he was little. When he took his first steps, he didn't walk, he RAN.

He has ADHD (no, I'm not projecting shhh). Didn't do very well in school, but not because he wasn't smart, he just couldn't remember to get his assignments in on time. Favorite subject was English (he actually really enjoys reading), least favorite was math.

Was the favorite child. He got his fair share of beatings from his father, especially when he would fall behind in school, but Al definitely took the brunt of it as the elder brother.

MOMMA'S BOY. Took her death when he was twelve extremely hard. Things started going downhill after that for him; he acted out more, and she wasn't around to defend him from his father, and Al could only do so much. He started getting "punished" more frequently.

Started shoplifting cigarettes from corner stores when he was fourteen. Weed came a little later, around seventeen.

The Big One (cocaine) started in college. He was there on a track scholarship, but he got caught with it during his senior year and lost the funding. Unfortunately had to drop out as a result.

Heavy drinker, but not enough for it to be an issue. Partial to whiskey (he thinks it's classy) and shitty frat boy beers. VERY insecure about his slight beer gut.

Found Samson on the side of the road in Durango one day, adopted him on the spot. Loves that dog with all his heart.

As y'all know, I hc that Max also has supernatural gifts. He has dreams similar to Gwen, but he just thinks they're your run-of-the-mill night terrors. Uses the coke partially to stay awake so he doesn't experience them.

Really, truly loves his brother. Secretly worries about him a lot, hates the fact that he spends all that time alone in their childhood home with those creepy masks their father collected. Part of him is so scared that Al resents him for getting the better end of the deal in their upbringing, he just wants so badly to be a good brother I'm gonna make myself cry oh my god

Relationship

This man falls in love FAST and HARD. Don't smile at him too kindly, or he'll start imagining your lives together.

Because he gets attached so easily, he unfortunately gets taken advantage of pretty often. 80% of his money troubles is his tendency to attract unsavory women looking for a meal ticket.

He's bi, he just doesn't know it.

If you're in a committed relationship with him, he will not shut up about you. To anyone. Ever. He's pulling pictures of you out of his wallet to show people, he can't help it, he's just so proud of you!!

He will really want you to get along with his brother, so RIP to you I guess (jk, Al would tolerate you for Max's sake, but you better not make one wrong move)

Love language is gifts and physical touch.

Always buying you extravagant gifts he probably can't really afford like jewelry and fancy dinners and such, no matter how much you tell him not to. He wants to spoil you!!

Also, constantly touching you in some form or fashion. Walking down the street? He's either holding your hand, or has an arm around your waist. Sitting down on the couch? He and Samson are BOTH all over you.

Speaking of Samson, will be jealous if you cuddle his dog more than him. Make him jealous, he's adorable when he pouts.

One of his favorite pastimes is snuggling up on the couch and watching a movie with you. What kind? Doesn't matter, he's not picky!!

Musicals? He's practically out of his seat during the songs. Romance? Man's not afraid to cry. Horror? He'll say he's protecting you by wrapping his arms around you, but he's pretty much crawling into your lap before long.

Overall, best trainwreck clingy boyfriend, 10000/10

[all-things-fic]

Rekindled

A/N: Firstly, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who nominated me as November Author of the Month. I wasn’t expecting that at all and it was a lovely surprise!  Secondly, here is Rekindled. Hope you all enjoy it!

This was originally meant to be for @majorharry​‘s 20k challenge, but I failed on that front. It’s a long one so grab yourself a brew / beverage of choice and get comfy!

I’m about to disappear again as I usually do and start working on my Christmas fic, as well as those Quarantine Harry updates.

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening. 

You had been out with friends. Cosy little pub off a cobbled backstreet, in a secluded corner. Very British. Very cramped. All old wood and leather bound seats. The slight smell of stale beer in the air and plenty of chatter that sometimes had you shouting to ensure the friend sitting two people away from you was able to hear. 

This was a pub that you frequented for quite a while now. A pub that made it so some in your friendship group could grab a proper ale, while others opted for more of a fruity alcoholic beverage. A real all rounder. Did a nice roast on Sunday - eat in or takeout, choice was yours - for a reasonable price by London’s standards. 

The minute he had walked in, you had noticed him. You could recognise his hunched shoulders anywhere. Forever silently willing him to stand up straight and embrace the way his height made him tower over some of his friends. Rather than have him try and make himself smaller. Part of you believed it was to buy him time so he wouldn’t get noticed whenever he knew he was going to be in particular place for longer than an hour.

He had been joined by a male friend. Someone you also knew quite well. Someone who you had seen quite recently actually. An art showing over at Cob Gallery being the reason for your meeting which hadn’t happened too long ago. You remembered the invite being shoved through your letterbox, a far cry from when he used to shunt you a quick text and write your name at the bottom of the guest list using Sam’s kohl eyeliner on the evening of the event itself.

You’d taken the piss out of him that afternoon, a quick phone call telling him that he was “no longer the Tomo Campbell I know”. 

That had been two weeks ago. So, you knew it would be rude of either you, or him, to not acknowledge the other. And you knew he would be the one to cave in. 

And you were right.

Tomo’s friendly brown eyes had glanced at you one too many times, over Harry’s shoulder for him to not give you - or anyone else who may have made the meeting slightly awkward - away. 

The continuous trailing of his gaze had in fact caused Harry to chuckle awkwardly, joking at how he wouldn’t let Sam know of his wandering eye as they shared a night on the town. The joke fell short though, as did his chuckle, when at the last glance over Harry twisted his body around to see what all the fuss was about as he leaned against the bar and let his eyes fall onto yours.

You broke his gaze, reaching forward for your balloon glass full of gin and pressed your face as far into it as possible. A feeling filled you that made you hope the hot flush you felt underneath your skin hadn’t started to give away your unnecessary panic. 

See things with you and Harry hadn’t ended badly. In fact, it was more like a fizzle. A bit like the sweet that pops against your tongue. Sometimes you enjoyed it and other times it was unfulfilling, some would say annoying. The latter explained the ending.

No big fights. No fat, hot tears rolling down cheeks. No loss of voices from slanging matches and screaming until the early hours. It just... Ended. 

That fizzle was what made it amicable. You both breaking it off to go and do your own thing. Neither openly keeping up to date with the other, but still absolutely aware of what was going on. In your case that was a lot easier, in his not so much. However, Harry somehow managed to master the art of leading questions without seeming too much of a beg with mutual friends.  

As he looked on at you taking the longest sip from your drink, he had smiled awkwardly before he allowed his eyes to roam the scene of your group of friends and tried to analyse what met his gaze. A group of eight, men heavily outweighing the women with their five to your genders three. 

He would definitely class himself a liar if he was asked about where his mind had gone, and he said that it hadn’t gone to queries around relationship statuses and potential partnerships with any of the men around the table.

He eyed them, all five of them. Definitely wasn’t the guy three people away, neither was it the guy sat diagonally opposite you. They were blonde, definitely not your type. Well, blondes hadn’t been your type the last time he had been between your legs.

His eyes had been zoned in on the guy that had his back facing him, he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you. Instead he was seated in the opposite seat, but one. Better positioning for someone who wanted to obtain a cheeky glance and still be inconspicuous to the group around him.

“I’m gonna have to go and say hello,” Tomo pulled Harry out of his trance, his eyes lifting up from the beer mat that he had been tapping agitatedly against the bar top once he’d turned away from the scene. 

“‘S fine wi’me, mate,” Harry softly smiled, reaching for his drink and taking a large sip. 

“Come an’ get it over with, H.” 

Harry had quietly eyed Tomo after his open ended suggestion of joining him. His eyes slightly sceptical at the proposal but somehow his legs took over his decision making as he trudged behind his artist friend and got introduced to those faces he didn’t know and acknowledged the ones that he did.

Pulling up a pew at the table had been a lot easier for Harry than he had expected. Dragging the wooden stool to sit himself in between you and the guy to his right, who he now knew to be Conor and the person he really wanted to know the name of was Joe. Joe was a wanker- well, banker. Same difference, right? 

Conversation wasn’t always smooth sailing. The larger group helped however. Also helped him get his moments with you and you with him. Moments that neither of you had known you needed before being sat with his knee brushing yours, due to how cramped your table had suddenly become. 

And it was sweltering now. The bare knee of your ripped jeans, knocking against Harry’s bare knee from his ripped jeans as he edged himself closer to the table wanting to catch what the topic of conversation was down at the easily the “laddier” end of the table. 

Harry had fit right in. Of course his demeanour changed with certain people. Those he had already been in the presence of those years previous were immediately hit with morbid delivery and sarcastic humour, while others were met with his sometimes hard to crack shell. 

And like always as the night had gone on the crowd had tapered off. Some had decided to go onto a club, an offering your declined not wanting to spend the night with people rubbing up against you and feeling like one of the oldest people in the room.

Some of your friends had gone back to their other commitments, like Tomo who made it quite clear he didn’t want to miss his “curfew” that Sam had given him considering he was the one on swimming lesson duty in the morning. 

That ended up leaving you and Harry. Surprisingly a pairing that you hadn’t expected to happen that evening and even more surprising, one that you weren’t particularly dreading.

You knew it had something to do with the gin, and definitely had something to do with the tequila. 

Part of you was thankful for the less than responsible drinking habits you had taken that evening. It allowed you to remain calm as your ex-boyfriend sat across from you looking like time was on his side and aging was being kind to him.

It was definitely being kinder to him than it was to you, anyway. 

Bastard. 

Conversation had been a mixture of light and heavy. Harry showing you a series of different pictures he had taken on his travels as he jetset around the world with his album and his modelling contract (that he adamantly assured you wasn’t a modelling contract), and basically just his very healthy bank balance.

The heavy had been you bitching about the contract project you had been working on and asking him if he would be willing to potentially commit a serious crime with you against one of your colleagues. He’d quipped he probably wasn’t suitable but he was sure he knew a guy. 

At one point, his eyes had dropped down to your pedicured toes in your black strappy heels. When he managed to drag his eyes away for your feet,  and rested his chin on the inside heel of his palm, you knew he wanted to say something. 

“‘M pretty sure we have matching pedis,” he groused, voice so low that if you hadn’t been watching his mouth you wouldn’t have caught a word of what he had just said.

Eyes flicking up to his green gaze, you saw the light shimmering through them. Clearly he was amused by your expression of shock and potential bemusement from his statement.

“Sod off,” you chided, pushing gently at his arm. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not darl-“ he cut himself off with a clear of his throat. “‘M not, an’ if yer lucky later I might take m’socks off to prove it an’all.”

“Not sure if I like the insinuation of there being a later.” You paused for a small amount of time, before adding, “Nor the confidence in how you said it.” 

“God loves a trier and so did you, once.” 

He eyed you from the corner of his vision, mouth wrapped around the lip of his glass as he knocked back what was left of the alcoholic contents inside. 

You were sure he hadn’t meant to let that one slip but there was no way he was going to let his expression give him away and silently confirm with you that thought. 

How had the two of you picked up as if you hadn’t missed a beat? 

“You never did mind me keeping them on though, did yer?”

That was enough to break his gaze. To cause a silence you didn’t know how to fill. To suddenly make you feel incredibly parched as if you hadn’t been necking gin after gin, all evening. 

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

His question cut through it all. His voice of concern, matching his watchful gaze as he looked up at you from the empty glass he had begun twirling on the mahogany wood. 

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

“‘M a fifteen minute walk from ‘ere, d’ya know tha’?”

“I do know that,” you acknowledged, eyes looking over at him and seeing the way his hair had begun to curl close to his temples from the way he perspired in the heat of the pub. 

“‘Course you do. Done that walk a fair few times ain’t we?”

You hummed. The feeling of your lips lifting into a soft smile at the memories of the two of you walking hand in hand through the dark London streets. Harry with his head down, trying to look inconspicuous. Also, so he could watch his feet and try his best not to trip up over them. 

The times he’d done that thing you loved. Where he would forgo holding your hand and instead walk slightly behind you with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and across the top of your chest. His lips heavy against your hair as he hid his face and chuckled breathily against the shell of your ear when he hadn’t been watching his feet and indeed, tripped. It was always inevitable. 

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

And really what was another night? Other than potentially a messy morning. 

Not before long you were wrapping the chain handle of your bag across your body and tottering out of the booth you had occupied all night. 

Silently you had battled with yourself as to whether you should use the bathroom, but didn’t think you needed it considering how you hadn’t had the rush of pressure usually felt when you were really desperate to relieve yourself.

Shame the feeling didn’t last as you felt a huge gust of cold wind, thanks to London autumn air, washing over you. 

With your arms folded around your body as you walked, you tried your best to shield yourself as the lights of passing cars hurt your tired eyes. Harry had been talking to you about all sorts of rubbish, filling in the gaps of dead air that weren’t taken up by the noise around your both.

“My shoes are going to be fucking ruined,” you grumbled, hearing the sound of muddy stones clacking and crunching underneath your heels. 

Harry chuckled at your obvious disdain, keeping himself close to you in the dimly lit area. The stride to his walk was confident, a little more power behind it than unsteady. He had consumed drinks, but not enough that he didn’t realise how close both he and you were to his home.

As you walked, your eyes surveyed the area. A group of people were getting closer, a few hoods lifted making it hard for you to figure out their make up. 

Before you could give yourself time to think, you unravelled your folded arms and reached down for Harry’s hand. 

“Think we could cross here,” you spoke, a chatter to your voice both from the cold and this unusual anxious feeling. Your eyes darted over the road, left and right before you turned as the group approached you. 

A boisterous boom of laughter left one of the groups mouth, causing you to sharply look back down the street. The grip of Harry’s hand against yours changed, his fingers taking your traditional hand hold to one of interlocking digits. 

He felt moved by the way you appeared to still hold the desire to be protective over him. 

“‘M alrigh’,” he pulled you to him, using his hand and causing you to turn your front and press into his side. “Jus’ let ‘em pass us.”

You silently nodded.

