#and they were drinking water out of champagne flutes when there were plenty of cups available and we don’t have a lot of flutes anyways

[vogelmeister]

i love how direct i get on the second shift of a double

[bucksfucks]

           amorosa // steve rogers

         chapter two: seal the deal

    chapter one // chapter two // chapter three

                    chapter four // chapter five

              ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

                             main masterlist

summary || after setting up a date with steve you fight back the urge to bail on account of your nerves. an agreement is reached and despite all odds, steve makes you feel relaxed and calm before you’re welcoming him back to your apartment after the night is almost over.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve x reader

word count || 3,111 words

warnings || financial struggles, sugar daddy dynamics, undefined age gap, unprotected sex, fingering, oral, heavy daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, dirty talk — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

     You didn't know what to expect. You had never done something like this before. 

     As you rummaged through your closet, groaning at the struggle of finding something decent for tonight. You didn't own anything that would match what Steve was wearing, you barely had time to go out as it is.

    Not to mention your financial situation didn't exactly let you splurge on the finer things in life, your phone screen had been cracked for over half a year. You'd been meaning to get it fixed, but you could never justify dropping more than a hundred dollars on something that still technically worked. 

    Your mind flashed back to when Steve dropped the hundred on the bar like it was nothing. Suddenly you felt self-conscious, knowing you weren't nearly good enough to be going out with a man like Steve Rogers, Vice President of Stark Industries. 

    Professional or not, people would be talking and giving you odd glances. 

    You settled on a comfortable, sleek pair of straight cut pants and a simple blouse. Steve had decided on a steakhouse, a steakhouse of all places for a single drink as he put it last night. Another groan as you slipped on the uncomfortable and only pair of heels you owned. 

    A simple black open-toed shoe matched your outfit enough before you grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. 

    The Uber would be here soon enough and while spending thirty dollars on a car ride to a place you'd have to try not to stick out like a sore thumb, the subway in heels just wasn't an option. 

    The entire ride there your leg couldn't stop bouncing, no matter how much you willed yourself to calm down, nothing seemed to help as you left the modest looking part of the city only to enter into an entirely different world. 

    Luxury brand stores lined the streets, expensive cars parked at their side as your stomach flipped at some of the sights. 

    You didn't fit in here, you were sure your driver was just as confused as you as they kept driving deeper into the city. 

    "Have a good night," he bid you as you thanked him, shutting the car door and letting the late summer breeze billow around you as you looked up at the restaurant in front of you. 

    Bluefin read in a fluorescent blue light as you shook your head, laughing at the ridiculous situation you were in. You pulled at the door, it was heavy and tall before a hostess prompted you. 

    "Do you have a reservation with us, miss?" She asked, eying you up and down as if she knew that you were a fraud, like you didn't belong; and she wasn't wrong. 

    "I uh, have one with Mr. Rogers." You stumbled over your words trying to sound as confident as possible. She nodded her head politely, asking you to follow her before she swiftly turned to lead you through the maze of tables. 

    You took in your surroundings, the dozens of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to the gold plated booths and shimmering table legs. It was safe to say that this place was way out of your comfort zone. 

    "Mr. Rogers, your guest for the evening," she spoke sweetly, throwing you a small smile as Steve got up to greet you. He placed a kiss on each of your cheeks, the action causing your body to flush as his beard grazed your skin. 

    He smelled exactly like he did last night, though this time it wasn't as subtle. He smelled fresh and clean and you could get lost in those same dashing blue eyes again.

    "I'm glad to see you again." Steve smiles, helping you into the booth before sliding in beside you. It was a very intimate space, his shoulder pressed against your as you placed your purse beside you. 

    Two menus were already placed in front of you, two glasses of water alongside a pitcher in the middle as you fiddled with your thumbs in your lap. Could he tell how nervous you were? 

    "It's nice to see you too," you managed to finally spit out as Steve smiled sweetly, he turned his body slightly so he was facing you, "this place has great seafood, I really recommend the crab cakes." 

    Your eyes lit up at the word food, you had been so nervous that it had barely crossed your mind. A waiter soon approached the table, "can I get you guys anything to drink?" 

    You felt like it should be you serving Steve, instead you just shook your head, "I'm okay with just water." You answered truthfully before Steve smirked. 

    "We'll take a bottle of champagne for the table, preferably rosé from 2012." It sounded like he was speaking an entirely different language. To you, wine was wine, if it got you drunk, it was good. 

    The waiter nodded his head, turning around to leave you both alone. You took a sip of your water when you noticed just how dry your throat was. Steve opened his menu and you followed suit before your eyes ran down the various dishes. 

     Everything sounded good and you heard your stomach grumble at the thought of the crab cakes and maybe even the butternut squash ravioli. Then your eyes ran to the prices, your heart palpated at the thought of them. 

    "Dinner's on me tonight, get whatever you'd like." It's like Steve had heard your internal monologue and decided to put an end to it. You were thankful for that, a wave of relief washing over you as his soft features made you feel safe. 

    "Thank you, really. I don't think I've ever eaten anywhere nearly this fancy," you joked, hoping the humour would absolve you of your awkwardness. Steve chuckled, low and deep as the waiter came with the champagne. 

    It was popped then poured into the flutes and placed in ice before Steve picked his up. 

    "To new beginnings," he spoke. You picked up yours, "to new beginnings," you repeated his words, gently clinking the two glasses together before taking a sip. 

    You had never been a fan of champagne, but this one wasn't too dry nor was it too sweet. It was light and fruity and soon enough you knew it would be enough to quell the nerves. 

    When the food arrived at the table, the conversation seemed to flow much more naturally. Steve didn't say much, asking a question and letting you answer as he got to know you. You found yourself sneaking subtle glances in his direction, admiring his side profile or just how close he was to you. 

    As the bottle of champagne was nearly empty, you felt much lighter as giggles fell past your lips. You had leaned into Steve a little more as the night progressed, his large hand falling to your thigh. 

    "So," the faint echo of your giggle was still heard as Steve's expression turned to a much more serious one. "I think we should discuss our… business opportunity." And just like that, you had sobered up. 

    You nodded your head as Steve cleared his throat. 

    "I'd like for you to join me for things like these. Dinner, company events, fundraisers, yearly ski trips to the alps, you know, the boring stuff." You nearly guffawed at his words. The boring stuff? A trip to the alps? Boring? You could barely believe it. 

    Still, you nodded your head, a silent sign for him to continue. 

    "In return, I'll take care of all your bills and expenses. You'll have plenty of petty cash, we'll call it," he smirked. "All I ask is for your company." He concludes and you swallow, taking it all in. 

    "When you say company, do you mean… " You trailed off, not sure how to delicately ask him if he wanted to fuck you or not. 

    Steve leaned in, his face inches from yours as he squeezed your thigh, "that's exactly what I mean, Princess." 

    The pet-name caused your stomach to somersault as your breath got hitched in your throat. You're not sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or if this was just the effect he had on people. 

    Probably a mix of both. 

    Whatever it was, it caused you to wring your hands in his collar as you crashed your lips onto his. He didn't hesitate, not even for a second as his hands went to cup your face. The kiss left you breathless, spinning, and feeling like you were floating. 

    "Is that a yes?" He asks cheekily and you can't find the words, all you can do is nod your head before Steve is forced to drop your face as the waiter brings him the check. 

    You readjust yourself in your seat, one leg on top of the other as you close your eyes to steady your breathing. 

    Steve grabbed his leather wallet, pulling out a flashy black credit card and handing it to the poor man doing his job without any regard. You bit your lip at the interaction, someone with his money and power, it made the throbbing between your legs only worse. 

    "Let me drive you home." Steve whispered meeting your eyes as you nodded, "oh it's okay, I can just take the train back." You said politely and while you didn't want to, you sure as hell couldn't afford another Uber trip. 

    It's not like you didn't want to take him up on his offer either, truthfully, you weren't sure how you were going to react all alone with Steve. 

    You don't fuck on the first date, but for Steve, hell you'd let him take you in the bathroom of this restaurant. God knows it's probably better maintained than your building. 

    "Please? I don't want you alone on the train at this hour, you'd have me worrying all night and I don't think you'd wanna upset me like that." There was a sultry undertone in his words as his lips twitched into a smirk. 

    You nodded your head, "yes, okay, thank you Steve." 

    When you stepped into the now cool late night summer air a shiver ran down your spine as the valet went to grab Steve's car. You stayed silent, kicking a pebble with your toe as you tried your best not to shiver. 

    You felt Steve drape his suit jacket over your shoulders, "chilly night, huh?" He joked, as you hugged it around yourself. This man was full of secrets, secrets you wanted to learn to lock away in your own mind. 

    "Here you are Mr. Rogers, have a great night." The valet said, acknowledging you both as he opened the passenger side door for you. You slipped into the warm car, an Audi, you recognized the four rings on the steering wheel as Steve got in. 

    The car was quiet, city nose becoming nonexistent as he put it in drive. 

    "Where am I going?" He asked, pulling out of the restaurant parking lot and into the bustling New York City streets. 

    "Queens," you said, admiring the lights outside of your window as Steve chuckled, "no way, I grew up in Brooklyn." Steve commented as you turned your head. 

    That surprised you. A guy like him? From Brooklyn? You guess you should've known by his subtle accent, but it made you smile as Steve continued his way to your apartment. 

    "Well, uh, thank you for dinner, Steve. Really, it was the best food of my life." You chuckled as he returned your smile. "It was my pleasure, you're good company." He joked, squeezing your thigh as a new wave of arousal running through you. 

    You both sat in somewhat awkward silence as you grabbed your keys from your bag, clutching them in your hand. 

    "Do you maybe wanna come up for a cup of coffee? Or tea? I don't really have much to offer." You chuckled, as he smiled, “that sounds lovely." 

    Steve followed you to the front of your building, the old, paint chipped door creaking open before you pressed the elevator button that only illuminated on good days. 

    Today was not that day. 

    You tapped your foot as you watched the numbers descent until the L appeared on the small screen, the bell dinging. You got into it silently, the only sound was your heels against the stained flooring and the electrical whirring of the elevator. 

    Steve kept a respectable distance, his shoulder brushing yours as the elevator car moved up to the eleventh floor. 

