#as someone charles' age i think you can only keep up with your favourite bands for so long before their mortality becomes depressing

[gameo-archive]

"🎼🎶🎶 Bad phrasing on my part means I still don't know how Edwin feels about ska & Charles' taste in music 😅 Jayden's answers are everything to me 🥹

#SaveDeadBoyDetectives #AsTheFrenchSayMerde"

Thank you so much for sharing your playlists for the boys. Fleetwood Mac's "Everywhere" on Charles' [playlist] is especially perfect. Music is so dear to me and I love characters that are part of counter cultures like Charles. So I wonder how his relationship with his music has changed since he is no longer able to be part of a community built around it. Do you think he ever tried to keep up with new music as a way of staying connected to the living? Would gigs lose their appeal to ghosts despite the free entry? Does Edwin let Charles play records aloud in the office between cases or is that unbearable for him?

[creativeashproductions]

Hiking Buddy // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Once upon a time you could joke that quaratine bordom was the cause of the mass amount of 2020 pregnancies. Well you could until you found yourself in the same boat...or shall we say crib?? Go on the journey as Y/N reveals the pregnancy to Charlie and later their friends.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of vomiting, pregnancy, and fluff.

Words: 2.5k

Requested: Yes. Anon

A/N: Someone asked for dad!Charlie and I couldn’t resist.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will be through commenting on the posts!

I take requests as well!

Masterlist

Pulled from deep in your chest was a groan at the dizziness rushing from the bedroom into the bathroom. The tile floor cool to the touch as your body was flush on the bathroom floor recovering from the bout of sickness. The fortunate thing about the pandemic was that you had no obligations taking you out of the home. Sitting up, you sat back against the white porcelain tub grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of your date with the toilet.

Slowly you found your grounding enough to shakily stand on two feet to brush your teeth to get rid of the nasty aftertaste. Your eyes found the pale expression of your reflection fading as nausea faded as well.

“This is tainting naps for me.” You muttered under your breath, washing your hands before proceeding to splash your face.

Your social media had been flooded with many people in your personal life and celebrities announcing pregnancies. You and Charlie often made teasing remarks about if people were so bored. Guess you couldn’t joke about it anymore.

Your hand splayed across the bare skin under the band shirt hanging loose on your form with a small smile. It had been a hectic year getting married to Charlie while filming the first season of Julie and the Phantoms. The plan had been to wait a few years to enjoy your careers and marriage before children. Get more established in the film industry as a woman was necessary, but you couldn’t get mad. This child would be a gift.

“I’d appreciate if I don’t have gross cravings okay? I have to put up with your dad’s questionable food combinations. I may throw up looking at it.” You muttered smiling at the smooth skin you couldn’t wait to grow into a bump.

At the beginning of the pandemic, you, along with Charlie, had flown back to Canada. Living outside of city limits, Charlie was able to still hike and meet up with family in a safe condition. You grew more as a couple as well.

Turning the light off in the bathroom, you made your way to slip your faux fur lined grey and burgundy moccasins—the mid-afternoon sun shining through the windows of the bedroom giving a picturesque view of the forest. Charlie was more than likely in the home gym you had thrown together once arriving at the home.

“I have an idea a little one.” You spoke to the little life you carried inside your womb. After the positive pregnancy and your confirmation with the OB/GYN, you had ordered a few items.

First, it was baby-sized pair of hiking boots to go with a forest green, that matched Charlie’s eyes, onesie with black lettering. The lettering saying ‘And so the Adventure Begins’. The background had with trees and mountains. As nature enthusiasts, you thought it would be perfect.

The box had arrived early this morning when Charlie had been in the shower giving you time to hide it. Now you just had to mention you wanted to go hiking with him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Charlie spoke, kissing your forehead as he walked into the home. His first instinct to grab a snack after his workout, “How was your nap?”

“Energized me. Hey, are you too tired to go on a short hike?” You questioned filling a glass with water to hand to him. His smile was thanks enough as he tugged you to sit in his lap.

“We haven’t gone on one in quite a while. What brought it on?” Charlie asked, wrapping his arms around to finish his protein bar. His chin coming to rest of your shoulder familiarly; you relaxed into his chest.