“‘S just a couple’a lads walking ‘ome after a night out,” he mumbled. “‘S all it is. You’re alright.” 

This feeling felt foreign as you felt a tightness in your chest while you stood still with him in the middle of the street. You hadn’t expected to feel any sort of hesitation but you, like everyone else, had heard about the incident which had taken place with him. Virtually on the doorstep of his own home too.

Harry offering you comfort and reassurance just as quick as you were to do so for him, had you finding a weird source of strength and confidence. He welcomed the pressing of your forehead to his cheek, knowing if he tilted his head slightly his lips could brush so tenderly against your forehead, your temple. He would most likely get a smell of your shampoo, wondering if you still used the same as before. 

The grip of his hand loosened against yours, his clammy palm, which felt soothingly warm, ran up against the long sleeve of your top. It curled around your neck, holding you securely to him, before he wrapped his arm around you.

Then he dropped his lips, them pressing to your temple and then lower to your cheekbone. He lingered, his breathing slightly quivered as the noise from the group got louder. 

You lifted your head slightly, Harry rearing up just in time to ensure you didn’t headbutt him. His chin was soft as he looked down at you; it took the edge off. His eyes were manic as they moved, there was no mistaking it but everything else about him came off so calm. 

He blew out his shaky sigh, causing you to dart your eyes over his and gently push up onto your tiptoes in your heels to softly kiss his lips. You knew he wasn’t expecting it, you didn’t even know what you were doing before you did it. Yet, you relaxed the minute he drew you even closer using the arm he had curled around your upper back to hold you close.

A wolf whistle caused you to smile against his lips, as he did the same. His gentle breathy laugh bouncing against your lips as he chanced it and pressed pecks against your lips in quick succession. 

“Evening lads,” Harry nodded his head once he came up for air, making sure he got a good look of two of them and making sure they knew that he had. They cheered in praise at the two of you and your public display, threw out a couple of slightly lewd and alcohol fused comments at the scene. One even going as far as to take the red and white striped scarf from around his neck and whip it furiously above his head. “Someone’s ‘appy. The Arsenal must’ve ‘ad a win.”

You nodded as you eyed them, completely embarrassed by the way you had misread a group of loud football fans for violent thugs. You weren’t necessarily far wrong, but still. 

Chattering teeth caused Harry to pull you close to him. “Let's get you in before you catch your death.” 

***

Shoes had been left at the door. 

The aching balls of your feet grateful for the cool wooden flooring and curling into the luxurious fabric of the rugs currently beneath them. 

You’d watched as Harry toed off his obscenely dirty Vans, and walked ahead of you towards the back of the house. The place where his envious lounge and open plan kitchen could be found.

Harry’s home had this way of being welcoming, no matter how long it had been since you had last graced its presence. You assumed he’d made it this way for a reason, especially when that reason was his way of life. Leaving for long periods of time to then return again, to pick right up where he had left off. 

And in many ways, that was how you felt about the current situation. 

Handbag now discarded at your feet, you sat with your side resting against the back of Harry’s teal velvet couch. Surrounded by expensive scatter cushion after expensive scatter cushion, a collection he had amassed during your time apart. 

He was playing the playlist. Not just any playlist, the playlist. The one he would always turn on, volume low, so it was more of a hum than anything else after you’d gotten back from a night on the tiles and fancied a night cap. 

You didn’t need to zone in on the sounds. It so happened that you had heard the playlist so many times before that you didn’t need to have it blasting through the speakers to know the track list. It was burned into your brain and would be for a very long time.

The worst thing of all was that he knew. He just knew. 

His lips had taken on this quirk. Slightly upturned more so on one side of his face than another as he stood at the kitchen island, feeling your eyes watch him as he put together his perfected cheese on toast supper.

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse. A large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon held loosely in your hand as you whispered along to the song playing in the background, mouth watering at the thought of the carby goodness Harry was preparing for you both under the grill of his oven.

The smell that filled your senses was delightful and exactly what you needed to soak up the alcohol you had previously consumed, never mind the alcohol you were about to. 

“Do you want any brown sauce on yours, or ketchup?” You heard him talk louder as the tray he’d been cooking on clattered against his oven hob. 

You stayed silent as you watched him, tea towel over his shoulder as he plated up your toast while his mouth barely sang along to the playlist. Gently lifting the bread off the grill before letting it drop quickly from his grip to the plate because of how hot it was. 

He looked up at you from under his brow, hair fallen into a middle part around his face. His eyes enjoyed the way your legs had curled up beneath you as you rested your right cheek onto your hand and fondly watched him.

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused. 

“Don’t even think about laughing at me when ‘m cooking for you.”

You smiled - cheese on toast was hardly cooking - pulling your glass of wine to your lips and taking a sip. “Don’t know why you don’t just get a knife and fork, you numpty.”

“Saves on the washing up doing it this way,” he winced as he dropped another slice to the second plate. 

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

Harry shook his head as he pressed his thumb to his lips and licked the sore burn, before he gently blew against it. “Never did answer my question,” he reminded, wiping his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

Watching him reach across for the bottle of Heinz, you saw him squirt the sauce onto your plate and then saw him do the same to his own. 

Seemingly happy with his work, he whipped the towel off his shoulder and to the side, before scooping up the two plates and striding over to you with ease. 

“Voila,” he spoke, offering you the answer to your predicted hangover prayers, in cheese on toast form.

Reaching forward, you gently took the plate off his hands with both of yours and let your eyes drop down to the melted goodness. Keeping your eyes down you took in the decoration that Harry had added. He’d taken to drawing a smiley face onto the top of the cheese using the ketchup.

“You’re such a silly sod sometimes,” you spoke, lifting your eyes as you watched him drop down onto the couch next to you and get himself comfortable.

Legs up on the coffee table in front of him, almost horizontal with his plate gently resting atop his rounded stomach. Head tipped back and vision lazy, his lips tilted up into a crooked smile as he looked over at you. 

“‘S it okay?”

“Looks it,” you replied, lifting up the toast and taking the biggest bite you could muster. Your nose came into contact with some sauce from your hunger-driven vigour. “Proof is in the tasting though, I s’pose,” you continued, mouth full and covered by your hand to avoid him seeing the chewed up contents. 

You hummed as you closed your eyes, enjoying the taste of the simplistic home cooked food and melted goodness. So simple in taste, but so effective. 

From where Harry lounged, he softly watched you. All relaxed, closed eyes, with a drop of tomato ketchup decorating the end of your nose. 

Before you had the chance, and he couldn’t fight himself, Harry reached up to gently swipe at the sauce and remove it from your skin.

You opened your eyes, blinking over at him as he pressed his thumb between his lips and licked away the sauce he had retrieved. His eyes were mischievous as they glanced at you before he took a bite out of his own food and savoured the taste.  

The groan that left his throat as he chewed was a sound familiar to you in other capacities, causing you to squeeze your legs together and forcefully take another bite of your own toast.

“Tell you what? If there’s one thing I do, ‘s make a bloody good cheese on toast.”

You smirked, amused by his boasting. “Nothing like a slice of conceited-ness as a platter cleanser, for afters.”

“Summat much more appealing for afters, don’t worry about tha’, darling. Got you sorted.” 

***

Bellies full and content, you slipped further down onto Harry’s couch. The two of you finding yourself closer together ask you basked in the warmth of Harry’s home.

“You weren’t lying when you said your nails matched mine,” your voice was sleepy as you spoke, right foot hitting Harry’s left slightly as you brought up your earlier conversation at the pub.

He chuckled into your hair, watching you lift your foot and gently place it atop of his. He made a space for it, moving his right leg so that there was an even bigger gap between his feet to slot yours between.  

“I think mine's a bit lighter to be honest,” you continued, eyes scrutinising his painted nails as much as they could from down the length of your body and his. 

“That’s some bullshit,” Harry groused, rubbing his feet gently against yours to warm them, his voice causing his chest to vibrate against your head as it rested there  “I even had it on m’ hands but I’ve been picking at it. Look.”

Harry obnoxiously held his hand in front of your vision, wiggling his fingers causing you to reach for his fingers and hold his hand still. Sure enough, he was true to his word, presenting you with chipped nail polish that was nothing more than the odd tiny dot against his clean nails. 

You smirked when he pushed them slightly closer to your face than intended, “Alright, think you’ve proven your point.”

Hand knocked back he brought it forward again, “‘M not so sure, try again.”

The only response you could muster up was a giggle fit for a schoolgirl, Harry’s response to pull you even closer as he softly smiled. 

A silence overtook you both, as you closed your eyes and let yourself become more intune with the music playing around you. 

Your face was pressed into the side of his neck able to inhale his worn in aftershave and the soft startings of stubble down the side of his throat. 

The silence was heavy and you knew exactly why. Listening to the base of the song across his speakers mixing with your staggered breathing and rising pulse. 

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like it needed attention drawn to it. Yet, the words were tumbling off your lips regardless. 

“This song always makes me…you know.”

The words were mumbled but of course he caught them because he did know. But it was whether he wanted to go there. 

The thought of talking about sex and the sex you had together in a coherent state wasn’t ideal. He wouldn’t have anything to blame his honesty on, if he wasn’t more inebriated than he currently found himself.

“Think we need some more wine for tha’,” he mumbled, lips pressed to your forehead as you hummed in agreement and felt him begin to shift to raise himself from the couch to retrieve a bottle.

***

More wine wasn’t a good idea and you knew it. From the way your tongue was much looser and your lips a lot more numb now. 

The two of you had begun to dance on a weird ledge after he’d refilled your glass. The kind where you were openly flirting and backbiting against the other to try and see who could inflict the moment that had the two of you wincing. 

“Who caught your eye while I was out of the picture?”

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

Harry was sitting on the couch, side pressed into the back of the couch. Leaning with his elbow and allowing his face to rest  in the palm of his hand as he looked at you.

“Alright,” he stressed with a raise to his eyebrows and a quirk to his lips. 

You were a bit flustered due to the way your back bite to him revealed how you were actually caught up in his business of seeing other people when you tried to act like you didn’t care.

Clearing his throat Harry adopted a soft tone to break you out of your fluster.

“There was one girl. Took her to dinner two times.”

You held his eyes with yours, watching the way he slowly smirked, “But you already know that don’t ya?”

Before you could stop yourself, you threw the throw cushion sitting to the right of you, at him.

“Watch the wine,” he said around a laugh, as he raised his wine glass into the air and pushed the cushion to the floor before it had a chance of creating him a cleaning catastrophe in the early hours. 

“Hate you,” you mumbled, turning to your right to look at him from where you had reached forward to put your wine glass down to the table. Before you sat back you ran your index finger against the rim of your wine glass and tapped your nail gently against the base. 

“‘s tha’ why you’re sat eating cheese on toast and drinking wine on my sofa at almost 2am,” he spoke against the rim of his glass, knocking back what was remaining inside.

“I’ve been coerced to be here,” you replied, watching him reach forward, raising his eyebrows at your false suggestion. When he sat back against the couch he was biting back his smile, his eyes shining and crinkles deeply set in the corners.

“Know where the door is,” he goaded, raising his eyebrows again, arm raising to point in the direction of his hallway. He waited for your response and in that time leaned forward towards the coffee table once more, grabbing the wine bottle and topping you up before moving onto refilling his own.

Your eyes dropped down to the rich red liquid as it sloshed against the clear glass. While his words were telling you to leave, his actions were doing the complete opposite. 

Filling the silence he asked, “So, how many dinners am I competing with?”

“Three” you mumbled as you lifted your drink and took a sip for courage. 

Harry’s head titled as he surveyed you, “Bloody hell you didn’t hang around!”

“I have no more cushions left,” you spoke to his cheeky comment with a light hearted threat of throwing something at him for his brazen clap back. “Only my wine.”

He smiled at your warning to throw it all over him before he drawled, “And we wouldn’t wanna waste tha’”

You hummed in agreement, freely taking yet another sip. Finally, something you agreed on. 

Harry kept his eyes on you, waiting. The two of you almost seeing who would cave in first to try and dig for more information on the relations of the other while you were apart. What he really wanted to know was how many men he was competing against. Was it one man three times, or three separate men? 

With all the questions buzzing around his head, he knew it would be him who would give in. 

He was correct. 

“Gonna let me ‘ave a look then? Pull ‘em up on your phone. ‘S only fair. Mine was taken out of my hands.”

His ambiguous comment alluded to the paparazzi pictures of him that had been splashed all over the tabloid online outlets, as well as every other social media platform known to man. 

You didn’t hesitate, the alcohol in your bloodstream almost encouraged you as you reached for your bag at your feet and took out your phone. Said liquid confidence even helped in your handing over of the phone. “Pass codes the same,” you said, as Harry stared at you before he dropped his eyes down to the screen and tried the first code that came to his mind, your birthday.

The screen shook at him, causing a sheepish smile to pull up onto his lips as he thought about his second guess. He punched in the code of your mother’s birthday and unlocked the phone within a short five seconds.

You did notice the stall to his movements, clearly realising how part of this was wrong. It wasn’t his, or your, business to know everything in such detail.

Sensing his hesitancy also, you told him where to find a photograph if he was so desperate for a nose; on your private Instagram page. He took that as a small victory cause he knew you still had pictures of him on your profile that hadn’t been taken down.

You gave him names, knowing that it was an invasion of privacy for the men in question but equally not caring. His thumb was fast as it typed and spelt out the name into the search bar. Harry also not caring at how desperate he was to see his competition. 

“Hold this for me,” he said, passing over his wine glass so that he could cup your phone in both his hands, his undivided attention firmly on his foe. You looked on as you saw him zoom in on the picture of guy number two, who had the chance of a third date.

He was silent as he looked and swiped and read comments. He didn’t know if this was the type of man he was expecting. Had he even been expecting anyone at all?

Running his eyes over the pictures he was greeted with what he could only describe to be your average City man. All overcoats and expensive suits. 

Looks wise, he understood. Perfect five o’clock shadow. Seemed tall enough in photos. Obviously liked a gym session or two. However there was one thing about him that just looked so out of place- 

Breaking the silence, he said, “Can’t even do a tie properly can he?”