    You stuck your key into your lock, jamming it upwards as you fiddled to find the sweet spot before you managed to push the door open, "home sweet home." 

    The apartment was small, a little over five-hundred square feet, but it was more than enough for you. You decorated it with plants and art you'd find at your local markets. It felt cozy and like home, but you knew it was nothing compared to what Steve was used to. 

    You didn't bother turning on any of the main lights, a small light in the kitchen was all you needed as you were finally able to kick off your heels. You dropped to your true height, having to crane your neck upwards to meet Steve's eyes. 

    It was in this moment that you realized just how massive he was. Broad shoulders and long legs held him upright as his now darkened eyes looked you up and down. You had forgotten all about the coffee as you felt his gaze all over you. 

    "You look stunning," he whispered, stepping closer to you. "Words just don’t do justice." He added, snaking an arm around your waist. 

    "Let me show you just how beautiful you are to me." He breathed, mouth close to your ear as you gasped, nodding your head. 

    "Oh, Steve, please." You whimpered, your hands going to rest on his shoulders as he pulled you flush against his body. You could feel him hardening through his dress pants, pressed tightly against your hip. 

    "Call me Daddy tonight, Princess." Steve purred as your stomach flipped before his lips were back on yours. He tasted like the remnants of the champagne as his tongue explored your mouth. 

    "Daddy," you gasped, his lips working his way down your neck as he pushed you further into your apartment. You yelped when he tossed you onto the bed, the moonlight streaming through your curtains and onto the sheets. 

    "That's my good girl, you're bein' so good for Daddy." His praise sends goosebumps over your skin as his fingers begin working on your blouse. You can sense the urgency in his actions, both of your hands having one goal in mind; remove any and all clothing. 

    You barely have any time to stop and admire Steve's build. He's toned, lean and fit and you already love the faint chest hair as he works on your bra. It's discarded soon after, your panties being yanked off before Steve's standing naked in front of you. 

    "Fuck," it's a breath that falls from Steve's lips as he's right back on top of you. His nose traces down your chest, his mouth paying equal attention to both of your nipples before his mouth is floating above where you need him most. 

    Neatly decorated hair covers your mound as Steve places your legs over his large shoulders, spreading you open in front of him as he lets out a low groan. 

    "Princess, you're so wet. Is this all for me? Is this why you've been so squirmy during dinner?" He smirks, his question rhetorical as he uses his fingers to spread your lips open. 

    Your hips are bucking, fists around your sheets as you whine. Steve's tongue is wide and warm against you when it finally connects with you. A lewd moan slips past your lips when he swirls it tightly around your clit. 

    The attention to detail is mind blowing, his fingers slowly slipping inside of you as he works you open. There's nowhere in the world you'd rather be than right here with Steve's face buried between your thighs. 

    "You taste so sweet, Princess." He hums, moaning around you as your fingers tangle in his once neatly styled hair. You tug on the locks, a low groan in response that spreads warmth through your body. 

    "Daddy, pl-please, wanna cum." You're lost in the sensation of his fingers scissoring you open, his tongue flicking tight figure-eights over your clit. 

    "Cum for Daddy, Princess, cum all over my face." He growls, curling his fingers deep inside of you, breaking the coil as your back arches off the bed. 

    You feel like you've just ran a marathon, lungs aching for oxygen, and he hadn't even gotten his cock yet. 

    "Hands and knees, Princess. Show Daddy your ass," he growls, flipping you over as you prop yourself up on shaky knees. You're mewling, wanton and burning to feel how his cock will fill you up. 

    The bed shifts under Steve’s weight as his fingers dig lightly into the flesh of your waist, positioning your hips as his cock nudges your entrance. 

    “You think you’re ready for my cock, Princess?” He taunts as you wiggle your hips against him as he chuckles deeply from within his chest before slowly sinking into you. 

    You both moan at the sensation, your warm walls gripping around him as he stretches you out. 

    “Takin’ Daddy’s cock so well Princess—fuck, feels so good.” Steve grunts, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you falling face first into the pillows. 

    His one hand goes to rest between your shoulder blades, keeping you planted firmly against the bed as he fucks you deep into your worn out mattress. 

    Your moans are muffled, you're thankful for the position considering your walls are paper thin and you'd rather not have your eighty-five year old neighbour Darleen hear about the mind-blowing sex you were currently engaged in. 

    "You gonna cum for Daddy again? Make a mess over his cock, hmm?" He whispers in your ear, voice hoarse and gravelly as your toes curl and you're cumming again for him. 

    Steve pulls out, fisting his cock in his hands before you're feeling his hot cum painting your back as you're reeling at the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

    You're pulled out of your post-orgasmic bliss when you feel Steve cleaning you up with what? You don't care, you'd do laundry tomorrow, throw it away, all you wanted was to feel Steve's arms around you. 

    He falls back into bed with you, his gentle eyes meeting yours as he chuckles, "if that doesn't seal the deal, I don't know what will."

tagging // @jennmurawski13 | @nakedrogers

any and all feedback is always appreciated! <3

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 28 ~Stags and Hens~

Claire looked in the mirror.  No freaking way! 

Geillis had lent her a dress that emphasised her burgeoning curves when she would have preferred something loose. Turning sideways, she glanced once more at her reflection. Although she had gained weight and had a slight tummy, she didn't look pregnant at all.  Curvy, yes.  She turned around to check out her behind and admired the snug fit over the swell of her arse. Even her breasts had filled out, and the dress fitted her front in all the right places.

Before her pregnancy, she had always been thin and lanky, and her height had only accentuated her leanness. And now, much to her pleasant surprise, her curves filled the dress quite nicely.

Her hands absentmindedly smoothed the dress down and bit her lip.  What will Jamie think? Is the dress too daring?

She let out a big sigh and thought about changing, but she realised Geillis wouldn't allow it. She would probably march her right back into her bedroom and wait until she chose another outfit. Might as well embrace the look, she thought. After all, this was her hen night.

The printed black minidress barely skimmed the top of her knees, and the black suede knee-high boots boasted chunky heels making her even taller. The scooped neckline exposed an ample amount of cleavage, revealing plenty of creamy white skin. Completing the look, she donned on a leather jacket to give the whole outfit a less formal appearance. 

She squinted at her face. Mascara darkened her lashes, the blush highlighted her cheekbones and the red lipstick brought out the paleness of her skin and the honey gold of her eyes. Usually tied up in a bun, she left her curls loose.  Not bad, Beauchamp!

Claire was determined to enjoy her bachelorette night and put the incident with Geneva behind her. The episode of that fateful night had definitely scarred her for life. But not quite as much as what Isobel had to endure. Earlier, she had paid her a visit at the hospital. Horrified at the damage that was inflicted on her skin, Claire had almost cancelled her wedding to Jamie. However, she made a promise to Isobel.

"Don't let my sister win, Claire. If you cancel your wedding because of what happened to me, then you're helping Geneva achieve her goal by disrupting your life. She may be locked up in jail, but she can still hold power over you if you allow it. Go ahead with the wedding and don't allow what I tried to stop from happening to be in vain. Promise me, Claire."

And so Claire promised. If Isobel was brave enough to face what was coming ahead of her, then she too will dig deep and find that courage.

Loud voices caught her attention and brought her back to the present. Taking a deep breath, Claire grabbed her clutch and came out of her bedroom. Three pair of eyes settled on her as soon as she walked into the living space.

Geillis let out a high-pitched squeal and clapped. "Oh, Claire, that dress is perfect! Ye have some killer curves on ye. I knew it would suit ye. What do ye think, lads?"

Feeling conscious, Claire tugged the edge of her jacket. "Thank you. The material feels lovely, and I wasn't so sure if I could pull it off."

"Ach, ye dinna ken how to buy a dress in yer size. Ye always buy a size too big. It's yers now. That dress is more for a leggy person like ye."

Willie smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "Ye look fabulous, Claire. I hope ye girls have fun tonight."

"Thanks, Willie. And you too."

She waited for Jamie's response, but his face remained inscrutable. Holding her breath, she watched him approach and slid his hands underneath her jacket to pull her against him. Careful not to ruin her makeup, he gave a feather-light kiss on her cheek. "Ye look stunning, Sassenach," he whispered, for her ears only. "I feel like saying, zip up this jacket because yer tits are quite an eyeful. Instead, I'm going to be an understanding fiance, suck it up like a good man and wish ye a fun-filled hen party." And then he turned his head towards Geillis. "...and hopefully, not too rowdy. She's pregnant, mind?" he said in a louder voice.

She tried her best to suppress her amusement. Cupping Jamie's face with both hands, he turned his face towards her. "Well, Mr Fraser, I wish you a lovely evening too. I heard the lads in the kitchen arranged ...uhm, let say an interesting stag-do for you. Something that involves ... a dancer?"

Jamie groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. "I have no idea about a dancer, I swear. To be honest, I'd rather skip this part and have a quiet evening with ye ..."

"Oh no, ye don't," Geillis disagreed, seizing Claire's hand before Jamie could give her any ideas. "Ye have a lifetime ahead of ye to spend time together. I'm not lettin' ye take this away from me."

Willie laughed out loud. "Come on, Jamie. We best get going. The cab is waiting for us outside."

A loud beeping echoed down the street. 

"That's our ride, princess," Geillis announced, tugging Claire's hand once more.

"Oh by the way, where are ye going?" Jamie called out to their retreating backs.

"None of yer business! This is Claire's evening and nae lads allowed. Ye have yer own evening to worry about. See ye later and don't wait up for us!"

As the girls stepped outside, a white stretched limousine was already in the driveway with a bunch of giggly, happy women waving through the tinted windows. On the other side of the street were two cabs waiting for Jamie and Willie.

A tingle of exhilaration shimmered down Claire's spine. Ignoring the howls and whistles from Jamie's friends in the other vehicles, they climbed into their limo. Scents of mingled perfume, alcohol and feminine excitement floated in the air. Jenny, Louise and three other friends from her college were dressed to impress, and they each had a plastic flute of champagne. Claire wished she could have a drink. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water Geillis offered to her.