“It’s a nice day. We’ve been cooped up in the house for a while. Just wanna get out.” You replied heart doing a flutter when his arms wrapped around your midsection.

“Let me get a few things,” Charlie spoke gently, pushing you up to the job to the spare bedroom. The closet kept the supplies you used for hikes, like the first aid kit that he started bringing after you cut your knee once.

As he collected the items, you quickly changed into clothing acceptable for the hike and shoving the things into the backpack. Slipping it on, you met your husband at the front door lacing up your boots. Charlie lifted the house keys in his hands before he tugged you outside, excited for the escape. His hand never leaving yours, you found the well-used trail you had explored countless times.

“Are you feeling better?” Charlie asked, swinging your hands together, refusing to release his grip. His eyes glancing over to catch your expression.

“I think I was overtired.” You replied, keeping your eyes on the trail looking for the rock you wanted to use.

Charlie’s phone was pulled out to make a short video.

“Get yourself a partner that suggests a hike before you.” Charlie slowed to press a kiss to your flushed cheek, “No but seriously. I’m incredibly lucky to have someone like my wife here.”

“Oh, shush.” You snickered as he intentionally pulled you to a stop to press kisses all over your face. His grin and his love would melt the hearts of his followers. Charlie returned the phone to his pocket as he hummed the melody to Unsaid Emily.

“Be right back.” Charlie spoke, squeezing your hand as he jogged to the forest, “I drank too much coffee this morning!”

You couldn’t help the laugh at his blunt words and his typical caffeine intake, but it gave you the perfect opportunity. Using the limited time, you were quick to place the onesie on the rock with the baby hiking boots near the shoulder. You had forgone on asking for a sonogram picture so you could share that moment with Charlie.

“I always forget to pee before we leave the house. Good thing we live near nature.” Charlie spoke jogging closer to where you were hiding the items behind you.

“Do you think green or mine?” You asked, bringing an expression of confusion on your husband’s face. He stepped closer halting when you stepped to the side, “I think yours. I love your eyes.”

Charlie was frozen entirely at the surprise you had planted in his short absence. He didn’t even notice he had moved until the soft cotton of the onesie brushed his fingertips. With his attention solely on the boots, he hadn’t seen you had a stepped up a camera to catch his reaction.

“Are those…?”

“They won’t need the boots in our arms, but I thought we could match.” You continued shifting with the camera to catch his wonder-filled gaze. His expression melted your heart as he gently caressed the side of the boot from his crouched position.

“We’re-“

“-getting a new hiking buddy.” You finished beaming as Charlie lunged you swing you in his arms, “Okay Char. I’d prefer not throwing up again.”

Charlie stumbled back glancing around the area, “I love how you surprised me, but what if you had fallen? I can’t have my loves hurt.”

 “Charlie. We’re on an easy trail, not Everest. I’m fine.” You deadpanned watching his cheeks flush at your response, “But I would like to get home. I’m so hungry.”

September 2020

Emma Roberts, Sasha Pieterse, Bindi Irwin, High School Music alumni Ashley Tisdale, and Hilary Duff were only a handful of celebrities welcoming babies. If hiding your marriage with Charlie was hard during filming, hiding the pregnancy was harder with your friends. Especially hitting seven months with a big bump concealed with camera angles.

You wanted to keep the news under wraps, so the media focused on the show, not your pregnancy at an early age. Of course, your friends were suspicious of Charlie’s posts and stories, not showing their favourite Gillespie. Carolynn knew just by the fullness of your face barely noticeable to the others.

“Oof.” You breathed wincing at the sharp kick to your ribs from Sprout. Charlie’s concerned gaze glancing over from his interview.

Swiftly rubbing the area, the kick happened your fingers returned to flip the page of the pregnancy book. You had grown used to the concern Charlie carried, he always had his phone fully charged on his hikes. Hikes you hadn’t taken since you surprised him with the little boots; it had been a disagreement, but you got where he was coming from.

“I’m fine, Charles.” You spoke, forcing him to turn his attention back to the closing interview. Once he turned the camera off, he rushed over to crouch in front of the couch, placing his hands on your stretched belly.