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

“Don’t have to when you have someone willing to help.” 

He looked at you from under his brow to see if you were going to correct him. When he realised you weren’t, he continued, “Never been tempted to fix his,” he asked, swiping across to look at another picture. 

“He hasn’t worn a tie on a date yet,” you responded.

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

“What’s he drive?” He asked randomly, continuing the swipe through the pictures with his right thumb. 

“Range Rover Sport.”

“Probably on finance,” he spoke his comeback quickly, expressing his true feelings. It wasn’t going to be on finance but no one could blame him on wanting to throw a cheap shot in some way. “Doesn’t really seem the type to be blessed with the big dick energy. Overcompensating somehow.”

You found yourself biting down against your lips, trying to stifle a laugh. His pettiness has reared itself in less than ten minutes and you could see the way it wove through his features, with a quirk to his eyebrows and a scrunch of his nose. He was dismissive and you supposed he had every reason to be, you were after all sat on his couch. 

“Why do you really think I’m giving you another try,” you smirked, nails tapping at your glass again.

He held your gaze, “You planning on testing me out, seeing if it still works?”

“Might do,” you took another sip of your drink. “Depends if I have the energy.”

“Why do you think I gave you summat to eat?”

You breathed out a laugh as your mouth fell, right hand reaching up to slap him across the top of his arm. He seemed pleased with himself as he locked your phone and loosely held it out to you.

“‘S enough of looking at tha’,'' he hummed, licking gently at his lips. “How did you meet him?” 

Again a breathy laugh left your lips as you stared at him, incredulously. Harry’s eyes easily held yours as he waited on your answer.

“You aren’t in the least bit interested,” you licked your lips, the taste coating them slightly bitter from the lingering wine residue. “Don’t know why you’re trying to make it seem as if you are.” 

“Humour me, darling,” he mused, lips softly lifting. “Or humour him, whichever you prefer.” 

And you know you shouldn’t be doing this, laughing at the expense of someone else in such a way. You saw the larger swallow from Harry too and you knew he was feeling the same. 

However, here you were, giving eyes to a man that you didn’t think would get to see you in such a way again. 

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Cause at least one of us would make it worth your while.” 

You felt your breathing quicken as you held Harry’s eyes. He did nothing to deter you from holding his gaze. 

“You have to stop being so nice,” he added. “If he isn't doing anything for you, that’s okay.”

Reaching forward you rid your hands of your phone, letting it slide against his coffee table. “And do you not think you slightly have an unfair advantage?”

“I think,” he paused, his eyes looking at you. “I think we had something good.”

“Had being the operative word-“

“And I think we could have something good again. In fact I know we could.”

You stalled at his words. The confidence behind them. It was admirable how he was shooting his shot. Especially given you knew how inside he was most likely quaking with nerves.

“Tell him no.”

His words made you chest feel tight, his hand reaching across the distance between the two of you on the sofa. His palm facing up, you slowly lifted your hands to sit in his.

No sooner had your skin come in contact, Harry clasped his hand around yours and softly stroked his thumb to the back of it. He dipped down, lips meeting your knuckles before he tugged at you so softly you almost felt you had imagined it.

He wanted you closer, the arms length distance now too much as he started to show himself to you. His pettiness and his affection, they strangely won you over. Stoked something within you that had you edging further towards him.

Hand unlatching from yours, he lifted his left arm and wrapped it loosely around the back of your neck. With little persuasion you dropped your forehead against his jaw again. 

Harry’s swallow was audible as his fingertips softly stroked at your shoulder. His breath softly fanned against the skin of your temple, his lips turning to press the faintest kiss to your hairline.

“Tell him to piss off.”

You chuckled, breathily, head knocking itself back to look up at him. Eyes light with a sense of joyous infatuation at the moment you found yourself in.

Harry shifted, his right hand quickly discarding both your wine glasses before it placed itself against your hot cheek. The coolness of his slender fingers soothing and welcomed. 

“Tell him no,” he breathed, as his lips hovered close to yours, as he tilted your face upwards to meet his. 

With your eyes closed you felt a sense of guilt, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like you were committed to anyone outside of the situation that you found yourself in, but you felt slightly wrong for what you were doing. Harry sensed it, able to read the downturn of your lips for what it was. He nudged his nose gently against yours, allowing his eyes to take their time in admiring your expressions and waited on the unnecessary internal conflict to ease. 

“Want me to tell him?” He asked, leaving breathy and wet kisses down your cheek, and along your jawline as you tilted your head back. “‘S not a problem.”

Your mind was swimming as you found yourself sinking back into the couch beneath you. Harry’s voice melting you as he continued talking, “Really get him to take the hint that you’re not interested.”

He kept his face buried against the underside of your chin as it pointed up at the ceiling, hands tracing down your arms and cupping at your hands to press them into his hair as he sucked at your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hummed, scratching at the back of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft locks beneath your touch. 

Harry deeply groaned as you pulled at the strands, “What’s that?”

“Trying to have your way with me when I’m under the influence,” you joked, quirk to your lips. “Always was that little bit more placid that way.” 

You felt the way his lips moved from underneath your chin, finding the corner of your mouth, before he pulled up to look at you. He eyed you, all heavy lidded and messy lips. “You’re not tha’ pissed are ya?”

“No.”

“Then I’m definitely more than jus’ trying.” He reached for your face, lifting your chin and angling it how he wanted. “‘M taking, ‘m begging,” he spoke confidently, unashamed. 

His lips were dominant as they engulfed yours, a groan leaving your throat as your kiss was messy from the offset. His lips puckered and pulled, drawing you closer to him as he breathed through his nose and gave you his tongue.

Your chest was heaving as he skimmed his lips against your face, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to laugh. 

“Charming of you to want your way with me on your couch.”

Harry chuckled against your neck, face lifting shortly to look at you. His pupils were blown out already, as his skin took on more of a rosy flush from the beginnings of his exertion. That or you’d embarrassed him.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he mused. ”Where’d you want it?”

Legs curled gently around the backs of his thigh, still covered by the denim of his jeans, you pressed against them with the heel of your foot. 

“Where’d you think?”

He knew exactly where. You were a simple creature. You liked simple things. Sex was always fun to have all over the house, but depending on the level of intimacy you craved, depended on where you were willing to open your legs.

Tonight was a weird one for you to decide upon. The fumble on the couch, while it was exciting and showed you Harry’s desperation to have you once more, it would be over before you knew it. Also it would most likely leave you with a horrible crick in your neck as your keepsake. 

You didn’t want that. You wanted your keepsake to be the ache in your thighs from how he had taken you in different positions because while a bed was boring for some, it allowed you the option to roll around for as long as your bodies permitted. Bending in all different shapes and ways that sometimes neither of you would’ve been able to imagine. 

He broke you from your thoughts once more, hand gently finding your bum and tapping against it. “Up yer get,” he spoke, starting to push himself up knowing you wanted to go upstairs. 

With your legs curled around his, Harry couldn’t go too far. He chuckled with amusement as he dropped his eyes down to his legs and yours, before looking back up. He didn’t need to even ask as he looked at you, leaning forward he inhaled through his nose as he kissed sweetly at your lips and lifted you.

A smile pulled onto your face, causing difficulty to continue kissing. “Stop tha’,” he mouthed against the corner of your lips, as he hoisted your legs. “‘M trying to take charge here.”

“Why do that when you’re still so good at taking direction?” The lilt to your voice was one of glee, you had easily gotten your own way. 

Tousling your hair and flicking it away, behind your shoulders, you rolled your lips into your mouth as you felt the slight bruising from his expressions of desire. He was watching you as you looked at him, doe-eyes sparkling with intrigue and adoration. 

“Give us a kiss,” his deep voice ignited a warm fire within, as he still tried to assert himself while he walked the two of you away from his open plan lounge and closer to his kitchen.

You continued to eye him, enjoying the way he wasn’t going to back down. You just needed to stand your ground just as much. 

As your bum hit the work surface, your hands traced over Harry’s cheeks, cupping his face before moving to grip at the counter. Head tilted slightly, he looked down the bridge of his nose at you through hooded, dark eyes. 

He stepped in between your wide open legs and enjoyed the closeness that they brought when you brought them together to keep him to you. Heavy breathing filled the silent air as you both traced each other's features with touch and sight. Taste could wait, but it would get here soon enough. 

He gulped as he swallowed. 

“Please.”

At first it was gritty. His voice tight and throat dry. His lips forming the word confidently. 

Again he swallowed. “Please, gimme a kiss. You kiss me, like before.” 

The victorious hum that left his lips was one that you would let slide, as his hands ran down the length of your arms and reached up to wrap around your own. He placed them back onto his face, mouth breaking away as he left open mouthed kisses to your left palm, nose nudging at the end of your long sleeve top where he inhaled your worn away perfume. 

He could feel your pulse as he curled his fingers around your wrist. It was strong and rhythmic, inviting to his primal desire which caused him to gently nip at your flesh with his front teeth.

Turning his eyes back to yours, you silently asked him for another kiss with your soft and slow blinking gaze, knowing he wanted to get just as reacquainted as you did. 

He obliged, pressing closer to the counter and letting his lips meet yours quickly. His quick change in motion caused you to reach behind you to steady yourself, your hand coming into contact with an item you couldn’t identify until you gasped and pulled away thanks to the smashing sound. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly, trying to catch your breath. Harry’s eyes turned to take a look at one of the daintier wine glasses he had pulled down from the rack earlier but chose not to use. The item now lay broken against the flooring of his kitchen. 

“Really should tidy up before we go up,” he groaned, mouth pressed into the side of your cheek as you surveyed the mess made on his coffee table over the other side of the room. He reluctantly pulled away from you, walking the short distance to the broken glass.

“Watch yourself,” you said, meaning his bare feet around the glass.

Crouching down, Harry started to collate the bigger shards of glass together, stacking them up against the tiles of his kitchen floor. As you peered down, still sitting on his kitchen island, he looked up at you.

“Couldn’t do me a favour? Go an’ grab the dustpan and brush.”

You blinked. Was he alluding that he kept everything in the same place? Given how he’d asked so vaguely, knowing you would understand. 

Softly, he smiled up at you and chuckled around his words, “Same place as last time, yes.”

Taking a while to kick into action, you slowly slid off the work surface and let your feet softly pad over to the other side of the kitchen. The third cupboard from the right, on the lower half of the kitchen was where Harry kept items that Anne had brought him. You know, the things that Mum’s knew would be important but somehow never crossed their children’s minds. Regardless of whether their children were grown adults.

Sure enough, there sat the same blue dustpan and brush. The item was as vibrant as the last time you had seen it, in similar fashion. Leaning down you grabbed at it, shutting the cupboard gently using your foot and walked back to Harry.

You handed it off and heard his whispered thanks, as you rested the side of your hip against his cupboards. 

“Don’t think I’ve had this out since the last time you so elegantly broke one of my favourite glasses.”

You knew he was messing with you but that didn’t stop the blush of embarrassment, hitting your skin, and filling you with warmth. “I’ll replace it.”

“‘M jokin’, ‘s fine. Only a bit o’ glass-“

His sentence was cut short as the two of you jumped, the sound of a phone filling Harry’s space.

“‘S not mine,” he jutted his lips out, as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and carefully walked towards the bin with his broken glass.

You turned towards the noise that was your phone and how it blared from Harry’s coffee table, where you had placed it earlier. Walking the short distance, you reached for it and was met with a familiar male name.

Biting your bottom lip, you swiped across the phone and pressed it to your ear. His soothing voice greeted you, slightly worried in tone as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting your feet take you to the kitchen island again, you responded telling him you were fine and how sorry you were that you hadn’t let him know you had gotten home okay.

From over the other side of the room, you watched as Harry quirked a brow at you while he picked up the empty bottle of wine and wine stained glasses from the coffee table in his lounge. 

You weren’t home. You were far from home.

“Who is it?” He mouthed as he got closer, glasses clinking as he placed them onto the work surface of the kitchen island, after discarding the bottle of wine as loudly as possible into the bin. 

You pulled the phone away from your ear showing him the name that he had earlier been typing into your Instagram search bar. Under the dim light you could see the slight squint to his eyes and the way his nostrils flared. 

He darted his eyes from the phone screen and back to yours, watching as you put the phone back to your ear. 

“Yeah I had a great night, ‘m just tired.”

Harry dropped his head, a smirk forming on his lips. You were far from tired and this was nothing more than a moodkill. With his hands pressed to the worktop, he looked up at you as you stood diagonally opposite him. 

Eyes glancing down to your left hand that was spread against the work surface, Harry reached for it. The tips of his fingers running gently between the divots of your knuckles, before his hand slipped underneath your fingers and tugged you towards him.

You slowly obliged him, as your eyes moved to his face. “Come to bed,” he mouthed, watching as your top teeth worried at your bottom lip. His right hand moved to slip around to your lower back as you arched, pulling your chest away from his trying to keep his mouth away from the phone.

“Come to bed wi’me,” his voice was a whisper now, not quite loud enough for the person on the other end of the line to hear but a next step up from how he was previously just mouthing his words to you. 

As he tried to distract you, he dipped in and out of your conversation which was the most monotonous thing he had ever found himself eavesdropping into.

With your chest open to him, he nosed his way along your skin, head nudging at your hand that held the phone. His lips pulled into a smile as you faked a yawn, clearly trying to politely give the man on the other end a hint that you were done.

Still he heard the drone of this guy, who was now even repeating things he had previously said to try and keep you on the line with him. You weren’t interested though, too preoccupied by the way that Harry was once again pressing kissing to the skin that he could get too. 

Before you knew what was happening Harry had clearly had enough. 

“We’re tired, pal. Take the hint,” he spoke into the phone that still rested against your ear, his lips finding the bottom end of the receiver. “‘S time for bed.” 