Drinks flowed, and gossips were exchanged as they were driven to their destination. After eating and partying at a Cabaret show, they piled back in the limo and hit a gay strip bar where they danced and partied some more. Although Claire couldn't join in the girls' drinking fest, she had a great time.

Their last stop was their village pub which was walking distance from their house. As they went in, they were quickly ushered to the backroom. The place was bursting to the seams, and the music blared loudly from the speakers. Claire's friends were already half-way drunk, and they were soon joined by more females from the hotel who just got off work to celebrate with them.

Geillis bumped into her, spilling some of her drink. "Are ye ready for the main event? Louise arranged it."

"I know it's a male stripper. I overheard the plan," Claire cringed. "I don't want a naked man pawing me. As my best friend and maid of honour, you need to step up and be my wingman."

"Wing woman ye mean," Geillis hiccuped, as she took a sip of her cocktail. "Mmmm, this is so good and extra fruity. So ye overheard the plan, aye?"

Claire motioned to the chair in the middle of the room. "Well, a pretend cop is supposed to come in and tell us off for being boisterous, and then drags me to that chair so he can writhe all over me. Not my idea of fun!"

"Sounds like a solid plan to me."

Claire glared, but the effect was lost when Geillis slurped her drink. "I need you to take the hit for me. When the stripper comes in, you take my place. Please!"

Another hiccup. "I don't look like ye though," Geillis pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. Everyone's drunk. No one will notice. The girls just want to see a naked body."

"Aye, about that. Ye invited all the female staff from the hotel. Of course, they'll want to see a naked body."

Claire grinned. "Well, they missed out on the fun because they had to work. So I guess the stripper is the next best thing. So, are you going to do it? Take my place?"

"Hell no! In as much as I would love to have a hot body gyrating in front of me, Louise will kill me if I took yer place. This is her gift for ye. I'm not going to be the one to spoil her pressie."

"Damn it! I wish I could drink to numb my brain. Fine! I'll do it, but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Geillis pressed a noisy kiss on her cheek. "Dinna fash, lass. It will be a bloody laugh. Oh, here, ye'll need a lot of these." Her friend stuffed a handful of pound notes into her fist.

"Yay, me. I finally get to stick money in a bloke's G-string. I can tick off an item from my bucket list," she muttered sarcastically.

Geillis gave her a sympathetic look. "This one is for ye. Have a drink," she said, handing her cocktail from a nearby bar table. "I ordered it. It's a Virgin Colada. I promised Jamie no alcohol will touch yer lips, but this is yummy."

Claire smiled and softened up as she took a sip from her non-alcoholic beverage. "Sorry for sounding ungrateful and being a grump about the stripper. You girls have pulled off a fabulous party for me, and I appreciate it."

Geillis quickly hugged her before raising her glass. "Ach, it's nae bother. What are friends for. Here's to friendship!"

"Friends forever!"

Their glasses clinked and tipped over, and a third of their drinks spilt on the floor. They looked at each other and burst into giggles before they heard a loud shriek coming from Louise. 

"What!?! What do you mean the stripper isn't coming?"

..........

Jamie, Willie and their friends entered their local village pub. They have been bar-hopping in the neighbouring towns all evening, drinking, and playing pool and darts. Since they all lived nearby, they had decided to stop by for one last drink before heading home. The place was packed and loud as expected of a Bank Holiday weekend. 

Although he had wanted a more subdued bachelor's party, it felt great to hang out with his brother and closest male acquaintances. The only time their party became rowdy was when Jamie was presented with a lap dancer at one of the bars. With phone cameras readily accessible and thinking of how it would look like in the social media, he waivered his right as the man of the hour to his friend, Rupert, who was only too happy to oblige. The last thing he needed was a picture of him in an uncompromising situation. 

At the bar, Willie ordered a round of pints and shots for the stag party. Jamie was about to reach for his drink when screams ran through the pub, making everyone crane their necks to look at the commotion. The backroom, usually used for private parties, was lively. Music blared, and he caught a swarm of short skirts, swishing hair and loud revelry.

"Bloody hen party. They're all from yer hotel," the bartender explained as if reading his thoughts. "One of the lasses ordered a male stripper, but I just got a phone call from the lad saying he cannae make it. He came down with the flu or something. I just told one of them, and she wasn't too pleased. When they all hear about it, I'm dead meat. It's all paid for."

A grin tugged at Willie's lips as he looked at Jamie. "Ach, our hens are in there. I remember Geillis saying something about Louise ordering a stripper. Do ye think Claire will be disappointed?" 

Before he could reply, a resounding slap hit him on the back. "Weel, Jamie lad, perhaps she'll be disappointed or maybe not. How about giving those lasses something to remember, aye?" Murtagh sallied. "Do a striptease for yer bride. It'll be a story worth telling yer future grandchildren one day."

"If ye're not up for it, I wouldn't mind doing it," Rupert interrupted, joining in the banter and shaking his hips.

Something wicked lit up in him. Inebriated and feeling bold, he playfully shoved his mate on the shoulder. "Aye, that'll be right! No fucking way are ye going anywhere near my Claire. I'm doing it."

Everyone in their party hooted and chanted his name.

"Get in there lad and claim yer bride!"

"Aw, c'mon, Fraser. In a couple of days, she's all yers. I just want to show the lass what she'll be missing once ye're both hitched," Rupert whined, feigning disappointment.

Jamie drained his beer and signalled for another round. "I got this pal. Go get yersel' yer own bride," he grinned, shrugging off his jacket.

"Hey, I have the lad's costume here at the back if ye're doing it. He's about yer size so ye'll have no trouble fitting in it. There's also a wig and a pair of aviator's glasses," the bartender offered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

Jamie nodded and made his way to the room behind the bar. It didn't take long before he was kitted into a snug-fitting, fake police uniform. Glancing at the small mirror, he was thrilled at how the black wig, cap and the aviator's glasses concealed his identity nicely. It was a good thing he had shaved off his beard as it would have ruined his disguise. Satisfied, he went back to his friends and was greeted with howls of laughter and cheers. After drinking a couple of shots of whisky, the stag party, led by Jamie, made their way to the back room.

Jamie reached the door, and a petite brunette stumbled out on teetering heels and ran into his chest. He caught her on time. She was one of the staff from the restaurant in their hotel. Her blue eyes sparkled and widened at the sight of him, but there was no trace of recognition. "Ladies!" she screeched as a round of giggles floated past. "Get the music ready!" 

Someone grabbed his hand and led him into the room.

He frowned, alcohol dulling his brain for a moment. Then he remembered why he was there. He looked around and found himself in a snake pit. His brother and friends had disappeared into the dark corners, and he was surrounded by women.

There were lots and lots of women, and most of them he knew, but no one recognised him, most probably because of their intoxicated state. They stared at him like he was a feast served on a silver platter. The group started to scream and stamp their heels on the floor.

"He's here!" Louise yelled. "Get ready for an arrest, ladies!"

A lone chair stood in the centre of the circle under the bright light. Suddenly, Joe Cocker's  You Can Leave Your Hat On  blared through the speakers.  Aaah, shite, what have I gotten myself into?

"Take it off, lad!"

"I'm breaking the law, darling, come on over here!"

Louise giggled and crooked her finger. "I've been awfully bad, officer. And I'm concealing a deadly weapon. Come frisk me!" He nearly ran out of the room when she began to jiggle her breasts at him.

He was drunk, and the women were even more so. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Jamie was about to turn around and end the charade when Geillis shook her head in annoyance and yanked his arm. She seemed irritated by his inaction. Obviously, she too was too drunk to recognise him.

"Listen, pal. My mates and I paid good money for ye," she whispered venomously. "Ye look good enough to eat but don't just stand there. Give us a show. We won't bite."

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!  "Listen, this is a mistake," Jamie started. 

Geillis rolled her eyes. "Ach, for crying out loud. Just take yer shirt off, dance a bit and arrest someone. I promise I'll tip ye extra. Oh, curly tops Claire is the bride, she is hiding over there." She pointed her finger at her friend, squashed between two other girls with a scared look at her face.  Aah, Sassenach!

"She doesn't look interested," he said. "Maybe getting her a stripper wasn't such a bright idea, huh?"

Geillis glowered at him. "For fuck sake, I'm sorry if ye're suddenly shy and want to retreat, but ye're here now. Just take some clothes off, shimmy yer hips and make the lassies happy. Deal?" He was about to open his mouth to tell her there won't be any clothes taken off, but she clapped her hands. "Alright, ladies, our hot copper is ready. Claire, get yer arse on the chair."

The group screamed and whistled and stamped their feet. Pound notes waved madly in the air. Women danced provocatively to the beat, waiting for him to start stripping.

He turned his attention to Claire and watched her walk to the centre. She weaved her way through screaming women, and instead of sitting on the chair, she positioned herself right in front of him. He wondered if she would see through his disguise since she was the only sober person in the room.

Without the leather jacket, her dress clung to her curves like a second skin, and her front showed far too much cleavage. As enticing as she looked, Jamie was glad the stripper didn't come and that his friends were in the far end of the room. With her long legs clad in knee-high boots, her hair all loose, and pouty lips painted red, his future wife looked sexy as hell. She was all tits, legs and curves.

Ignoring the noise and urging of the crowd, he stared helplessly at her, completely intoxicated, besotted and aroused all at the same time.

Her teeth pulled at her lower lip, and she frowned. "Jamie?"

He let out a sigh of relief. "Sssh, the lassies don't know it's me. I was told at the bar the stripper couldn't come, so I took his place. I ken it's a stupid drunken idea..."

A giggle escaped her lips. "Louise hired a cop stripper. I begged Geillis to take my place, but she wouldn't have any of it." Her head tipped up and down to look at him. "I'm glad now she didn't take my place. That uniform looks incredibly hot on you, and I'm afraid you do look like a stripper."

He moved closer. "You think?"

"Yes."

The women roared their frustration, chanting for him to strip.

"What should I do?"

"I can see you brought the stag party with you. Why not give them a show," Claire replied, looking over his shoulder.

Surprised at her bold request, he grinned. "Be careful what you wish for, Sassenach," he warned in a low voice.

Claire took a step forward to nip at his earlobe, her breath rushing in his ear. "So I've been told often enough." Pulling away, she arched an eyebrow and smiled at him. "Well? Are you putting on a show for the bride-to-be? Or are you chickening out?" 