“Thought we had a deal Sprout.” He cooed caressing the band shirt covering your stretched skin, “Don’t hurt your mama.”

Your face twisted as the baby shifted, while you were enthralled by the fact you were carrying a child it felt like an alien. It was weird feeling something move inside and kick your damn inside like a fucking soccer ball.

“I can’t wait for the baby to be out.” You groaned, hiding the smile as Charlie’s lips pressed against your belly. You couldn’t wait to see him interact with his child.

“I say we name him Luke.” Charlie teased shifting you ahead so he could slide behind you in the usual position. His fingers immediately massaging your stiff shoulders and neck.

“I like Alex better. He’s the best Phantom.” You retorted reaching up to hold his hands, “Sensitive and his sarcasm? Immaculate.”

“We can table the options at a later time.” Charlie quickly replied chuckling as you moved position once more to rest against his chest. His fingers finding their way into your silky hair, pregnancy hormones had sped up hair growth.

“Hey-“ Your words fractured as your phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Jeremy. Charlie quickly answered with a snicker as your response was cut off.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of you two on your couch, “My wife and I had drinks with our family. Carolynn slipped and told me something interesting.”

You and your husband froze as Carolynn sheepishly joined her husband in their white bedroom with a quick apology. Guess the cat was out of the bag.

“You guys are having a kid?” Jeremy asked, taking in the two actors he had quickly become good friends with during filming. His mind recalling a moment at his wedding when you guys had disappeared for a good twenty minutes.

March 2020

The Shada wedding had been gorgeous and like a dream to see someone you saw as a brother find his other half. Your hand was kept tight in your husband’s sitting among Owen, Tori and Kenny himself. Owen had snuck himself and Tori wine while Kenny turned his eye to the underage drinking.

“Wanna take a walk?” Charlie murmured in your ear as Jeremy and Carolynn made their way around their guests. His hot breath sending a chill down your spine as his left hand came to rest on your thigh.

The romantic atmosphere with the wine you had had during dinner lowered your inhibitions that you and Charlie snuck to the less used bathroom. You two quickly gave evidence that wedding hookups were very real. You managed to sneak back into the reception where dancing was taking place; a perfect story to why you and Charlie were a little dishevelled.

“Hey!” Owen called seeing you two join him on the floor. The wine had blinded his view of the very obvious couple, Owen knew from catching you two what a quickie appearance looked like.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink Bud.” Charlie spoke to the teenager as Jeremy made his way over to his friends, “Congrats Jer!”

“Thanks, man! When will we get the Gillespie wedding we didn’t get?” Jeremy called over the music beaming when his new wife plastered herself to Jeremy.

“Maybe in the next year.” You retorted twirling in Charlie’s arms thanks to the dance lessons of boot camp.

“Oh my god. Little Gillespie was conceived at our wedding.” Jeremy spoke, leaning back to his wife, “You’d be due in November, right?”

Your cheeks burned as Jeremy and Carolynn put the pieces together swiftly, “Well can we keep this a secret until October? I don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

“You should tell the others.” Jeremy suggested squeezing his wife’s hand, “They might think Charlie kidnapped a baby otherwise.”

Agreeing to announce to your friends Charlie had set up a video hangout with Owen, Mads, Savannah, Jeremy and even Kenny. It was in the later evening with the hiking boots out of shot and your shirt and belly below the camera view.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie greeted his friends as everyone entered the video, “Insane how many fan edits there are!”

“So cool!” Mads beamed addressing Kenny, “Thanks for giving me the chance to be involved in the coolest project.”

“You did all the work.” Kenny waved it off, taking in the cast of one of his favourite projects to date. You all meshed together so perfectly even if your character was only recurring like Sav.

“Hey, Kenny can we get your opinion on something?” You asked, gaining everyone’s attention and excitement after only using texting with the group. Morning sickness and fatigue had depleted your desire to be physically seen.

Kenny nodded, leading you to grab the baby hiking boots, “Do you think these are adequate enough to run from the witches?”