You had to pull the handset away from your ear, not wanting to hear his reaction from the sound of Harry's voice. You blindly ended the call, keeping your eyes on your ex-boyfriend, whose green-eyed monster had made itself known.

He helped guide your phone down to his marble countertop and watched as the phone was brought to life with a call. The same name appearing on your screen as he tried to call you back.

Harry didn’t take long to decline the call, quickly turning the phone to silent and placing it face up once he’d finished. Again, it lit to life, this time buzzing against his work surface rather than omitting a jarring noise into the silence the two of you shared.

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?” 

His question lingered as his eyes moved between the phone and you, watching another call ring out. “If he rings again, ‘m gonna answer.”

As expected the phone lit up for the fourth time. However, before Harry could reach for the item you pushed it, causing it to slide against the work surface and away, just enough that it was out of his reach. 

Harry clenched his jaw, his muscle pulsing as he looked at you. “‘S he always like tha’?”

“He’s just realised the girl he was dating is in the company of some other bloke.” 

“Dating or taken on dates? There’s a difference,” he raised his eyebrows. “‘S a huge difference an’all.”

You stared at him, watching him lower his body to lean against the counter with his elbows and wipe down his face in frustration. Unwarranted at that. 

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed. 

Sharply he turned his neck to look at you, “‘s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“That I agree.”

“No,” he frowned. “It was how you said it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not-“ he cut himself off, sigh heavy. “I’m not saying you can’t.” 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking of how to navigate his way out of this. 

“‘M saying that you don’t always have to,” he dropped his voice, slowly standing and letting his itching hands reach for you. 

With his hand resting against your ribs, you stayed still. He didn’t guide you anywhere, he waited. Waited on your next move. When he felt your stoic figure relax underneath his touch, his tight chest expanded. Maybe he could talk himself out of this one.

“When we tried this before,” he softly spoke, pulling his hand away from you to motion between you both, “We shared the load, started to become a team.”

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

He felt his lips twitch from your negative deadpan. “‘S got you back ‘ere again tonight so ‘m doing summat right.”

Shaking your head at him, he rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight his pleased smile. He dropped his eyes to the counter below him as he mumbled his sorry. 

“If you were to ask me, I think we did alrigh’.”

“You would say that.”’

You watched as he jutted out his lips, before running his hand down his mouth and facial hair. He leaned on his palm, his eyes taking you in and wishing you would speak.

“My Mum talks about you all the fucking time,” 

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re trying to get over someone,” you glanced at him from the corner of your vision.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you were scornful. He shook his head, clearly amused. 

“I’ve still got half of your belongings upstairs, if you wan’ ‘em. You have no idea.” 

You squinted your eyes at him. Trying to read him. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem. Don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell you about papers and social media, ‘s all a load of bollocks.”

Standing once more, Harry rolled his shoulders and brushed his hair off his face. Once his hands were at the back of his head, he linked his fingers and turned to look at you. Head resting back on his hands, the two of you held each other’s eyes. Him from the corner of his vision, you dead on. No words passed between the two of you. 

“‘M going to bed,” he sighed, dropping his arms and tapping gently against the kitchen counter twice before pushing away. 

His body screamed dejected as he walked away, his shoulders sagged and head down as he walked through his home, towards the second floor and his bedroom. 

Swallowing thickly, you rolled your lips into your mouth again before you spoke his name. The way you called for him caused Harry to stop his movement, back continuing to face you as he silently waited for your next move after you voiced your plea.

You let your feet take you to him, abandoning your phone on the kitchen island and trying your hardest to ignore the white hot anxiety that overtook your being. 

Close enough to touch now, you looked on at your shaking fingers as they gently reached out for him. Your feet took you as close as they could, arm wrapping gently around his abdomen and feeling it quiver with a nervous exhale. 

Lips against the linen of his shirt collar as you pushed onto your tiptoes, hoping that the wine stain upon them wouldn’t attach itself to the cream garment. His head dropped forward, exposing the curvature of his neck to you as his hand gently slid over yours and he rested his fingers between the splayed gaps of your own. 

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder. 

Take your time. 

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

There was always something exhilarating about someone leading you upstairs. The different ways in which it could play out. Playful with a swing to your hands, sensual with a gentle tug to keep your close.

The feel of Harry’s hand in yours was always wanted. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles or the back of your hand, a reminder of the affection you had been missing.

His eyes looking over his shoulder at you as he came to the bottom step of the second set of stairs. A silent reminder that you could back out at any time. 

The floorboards still creaked in the same place as always and part of you hated that you didn’t need him to lead you down the hallway because you knew exactly where his room was. 

However, taking yourself to bed never possessed the same majestic undertone as when someone else did.

You were now sitting with your legs tucked underneath you at the end of his bed, rummaging through the box of things that he had neatly packed together for you so they were ready for you to have back if you ever came to collect them.

Every so often you would pull something out to him, showing it and either sharing a story or laughing. As you looked up at him now, showing a tequila shot glass and shaking it suggestively at him, he looked every inch ready to sleep.

Harry was stretched out straight on his bed, his linen shirt still covering his upper body but the buttons were all undone, revealing his chest and stomach to you. Tattoos on display to your eyes that you hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

The top button of his jeans had been undone as he got comfortable and his ankles were crossed, with his right leg over his left. His eyes were heavily lidded and blinking slower and slower each time you presented him with a new item. 

Double chin forming from the way his head was propped up, he spoke deeply in acknowledgement of the glass with the less than elegant design on the side. 

“Remember getting through a whole bottle of tequila with that,” he drawled, hands clasping on top of his stomach. “Don’t know why we didn’t just pass the bottle between the two of us.”

“That’s because someone insisted that if we were gonna do it, we had to do it proper.”

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s convenient,” you deadpanned knowing that there was probably some truth behind his words given how inebriated you had both been at the time.

Thoughts aside you continued looking into the box to see a worn slogan shirt peering up at you. Pushing aside the half empty bottle of perfume that was once your favourite, you silently admired the tee that you knew didn’t belong to you.

A soft smile pulled itself onto your lips. Sometimes nice boy Harry was unbearable. He’d taken to folding the shirt that you adored as if it were on a shelf in a posh(er) department store than usual. Think more John Lewis than Debenhams.

Slowly you pulled the item from the box and enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton against your fingers. You loved that the shirt’s collar was slightly saggy, a sign of how loved it had been.

Your voice left your throat as more of a dreamy sigh than you imagined. “I loved this shirt,” you spoke as you held it up in front of your face, eyes tracing over the blue slogan of ‘Enjoy health. Eat your honey.” and the cheeky looking bee that was drawn within the circle.

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

Without a second thought, you let the item fall into your lap, hands quickly turning to pull at your black v-neck top and reveal your matching black lace bra underneath.

Harry slapped his hand against his eyes, quickly covering them. The sound caused you to look up at him. “Don’t be so daft, Harry,” you spoke, fighting your smile by rolling your lips into your mouth as you saw him splinter his fingers and look at you through the gap he had created. 

“Could give a guy a little warning,” he groaned, continuing to peek over at you. 

Shaking your head, you enjoyed the way the cool fabric fell down the skin of your stomach as you covered yourself once more. You knew if you were to turn your head slightly and press your nose to the collar, a mixture of your perfume and his cologne would remain.

You fought the urge however, as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar and quickly pushed your hand up the back of the shirt to undo your bra. 

It was almost second nature for you to remove your underwear to get comfy within your comfier clothes and the sagging of your bra cups away from boobs was always a delightful feeling at the end of any night. Drunk or otherwise. 

You pulled at the straps of your bra from underneath the sleeves of your shirt, before diving your hand under the hemline and dropping the item less than gracefully into the box that held your other items.

“Think you’re forgetting who that actually belongs to,” he drawled, head resting against the pillows beneath him now and watching you rummage once more.

“I think you gave up the privilege of wearing this item the minute you dropped it inside this box all neatly folded like you worked a shift at Topshop rather than Manderville’s every Saturday.”

He cackled, head tilted back as he enjoyed your self-righteous indignation and absolute pisstake. 

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

He was amused as he shook his head over at you with a silent smile. “And being fake indie is exactly why you decided to live on the edge of Camden and not in the thick of Camden itself.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t once tell me that you’d want to raise a family in Hampstead.”

You felt your face heat up at the way he’d completely called your bluff. “That was when I was young and naive.”

“As opposed to us now? Being old and decrepit.”

Again you were silent as you started to put the items around you back into the worn cardboard box. 

“Why’re still fuckin’ around wi’that box?” 

Your eyes snapped up at him as he kept your eyes. “The only thing you should be fuckin’ around with, is me.”

Raising your eyebrows, you said, “Now who sounds young and naive. Anyway, what happened to you just taking.”

Harry was silent as he took in your words, his body slowly rising from his lounged position and he sat up to approach you. You dropped your gaze down his chest and to his stomach, enjoying the slight rolls of his abdomen as he adopted his new seated position.

His eyes were focused as your gaze found his once more. A soft determination. This sheen to his skin in the lamp lighting of his bedroom, causing him to naturally glow. 

Once he was secure in his upright position, closer to you, Harry snatched at the box with one hand and picked it up to sit it down on the floor at his side of the bed.

He then swooped suddenly, hand scooping around your waist and drawing you to him with squealed laughter. His lips fell against your cheek as he shushed you, aiding you as you moved position to get comfortable. 

“Remember the first time I had you in this bed?” He asked, chest to chest with you. Your mouth was agape with your quickened breathing, as his lips puckered slightly at the corner of your mouth and he gently leant his nose to yours.

You both watched each other through heavy eyelids, breathing mixed in rising anticipation. A soft nudge of his nose as he asked, “Do yer?”

A nod was all you could muster. 

“Was good sex,” he husked, hoodied eyes holding yours. “Was always good sex.”

You hummed in agreement. Feeling the way your nerve endings came alight as you pushed your fingers through the hair at his temple. 

Heat flowed through your body, circling in your stomach as his words echoed. 

“Still gonna be good sex, ‘f you’ll let me. Better even.”

The faintest smile pulled at your lips, causing your eyes to glisten. 

“Eh,” he nudged. “You gonna let me, or tell me otherwise?”

“Personally, think you’re just talking a good game.”

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

Harry pulled you to him, his mouth claiming yours easily. So hungry and intense. Lips that were desperate to show you what you had been missing. Lips that were desperate to wipe away the touch of another, asking you what the fuck you were even thinking in trying it with some other bloke? 

Gone was the brushing of lips, faint and fleeting. Harry’s liquid confidence started to come into play as his lips formed into a smile when he gave you his tongue and hummed as he did. 

Harry cupped your face as he slanted his mouth over yours, soft moans leaving your throat as you kept him close. 

Lips were coaxing, as he groaned between quiet wet smacking sounds that otherwise would have had you cringing. 

Now he had you however, how could he part? Your smell was intoxicating to him, as was the touch of your fingers in his hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp. His mewls were catlike when he pressed his wet lips to your skin.

Breathing now more like a pant, it puffed against your elongated neck as he pulled away and made a beeline for your clavicle and then chest, movements slower. Chestnut hair tickled the underside of your chin and caused the faintest of smiles to ghost across your lips from the way it felt.

His nose nudged the collar of his shirt that sat against your body enticingly. The smell of your perfume everywhere to him. 

Now lower down you found his forehead was pressed to your clavicle as you felt his teeth playfully tug the cotton between them. A puff of air left your nose as you bit down onto your bottom lip to try and suppressed your giggle.

“Smells like us,” he hummed, mouth breathing hot and heavy against the shirt that sat directly above your nipples. “‘S tha’ good.”

Your only response was the tipping back of your head, fingers carding heavily through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Had he always been this skilful? Vocal, sure. But it never quite hit you like it was doing tonight. His deep hums and moans, his hands spreading so confidently across your back to hold you to him.

And when you cradled the back of his head and pressed that was when you found yourself moaning his name deep from the back of your throat as his mouth gently sucked at your hardened nipples through his beloved shirt.

His name left your lips again, this time  in the softest gasp as a small frown hit your eyebrows and your hips started to faintly roll atop his. He moaned gratefully into your chest, his tongue wetting the fabric of his shirt so it clung to your raised nipple.

As he nosed along the cotton, he found your second nipple, his hand quick to raise to the first and squeeze at your breast that had not been forgotten. His touch wanted - you and it - to know that.

This is what you’d been missing so long. A sense of feeling you had buried somewhere else. Blocking out the way he managed to make you feel more alive than anyone else had. 

With cheeks hollowed as he suckled, you whispered, “That’s nice.”

His hum of agreement vibrated through your chest as he kept his face pressed against you. 

Everything about him became deliberate and slow, his hands now moving underneath your shirt and fingertips gently grazing at soft, warm skin prickling goosebumps in their wake.

Sliding lower his left hand palmed against the back pocket of your jeans, fingers catching against the thick and sewed seams. Hand pressed heavy to aid the soft rock to your hips, tapping lightly to the top of your bum.

“‘M gonna take these off,” he hummed, looking up at you from where his face was still pressed into your chest.

“Are you?”

It felt as if the room spun before you could even comprehend what was happening, a squealed laugh leaving your lips next as your arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders. He lightly lifted and rolled you, your back landing against his mattress gently as your laughter tapered off.

His lips were sponging kisses to your jawline and cheeks, as you felt the backs of his fingers slide gingerly against the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly you felt the fabric pull away and fall slack against your stomach when he managed to twist the button with one hand, as your arms fell against the mattress and into the pillows that were slightly pressed higher against the headboard.

“Took you long enough,” you goaded, a smirk lacing your lips as you felt Harry pull away and watched him kneel sitting back with his feet against his bum. 

His face was a picture, clearly amused, as he swiftly pulled his own shirt away and threw it behind him. Hands slowly trailed back up to the waistband of your jeans as he lightly hovered over you.

His head found your stomach, the soft skin on show from where the tee had ridden up. Soft puckered kiss, he lifted his head and pressed his chin into your stomach. 