He didn't know if it was the alcohol or her teasing that pushed him. Without warning, he tossed her over his shoulder and deposited her right on the chair, making her squeal.

The women screamed in delight and the men at the back wolf-whistled. The music rolled out its slow rhythm, but he refused to dance. Instead, his fingers paused at the top of his shirt, stroking slow. As the screams of the crowd got louder, he flicked the button open, making Claire's eyes widened in shock, her lips forming an O shape.

He repeated the motion with the second button, and pound notes started flying through the air and chants of "take it off" vibrated the room. He took no notice of the frenzy and focused intently only on her.

He watched her gaze follow the motions of his hand, her cheeks flushing profusely and her mouth opening and closing as if wanting to say something, but no words came out. "Do ye want me to continue, Sassenach?" 

Even with the deafening noise, she heard him clearly. "Yes," she nodded, looking like she was in a trance.

With slow, deliberate motions, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slowly parted the material.

The crowd went wild. 

The fact Claire's friends didn't recognise him, emboldened him further. He leaned down and braced his hands on both sides of her chair. "They want more," he said. "Do ye want more?"

She stared into his eyes before answering. "Yes."

Reaching over to pull her to her feet, he grabbed her hands and pressed them to his chest. "Do it for me then, Sassenach." 

In his periphery, he saw Laoghaire taking photos.  What is she doing here? This was a private party.   Then he realised she thought he was just a hired stripper. 

Refocusing on Claire, he felt her hands stroke his abdomen. Her name was chanted in unison, commanding her to take it all off for him. Her fingers traced the edge of his belt buckle, and then she paused. Their gazes locked. "No." Her voice broke. He caught a glimpse of raw possessiveness in her eyes. "I don't want anyone else to see you."

He muttered a vicious curse. "Good because I've had enough of this. I just want to take ye home."

"What are you waiting for? Take me home then, Jamie."

He quickly refastened the buttons on his shirt as loud boos filled the air. Beyond caring, he gathered Claire in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, and when she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back, he heard the loud gasps of her friends' shock and whistles from the stag group. And more picture snaps from Laoghaire. 

"Claire!" Geillis shouted in disbelief. She tried to stop Laoghaire from taking more photos, thinking her friend was kissing a stranger. But Claire wasn't listening.

"Home it is then. Hang on tight, Sassenach, we'll make this an exit they'll never forget," he said against her lips. When she nodded, he lifted her up, and she held on burrowing her face against his neck.

"Hey, stop! Ye cannae take the bride. Ye're supposed to strip and not haul her like a caveman."

"Too bad. I'm stealing the bride!" Jamie yelled as he fought his way through a crowd of tipsy and bewildered women.

"Stop him!" someone shouted.

He was about to reach for the door when Jenny jumped and blocked their exit. Her cheeks were red and flushed, and her eyes had a determined look. She waved an empty bottle of wine in the air in a threatening manner. "Listen, ye moron. Ye put my sister-in-law down slowly and carefully, and no one will get hurt," she cautioned, in a slurred voice.

"Jenny!" Claire blurted.

"It's alright Claire bear, I got this," Jenny said, swinging her weapon at Jamie. She took a step forward, stopped and blinked. "Huh? Jamie?"

"Aye, it's me," Jamie hissed impatiently. "Can't ye recognise yer own flesh and blood?"

"What the hell!?! It's that bloody wig and those ridiculous glasses! What are ye doing here?"

"Out of the way, we're going," Jamie muttered. He made a move to go past Jenny, but Laoghaire blocked their path and took another picture of them.

"Wait till Jamie sees what ye've been up to," Laoghaire sneered at Claire, waving her phone in one hand.

Jamie was slowly losing patience. He gently put Claire down and confronted the blond girl. "Aye, I ken fine what Claire's been up to," he snapped, wrenching the aviators and plucking the cap and wig from his head and throwing them on the floor. "And ye shouldn't be here. This is a private party, and I don't think ye're invited. Now leave and do something good in yer life for once." 

He felt Claire tugging his arm, but he waited until an embarrassed and speechless Laoghaire was led out of the room by one of his friends, not trusting her to turn his back. When she was finally gone, the whole place erupted in cheers and whistles.

"Jesus, Jamie, all these crazy girls coming out of the woodwork. Do you think we'll ever make it to our wedding without another girl popping up to tear us apart?" Claire asked in exasperation.

Annoyance surged, but he quickly tamped it down. It wasn't his fault, and neither was it Claire's. If he had his way, they would have been married weeks ago and skipped all the frippery that entailed the wedding. He closed the distance between them and pulled her against him. "I know, Sassenach and I'm so sorry. Sometimes grief is a price we pay for love. In the end, we're both stronger because of it."

"I know. And I'm sorry too. I don't have doubts about us. I just don't like people getting hurt." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. "Shall we go? I would like a continuation of that striptease," she teased, trying to lighten the moment. 

Her suggestion made his stomach clench. "Now we're talking," he said in a low voice, a half-smirk tugging at his lips.

Willie slapped him on the back. "Get a room both of ye! Go now, before the mob forces ye to stay," he joked, pulling a tipsy Geillis to his side.

"Aye, go and sorry ...but not sorry for forcing ye to strip," Geillis winked. "Now that everyone knows that it's you, they're even more disappointed that the show is over."

Rupert joined in, followed by a waiter with a tray of drinks. "I hope the party is not over. I just ordered drinks for everyone."

Jamie jerked his thumb towards the group of girls. "I warmed them up. They're all yers now. Claire and I are going." He touched Claire's belly and grinned. "Ye lot are too rowdy for the baby. See ye when I see ye."

Without a backward glance, he led Claire out of the pub, and they walked home hand in hand. Once in the house, they had a little party of their own.

[hibibun]

A Series of Wagers (2/3)

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas Summary: "An interesting gamble for one who consorts with The One Alone… up to something are we?”

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He throws back, face contorting into a facsimile smile that rings hollow despite the amusement that has to be there ghosting his lips.

Peter was right though. He did want to know. He always did. And if it weren’t for the mirage now obscuring that information from him, it wouldn’t be necessary at all. Frankly, it was interesting enough on its own that he was finding himself getting the attention now when this was hardly the first time they had met. It’s been a good night overall though, and he isn’t complaining about the game. There’s something surprisingly lively in the pale sea weathered man across the table he hasn’t seen from any of his family in a long time.

"And if I win?" Elias asks, even though he is already picking his cards from the deck.

Notes/Warnings: Canon Compliant, Time Skips, Mind Games, Canon-Typical Behavior, Blindfolds, Mentioned Past Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Bondage, Unhealthy Relationship AO3 CH1 - CH2 - CH3

Chapter 2: 2002 - 2011

DECEMBER 2002

While normally Elias has no issues in, and even to a degree, enjoys planning events it came as a relief to not be in charge of it this year. The end of the year is always a busy time between responsibilities to the Institute, its employees, planning the usual office party, and making sure every loose end was knotted off—nothing left lingering on his check list.

So it’s a bit of a reward when all is said and done. And despite their disposition, the Lukas family threw a good party. The venue contained plenty of spots to hide away, and after giving the necessary greetings to donors also attending, he’s able to find a nice view point from one of the tables at the top of the staircase, and comfortably watch the night unfold.

With the amount of catching up between those attending, it’s easy to glean a succinct summary of how everyone else spent the year. The things they admit, the things they think they should keep as a card up their sleeves. The tentative boundaries they draw around each other and where those alliances overlap or remain prickly as ever. Elias sits and watches them all, sipping at a flute of champagne.

It’s no surprise when Peter finds him, as usual not caring to properly announce his presence.

“Being a nosy voyeur again?”

“I believe I am allowed to enjoy a party in my preferred method. I don’t see you out there mingling either, dear,” Elias retorts, turning his gaze away from the crowds flittering down below to watch his partner steal a swig of his drink.

“That’s Nate’s job. Company head and all that—I’d rather be out on the water again, but…” He does a shrugging motion both in reference to statement’s obviousness, as well as a vague indication he was supposed to be here doing… something. Given his family was hosting, putting in an appearance that he promptly turned away from most likely.

Elias is already accustomed to this and only makes a mild noise of understanding without vocalizing that the concept didn’t seem so bad at the moment. He was feeling rather weary and in desperate need of a vacation himself, though with the length that the captain preferred to be out on the water, he doesn’t think that would be enjoyable. A weekend sounded nice though.

“I take that it was another year spent well isolated then? Certainly sounded like you had little to report.” There’s a thread of humor unsaid in how quite a few of his calls went unanswered, which spoke for itself well enough.  

“Oh, nothing too strenuous, no. Did some spring cleaning of the crew; spent a couple months in València,” Peter looks wistful as he recalls it. As if by imagining it, he’ll be back in that Spanish seaside losing himself in crowds and drawing others to become just as lost. Not that Elias was peeking, much.

“Ah yes, I received your ‘care package’. Can’t say I’m too fond of potentially disease causing artifacts, but the Cuva Vella was nice to see.”

“I don’t have the same skill sets as your lot, so there’s no knowing if it’s really from the hospital they claimed, but it looked like a nice vase either way.”

“Well it’s in Artifacts now so…” Elias responds hiding how distrusting he feels in regards to the man’s true intentions, knowing for a fact it did have something attached to it. He, of course, is going to continue to feign disinterest—something he’s seemed to pick up as a reflexive instinct to match Peter.  

“And here I was going to get you flowers,” The captain laments, though the sincerity of it is muddled behind a grin which appears to contradict his words. Elias doesn’t care to look to clarify for himself, and only answers him with an eye roll.

They stay the remainder of the party, out of sight and catching up themselves. Elias shares what gossip he feels like discussing, despite knowing Peter likely only cared to the extent of using the information to avoid as many extra conversations or meetings of his own. At some point, he must get sick of hearing about it though, and abruptly raises his head from the perch of his palm and suggests they leave.

It’s the free time Elias has to spare, he tells himself, beckoning him to follow Peter out into the night, leaving his own car to be picked up in the morning. The venue is closer to Kent and he knows they aren’t too far from the Moorland House, but isn’t surprised when it’s that same building Peter sometimes calls a home they arrive at instead.