It was utterly silent as Charlie raised the little plaque he had ordered. The plaque included the Hocus Pocus witches in front of a cream moon, faces featureless other than eyebrows and lips. The corner had a cobweb with a little spider and just under it said ‘Winnie, I smell…a child’ with the pregnancy test snug in the cut out. Your favourite was the ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus’ under the test.

“No way!” Owen screamed as all hell broke loose with the others. Charlie beamed at the sheer excitement on their faces.

“You’re having a baby?” Kenny murmured with a smile at the touching announcement and acting being involved.

“Charlie suggested the Hocus Pocus theme because we may have kept it to ourselves and our family?” Your voice went up a few octaves as the truth broke free.

“You haven’t had the kid, right?” Mads questioned peering in the background behind you finding nothing.

“Hopefully we have our hiking buddy in November on the due date. I don’t want to overdue, this kid weighs a ton.” You moaned snuggling into Charlie’s side, “We defin-“

“Jer’s wedding.” Owen interrupted with narrowed eyes, “You disappeared and came back with-“

“-O there is a child present.” Sav joked getting Mads to scoff at her, but everyone made a face as they recalled your disappearing act.

“Oh, your house must be filled with gross food combos. I hope the baby gets Y/N’s looks and taste buds.” Mads called hanging up before Charlie could retort at her. His eyes rolled, but the smile told another story, but slowly each of their friends said their goodbyes.

“At least Owen won’t go spilling the news to anyone.” You snorted playing your hand on Charlie’s large one splayed across your tummy.

You had a lot to thank Kenny for too. Without being cast by him, you wouldn’t have met your friends which in turn would mean you wouldn’t have been at Jer’s wedding. That would have been tragic since his marriage is the sole reason you had a child due in two months.

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[bedfordrambles]

Thursday

It was a Thursday. That part of the week that seemed to drag - when everyone was done with being anyway productive. Afternoons built on talks about plans for the weekend - discussions Manchester’s best pubs, clubs favouring over the team assignment you were supposed to be working on. Uni.

It’s when there’s a sudden buzz, a flashing screen - your phone. A break in the haze of boredom and stagnant conversation.

Outside. Red vines & vodka ready.

That is i’m outside if you’re in uni.. which i assume you are cos you’re a good girl ;)

But i was thinking you could come be a little bit bad for a couple hours..

A knowing smile - the series of texts. Familiar. But someone you hadn’t heard from in a while.

George Daniel, back to corrupt me more?

An almost instantaneous bounce back of;

We both know that ship has long sailed, love.

Biting down harder - the cap of your pen, faint buzz of ongoing conversation fading, replaced by his voice when you read the next message.

So.. seeing as you’ve really nothing to lose.. meet me outside? Might even be some flying saucers in it for you..

And despite his constant disappearing acts - he knew you well. Well enough to know your favourite drinks and sweets. And you’re already shoving books, notebooks into your bag. No one notices, looks up when you hurry out of the room - trying for dignified and not at all like you were rushing. Trying to shrug on a jacket whilst text, pen still hanging from your lips. Eagerness.

Any chance of some chocolate? ;)

George’s flat - a shared one with his best friend - stinks of weed. An unmistakable smell - exacerbating in his room. George never really invited girls into his room, and when he did it was in the early hours of the morning, when there was echos of gin between mouths and hazy thoughts ran parallel in heads, and names that would be long forgotten come the morning.

This was a first.

George was cool - very tall and very attractive in a nonconventional way. He used to have long hair - that made it messy when you kissed. Only a handful of times - heavy touches in bathrooms of houses where the thundering of your heart whenever he touched you, was hidden by a heavier bass flooding, reverberating through the floorboards.

Conversations were soundtracked by intricate rap that you could never keep up with and deep bass that made your veins buzz and head spin. George mumbled a lot when he spoke - unintentional but his sentences kept the same mantra as the house music, words kept the same beat as the rap.

So George’s room was a surprise. From the colour of the walls to the posters scattered around them. Some were films, some were music, and a lot less naked girls than you had expected. A stack of books - Aldous Huxley, Carl Nielsen, a few of the names that stand out, again not what you had expected. Maybe the biggest surprise - was the record player in the corner, and shelves packed with an extensive collection of vinyls.