“Last chance,” he voiced, soft. While he wasn’t willing to forget about it all, regardless of the ache he had between his own legs, you had to be in this with him as much as he was. 

Blinking down at him, you moved your hand up to gently push through his hair and without words raised your hips off the bed enough for him to get the message.

The smile that pulled at his lips, was so triumphant you had to knock your head back to stop yourself from chastising him for being full of himself. 

Your hands however couldn’t help themselves as they joined Harry while he pulled your trousers down your legs and watched goosebumps rise upon your skin from their exposure to the cold. 

Now he was at the end of the bed, you dropped your head to the side to look at him. The way he looked as he carelessly threw your item of clothing over to the chair that sat in the corner of his room. 

His eyes slowly came back to you, as he followed his own motion and saw the faintest of smiles dance across your features. 

“What yer thinking?” 

You were thinking a lot of things. Mainly more so how mystical he looked in the soft glow of the London evening that was creeping in through the haphazard way he had drawn his curtains. Your smile only deepend at how it was more so from the street lamp lights than any full moon, but he didn’t have to know that.

Of course he would want to though, because your smile was more so on show now thanks to the thought in your mind.

Harry shook his head as he fought his own smile, dropping his face slightly to watch his hands as he fiddled with his own jeans.

“Whatever’s got you smiling, ‘s doing nothing for my ego as ‘m undressing m’self in front of yer.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, which is why you lightly laughed. 

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

“‘S doin’ everythin’ for you,” you spoke sultry, “Don’t even try it. Got a girl half naked and waiting for you.”

At those words he looked up at you, through his curtains of thick waves that had fallen into his line of vision. 

You breathed deeply, eyes unable to move from his captivating stare even though you knew he was practically naked from the waist down. You knew from the way his upper body moved as he pushed down his jeans; you knew from the sound of the clothes bunching around his ankles. 

Now you found yourself wondering again. Wondering if he still kept his condoms where he had done last time. Sometimes in the bedside table drawer, other times hidden in the top of his wardrobe. 

Were you going to see him twist and turn, get him showing you how white his bum cheeks were in comparison to his infuriatingly evenly tanned thighs and legs? Or was he going to hold your eyes, dip his knee into the bottom of his bed and crawl up you once more so he could grab one from the bedside table.

“Not just any girl,” he finally replied, his knee dipping into the bottom of the bed. You supposed that answered your question. 

“No?”

A small shake of his head. 

“The girl.”

Harry chuckled, giving himself away as he watched the way you relaxed deeper into the mattress as he found your legs easy to accommodate him. 

“I’ve never been the anything,” you emphasised.

With his lips against your cheek, you felt his puffed breath as he responded, “Yea, you fuckin’ have.”

You kept him to you with a hand against the back of his head, fingers woven through his hand unable to not enjoy the feel of his silky locks beneath your touch. Reacquainting yourself with everything that you thought you had lost.

His lips unlatched from yours with a soft, wet sound as your eyes rolled back into your head when he started to trail kisses down your cheek, down your neck once more.

There was no mistaking how greedy they were, his chin knocking yours and his teeth scraping against your skin as he held your jaw with a steady hand in hope of keeping you still beneath him. 

Legs moved from where they were open, softly brushing at his sides so your calves wrapped and touched the back of his thighs. The feel of his hairs against your smooth legs becoming a weirdly exhilarating reminder of your closeness once more. 

Head buried in your chest, you felt him locate the wet patch against the cotton from his previous play and quickly enclose his mouth once more. Warm hands pushed beneath your body and the mattress, sliding underneath and raising your chest further to his face. 

Your mouth fell open as you felt the pressure of his lips and tongue, enclosed around your nipple again, grow stronger. With a hand in his hair once more, you wondered if he was going to take you out of this shirt, or fuck you in it. 

As the pressure lessened, with your head pressed into the bed beneath you, you heard the rustling of his nose and face against the shirt. He rubbed his face against you, inhaling and moving his hands closer to your lower back. 

Hands in contact with your underwear, you felt him smooth over the fabric of your bum. He pulled at your thigh, before pushing at your knees with a gentle but assured touch. 

“If I remember correctly,” he started, voice muffled as his face was still pressed to your breast. “This leg needs to go here, like this. Mm?” 

Clammy hand splayed against your thigh, you felt him direct your other leg, “And this one needs to be a bit lower, otherwise you get cramp.” 

There was a pause, and you could feel the way his lips were twitching atop the cotton of the tee. Matching yours at the flippant comment that was only funny because it was true.

Humming again, he added, “Keep ‘em like this. Keep me here like this.” 

Doing what he asked, you bit back a moan when he moved to fit his palm over you through your underwear. The warmth from it radiating through you, making your throb and giving you the urge to fold your legs in on it.

Tentative strokes were what you received, at first. Up and down, coaxing you and drawing you into him. Then his fingers became more confident, certain in their touch, moving with a sense of familiarity you had been missing. 

“‘S this okay?”

His voice was soft, hard to hear over your breathing and the blood starting to rush around your ears. You found yourself nodding, however. Giving him the permission he desired, making his next movement the easiest. 

His fingers hooked, slipped underneath the thin piece of fabric and the quiet groan that left his lips only had you moving your legs that bit higher. 

“‘S it nice.”

Harry was enticing. From his oozing velvety voice to his careful, barely there touch. You were lost to him. Finding it hard to breath as your body begged for you to be actually - really - touched. 

With a heavy swallow, you felt your eyes fall shut with your slow, deep breath and let your head turn to the side, finding the edge of a propped up pillow to shield your torture expression. 

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice lazily made itself known, as he looked up from under his brow at you and caused your eyes to drop as you looked down your body. He descended lower and lower, hands pushing up at his tee against your stomach, to reveal your bare skin to him. 

Spongy kisses, encased by stubble, pressed into your skin. His fingers never once let up in their tease, touch opening you up for him. The soft twitch of your legs when his fingers landed on your clit, sliding over it. 

“Relax for me,” he hummed. “You good… s’it feel good?”

Confident nod, you swallowed again. Tongue pushing between your lips to lick away the dryness. 

“Okay wi’this?” 

Another nod.

The press of his fingers onto your clit caused you to breathe deeply. A hiss of ‘yes’ as you exhaled. 

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

And you knew what he meant. His desire to know if you still liked things the same as before important to him. 

You couldn’t help the low and long moan that left your throat. Neither could you stop the lift of your hips from the bed as you twisted your body as he stroked at your clit. 

Heavenly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ were pulled from you. Encased by ‘yeses’ of various pitches. Harry’s nose was buried into the skin of your ribs, having managed to push the tee you still wore to underneath your boobs and in the process expose more of your skin to him.

His mouth sucked against your skin on the inside of your left boob, just at the underside, and from the groan he omitted you knew you were going to be left with an almighty love bite. 

“Oh,” you sighed, as you felt his tongue lave at the mark, again nudging upwards and taking the shirt with him. Tongue over your exposed nipple, alert from the cold and due to your aroused state. 

Your lower half was warm, fire stoked while he stroked at your clit. A sharply exhaled ‘fuck’ from you had him smiling around your nipple. The last time you had found yourself getting this wet - soaked and slick, the kind that meant your walls were smooth and would pull him right in - had been with him. 

A laugh left you from underneath your breath, one not noticed by Harry who was too lost in the feel of you beneath him. The thought of anyone being able to get you this way from an act so virginal was unknown. Of course, he was the exception. Of course. 

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly. 

“Nice an’ wet.”

The slip of his fingers moving lower had you humming delightfully, legs falling open a bit more as his fingers danced at your entrance. The contrast of the heel of his palm to your clit was welcomed, warm but dry in comparison to heavily wet fingers. 

You could feel yourself pulsing as his palm gently rubbed you again, nervous energy had you teetering. Fingers at your center. You wanted them, you wanted him in anyway he would give you himself. 

Quiet, apart from staggered breathing, he smiled to himself when he felt your walls give way to him and his two fingers with ease. Your moan was voracious, a clear need apparent as the edges of it died against your dry throat. 

He knew it was his name. He had heard it like that before. Plenty of times. Said in the same tone too. Sprinkled with incoherent desire. 

“‘S that want you wanted?” He found himself asking. “Should’a just said.”

And you would’ve if you could. But instead your head was tossed back and your toes were curling into the sheets. 

These were the moments he has missed. When he really thought about your time apart. The moments where the two of you were so lost in each other that the nonsense that slipped from each of your lips was met with no judgement but rather embraced. 

Reacquainting after time apart. Rekindling your desires and unspoken love for one another. 

Eyes on your face, he couldn’t  quite see you how he would’ve liked but he did nothing to change it. His own want went out of the window in favour of you getting and keeping yours. 

The smell of you was everywhere as he dropped his eyes and pushed his face against your boobs once more. A man quite willing to suffocate in his need to want more. 

He could feel your falling apart under his experienced touch, relentless and unfleeting now. His fingers curled and with each ‘come hither’ your breathy moans only drove him on. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his arm burning at his wrist. Mutters of desperate mantras - ‘come on, come on’ - mouthed to your skin.

And you could - like this - you could. But did you want to?

While you were feverishly hot, everywhere, for him - body unable to stop rolling with each pull of his fingers - your head knocked back and softly shook from side to side. 

“No,” you moaned lightly, “Not yet… Harry.” 

“No?”

His questioning had you dropping your eyes, head still lolled to the side with pouted expression. 

Mind still slightly hazy, you stared at him. He was still in his underwear, very obviously hard. Head nudging slightly, you breathed, “Come here.”

Empty. That’s how you felt when he slowly moved his fingers and left you clenching around nothing but the cold air of his bedroom. 

His right hand was against your skin, middle and third finger slightly hovering away as they were coated in you and he selfishly didn’t want to lose that to your flesh but rather his tongue. 

Legs welcomed him, smoothing around the backs of his thighs once before lifting and using your  feet to try to push his underwear down. 

Harry let out a noise you hadn’t heard in a while, a mix between a grunt and chuckle. The kind that created an aggravated fire within you.

“‘S not gonna work,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of you against his clothes bulge. Your one thigh lifting to encourage him to roll onto his back.

And he did, taking him with you. A mess of awkward limbs tangling. With shaky knees you climbed over him, eyes down and taking in his underwear.

A pair of black briefs fit him just right, hugged him and holding his straining cock. 

Your eyes slowly rose up his body, his chest lifting and falling with heavy breathing as his chin softened while he looked down at you with his fingers just about leaving his mouth from where he’d cleaned your arousal off of them. 

You felt his eyes peering at you as you lowered down, nose first teasing against the waistband of his underwear before you found your lips pressed kisses to the tops of his thighs. Enjoying a little bit too much the feel of his leg hair against your nose and lips. 

Hand lifted, it blindly sought out the waistline of his pants and allowed fingers to slip inside to pull down the material. 

Just about past his thighs, you locked eyes with Harry. His soft blinking gaze and content smile had you grinning impishly, knowing in the faintly lit room he would most likely be able to make out the blush upon your skin. 

You’d saw but more arousingly heard his cock move as the briefs which encased it gave way and it fell back, heavy, against Harry’s lower abdomen. And that was where it lay, next to the hair in Harry’s stomach and down to his pubic region. 

Small crawl to get you better situated, you flipped some of your hair over to your opposite shoulder and felt him touch the back of your head with a barely there graze as you licked up the underside of his cock.

“Shit, darling,” he breathed, voice blissful above you but filled with a rawness only brought on by sexual vulnerability. 

Looking up his body, you could see the grin that had made its way to his lips. His teeth quick to bite it away, with little to no avail. 

You licked again, mouth moving lower to delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The groan that left him was husky, right from the back of his throat. The kind that gave you shivers from how unguarded it was. His legs widened against the bed, your eyes diverted to his thighs from his movement. How thick they looked as they flattened beneath you on his bed. 

Wrapping your hand around him, you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Up and down. Slowly taking in every movement and what it did to him. Just like you remembered.

“‘S this right?” You asked, hand and mouth working him and his balls over. Looking up once more you watched him hum, with the smallest of nods. His lips were rolled into his mouth, dimples prominent as they dipped into his cheeks.

His nostrils flared as he breathed and his hair had started to fall across his forehead from how he’d been dipping his head back into the pillows beneath him.

“Squeeze me ‘ere,” he reminded you, voice holding a slight tremble, his hand encasing yours and encouraging a tighter hold as he leisurely dragged both his and your hand up and down his cock. “Slowly- tha’s it.”

You pulsed between your thighs as you watched him moving your hand with his, each downward pull showing his glistening head more and more. Heavy swallow, you knew he was holding back and you would be lying if you said the visual wasn’t encouraging you to take him in your mouth properly.

Almost like second nature you did exactly that. Licking at your lips as you lifted up and wrapped your lips around his exposed tip. When his hand faltered from the pleased sound you voiced now you were on him, you were able to slip from under his grip and felt him continue to wank as you suckled so teasingly. 

With each bob of your head, you felt his hand pull away more, as your mouth and jaw stretched around his hard cock. 

“Yea’,” he groused, deeply when his hand fell to give way to your mouth and move to shift your curtaining hair. Harry rolled his hips up gently, eager to get the last bit of him down your throat. Old him would’ve voiced it too, but he felt this moment didn’t call for that.

He softly fucked your face, if there were such a thing. The nudges of his cock warming through your core as the throbbing sensation that had been lingering between your legs only grew.

Harry fought against himself to make you gag, teetering on it with each raise of his hips as his glassy eyes barely focused on you. Too engrossed in the filth he wished to voice. 

“God, look at you,” he dropped his head back. Ironic really. Unable to continue looking as he said it. It was tame in comparison to how he wanted to speak.

So, he laughed. Breathy at first, before becoming a little bit louder. You lips twitching into a smile as you lifted off of him and gently tugged before letting it fall and bounce proudly erect. Kissing up his stomach and placing your knees either side of his hips. 

He had almost forgotten you weren’t completely naked until you sat on top of him covered up. Eyes too taken by your face to care, as you blinked down at him with a doe-eyed expression that made him want to lap you up in any way he could have you.