They exchange coats and a chill settling in the room, an imitation of the past times they’ve been here—along with it, there’s an underlying hunger, once more waiting to spring free. He hadn’t been looking or expecting a longing to be there, and yet, after so many, many months apart, why wouldn’t it be?

They follow similar, yet different steps this time. Elias is more familiar with this place now despite only having been in it a handful of times before physically. He is a detail-oriented man. The model ships and carved wooden birds are still tucked away in corners meant to be dismissed. No new paintings aside from the empty coastlines he’s already seen—no doubt a gift from Simon if he detects something else alongside the strokes of that vast ocean captured in the frame.

It’s pleasant, the way Peter stares at him. Equally ravenous for what they no doubt came here for and for attention he doesn’t want to admit, all wrapped up with a lovely sheen of genuine discomfort at how deeply Elias is seeking out the person hiding behind this farce of a home. This room is nothing like the cabin he has never actually set foot into on the Tundra, and it is a place he doubts he will ever be allowed to visit.

No, this place is nothing to Peter. Merely, a place to sleep when he’s forced to anchor. A reluctant tie to society and its dregs, which Elias has happily helped wrap around his legs.

Something in his expression must have changed for Peter reaches out to him, a cold embrace at his back and an even colder kiss at his nape. He doesn’t turn to face him right away, enjoying the strange pleasantry. If he gets his way tonight, giving Peter this now is only fair.

“For a moment, I thought you were taking us back to the Moorland. Though, we are still a little ways off from an actual holiday aren’t we? You will take me there sometime, won’t you?” Elias asks, placing a hand over the one holding his side. They both know he isn’t talking about the house itself. Peter may not know it, but he remembers visiting Mordechai there—truly, it had more to do with that basement and what Peter felt about it than anything else.

“That eager to see? I keep telling you, if you accept my proposal—” He breathes, by his ear, amused until Elias twists around and cuts him off.

“And when exactly would we fit in this ‘wedding’? You’re hardly moored for long and I have an Institute to run. You always struck me as the type to remain engaged for as long as you could, so I would think this arrangement is far better than the alternative.”

Peter’s eyes darken, and it strikes Elias for the first time how deep those still waters really run.

“You… actually like the thought of it. You’d like to call me your husband,” He moves his hands up to cup the man’s cheeks, before delicately moving them down along Peter’s beard to play along his neck. His fingers trace down his pulse enjoying the rapid thoughts accompanying it.

“A connection of your own definition, but one none the less… Are you that worried I’ll leave you behind? Bit hypocritical don’t you think?” The smile he directs isn’t necessarily meant to be cold, but it is piercing in a way he knows is uncomfortable.

“Not really. I’m aware it wasn’t as common in your day, but anyone can get a divorce rather easily now. Marriage isn’t the contract you’re imagining it to be.”

“No, maybe not, but that’s all the more reason for me to wonder what it is you imagine it to be. You can ignore it all you want later, but right now you will look at me and tell me,” Elias starts, stilling his hand to hold at the back of Peter’s neck, keeping him in place to meet his eyes. He doesn’t have an Archivist’s compulsion, but he has intimidation and the invasive, burning reminder gripping tight into the pale man beside him that he cannot run right now.

“Peter Lukas, do you really want to marry me?”

For a man capable of having almost anything he could desire, arranging his life to be as self-indulgent as possible, it’s uncommon those desires ever actualize in the form of wanting another person. Someone so used to the world around him rejecting his existence that he’s learned to soak in it, and pretend he loves it, wearing it as a second skin. And maybe, to a degree he does actually love it. The utter and unabashed way you can love yourself when there isn’t a need to think about another soul in the world.

And that is why at the root of it someone like Elias is both perfect and terrible for him. Because he’s so afraid of being seen, it’s only natural the Eye would show interest. And Elias wishes to know him so intimately exactly because he hides. All the while, he can know with certainty that such a fascination is surface level, having very little to do with the fact it is Peter specifically he is showing interest towards.

It is why Peter spells all the justifications in the world for their relationship. It is why he can indulge in the easy nature of being seen, but not being cared for, until sometimes, it feels like he is wanted—like he wants and wants and will be denied. Abandoned once he’s been found because he knows Elias doesn’t hold on to anything for long.  Besides bones that is.

“Yes,” is all Peter will admit to, impossibly small, but it reaches Elias and warms him in a way that he knows is more than just affection. He rewards the admission, stroking his cheek before learning up to kiss him properly. It doesn’t even occur to him immediately the words were never actually spoken, but plucked from the captain’s head.

There will be many nights where this doesn’t mean anything, but for tonight, there is a vulnerability Elias doesn’t know when or if he’ll have the pleasure of seeing again. In truth, there isn’t really a way they could right now, and he had never imagined himself a married man. Defining what they have would be too much for both of them, but making it a comfortable illusion confined to a ring that he doesn’t have to think about if he doesn’t want to is a preferable solution.

The kiss is chaste, and this time, it is him breaking away and walking to the bedroom, removing his clothes with a practiced patience, expecting Peter to follow suit. Peter flips from fidgety to irritated, finally catching onto what was just discussed, and Elias soaks in the emotions radiating off him hidden in the rustle of clothing. Without a word, he retrieves some coils of rope and lubricant from the bedside drawer, and simply waits and watches.

Peter’s second guessing why he brought him here and Elias is patient—the captain will come to his own conclusions in the end. Either way, Elias knows he will play into the game set up tonight and he only smiles when Peter finally lies on the bed. After a beat, he resigns and raises his arms to the headboard.

Methodically, Elias twines the rope around those presented wrists, and prompts Peter to test the tightness.

“Comfortable?” He asks, looking down. It’s just the ropes he is referring to here, and the flicker of a scowl he receives is indicative that at least Peter has accepted how things will go.

“They’re fine,” He answers him, muted and tense. It pleases him to see him restricted like that, such an easygoing man who usually was so fond of startling others looking instead so impossibly small for someone of his stature.

“Excellent,” Elias murmurs, tone light and notably excited. He stays on top of him, and resumes the languid kisses he’d intended to give before their conversation began. While Peter had been annoyed minutes prior, he can feel the interest in his prick as it hardens, bumping into his backside. He bites the pale man’s lower lip, feeling all at once a rush of cold air exhaled with a moan.

Elias begins to trail those kisses south. Unlike his partner, he prefers to not only take his time, but leave a lasting imprint. There isn’t any doubt who he’s with when it comes to Peter, no, but the man is so obsessed with giving just enough to make a person want more. A lingering note of dissatisfaction, enough to draw in that hungry voracious need for contact he feeds on.

For Beholding though, it is about the experience. About learning and cataloguing all those little things, people don’t even know about themselves necessarily until they’re in the act. Especially the things they don’t know—don’t want to show.

It’s unavoidable like this for Elias not to look. Once the captain is drawn in, feeling really comfortable, he opens that eye and takes a gander at just what marriage means for a Lukas like him.

When he looks, he sees shadows of people. More like impressions or ghosts really, and yet, all come together to welcome a new member. The Moorland House from the outside is about the same as he remembers it. A foggy almost forgotten place that only served as a temple and a tomb.

He sees dances where there is no feeling, stilted haunting music, and tables so far apart from one another that you’d think the room was empty even with the party clearly going on around them. Even the couple in question, once their vows and first dance finished are far apart from each other. As if they were strangers on separate sides of a dance hall—which perhaps, they were.

And that was the problem though wasn’t it? Elias isn’t meant for the Lonely—isn’t willing to truly join that family. Peter knows this. He knew it from the beginning and knew what he was getting into when approaching Elias with even the semi-serious notion of a date, but he’s comfortable with it. With maintaining the distance they already have, only with the facsimile promise of belonging that he could and would never truly have.

Truly what a heartbreaking notion that is so very pitiful and suiting of the situation. Something finally that Elias understands.

As he comes away from that, it’s written across Peter’s face with trails of unwanted salty tears, and etched into his heart. All Elias is doing is plucking away at scabs, poking at a raw gaping sore he never had any intention of soothing.

“Oh Peter,” Elias says softly, no real sense of comfort in his voice. He’s enjoying how far he can stretch this, and it’s with a reluctant, rare mercy he withdraws from the other place he wanted to see in that house. If he tries to look anymore, well, there won’t be anything left—and that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

DECEMBER 2005

They never do marry. Even when a legal approximation could be considered, there are too many things, and good reasons, that stop it from ever happening. Still, in the end, Elias goes far enough to accept an engagement ring and they make believe it is real, knowing it isn’t just him who often removes it. Honestly, he’s more surprised Peter didn’t take this as a proper sign to simply end the game, not that he’s seen him for longer than necessary the past couple years. Whether that’s his attempt to instill that loneliness he’s so craving or… something else, Elias is too busy to care.  

How do you love a man who has no ability to perceive it? Who, in fact, reflexively rejects every attempt at genuine affection?

Elias even hesitates to necessarily ascribe that much feeling to whatever it is their relationship has become. It has enough characteristics for the applicable term of lovers, but there is a history Jonah holds with that word, which has always had an underlying cruelty he can never seem to shake. The both of them do really.

He’s had lovers in the past. Strings of men who’d sing his praises until they saw the depths of him and either were in too deep to get away, or ran as far as they could. Peter was neither of these types of men. They were similar in such a way that it was both a relief and irritating. Men of their nature can attribute as many pretty words and intentions as they want to the way they treat each other, and he knows for as much as Peter can feel for him, what they share is mutual. Perhaps, it’d be better to say they tolerate each other.

Even if there are times that Elias wants to bridge that narrowing gap and see what else is lurking under the surface, he knows such a reality would never exist. And further that he cannot describe the feeling which draws him into wanting that as anything but the endless need to unravel that which does not want to be seen. An itch caused by mere fascination that could and would only end in painful tragedy. If he were a kinder man, maybe he could see himself comforting what he found behind that empty smile, but he knows himself too well. If he had his way, he would utterly destroy Peter and maybe regret it, but he knows he would still do so.