Not a rap, dubstep CD in sight.

“They’re organised by year,” he tells you. Watching - fingers spanning over names. He hadn’t spoken since - gauging your reaction, a new dimension of him. One he didn’t have to worry about in the dark when the main concern was getting clothes off, figuring where mouths should go. Too sober - handing you the glass, lemon fanta and vodka and a half eaten red vine as an afterthought.

“Top shelf is 60′s, 70′s, 80′s, more 80′s, 90′s..” - trailing off, watching his gestures moving down a shelf with each year. He points out a few from each decade - landmarks, favourites.

The 60′s hold Rolling Stones, Velvet Underground, Beach Boys, Hendrix, Ray Charles, Jackson 5. A lot of jazz. 

70′s - Fleetwood Mac, Sex Pistols, Zepplin, Pink Floyd, The Stooges, Bowie, Queen, Joy Divison, Deep Purple, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, The Eagles, The Clash. There’s a twitch then - a wave of relaxation when you ask about names you haven’t heard, and he explains the whole jazz fusion experiments in the 70′s, a universe aways from the age of punk rock vs new romantics you were familiar with. And it’s nice to hear his voice without the bass, the rap. It’s nice to hear his voice near combusting with passion.

He’s making eye contact by the 80′s - the glass being passed. The Cure, Peter Gabriel, INXS, Bowie, Depeche Mode, Bon Jovi, Michael Jackson, Prince, The Blue Nile, Sonic Youth, The Replacements, The Cramps, Fleetwood Mac, Ramones, New Order, The Smiths, The Jam, Talking Heads, Morrissey, Yazoo, The Stone Roses, The Flying Pickets, Tears For Fears, Psychedelic Furs, Pixies, Cocteau Twins, My Bloody Valentine.

The 80′s went on - clearly his favourite, a playful debate over the best record of the decade. Him - Everywhere, Fleetwood Mac. You - Hats, The Blue Nile.

It’s Hats that ends up on the record player. Background noise, you can still hear him, without the music pumping in your veins. He has a shoebox under his bed - Matty thinks there are actual shoes inside, not weed. A practical hiding place. Rolling spliffs while you get more drinks. You know his kitchen better than his bedroom.

He tells you stories from the floor - about the band, Matty, fills you in on what you’ve missed while smoke clouds. Obscuring features and thoughts.

The band are close to getting signed, they’re writing better stuff, he’s not with Alexa anymore, Matty’s dating some seventeen year old and has started writing a book, his sister got a new puppy called Lola - yes after the song. He talks most about Matty and dogs. More of the latter when the weed begins to kick in. His two greatest loves, you tease. He doesn’t deny it. Quintessential - typical George.

He’s teaching, attempting to teach you, how to blow smoke rings, sat opposite you on the bed. Downed drinks and melting ice - forgotten on the floor. Giggles filtering through smoke. He tells you - you should come over more often, like old times, to play Mortal Kombat. Matty was getting way too cocky, and you were the only one that could ever manage to top him.

Then it’s back to bands - he remembers how much you adore punk rock, Sex Pistols. He thinks Matty still has a tshirt you left here once before a night out. He does - you seen him wearing it at a gig a few weeks back. George pontificates - about genres for a while, about how their new sound defies that. Defies the genre boundaries of the charts, society’s perceptions. Why they couldn’t manage to get signed. He tells you he’ll play you a few songs later if you stick around for supper. Matty’s bringing back Chinese.

He has new tattoo’s - ones your fingertips trace with ease, splatters of colour spiraling down his arm. There’s a snail on the inside of his wrist - one he tells you he wishes he could remember the story behind when you ask. Smoke curls - thick in the air, when you tell him you want to get one. He grins, insisting he’ll take you to his mate.

“He’s gotten well good now - me and Matty don’t just let him practice on our legs anymore,” he tells you through an exhale. When you still sound doubtful - having seen the practice scrawls on both their legs - he chuckles, a lopsided smirk, setting his blunt down before leaning closer and naturally your eyes flicker from his to his lips. “Don’t worry, love - wouldn’t let any less than the best touch you.”