His right hand pulled you down to him, lips greedy against yours as his left hand found the top of your bum cheek, trying to blindly find his cock and guide him into you regardless of knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Like this?” He asked as his lips hovered at the corner of yours, wanting to know if you wanted it this way. “How’d you wan’ it?”

“On top.”

“Me?”

Your voices were breathy as you spoke around the faintest of kisses. Both eager to start from the feel of you both so close to each other. 

The faintest of nods was given to him and it was all it took for him to roll the both of you, further continuing to ruckle up the bedsheet beneath you.

“Do I need one?”

And you knew you should be responsible and not shake your head no at his ambiguous mention of protection. All rushed and breathy, chest heavy as he exhaled in a nervous rush, but you just wanted him. Bare and in you. 

Underwear was quickly removed before you’re resumed your position. 

He watched you softly as you shook your head no, Harry pushing the shirt up under your boobs, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss at your jaw and cheeks. 

“Planning on staying over?” 

Feeling him shift up and jar his head back, just enough to get a good look at you, you stared at him not knowing how to respond. It was practically morning now, so hadn’t you already? 

His hands moved your legs as you thought, his one holding you where he needed you to be. 

“Don’t think ‘bout it for too long, darling,” he joked nudging his nose gently against you as he watched the way your lips went against you, smiling at his words. 

“Let me know how long we can go for,” he added, gently taking his cock that was sprung and bobbing between you into his hand. He looked down and tapped it to your wetness, sliding it down with a press of his fingers to the topside of his shiny cock to line himself up.

“Gonna let me have you all night.” 

Your breathing picked up, chest trembling slightly at how much more of a statement those words sounded than a question. An amorous glance looked back at him, slow blinking and head lolled gently to the side. 

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

A deep and shaky breath had your mouth falling, your eyes slowly shutting as you felt him push in. You were right when you thought about how easily you would take him earlier. Body crying out for a good fuck. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned deeply, head dropping forward and hair hanging down. You reached for him, wanting to see his face.

Harry obliged you, his face turning to find your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your skin. “Missed havin’ you like this,” he breathed. Quick bite down to his bottom lips, nostrils flared.

“‘S tight.”

He knew the remark was boyish. Unable to stop himself as he eased out and rolled his hips back into yours. Each push and pull giving you a little more of him. Deep frown etched between his eyebrows as his breath caught in his throat, mouth slightly fallen and lips starting to dry. 

“Haven’t-“ your voice croaked, head dipping into the pillow beneath you.

Haven’t slept with anyone in a while. Haven’t slept with anyone since you last slept with him. Haven’t had the desire to. 

He hummed in agreement as the two of you felt the words fall away from you both. Harry’s concentration firmly on each roll of his hips as he gave you more of him. The rhythm he set being one that you could only describe as intimate. Familiar. 

He was warm on top of you as he alternated between grinding dips of his hips, thrusts that were tantalisingly slow, making your hips roll up to meet him and causing him to smile at how you wanted it. 

He had to voice it. “You want it, don’t you?”

He only knew so easily because he did too. He had done the minute he fucked the whole thing up and let you slip away with his dwindling text messages in response and shorter phone calls every time you had a chance.

Your hand glided to the back of his head, the other down to his bum as you encouraged him to give you his entire weight. He was close but you want him closer. Close was never close enough. 

Was that enough to answer his question of wanting it, wanting him? 

Squeezing at his bum, you fought the urge you had to give him a slap, too caught up into the heavy groan that moulded into your face as he pressed his nose to your skin.

“You make me good,” he lowly gruffed against your cheek, his hand trailing down to take yours from his bum.

Fingers laced and pressed against the mattress upon which you lay, you tilted your head back and pressed it harder into the pillow beneath you. You keened and mewled beneath him, breathy noises of indecipherable words as the head of his cock bumps your spot inside. 

“You make me feel good.”

You were taken by his gasp, how desperate he sounded as he hiked your leg higher, wanting you to spread yourself open for him. His hips don’t give you much choice other than to play along as he moved with an assiduity you had never found with any other man. 

He allowed you to feel every inch of him going in, pulling out and going back in. Teasing himself and you with a slow and measured pace that had you passionately panting underneath him. 

“No one gets it like this.”

Looking at him with heavy-lidded vision, you wove your fingers through his hair and tugged. His face contorted blissfully, breath catching in his throat before it heaved out of his mouth as his chest forced him to exhale. 

You were nodding, agreeing with him. No one had you like this. Him like this. It like this. Sweltering and sticky. 

Teeth gritted, he grunted as he thrusts grew heavier now with more conviction behind their motion. 

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

His pelvis was heavy against yours now, making it difficult for you to lift and roll your hips to meet his thrusts. And he knew you loved it like this, he still knew that. 

Legs practically pushed to your chest, held there by your own fruition as they rocked and rubbed up against his fleshy sides cradling him to you, feet bobbing in the air with toes curled.

The sensual roll he was giving you caused the grip of your fingers to go slack against his head. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as your breath hitched in your throat and your hand squeezed at his. 

“Touch my arse,” he moaned, sliding his hand out of yours and breathing in quick succession until your hand met his bum cheek once more. 

This time you didn’t falter, gently tapping and feeling the tension to his thrusts as he clenched. Quick squeeze and nails digging in creating crescent moons against his white bits. “Yeah darlin’, know I like it like tha’.” 

Head turned to the side, you messily brought your mouths together. He chuckled as you broke away, probably from the words he’d just spoken. Laughter dying down into a hum as your feet wrapped around his lower back.

His lips were dry as they met yours, too caught up in how his mouth hung open, to make them wet and inviting, as his need to breathe was evident. 

“No ones like you,” you admitted. “No one comes close.”

He revelled in the whine of your last word, how it had your back arching and allowed him to wind his hand around you to lift your bum slightly to encourage your hips to continue meeting his.

He knew you were tired, the breathy whines that were spoken up towards the ceiling were not lost on him. And he knew he had to keep going, to give it to you how you deserved. To make up for the lost time, to say sorry for ‘being a bit of a dick’. A lot of a dick. 

When you knocked your head back, your eyes were unable to concentrate and he was mesmerised by the visual of complete, unadulterated lust that was present on your features. Hair sticking to your temples from your exertion and face void of any concern. 

“Make me come,” you whispered your plea, feeling him bury his face into your neck and drop himself down flush to you. With one hand woven through the hair on the back of his head, your other stayed at him bum feeling the grind of his groin against yours as he lay on you. 

He was sensual now, if not a little tired himself, as his breathing left his mouth in hot pants against the side of your neck. You could feel yourself beginning to flush from the heaviness of his body as you both rocked from the force of his motions and the fullness of him above you.

With rustling sheets and sounds of grunts, your cooed ‘oh’ left you, as you felt the motion of Harry’s hips pickup pace. Your fingers clawed into his hair, lifting the strands and softly pulling as your body ached in the most delectable way.

Harry groaned around a smile, muffled by your skin as he could feel his stomach start to tighten; his orgasm impending. He tried to hold off as much as he could, eager to watch you come undone first in the best way he could as he was rendered speechless and breathless alongside it.

Instead you were both a mess of tangled limbs, with rocking motions so vigorous that you felt yourself moving up the bed. A symphony of noises - slapping skin, feeble grunts and creaking bed.

Harry wheezed, knowing he sounded pathetic by too caught up to care. Through hooded eyes you caught sight of his mouth falling agape before he ground his teeth together as his thrusts heavily rolled into you, nudging your entire body.

Your mouth fell as his name unashamedly fell from your lips. Demandingly, but in a juxtaposed whisper, you told him to give it to you. 

“I am,” he whispered. “Oh, I am, darling- Mmhm.“

You whimpered, feeling each breath get harder to produce as your abdomen began to tighten and your chest heave. “I’m coming,” you hastily whispered. Voice nothing more than a pant. 

Looking up at Harry, you watched his bottom lip become captive to his teeth, as his nostrils flared while he breathed. His thrusts were at their heaviest now, wetter and sloppier but getting the job done.

“Gonna- oh.”

This was the loudest you’d been in a while. Moans long and dying off into wordless bliss as your muscles tensed and your orgasm rolled through you. Leaving you as nothing more than cloudy thoughts, and a warm, floaty body.

You felt the bounce of his laugh against his skin from his breath, as he continued to move above you and moulded you into nothing but a high-pitched mess as he wouldn’t stop.

Body falling slightly slack, relaxed and pliant to the bed, you felt Harry move his face into your neck and nudge his hips once more. His ruts were less rhythmic, rough grunts and indecipherable slurring only matching his pending euphoria. 

With his final, heavily thrust, his hips slammed to a stop against yours. Your breathing stuttered as you held him to you, hands moving over his shuddering shoulders and ears listening to his muffled groans which vibrated through you.

“Yea’,” he drawled. Low from the back of his throat. “Yes.”

***

Sunday mornings were made to be slow. To bask in the stillness. To hear nothing but the blood that was rushing through your ears.

It was far too bright to be considered early morning. Not with the winter months looming. 

You stretched your limbs, listening for the crack of your back as your hands reached for the t-shirt that was still awkwardly bunched up to your armpits. 

Rolling your body slightly you reached for the hem and pulled it down, letting your head fall to the side to see an empty bed which allowed a sense of regret to creep into your morning thoughts. Blinking slowly, you almost missed the sound of the bedroom door gently bouncing against the wall.

A hushed, “bollocks” spat out for the other side of the wood causing your lips to twitch upwards in a smile. 

A pause came to Harry’s movements as he caught your eye in nothing more than a pair of fresh underwear and mismatched mugs in each hand. 

“Stayed the night,” he hummed, eyes softly shining. A soft smile pulled onto your lips as he left a cup of tea closer to your side of the bed and you watched him start to blow gently at the lip of his own mug. With his mouth about to take a sip, he asked, “Fancy staying another?” 

[monstersandmaw]

Tell us more about your inquisitor!! I would love to hear about him(?) and Dorian

Ok, here's the second of the two asks I got about Ciúin thank you thank you thank you (His name is pronounced like 'queue-inn'). I've talked about him a fair bit before, but I'll do a new post now for the sheer, self-indulgent fun of it! Thank you.

He, like Lein, means a huge amount to me for all sorts of reasons not really related to the game itself, and he's one of the few characters of mine who really does live rent free in my head all the time. His story has had a few versions over the years, but here's my latest 'canon' version, as of 2021.

(I've also written for him before, and if you want a sfw angst-fluff-fest story with him and Dorian, you can read that here on my AO3) Also the immeasurably talented @hanatsuki89 drew him for me and you can find that here Alright, here he is. For tonight's other post with more photos, see this one.

And a close up (please ignore the horrible Skyhold pyjamas):

Ciúin is quiet, reserved, and a bit gruff, but he has an affectionate heart and will laugh freely around people he feels close to. Outside of the limitations of the game's hair options, he has very long, black hair that falls almost to his waist, and no side-shave.

He's actually a quarter Tevinter, with his grandfather being a low-ranking (now-disgraced) Tevinter magister, who fell in love with an elven slave and risked everything to free her instead of selling her when he fell on hard times in the Magisterium, and had to sell almost everything. She was taken in by Clan Lavellan, and her son was born a few months later. Ciúin tends to keep his heritage quiet on the whole, given the distrust in the South of Tevinter in general.

His half-elven father died when Ciúin was quite young, and he was sort of raised by everybody and nobody in the clan after that. He helped out where it was needed most, and slept alone near the halla most nights. He’s a spectacularly good rider and loved caring for the halla. His Red Hart mount with the Inquisition is called Conker.

He was an apprentice with the Clan's blacksmith (hence choosing June’s vallaslin, the Dalish god of craftsmen) before his magic developed quite late at the age of 14, at which point he reluctantly began to train with the Keeper in his spare time so that he didn’t lose control of his magic and hurt someone. He found he had to become her First when he was 19, since they had no other mage and he was pretty talented.

As is the case for many Dalish clans, his clan was attacked a fair bit by opportunistic humans, which made him wary of them, but they continued to trade and interact anyway. Unless his life depends on it, he rarely uses his magic (unlike Dorian, who will happily use it for everything), preferring to do things by hand. Vivienne finds this provincial and endearing, and Dorian is somewhat confused, but they can both see that Ciúin’s not going to change his ways…

He's panromantic and demisexual, and before he unwittingly falls for Dorian, he's only ever had one relationship.

More miscellaneous facts include:

His vallaslin (tattoos) go all the way down the centre of his chest, branching out towards his shoulders, and down over his hip bones as well. He also has a similar design to the one at the centre of his forehead going right up his spine, from the small of his back into his hairline. He will freely admit that the most painful bit to have done was his lip and throat.

Prefers savoury to sweet, and doesn't like fish

Hates ale and beer but enjoys liquors like brandy, elven fruit spirits, whisky, etc. He's a truly miserable drunk though, so it's best if he sticks to his limits.

Gets on really well with Bull and the Chargers, and ships Scout Harding and Professor Kenric really hard.

He's very, very unapologetically Elven about a lot of things, especially about his beliefs/religion, though respects people with different beliefs. For example, he admires that Dorian considers himself Andrastian while simultaneously loathing the hypocrisy of the Chantry and all it stands for.

Ciúin's 28 at the start of Inquisition

He's surprisingly nervous of mabari (who adore him, especially the one Cullen acquires in Trespasser), but he kind of wants to adopt one anyway

At Skyhold, he helps Blackwall with his carpentry projects - making June puzzles for the children of Skyhold - when he gets (or needs) a moment to himself. He can also be found in the forge quite a bit, making new weapons and armour for his friends in the Inquisition.

Can't cook. Don't ask him to. You'll get charred sludge.

Any more questions, please feel free to ask. I will literally talk about him (and Lein) until I keel over.

I'm also probably going to do some writing based on my gameplay, so if that's of interest (it'll be a 'Lavellan x Dorian' story with lots of plot and ambient description because it's me), please also feel free to let me know. If not, thank you for tolerating this long post about my Dalish elf.