That is why he does not entirely begrudge the man his fleeing and disguises. The way he will run hot and cold and pretend so frequently that he could drift away at any moment, leaving Elias a forgotten memory. It’s his own way of dealing with it, and it’s fitting payback to only scratch at wounds Elias himself pretends don’t exist.

They don’t love each other so much as the idea of what it would be like to be with each other. A thing that in practice never quite turns out the way it’s played out in the imagination. A momentary lapse where it’s easy to pretend that affection is real, a relationship forged on understanding unperceivable to anyone else around them.

Someday, it’s going to destroy one of them—and Elias does not plan on it being him.  

MARCH 2006

“Yes, Peter? I do believe this is the first time that you’ve actually been early to an appointment,” Elias addresses the now sudden form of his partner in the chair across his desk. He doesn’t look up from the stacks of department expenses he’s trying to catalogue and update to a budget’s spreadsheet, also laid out on the desk.

“I’m here to cash in a favor.”

“Right, my unfortunate guess regarding Mr. Rayner last year,” he starts, waiting on the captain to prod the conversation along.  

“I’m not asking for much, just to give a little back you could say for a project of mine. Requires some specific construction, placing and people in mind, which that eye of yours would be just great for,” Peter explains, laughing at his own joke.

“Your project, yet my work, I see. I wasn’t aware you were looking for a secretary,” He muses, reading over the budget expenses from the research department as he listens. He had hoped to have this aspect of his day squared away before dealing with whatever it was his ‘husband’ wanted to talk about.

“Real estate agents and contractors are so annoying. You love talking to people though, so you’ll probably have a blast. And it’s not like I won’t be there—I have it all planned out, I just need to find the right people to do it. So all I’m asking is for you to do a little research, which is something this place does, is it not?”

“And will I be privy to this project, or will that be a secret for me to figure out?”

“Haven’t got a name for it yet, so no. It’ll be fun—certainly more so than the little experiment Fairchild’s gotten my family sucked into,” He sounds bored, maybe even a bit bitter at that.

“Oh? Right, I heard about that. Do wish I could see how well that will work, but with Mr. Rayner involved, it’s doubtful. Although, if they make it out, maybe I’ll see about them giving a statement.”

Peter shoots him a withering look over his priorities, but Elias ignores it. Luckily, the whole thing has nothing to do with him.

“It just seems like a waste overall.”

“Sometimes it’s about the quality, not the quantity.”

“Say that when you can fund your own Institute,” Peter quips back. There’s no arguing with that necessarily, but it is funny enough that Elias gives him a bemused smile not deeming it with a response.

“Well, I’ll let you know how thoroughly afraid whoever gets stuck up there is and we’ll decide on it later. Now, is there any sort of time table for this other juncture of yours?”

Peter hums, deciding finally to give Elias just a few more pieces to work with.

“Soon as possible, I’ll send over what I have in mind. I’m sure you’ve already heard the rumors, but a supposed extinction might be coming, so the sooner the better. While I’m at it, I’m also including that you won’t interfere when things kick off, but that’s to be assumed, of course.”

For all the rituals attempted over the years that Elias has witnessed, none of them—including his own first attempt—completely worked, so he really doesn’t have any intention of trying to ruin things. However, he also has been paying a little attention to what his current Archivist has been up to and knows that there’s always the chance she will do something. In that regard, perhaps it would be kind of him to give Peter a warning, but he doesn’t control and can’t consistently predict the things Gertrude Robinson deems necessary to handle. She appears to have her hands quite full with stopping other rituals, so for all he knows it will slip under the radar.

“Well, if it comes, it comes. You know I’d much rather watch and see what happens than make any effort to stop either you or any new power emerging. I’m simply curious as to whether it’ll be enough to do anything.”

“Right. Of course, you would say that.” Peter says, and it should bother him that he can’t quite tell what he means by it. Though, from the stare Elias is receiving that feeling is mutual. He has his own pieces being moved along right now and the coming of another power matters very little in regards to what he’s attempting to do. He, unfortunately, also just hasn’t found the right person for it, yet.

SEPTEMBER 2007

Time and technology has diluted it, but there is nothing quite like starlight on an open deck far, far away from any overpopulated, glaringly bright city. Such a sight almost makes Peter understand what it is that Simon sees, but it isn’t the Vast, which is capturing him right now.

It has been a rather bad year for Peter Lukas.

While he hadn’t done much more than provide resources and keep an ear out, the Daedalus experiment had eaten up a chunk of time and money that he couldn’t even feel arrogant about. His bet with Elias on that may have been won, but the man had seemed oh so indifferent to his other little project being ruined. They’ve spoken before about Gertrude and the type of woman she is—still the thought of having all his work tossed away over a newspaper article is infuriating and humiliating.

The waves of the Atlantic can never disappoint him, and for Peter that is a relief beyond measure right now.

There was no need to ask Elias if he knew. If Gertrude was set on it, she would have done it just based on the rumors being passed around, and of the indistinct and few impressions he’d garnered, even he likely couldn’t have done anything. No, what Peter really didn’t want to see was the absence of interest—a blank gaze, perhaps with a hint of that smile he always held, which further spelled dubiousness. He isn’t even sure why it feels vaguely like a betrayal on Elias’s part when technically he hadn’t done anything. When did that start to bother him though? It should be a comfort, a reminder.

Peter watches the waves idly lap at the side of the Tundra and wonders what changed. Moonlight faintly glints off the ring on his finger, and he imagines throwing it into the ocean.

Alone, he can gaze at the stars and the moon and feel at peace knowing there is no one else to share this sight with. No one else he would want to share this sight with. He sailed over eight thousand kilometers away from the one person who he might have considered wanting to share it with, and he’s not entirely sure just when it will be that he returns.

JULY 2011

Vardø, Norway

Peter stares at the phone buzzing on the hotel’s nightstand, wondering once again what possessed him into getting one, let alone keeping it on his person. Convenience in this era often requires time specific urgency, he supposes, but it still didn’t have to be something he liked, let alone abided. As such, when he sees the caller ID as none other than Elias Bouchard, he has half a mind to ignore it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and whatever it was he wanted to talk about could easily be contained to a voice mail.

So he lets it ring. He turns another page in his book, but instead of the notification of a waiting voicemail, the phone lights up once more. Elias is still calling and that is new.

With a sigh, he picks up. Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t start with any pleasantries. He must know that since Peter has actually decided to answer, he doesn’t have long.

“You’ll still be in Vardø for a few more days correct? I need a favor.”

“Maybe. Depends on exactly what you’re asking for?” Peter complains, shuffling the phone to better squeeze between his ear and shoulder. If he can tune his sometimes husband out well enough, maybe he can still focus on his book. He’d long stopped bothering to chide the other man for keeping an eye on where he is, so he wasn’t planning to even ask how he knew.

“I need you to pick up Ms. Robinson and one of her assistants in Dikson. They need a lift to Zemlya Sannikova, and I figured you would be in the area and have a working vessel.”

He barks a laugh because while he understands, the request is ridiculous.

“Oh you are something else, Elias. Exactly why should I do this favor for you, let alone her? You’ve already racked up quite a debt with me already.”

“Because dearest, you might also want to ensure that the Distortion doesn’t get its way. Of course, if you’d like to exist in that kind of world, who am I to stop you? I’m sure knowing her, there’s another plan up her sleeve, but I figured why pay the extra expenses for a ship when I have you.”

He frowns reflexively at that wording. It isn’t necessarily that he doesn’t like the notion—the implicit possession they both hold of each other and the ease with which that label doesn’t have to mean anything. Peter himself was a firm believer of absence making the heart grow fonder and steadfastly pushes that to its brink, finding the delightful way Elias tries to pretend like he didn’t miss him at all when they next meet. He also ignores the fact that sometimes it was actually true.  

“Hm, so you won’t be paying for the fuel needed to get there and back? What payment should I expect then?” Peter’s voice dips at that, finally finding some ground in this conversation that feels comfortable.

There’s a shift of clothing barely audible on the other side of the phone. A pause and he can almost see the calculating and playful smile on Elias’s face.

“Hurry back and you’ll find out.”

The phone call ends before he can answer, and it’s a strange, vaguely defeated sensation caving into his chest at the prospect of returning. Of seeing whether Elias felt anything by his absence and if that will sustain him or preparing for Elias to try and take something else from him.

Doing what he does best, Peter simply shuts the phone off entirely and returns to his novel.

Dikson, Russia – Arctic Sea

A few days later, he finds himself docking at the port town Dikson. Gertrude is waiting with someone who must be the assistant Elias mentioned, flitting and looming around her as if he can keep the blustering winds from reaching her. What really gets Peter about the sight is that he is the one who looks like he could be flattened at any moment, wild blonde hair lashing about almost as bad as his fretting. He doesn’t make an effort to greet either of them though, and merely goes as far as indicating the Tundra is here and ready. He leaves the settling of their new cargo to his crew and returns to his cabin.

Gertrude surely knew where they were heading as that had been another aspect to the fun chat he’d had with Elias, which hadn’t come up. Zemlya Sannikova doesn’t actually exist.

It isn’t until they’re further out to sea, still at least another day away from nearing their supposed destination, does he take to checking in. Night has fallen and everyone is either where they’re supposed to be or trying to fade into the background as best they can. Neither of these things concern Peter as he walks the deck of his ship. The ends of his navy scarf are trying to whip away from him and absentmindedly, he considers replacing it soon. Another gift from Elias that he didn’t actually dislike, but it was getting old.

The cold of the Arctic is familiar, albeit bordering the edge of just too much. Certainly, too much for anyone else on board, which makes it regretful he can’t stay there himself. He doesn’t remain above deck as long as he might if they were anywhere else, and instead hides himself back below.

Despite all the maps stored in Peter’s cabin, sure enough when they reach the spot Gertrude directed them to, there is an impossible island in front of them. He idly watches the pair bundle up twice as much, her assistant fails in trying to take the backpack’s weight for Gertrude and Gertrude… she simply looks at him with those eyes again. They’re worse than Elias’s stare, he decides.

“We won’t be long,” she assures, voice hard. And soon enough, he can’t see either of them anymore.

The perverse urge to abandon her here hits him, but he had already agreed to the favor and heads back to his cabin to wait out however long her business will last. One or two of his crew express interest in looking for themselves and he has to send them off to do something else, wondering if he misread them that badly. No one aboard should care about what’s happening on that island that cannot and yet does exist.