For a second - you’re certain he’s going to kiss you, and you’re ready for that. It’s been way too long. His lips land on the tip of your nose - enticing further giggles, and you don’t ask him to kiss you. Despite every bone in your body, every thought - screaming, burning.

When spliffs near half finished - record replaying, George sprawled on the bed, smoke clouding - watching your every move. Not quite sure why he hasn’t done this before - with you. You’ve found the wall that held clutters of polaroids - some recognisable as ones you had taken, shared mates, gig nights, festivals, birthdays, pubs, family - a lot of memories, a lot you knew the stories behind, a lot you wish you knew the stories behind.

Surprisingly there’s a lot of you and George - scattered dates and smiles and funny faces. The only real giveaway that time had passed between poses - George’s hair went from short to long, your’s changed style and colours, tattoo’s made appearances and your braces disappeared.  

“You always looked well cute with them,” quiet, in time with the record. Realising he’s moved closer, edge of his bed, a clear view of the wall you were currently entranced with.

A giggle, shaking your head - “they were hideous, Christ.”

It’s quiet then, a comfortable silence. Through The Downtown Lights, smoke, and evanesce of evening sunlight filtered through half shut blinds.

"C'mere," - low, setting the spliff down, fingers reaching for your hand, pulling you back over to him, the bed. You edge inbetween his legs, lip catching between your teeth when he takes your blunt, inhaling before setting it alongside his.

Fingers - his hair, and you mumble something about how you liked it when it was longer.

Fingers - spanning down the back of your neck. bringing your lips to his. Smoke curling, intertwining around tongues. Hesitantly - lowering yourself to his lap, knees at his hips, arms - his neck, your fingers hover around his hair.

George - not so hesitant, fingers gripping at thighs, bringing bodies closer. Evoking - soft sounds, when tongues overlap. Lips - slow, lazy against yours, but there’s still a lack of air, lungs beginning to burn. And you’ve missed this - the feeling of him, the taste of him. The familiar ache for more, the welcome electricty of every touch. He tastes like how he smells - with an underlay of something sweeter.

Fingers - end up entangled in hair, using it to guide his mouth back to yours when swollen lips wandered astray. When the burning in chests and spinning in heads became unbearable, and oxygen became more of a vital need than a want - lips left yours in favour of planting messy kisses along your jaw, all pants of hot air and heaving chests and frantic touches through hazy vision.

George is the focal point - the only centre of gravity keeping you down. His name echoing through your thoughts, his taste rushing through your veins, and his touch drums out your heartbeats.

Warmth - fingers grip your hips, so tight you know there’ll be ghosts of imprints later on, not something you were adverse to. Just like the marks he took the initiative to litter down the right side of your neck. Drawing out his own beat of soft sounds in forms of breathless sighs and whimpers. All while frantic fingers struggled with the zip on your hoodie, yours on the hem of his tshirt. Heat radiating, lust surging.

A harsh carnality - a growling hunger for more skin, a new ground for lips and teeth.

Your back - cool sheets, a catalyst to the heat. It was cold in the flat, his room before this had started. Bodies - fitting together in an almost flawless manner, fire running in your veins, filling your lungs.

A hellish heat enunciated with each touch of his lips when they travel over untouched skin, exploring new reactions, marks. They stop - the waistband of your shorts, palms against your thighs.

“Is it - I mean is it alright if.. Can I.. Fuck it, is this alright?” dilated pupils, kiss swollen lips, stumbling over words with an evident frustration. Eagerness.

You can only nod, teeth latching onto your lip to suppress giggles. Heat - reigniting when lips skim over skin, inside of your thighs. Enticing new sounds - hinting towards carnality. Hips - twitch, upwards, chasing his mouth when kisses are felt through thin material. Where you crave him. His name - spilling from your lips, a desperate kind of sound, not one you have any control over.

Friction - calloused fingertips coming to rest, play with the hem of your underwear. Clouded pupils meeting yours - and you’ve grown far too impatient. Fingers - his hooking into green cotton, yours reaching guiding his down.