^him scowl.

Also boop the halla snoot for good luck if you made it to the end of this post :)

[mopeytropey]

a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut: 

:::

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.  

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

[tinycaprisun]

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

So FlyingPurplePenguin over on AO3 wanted to see the RedFinch proposal from this fic and I was only too happy to write it!! Alcohol and cussing are both mentioned!

December 18, 2019

The door slammed behind him as he struggled with the many grocery bags. The familiar thumping of Rex’s tail greeted him as he walked over to the kitchen table. After putting the bags on the round table, he walked back to the door to kick off his shoes and dropped his wallet and keys in the basket on the entryway table. Walking into the office, he unlatched the kennel door, leering a very excited black Labrador out of his cage. He laughed as Rex jumped and yipped excitedly.

“Come on boy, let’s go outside.” Opening the slider, he watched Rex bound outside, sniffing the ground looking for the perfect spot.

He quickly put the cold stuff in the fridge before going back to the sliding glass door. Standing in the doorway, Albert ran a hand through his hair, groaning as he reflected on the day. Of course, Race would find himself in the emergency room that morning and tailspin the day.

Slapping his thigh, he whistled for Rex, watching him run in the door.

Looking at the clock, he saw that it was 3:00 and he had plenty of time before Finch arrived home at 6. He shot him a text saying he had dinner covered and he’d see him when he got home.

Making his way into the bedroom, he heard Rex’s collar jingle as he followed. Laying on his bed, Rex gave him a look as Albert headed for the shower. He took a quick shower, letting his mind wander on the momentum weight of the night ahead.

He and Finch had been together for the last 3 years, meeting after a freak accident that included coffee, Race, and blood. As Albert was stitching up Finch, Finch asked him for his number and the rest, as they say, was history.

Throwing on a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants, he headed back to the kitchen to sort through the bags. He had planned on flank steak, potatoes, and green beans for dinner that night, along with a pie and ice cream for dessert. A six pack of Finch’s favorite beer was already becoming cold in the fridge.

Throwing together a marinade of olive oil, soy sauce, vinegar, lemon, and a bunch of spices, he threw the flank steak in the bag before putting it back into the fridge. He started cutting up potatoes and threw them in a pot of water so they were ready to start boiling in an hour. Once they were set, he snapped the green beans. Hearing the jingle of a collar, he looked up and saw Rex padding towards him hoping for some of the scraps. Throwing a green bean in his direction, Albert laughed when Rex jumped to snatch it out of the air.

Hearing his phone ring, he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“So you’re cooking dinner, huh?” Came Finch’s cheerful voice. “Did I miss something?”

Albert laughed. “No. Just felt like cooking. You’ll be home at 6, right?”

“More like 5:30. We're just wrapping things up and I’ve got a few emails to answer but I’ll be home around 5:30. Whatcha making?”

Albert nodded, realizing he couldn’t see him. “It’s a surprise but one of your favorites.”

“Do you need me to pick anything up? Jack mentioned it was a rough day for you.” He picked up the concern in his voice.

Sighing, Al finished snapping the beans, leaving them in the colander to drip dry. “No, I think I have everything. Race is an idiot and landed himself in the Emergency Room. He’s fine but it was a heart in your throat moment.”

“And how are you?”

Leaning against the counter, Albert leaned down and gave Rex a few pats. “I’m alright. Rex is keeping an eye on me.”

“Good. I love you. I'm excited to see what you’re cooking.” Finch laughed. “I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t burn down the house.”

“Shut up - that was one time and I’ve redeemed myself several times. Love you too, Finch. See you when you get here.” Hanging up the phone, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Finch had always had that effect on him and honestly, he hoped it never went away.

Finishing up in the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water before going to sit on the couch. Rex jumped up and sat on him, panting happily. “What do you think Rex? Hmmmm … will dad be surprised?”

Leaning over, Rex licked his cheek before laying down. “I hope so bud. I hope he likes everything.”

5:30pm

The door shut as Rex started barking and made a run for the back door. Finch laughed, landing on his knees to greet the 65 pound dog. Albert shook his head at the two, draining the potatoes. Putting them on the counter, he felt Finch behind him. “Hello love.”

“Hi yourself. It smells good in here.” Finch kissed him before looking at him. “Is this the dress code?”

Albert looked at his sweats and shirt before groaning. “I meant to change before you got home …”

“Don’t. Sweats, tshirt, and steak sounds like a perfect evening.” Finch grinned, giving him another kiss.

Albert handed him an open beer. “Go get changed and unwind for a bit. Dinner will be ready in 15.”

Watching him walk out of the kitchen, Albert shook his head before grabbing the steak out of the fridge. The green beans were almost done and the potatoes needed to be mashed. Taking a deep breath, he took a sip of his beer before finishing the task at hand.

“What can I do?” Finch asked, hovering near the stove, looking at the variety of pots and pans around the kitchen.

Biting his lip, Albert motioned to the potatoes. “Wanna mash them?”

The two were quiet as they worked on their tasks. Albert seared the flank steak, letting a spicy aroma fill the kitchen, making Finch’s stomach growl. “That smells really good.”

“Good. That’s what I was aiming for.” Albert said as he flipped the steak.

He grabbed two plates, silverware and napkins before putting them on the counter. Draining the green beans, he added those to the plates as Finch dished up mashed potatoes.

Letting the steak rest for a few minutes, he pulled Finch into his arms. “I love you.”

“Love you too Al. You sure you’re alright after today? Jack seemed pretty shaken up.” Finch searched his face for any sign of concern.

Sighing, he let his head hit Finch’s shoulder. “I won’t lie, it was scary but I’m just glad he’s alright. Kat released him just before I clocked out. They’re were going home and having a low-key night.”

“I’m sorry that it was scary and it happened on your shift but at least it’s nothing serious.” Finch said, giving him a look. “Hey, he had a great nurse looking out for him.”

Giving him a smile, Albert stepped out of his embrace before cutting up the steak, putting some on each of their plates before walking over to the table

“Let’s eat.”

They held hands as they are, Finch entertaining him with stories from his job as a project manager at a major construction company. “You can cook the steak anytime you want. This is amazing.”

“A little of this and a little of that.” Al shrugged, grinning. “I just googled a recipe.”

Albert tried to stop his fidgeting but Finch picked up on it. “Alright, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” Albert grabbed their plates, dumping them in the sink.

Pushing away from the table, Finch gave him a look, walking over to the sink. “You’re fidgety, so you’re either nervous about something or you have to tell me something. So which is it?”

“All will be revealed shortly. But you might want to go get some shoes and a hoodie or a coat on. We’re going outside.” Albert grinned, leaning over and kissing him. “The quicker you go get some warmer things on, the sooner you’ll know.”

Finch shook his head but did what Albert asked, walking towards the bedroom. He grabbed his coat and shoes before flipping the light on the patio. Rex sat at his feet. “Come on boy.”

Walking out onto the patio, he looked around the backyard they had spent so much time on. A big flower bed was on the right while a vegetable bed was to the left. They had spent the spring and summer prepping both beds and they had gotten quite a bit out of both.

He looked up at the old style lights he strung up. It had been a project on the to-do list for a while and he had strung them that afternoon.

“What are we doing -” Finch stopped short when he saw the lights and Albert on bended knee, a black box in his hand.

“Patrick Finch Cortes, I have loved you for the last three years and I will love you for the rest of my days. You are my morning light and the evening stars. Over the last three years, you’ve always been the first person I want to tell anything to and the last thing I see when my head hits the pillow. Will you do me the absolute honor and marry me?” Albert had tears in his eyes and couldn’t really see Finch’s reaction until he was tugged to his feet.

Swiping at his eyes, he saw Finch had tears in his eyes as well. “Well, what do you say? A big fancy party with all of our friends and family and at the end of it, I can call you my husband?”

“Yes, Albert, I will marry you.” Finch laughed, pulling him to his chest before kissing him. “I love you, you idiot.”

Albert laughed, standing on his tiptoes kissing him. “Me? An idiot, in what way?”

“Because I had this.” Finch held up an identical black box like the one that was in Albert’s hand. “I was going to ask you this weekend, but of course you beat me to the punch.”

Cracking open his box, Albert took out the silver ring, holding up for Finch. “Can I put this on you?”

Finch nodded, taking a shaky breath as Albert pushed the ring onto his left ring finger. “I love you Finch Cortes. Yesterday, today and even more tomorrow.”

Taking out his own ring, Finch slipped it on Albert’s hand. “I love you too Albert. Yesterday, today and even more tomorrow. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

“I don’t think that’s possible because I’m over the moon happy right now and I don’t think anything can bring me down.” Albert threw his arms around Finch’s shoulders, standing on his tiptoes for a kiss. “Who all knew you were going to propose?”

Finch grinned. “Jack and Race. Why?”

“Because Spot and Kat knew I was going to propose.” Albert laughed. “It’s hilarious that the four of them knew but didn’t tell their significant other. Shall we tell them?”

“Can we go inside first? It’s fucking cold out here.” Finch gave him a look, slapping his thigh for Rex’s attention.

Walking inside, Rex took his spot in front of their Christmas tree with Albert and Finch soon joining him. They took a selfie with their rings on full display before sending it off to the group with a simple message “he said yes!”

“How about we curl up and watch a movie?” Finch asked, pulling Albert up from the floor.

He groaned, looking at his fiancé. “I hate to be that person but I’m about to collapse. I held in all of my energy for asking you but I feel like I’m going to pass out. Can we take this to our bed?”

Picking him up bridal style, Finch walked them to the bedroom before throwing Al on the bed and collapsing beside him, giving him a kiss. “I love you a whole lot, Albert DaSilva.”

“Not as much as I love you, Finch Cortes.”

This was really fun to write as I haven’t explore RedFinch much! Let me know what you think!

[rhinozilla]

“Home”

(DBH Found Family June 2020 challenge hosted by @dbh-found-family Week 1, Prompt 2: Home.)

For years, the house where Hank lived was just that and only that: where he lived. Maybe that was even stretching it. It was where he’d dragged his sorry ass after losing his son, after divorcing his wife, and losing his will to do anything more than the bare minimum to stay alive. That hadn’t exactly been ‘living.’ Yeah, Sumo kept him company, but he was a low maintenance dog who preferred to loaf around anyway.

It was four walls and a roof and a place for him to drink and pass out every night…It had never felt like a home. Hank knew he was shit with words; if pressed, he wasn’t sure how he’d define what a ‘home’ was supposed to be. He just knew how it was supposed to feel. It was…a kid running barefoot down the hall, cackling his head off and being chased by a parent. It was the smell of a meal shared among loved ones. It was where you knew how all the shower knobs worked and knew where the toolbox was. It was all the creaks and groans and pops that a house structure made, and how you knew all the normal sounds from the ones that you should maybe get up and check on.

Maybe Hank had never given this place a proper chance. It sure looked a Hell of a lot different now.

No more takeout boxes and beer bottles piling up everywhere. No more stale food in the fridge and dust on every surface. No more overgrown yard and garage so full of useless junky shit that he couldn’t even park his car in it.

Tonight, it was the spicy smell of chicken fajitas filling the whole house. It was the sound of the basketball game on the television. It was the Connor-shaped dent in the couch from where he had slept on it since the android revolution, ruining the shape of the cushions but Hell, the couch was permanently Connor’s at this point as far as Hank was concerned. It was where he belonged…Well, not the couch…Hell, the house only had one bedroom, but a man deserved a bed to sleep in…Connor never complained though…Maybe there was a way to convert the garage into a bedroom…extend the house a little…insulate it and—fuck, that would be a whole ass project, but…Connor deserved his own space. He was a person, and this was…

This was his home.

Hank paused, sitting on the less-lumpy end of the couch, can of ginger ale held against his lips with that sudden realization. He lowered the can and looked to the other end of the couch. Connor was sitting forward on the edge of the cushion, grappling with Sumo to try and get the rope toy out of the big oaf’s mouth. Sumo had his head down and his rear end up in the air, tail swishing.

“Drop it,” Connor ordered. “Sumo. Drop it.”

Sumo recognized no such order, and he proceeded to very much not drop it. Instead, he just yanked harder back against Connor’s grip on the toy, snorting and drooling all over Connor’s hand. Connor used both hands then and wiggled side to side to try and pry the toy loose. Sumo’s head just bobbed side to side with the momentum, his jaw staying locked around the toy.

Sumo abruptly yanked back again, and Connor nearly popped out of his seat, involuntarily letting go of the rope. Sumo bounced back up onto his feet, then held his head high and trotted over to his bed. He flopped down onto the dog bed and continued to chew on the toy. Connor sighed in defeat and remained where he was, forearms on his knees as he stared at Sumo.

“Fine. Keep it,” he said. “I let you win anyway.”

Hank chuckled, and Connor glanced sideways at him with a smirk.

“You sure told him,” Hank remarked.

Connor snorted and then made a face at the slobbery, hairy mess all over his hands. He looked so disgusted that Hank had to laugh at him.

“Pretty sure you licked the bottom of a shoe today, kid, but THIS is what grosses you out?”

“I did not ‘lick the bottom of a shoe.’ I analyzed a dirt sample left in the treads of the shoe worn by the victim when—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you licked the bottom of a shoe,” Hank said, waving him off. “It was fucking disgusting. Congratulations.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t look to be in the mood to continue that same old argument again tonight. Instead, he simply got up and went to the bathroom to clean his hands. When he came back, the game was well into its third quarter, but despite the close score, Hank had a pretty good idea how this one was gonna turn out.

Connor returned to his seat, subtly trying to entice Sumo into coming back over to him to keep playing. Sumo was content to chew on his toy by himself however, and Connor gave up with a pout.

That big, dumb ball of warm affection was back, lodged deep in Hank’s ribcage. It flared up whenever Connor did something like this: just sitting there being himself, away from work and the pressure of maintaining a professional face. It was happening more and more, and it was fascinating getting to see the kid show more of his personality…and who he trusted around him to see him this way.