He waits in his cabin and scratches down on one of the maps about where they must be. It isn’t really with any intention of returning—he has no interest in the Spiral.

Eventually, Peter directs his gaze to the necklace he’d received almost a decade ago, hanging on his cabin's wall and left uncovered for their little trip. He assumes Elias would want to watch—be there in his own way. Yet, as he always knows, the captain remains alone. He is intimately aware of how Elias's eyes feel when weighing upon him, and as such hates that he is relieved and disappointed when it is missing.

London, United Kingdom

Elias is distracted. He had every intention of watching while going through the motions of interviewing new employees, but he is floored by the young man taking the seat across his desk. It is not so much that he finds himself incapable of multitasking like he usually would, but oddly that he doesn’t want to.

A gift dropped right in his office is very hard to ignore. And he is a gentleman first and foremost, knowing that the Mother takes priority over his passing fancy and wayward Archivist. Someone already marked by the Web and yet still just as painfully curious despite the event. He observes it all and hopes this one works out. That he has finally found his Archivist.

“I think you’ll fit in quite well here at the Institute, Jon.”

By the time he looks back to the Tundra, it’s over. Gertrude has returned to the ship leaving another assistant to an unfortunate end, and Peter is engrossed in a book, looking utterly indifferent even with the eyes he must feel directed on him now.

Reluctant as the captain was initially, the favor is done. And after Gertrude is dropped off back in England, their meeting is brief. He doesn’t join him this time or take Elias up on what he’d had in mind, however vulgar he had implied it over the phone. Truly, Peter doesn’t really want to be there at all. There’s a hollow smile in the way he says perhaps next time, and leaves again. The lingering chill eats away at him more than he expects, but at the same time, it feels different.

He wonders if his husband will ask why he wasn’t watching earlier, or if he even noticed. He wonders with all that heavy, cold nothingness expanding ever so slowly between them, if Peter has taken his ring off.

He wonders why he doesn’t check. END NOTE: entirely want to give inspiration credit to the imagery of the wedding scene and the moorland house in particular to a Very lovely fic a glass essay which made me realize how much i actually like peter? if you are reading this and have not read it i Highly recommend it, the characterization and atmosphere are absolutely incredible.

[jenguerrero]

Just about forever ago, my husband and I adventured around Spain, Portugal, and Morocco on our honeymoon. I took tons of pictures, but it was all on physical film, and we’d spent all our money on experiences, and came home filled with amazing memories, a $5 poster from Madrid, and empty pockets. It was awesome. We were young and poor, and the film never got developed.

I stumbled on Jeff Koehler’s cookbook, Morocco: A Culinary Journey with Recipes from the Spice-Scented Markets of Marrakech to the Date-Filled Oasis of Zagora, and thumbed through it. Oh my gosh. The photographs of the landscape, people,  architecture ranging from simple to extremely intricate, exquisitely detailed carvings and patterns, the rooftops where you drink mint tea in tall thin glasses, and those glorious open air spice markets flooded the pages between the recipes. It’s a beautiful book.

Then I tried the recipes and was transported right back there.

A big thanks to Chronicle Books for letting me share the recipes for this fantastic dinner with you! The photograph is mine. Jeff’s are much cooler. My review of the book with my pictures and thoughts of the dishes I tried are below the recipes.

Morocco: A Culinary Journey with Recipes from the Spice-Scented Markets of Marrakech to the Date-Filled Oasis of Zagora by Jeff Koehler, photographs by Jeff Koehler (Chronicle Books, 2012.)

Grilled Marinated Chicken Brochettes

Like Grilled Spicy Kefta Brochettes, these are a favorite throughout country, referred to as snacks in street stalls and in simple cafes. They’re inexpensive, flavorful, and quick to prepare. The chicken takes on a lovely golden hue from the cumin and sweet paprika. Calculate about four brochettes per person as part of a meal, accompanied by a few salads and plenty of bread.

Makes about 16 brochettes; serves 4

2 heaped Tbsp finely chopped fresh cilantro 2 tsp ground cumin 1 tsp sweet paprika 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (optional) Salt and freshly ground black pepper 6 Tbsp/90 ml olive oil 4 boneless chicken breasts (about 2 lb/910 g), cut into 3/4- to 1-in/2- to 2.5-cm cubes

In a large mixing bowl, add the cilantro, cumin, paprika, and cayenne pepper. Generously season with salt and pepper. Moisten with the oil and blend well. Add the chicken and turn to coat. Cover, refrigerate, and marinate for 1 hour, turning occasionally.

Prepare skewers with 6 to 8 cubes of chicken on each. The pieces should be just touching, but not squashed tightly together.

If using a grill pan, skillet, or griddle, heat over medium-high heat. If using a barbecue, prepare a fire and heat until the coals are glowing. If using a broiler, preheat the broiler.

Cook the brochettes, nudging them from time to time with the help of a spatula in order to cook evenly on all sides, until the meat is cooked through and firm to touch, 4 to 5 minutes. Serve hot.

Chilled Cucumber and Orange Juice with Oregano

Moroccans love fresh juices, and the combinations they make are eclectic and highly seasonal. This is one of my favorites. Although it is commonly prepared as a juice, it can also be a drinkable dessert, especially on warm summer days. I once had it as a “salad” served with a spoon in late fall in the eastern High Atlas. Oranges hadn’t yet ripened, and instead the cook used small clementines from down the valley. Served before a communal platter of Berber Barley Couscous with Vegetables, the drink seemed closer to a light, sophisticated, vibrant green gazpacho than a rustic salad.

Serves 6

2 lb/910 g medium cucumbers 21⁄4 cups/530 ml fresh orange or mandarin orange juice, preferably clementine 11⁄2 tsp superfine sugar, plus more as needed 1⁄2 tsp dried oregano or zaâtar, plus more as needed

Trim the ends from the cucumbers and scrub the peels. Remove about half of the peels from each cucumber and remove the seeds if they are large. Cut the cucumber into chunks and put in a food processor or blender. Pour in the orange juice and sprinkle in the sugar and oregano. Blend for at least 1 minute or until very finely puréed. The drink should be a bit thick and slightly foamy. Taste for sweetness and seasoning and adjust as needed. Pour into a pitcher, cover, and refrigerate until chilled. Serve in tall glasses or in small bowls with spoons.

Carrot and Cumin Salad

Serves 4 to 6

A particular favorite around Marrakech and in the south, this cooked salad offers a delightful contrast of cold sweet carrots, earthy cumin, and fresh parsley. It’s even better when prepared a day ahead and left overnight to chill and the flavors to fully meld. Set out alongside a bowl of Marinated Olives to nibble on as an appetizer, or serve as part of a spread of salads.

1 lb/455 g medium carrots, scrubbed and cut into 1⁄4-in-/6-mm-thick rounds Salt 1⁄4 cup/60 ml olive oil 1 tsp ground cumin 1⁄2 tsp sweet paprika Freshly ground black pepper 1⁄2 tsp sugar 1 small lemon, halved Heaped 2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

In a medium saucepan, boil the carrots in lightly salted water until just tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Fill a large mixing bowl with cold water.

Transfer the carrots with a slotted spoon to the cold water to stop further cooking. Once the carrots are cooled, remove with the slotted spoon and drain for a few minutes. Spread out on paper towels to dry completely.

In a large skillet or sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the carrots, cumin, and paprika; season with pepper; and sprinkle with the sugar. Cook, stirring gently, for 1 minute. Remove from the heat. Squeeze half of the lemon over the carrots and sprinkle with the parsley. Turn the carrots to coat evenly.

Transfer to a bowl and let cool. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until chilled.

Just before serving, squeeze the remaining lemon half over the carrots and turn to coat.

My review of the book….

Morocco: A Culinary Journey with Recipes from the Spice-Scented Markets of Marrakech to the Date-Filled Oasis of Zagora by Jeff Koehler Edition: Hardcover

Everything we’ve tried has been absolutely delicious. My husband and I spent a little time on our honeymoon in Morocco and this takes us right back.

If you’re health conscious, and like a lot of flavor, you’ll be delighted with the book. As a great bonus, most of the recipes are really good for you. A lot of the dishes are really colorful, so you’ll get a great aesthetic punch on the plate.

This is a beautiful cookbook. The photos, paper, and binding are fantastic quality.

Pictured below: 1) Grilled Marinated Chicken Brochettes p.92, Cucumbers in Sweet Marinade with Oregano p.99, and Grated Carrot and Orange Salad p.102. Fantastically fresh and flavorful dinner with minimal effort. It took about 20 minutes to pull together, then rests in the fridge for 2 hours, then grills for 5 and gets a quick garnish. The cucumber dish calls for za’atar. Penzey’s spices online carries it if your grocer doesn’t. The carrot salad calls for a splash of orange flower water. If you’re not familiar with that, a good grocery store will have that on the beverage aisle, probably near the juices. 2) Harira. It’s a beef and chickpea stew with tomatoes, onion, celery, herbs and spices, lemon, and a sprinkling of broken angel hair pasta. So delicious and so healthy! This stew takes about 2 hours in total, but only about 20 minutes of attention from the cook. I adored the dates, figs accompanying it.

3) Couscous with Pumpkin (and lamb!) – p182. Delicious and so simple to make. 4) Beet Soup with Ginger – p 74. Beet, potatoes, and ginger. This is the one on the cover. The color is such a vibrant magenta, that my little phone camera had difficulty with the brightness and focus.

5) Spicy Eggplant, Tomato, and Garlic Salad – p 105. I went with the roasted green pepper variation that he mentions in the preface. My little girl asked me to make this one. When I read that it’s the most classic and popular, I had to. Delicious. 6) Mint Tea – p 210. Perfection. Wonderfully earthy. I saw the tall Moroccan tea glasses at World Market. They’re hand-wash only, but pretty enough to be worth it. 🙂 In the meantime, my stemless champagne flutes do the trick quite nicely. 7) Berber Omelet Tagine. I love this. If you’re a fan of eggs in purgatory and shakshouka, you’ll adore it. He has you crack eight eggs for this, and reserve two yolks for the top. It serves four, so I reserved four yolks so my teenagers wouldn’t engage in runny yolk battles. I found that by the time the omelet was set, my yolks were set, too, so the second time I made this, I held off til the last five minutes to set them on top.