Maybe that’s what home was. Where you could be weird and free of judgment for it.

Hank couldn’t hold back a smile, thanks to that big, dumb ball of warm affection, and he reached out an arm, dropping his hand lightly against the middle of Connor’s back in a solid pat. Connor looked at him again curiously, and Hank took his hand back, settling into the couch for the rest of the basketball game.

“What?” Connor asked with a small grin.

“Nothing.” Hank shrugged. “You’re just a weirdo is all.”

“Oh, now that is the pot calling the kettle black,” Connor retorted, eyebrows going high.

Hank barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Just because I can analyze forensic evidence in real time—“

“I said that’s fair!”

“Have you seen your choices in fashion? Because I have, and it makes my optical units want to bleed—“

“Jesus Christ—“ Hank burst out laughing, raising his hands in surrender. “Pipe down with the sass program. I never said being a weirdo was a bad thing! The alternative is being a normal fucking plain bagel.” He pointed at Connor. “Never be a plain bagel.”

“I don’t…know how to interpret that.”

“Forget I said anything,” Hank said with a snort. “You’re fine, kiddo. Perfectly fine.”

He reached out and ruffled Connor’s hair. Connor simultaneously leaned into the contact, like the big Labrador that he secretly was, and leaned away, like the indignant, stubborn jackass that he sometimes was.

“Yeah, well…so are you.” Connor’s retort had the same kind of mixed tone, sputtered out with a snarky grin.

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Hank said with a nod.

And just like that, they both went back to watching the game. Sumo continued to gnaw all over his chew toy. The basketball game continued to play out on the television.

Just another normal night continued to gently pass in the Anderson home.

[alsetat22]

Watch: British swimmer breaks world record for longest staged sea swim

Contract brewing isn’t a new practice. Breweries like Mikkeller, Stillwater, Evil Twin, and To Øl have built successful brands by brewing their recipes at other, more established production breweries. At one point, Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project, founded by Dan and Martha Paquette, was the golden standard of the ideal nomadic brewery. The Paquettes created delicate, complex beer with a twist…

[thehastfiles]

Where are they now?

[alcalavicci]

Finally typed up that one gen fic I mentioned before and do like since it’s so damn funny and I’m saving it here for posterity:

(Disclaimer- if this is yours and you don’t want it online, send me an ask and I’ll take it down)

My Brother, the Beauty Queen (by Kim Smith and Judi Toth)

“Tell me another story.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Katie, c’mon. I’ve already told you about Jimmy, Chad, Cam and Phillip. Isn’t that enough for one night?”

His sister grinned impishly. She may have been forty-one, but right now she looked about five. “Please?”

“A word of advice, Sam.” The words were muffled, with good reason. Katie’s husband Jim lay face down on the couch across the living room. His wife was sitting on him, administering a backrub. “Don’t argue, just tell her. Maybe then she’ll let us go to bed.”

“Katie.” The voice floated past Sam from the direction of the kitchen. “From what I understand, Sam ‘leaped’ nearly a hundred times. I don’t think we’re gonna run out of stories anytime soon.” Tom appeared in the doorway separating the two rooms, holding an open bottle of beer and yawning.

“Only one hundred? We’ll run out of them too soon! And I haven’t heard enough tonight. Come on, Sammy, just one more. Please?”

“You shouldn’t have given her my bedroom when I went in ‘Nam, Sam. It spoiled her.”

Jim raised his head from the pillow cradled in his arms. “You mean it wasn’t inborn? Ouch! Katie, stop! I’m sorry already! Jeez, I think you broke a rib.”

“It’s a good thing your brother-in-law is a doctor, then. He’ll fix you up after,” she emphasized, glaring at Sam, “he tells me a story.”

Seeing no way out, Sam sighed heavily. Okay. “Let��s see...”

“I have one.”

Everyone turned towards the voice coming from the patio door. They had almost forgotten Al was there, he’d been so quiet during the siblings’ conversation. Katie twisted around to look at him, eliciting a groan from her living seat. “Is it good?”

Al carefully studied the tip of his glowing cigar. “Well… I recall a time in 1958. June, I believe it was. In Georgia...”

There was no way anyone could’ve missed the effect Al’s words had on Sam. His eyes went very wide, and he began to fidget in his chair. “Um, hey, Katie. Did I tell you we found the tomb of Ptah-Hotep? I almost got killed on that leap.”

His sister looked at him for a moment, then deliberately turned back to Al. “Georgia, huh?”

“Uh huh. We were at this hotel...” Al paused to take a long drag on his cigar. “At a convention, of sorts.”

“Yes?” Katie prompted.

“Or how about the time I was a trapeze artist. You remember, Tom… remember how I’m scared of heights? Got over it then, let me tell you.” Sam paused to see if they were merciful. “Please let me tell you!”

Slow grins appeared on both of the other Becketts’ faces. “Go on, Al,” Tom said.

“Sam took the place of someone participating in...” He looked over at Sam, eyes narrowing. The younger man’s fidgeting grew more pronounced. “...A contest.”

“I was an actor,” Sam said desperately. “I played Hamlet. On a stage. In front of people. Nude.”

Katie raised an eyebrow, then held up a finger at him. “Hold that thought, bro’. Al?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed in a way that scared Sam. “Actually, it was more of a pageant.”

“You know, I just remembered. I promised Donna a backrub before she went to sleep. I’ll just go upstairs...”

A heavy hand pressed him back into the chair. Sam looked up into Tom’s grinning face. “Why, it would be rude to leave now, little brother. After all, the admiral listened to all of your stories. It’s only polite that you should sit here and listen to his.”

Sam covered his eyes. “Oh boy.”

Al walked into the living room. The man who, as a hologram never passed up the chance to take a bow he hadn’t earned, knew this stage was his. “To be precise, it was the ‘Deep South’ beauty pageant...”

“Time out,” Tom interrupted. “A pageant for men? In the fifties?”

Katie shook her head. “Tom, I think you’re missing a point here...”

Tom’s eyes widened. “You mean… Sam was a...”

“A woman,” Al nodded, matter-of-fact. “More than once, actually. But those are other stories.”

“And ones we’ll hear.” Tom leaned down, closer to Sam, and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure.”

Something that might have been a groan escaped from the lump that was once a proud Nobel Prize winner.

“This young lady, Darlene Monte, was quite a looker. Deserved to be in a beauty pageant. She also had the brains to go along with the looks. She went on to college with the money she won in the contest and become one of the first heart surgeons in the country.” Al paused for effect. “Beautiful. Graceful. And with a good chance of placing in the pageant… that is, until your brother leapt in.”

Katie wiggled in anticipation. “I’m likin’ this already.”

“He did bad enough in the swimsuit competition… but then there was the talent competition.”

Sam’s head popped up. “Wait a second! I did really well in the talent competition. In fact, I won because of the talent competition.”

“You won?” Tom asked disbelievingly. He shook his head in mock horror. “My brother, the beauty queen.”

Jim sat up, dislodging his wife. “Adding yet another title to your resume, Sam?”

“Et tu, Jim?” came the feeble response from the family genius.

“Getting back to this talent contest thing,” Katie said, rearranging herself on the couch. “What did he do?”

“I sang ‘Great Balls of Fire.’ The crowd loved it,” Sam said defensively.

All eyes turned to Al, who shrugged his shoulders. “He’s right. The crowd ate it up.”

Sam nodded his satisfaction at Al’s concession.

“’Course, that was the pageant. At the recital, he sang ‘Cuanto Le Gusta’… and he didn’t do as well.”

“So? I had never heard the song before. So what? I dropped it; I sang ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ and I won.” Sam ended with a firm nod of his head.

There was a pause. Everyone shifted expectantly, waiting for the punchline from Al. When none was forthcoming, Katie gave him a searching look. “This is a good story?”

The older man shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I guess it was his costume. You see, it was this red and gold flowered thing.” His hands began to wave over his body vaguely. “With this big hat thingy…” His arms moved in expanding circles in the air. “And it kept tipping...” Al comically leaned to his left then swayed to his right, still drawing circles in the air.

The only person left smiling in the room was Sam, obviously relieved to be spared an embarrassing moment. “I guess it’s about time that we started to turn in. I’ll tell you another story tomorrow, Katie.” The quantum physicist began to stretch in his chair.

“It’s really hard to describe...” Al began.

“That much is obvious,” Jim interjected.

“…so I guess I’ll have to show you.”

Sam stiffened. Somewhere behind him, he heard a trap door slam shut. “What?”

Al pulled a handlink out of his pocket and activated it.

“What do you mean, ‘show’?”

Ignoring him, Al spoke to the link. “Ziggy, access one of Dr. Beckett’s leaps. Monte, Darlene. 1958.” He turned to Katie and said confidentially, “He doesn’t know about the film.”

Sam stared at Al in shock. “What do you mean, ‘film’? The rehearsal wasn’t...”

Al just looked at him.

“Oh no. No!”

“Yes! Oh yes!” Katie crowed, clapping her hands. “This is definitely something I want to see.”

Tom plopped down next to her. “This will be an experience.”

Al began turning the television to face the trio on the couch more fully. “The film is a little grainy. But I think the quality is pretty good for something fifty years old. Anyway, you’ll get the picture. Pun intended.”

Sam shook his head. “He doesn’t really have any film. He’s just playing with me. This is a big joke. Really.”

In unison, everyone turned to Sam and smiled, then looked back to the TV. The black and white picture on the screen showed a medium-sized stage with a line of white curtains draped across the back. A young woman, dressed in a Carmen Miranda outfit, slowly appeared from behind the curtains, reluctance written all over her face. The slit in the front of her skirt opened almost all the way every time she took a step. Ineffectually tugging at it, she continued on stage, anxiously looked to her right and mumbled at thin air.

“So where’s Sam?” asked Tom.

Al smiled at the screen and answered, “That’s him, on stage now. I was standing right next to him, trying to get him to act more like he knew what he was doing. But of course, he couldn’t just trust me.”

The TV speakers began to play the Latin music and the young contestant nervously stepped forward and started to sing. One beat off.

“Cuanto le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta.”

The dance that accompanied the song could, at best, be called unrehearsed. The performer swayed drunkenly on her heels, obviously not knowing whether to go right or left. Her top heavy hat teetered in the opposite direction of her hips, as if the fruit on top wanted to jump down and take over the dance. The presentation was not helped by the lady in question continually glancing right, as if searching for clues.

“What’ll we see there? Who will be there?” “Darlene” continued plodding through the song, seemingly unaware that she was just slightly off pitch. “What’ll be the big surprise?”

Jim and Tom laughed as she began to turn in circles like a puppy chasing after its tail.

“Oh, the poor girl!” Katie exclaimed.

“But it’s not a girl!” Tom worked out between guffaws. “It’s Sam, looking mighty fine. Say, nice legs, little brother!”

Sam was unable to take his eyes off the TV; it was simply too horribly fascinating. He remembered all too clearly the frustration and humiliation he had felt every time he leaped into a woman. He hadn’t realized he had projected his misery so obviously, though. No wonder his leaps as women had always been the hardest.

“Here’s where Sam really lost it. The song could’a been his, but he blew it.” Al’s gravelly voice projected amusement as the girl on the stage began a new line, by only singing the back-up singer’s lines.

“...We’re on our way… Pack up your bag… And if we stay… We won’t come back.”

Roars of laughter came from the sofa. It’s not often that an audience is witness to an act with one back-up singer and dancer, but no lead. Even Sam had to smile in concession at the absurd picture he had presented.

The television now showed the hapless beauty pageant positioning herself for the next round. “Thank you. That’ll be all for now,” came from off camera. Surprised, “Darlene” looked down. Realizing that meant she was free to go, she gratefully gathered her skirt in front of herself with one hand and her fruit-top in the other and beat as hasty a retreat as possible.

Tom looked over at Sam, who was trying to make himself look unconcerned. Still chuckling, the eldest Beckett shook his head at Sam. “You know, when your friends at Indiana State got you drunk and convinced you to go streaking, I thought we had just reached the pinnacle of your ‘wild ways.’ I mean, after all, you got drunk underage, exposed yourself and got expelled, all in one shot. But I never knew, little brother, that you liked to go stage-hopping in drag.”

“Before marrying Katie, I was told that the Beckett clan had some… eccentric members.” Jim grinned at Sam. “But I do wish I’d been warned about the cross-dressing. Is that something we’ll have to worry about in our kids?”

Katie stood and walked over to her brother. “Don’t be so hard on him, guys. After all, he did a wonderful thing. He helped that young woman become a doctor. And it is quite an accomplishment to win a beauty pageant.” She leaned down to look Sam straight in the eyes. “I do have one question, though.”

Warily, Sam gave her a short nod.

“How did you get your legs so smooth? Did you use a waxing system, or was it just shaving?” she asked earnestly.

The laughter began all over again, this time even louder.

Over Katie’s head, Sam met Al’s dark eyes. “A hologram,” he said loudly. “can’t be touched. Trying to reach for it, your hand passes right through. But you aren’t a hologram any more, Al.” The quantum physicist stood and began a menacing walk towards the admiral.

Katie interposed herself between the two men. “Now, Sam, we’re just having a little fun. You can’t blame Al for getting into the spirit of things. Sam?”

“Al, if you want me to, I’ll stop him.” Tom stood to his full six foot three inches. “I can still take on my little brother.”

Al stood his ground, waving away the offered help. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Sam stopped his advance just a few inches from the admiral. Frowning, he glared down at his friend. “Why aren’t you at least backing off? You backed off when I tried to throw a pie in your face when you were a hologram. What gives?”

Rocking on his heels, a smug grin on his face, Al said, “January 24, 1961. Andrews Air Force Base. Bobo.”

“Time for bed,” came the instant response from Sam. “Good night.”

Everyone stared in shock as the former time traveler practically flew out of the room. As the last of the thumping, taking steps two at a time, faded, three pairs of eyes looked back at Al.

“Al, tell me another story.”