Some other recipes I have flagged to try: Preserved Lemons – p 45 * Phyllo Triangles Stuffed with Fresh Cheese – p 61 * Layered Berber Flatbread – p 64 * Split Pea Soup with Cumin and Paprika – p 77 * Kefta Brochettes – p 94 * Butternut Squash Salad with Cinnamon – p 108 * Lamb Tagine with Oranges, Saffron, and Candied Orange Peel – p 116 * Lamb with Garlic, Cumin, and Coriander – p 120 * Kefta Meatball Tagine in Tomato Sauce with Eggs – p 128 * Rif Mountain Omelet with Wild Mushrooms – p 134 * Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives – p 140 * Spicy Shrimp Tagine – p 156 * Oranges with Orange Flower Water and Cinnamon – p 190 * Honeyed Phyllo Triangles Stuffed with Almonds – p 195 * Chilled Cucumber and Orange Juice with Oregano – p 214

  Morocco, the cookbook that is. Just about forever ago, my husband and I adventured around Spain, Portugal, and Morocco on our honeymoon.

[hunkiedorieblog]

So you want to throw a brunch that will blow your friends minds. Don’t know where to start? Well Hunkiedorie has you covered. I will be breaking down how I put together my #BEEuTEAfulBrunch benefiting Madi Apparel.  For more details on Madi Apparel and why I wanted to raise money for their cause check out my earlier post.

  Hunkiedorie’s keys to a successful brunch are very simple. Just follow these eight steps: Pick A Date Choose A Theme Make Your Guest List Plan The Menu Set The Vibe Start Early Document Give Thanks

1.  Pick a date: Patio season is in full force and there is no better time to host an at home brunch than late spring. It hasn’t gotten too hot yet and you can really let your imagination run wild. Do everything on a larger scale now that you have the perfect weather and plenty of space to moves things outside.

Originally I wanted to host my event on Memorial Day weekend. A nice three-day weekend where my friends would have plenty of time to slow down and enjoy themselves. Clearly this was the wrong way to go. The weather is always iffy that time of year and it is the first big cabin weekend of the season. After many of my friends expressed their distress over the date I bumped it out one more weekend. The party was set for June 3rd. Still early enough that I could get away with a Mother’s Day/Spring theme.

  2. Choose a theme: I have been really drawn to pastel colors and floral china lately. Every trip to the Goodwill means a few more dainty dishes or vintage teacups. With a bee as my logo, why not go with a spring tea party theme?! I can incorporate my love of fuzzy little pollinators and floral prints into a shabby chic dining experience.

I wanted my friends to feel like they could spend the whole day together. To accomplish this I invited their children as well, this way no one would have to worry about sitters or rushing back to their babies.

By giving the brunch a Mother’s Day brunch type feel I could incorporate one of my favorite causes into the day seamlessly. Madi Apparel is a cause based intimate apparel company that supports Domestic Violence Shelters, Disaster Relief Shelters and Hospital Rape Crisis Centers by donating new clean underwear to women in need.

3. Make your guest list: Since this was a woman focused event with a very girly theme I decided to keep my invite girls only. I reached out to the ladies from my North Crew and Monty Clan. Ladies and babies, perfect for a relaxing afternoon on the deck.

4. Plan the menu: I’m essentially throwing a tea party. But we need a little bit more sass with the appearance of class. We will have brunch and try to incorporate a few tea party menu items in. Keep in mind any special dietary requirements. Two of my girlfriends were pregnant and one of them has celiac disease. My sister is a vegetarian and several girls don’t eat dairy. I tried to incorporate many items that could be multi purpose. Many of the garnishes for the Bloody Mary & Mimosa Bars could be used in different ways with other aspects of the brunch, for example adding fruit to the yogurt and granola.

  Bloody Mary Bar: I’m not a Bloody Mary person, but I have always been fascinated with the concept. I have no interest in drinking them but all the snacks that go into them and they people personalize them is something I have always wanted to take part in. When developing my Bloody Mary bar I went to the experts. My Monty Clan takes their bloodies seriously and I knew that they would be the perfect guides in making my set up a success.

  What you need/What I used: 

    Mimosa Bar: Mimosas aren’t always as fun as a Bloody Mary bar but I can’t imagine brunch without them. I’ll never forget when my friend Alex introduced me to them. One sip and there was no going back for me! When getting my Mimosa Bar planned out I tried to remember back to my experience to Hell’s Kitchen which has a killer Bloody/Mimosa Bar every weekend. The only problem was it was the day after Mike & Ashley’s wedding and everything that day was a struggle. (I also ran into my ex boyfriend’s roommate which had me all sorts of flustered.) The key to making your mimosa bar fun is unexpected items, apart from the traditional fruit mix in some fun candies.

What you need/What I used: 

Brunch Buffett: I went Pinterest crazy and this portion of my brunch changed the most. I really had to reel myself in and keep things as simple as possible. Staging the table was a blast because I got another chance to really use my Goodwill crystal. I also decided the night before that I needed

Additional Beverages:

5. Set the vibe: I was able to reuse several pieces from last year’s Harvest Party such as my plates and harvest tables. My minion (aka Dad) used the light poles from the Harvest Party to string my pastel lanterns that I picked up at Party City the night before.

Mama Hunk and I had a blast shopping at the goodwill to find a variety of vintage teacups and matching saucers for each place setting and found some lacy pink chargers on sale at Michaels to finish the whole thing off. One of the best parts of our tea cup designs was researching the history of each one of our Taylor & Kent, Lefton China or Limoge finds.

I struck gold when I found a shelf full of malt glasses that would be perfect for my Bloody Bar along with a handful of ornate crystal champagne flutes. I displayed all my glasses on the bakers’ rack that we keep on the deck as a plant stand. When I got my tables all filled with my goodies I was a little short on room.

I ended up incorporating a sofa table my grandpa made to hold the Cucumber Water and Iced Vanilla Mocha pitchers right next to my bakers’ rack, it worked perfectly.

I dressed the table up my harvest tables with some mirrored trays that I had at home and scattered candles, tea tins, budvases and old tea pots down the center of the table. I finished everything off with some gorgeous flower arrangements that Mama Hunk created in some pink mason jars she had in the craft drawer from a previous project. I must say I think the flowers were my favorite detail. The sunshine yellow roses in contrast with the creamy pink gerbera daisies made the whole arrangement so dreamy.

I used regular plastic folding tables to display my food. Using the old book and box trick under the table cloths to create height and dimension for all my pretty crystal.

Originally, I had envisioned making a spectacular AstroTurf background, where my friends could take pictures with their little ones. Maybe next year. The night before the party I decided to go a different route. My minion and I found a 4’x8’ piece of plywood in the clearance section of Menards. I painted it the perfect shade of pink and decorated it with some premade fan kits that were on sale at Michael’s. I used my Cricut to cut out my Blog header and viola I had the perfect backdrop for my buffet table!

The week leading up to the party I began to work on my music playlist. I feel that life should have a soundtrack and have music with me wherever I go. After searching through Pandora’s stations I found that there was a whole brunch section. I spent the week liking and disliking songs on their Sunday Funday Brunch Radio and felt confident that it would be the perfect background sound for the day.

Start Early: The night after my encounter with Cassie that inspired this whole thing I created a Facebook event. It’s always a good idea to keep something like this on everyone’s radar. I ordered invites that I had designed on Vista Print, unfortunately due to a shipping error they arrived too late. I relied on Facebook to keep everyone informed. I also sent out a confirmation text the week before to get a final head count.

I took the day before the party to prepare as much of the food as possible. I learned after the Harvest Party, prepping is your friend (I lit the oven on fire and was still in my sweats when people showed up for my last party.). I can’t stress this enough, the less cooking you do the day of the better. I cleaned off the deck and got the tables and chairs set up the day before. I had the tables covered, the chairs were so easy to rent last time I didn’t worry about it. That was a mistake, its grad party season and no one had any available chairs. Luckily my mom was able to make a call to one of her girlfriends who just hosted a backyard wedding and was able to get some folding chairs together for me.

Document: In today’s world if you didn’t post it to social media did it even happen? The original plan of the whole party was for Cassie to get some photography in. Of course, with a baby that wasn’t a guarantee. She wasn’t able to come early to take picture and help stage as we had planned. Luckily I am a pro when it comes to over documenting, I just wish I had better results (it’s a goal I am working towards). I had a hashtag created, again thanks to Mama Hunk’s brilliant mind. #BEEuTEAfulBrunch had been scattered throughout all my invites, Facebook Events and even on the Snapchat GeoFilter I created. I reminded all my friends to use the hashtag in any posts. When my friends began to arrive I also handed out my three cameras and told them to get to work and earn their drinks. Huge shout out to my friends! Lainie, Cassie, AP, Kelsey, Megan you guys were awesome!

  Give Thanks: Once you get your brunch going there will be no doubt that you are the hostess with the mostess. Don’t ruin a good thing by forgetting to circulate! This is the piece of the puzzle I struggle with the most. I always seem to sit down and act like this event is like any other outing with my friends. Later I realize I missed the chance to visit with many of them and regret it. I have always struggled socially and it is something I work on very hard. Although I have a very large friend group and am close with each member I always fall short when it comes to small talk. Another challenge in situations such as these is bringing multiple friend groups together. I was in luck, there is a simple solution to both problems. You know your friends, introduce them to each other pointing out similarities. I love to follow the Bridget Jones introductions etiquette. Always introduce people with thoughtful details. This gets the conversation going and allows you to jump in and out of different conversations and get everyone feeling comfortable. When you are a hosting any event you must remember to bounce around and show your appreciation to everyone who has shown up to celebrate and support you. Now this doesn’t mean that you can’t sit and chat for a length of time. Just make sure that you get an opportunity to really speak with everyone and make them feel included and appreciated, after all they have made time in their schedules for you make sure you make time for them.

      #BEEuTEAfulBrunch Planning So you want to throw a brunch that will blow your friends minds. Don’t know where to start?