This was something you and George did - together. This was new - but it had always been there. An over looming tension, a threatening thunderstorm.

So when your breath sort of stops at the sudden realisation of it all, and George’s catches in his throat, an almost inaudible sound - somewhere between a groan and a chuckle of ‘nice.’ Albeit - it’s an almost to himself comment, one you can’t prevent a bout of giggles to, echoed by him when he glances up again. And they sink into your veins when his lips, your thigh.

His name mixed with jumbled expletives - ricochet around your throat when his mouth is finally on you. Where it counts, where you crave him, where the source of the fire is.

Your eyes snap shut - the intensity of the pleasure, heat. His glance up - gauging reactions of certain spots. Fingers - one hand entangled through his hair, the other gripping at bedsheets. Fingers - your thighs, hips, cool imprints.

There’s gravel in his throat when he gets a taste of you. Better than what he had ever expected - sweet, a hint of tangy. His low sounds against you enticing louder ones to travel through your body.

Teeth - sinking into your lower lip, hips arching towards him when he tongue ficks over hyper sensitive flesh. An action he repeats just to feel your thighs shudder, tremble around him for a second time. Just to hear the harshness of the carnal sounds spilling from your lips.

And after seconds, minutes of him setting a tormentalous dance, you begged for him to do it again. Begged in form of unhinged sounds resembling desperate pleas, breathless pants of his name. Something he’s be lying if he says he’s never thought about, fantasised about. Hearing her beg for him. Hearing how needy she was for him. How much she needed him.

Once it sufficed enough for him, smirk curving against skin - he gave in. Fire - brought your thighs to tremble around his head, your back to arch when nerve endings sparked off in your lower stomach. Frantic mewls - desperate renditions of his name, along with, ‘please’s’ and ‘fuck’s’ all disarranged into one word.

Gentle coaxes, encouragements - reberverting against sensitive skin, your hips twitching towards him, breathless sounds. His hand catching yours - fingers lacing, your nails grazing the back of his hand.

Building - blood rushing, and your sounds grow louder, his name echoes, thighs tremble. Nearing the edge - you fingers, his hair, all but forcing his face further against you. A state of overbearing ecstasy.

George - low groans, throaty sounds, giving another sensation. The one that tips you over the edge, knocking any sort of balance you had left. Spiraling undone, shattering around him.

Messy hair and equally messy bedsheets. Sheets - wrapped around your lower waist, bare legs draped over George’s. George - Calvin’s, heated skin cooling, harsh marks darkening. The shared spliff between his lips - fingers tracing freckles along your leg. Comfortable, silence. George put on a different record. Beach Boys. 

Gaze - lingering, when he passes you the spliff. You focus on the smoke instead, teasing out shapes, smirk curving your lips when his hand, fingers inch higher, tracing over a mark he left. 

“You’re proper cool, y’know - really fit,” and it obvious by how much his words lag just how high he is. Not that you’re much better. A soft sound - a laugh, head resting against the wall, lolling towards him. “All that from a bit of head? Wow, G.”

“Oi,” - an uneven smile, elbow to your ribs. “Always thought you were cool - even with the braces and very edgy fringe.” 

 A louder laugh when you tell him to shut up. But - he tells her he’s serious when she passes him back the blunt, smoke curling - obscuring features. It’s darker now, the last bit of sunlight fading, casting shadows across his bedroom. Pink skies. 

Your name leaves his lips - full of sincerity and earnestness. Different. “You know, I really like you. And I know neither of us have been around much but that’s what got me thinking...”

Trailing off, receding back into thoughts for a moment or two, until you make a snide comment.  “George Daniel, thinking - imagine that.”

Chuckles - and he tells you to shush, holding the spliff out of your reach, telling you to be nice and he’ll think about giving you a drag. 

“But seriously, when we leave on the first tour - eventually, I know I’d want you to be there.” He says without really looking at you, and your eyes go wide, the last thing you’d expected him to say, expected him to be thinking about. The confines of his room held more surprises than what you had bargained for and the bass of all those house parties and late walks home was building up in your veins again.

“I mean - I know you’ve uni and probably a proper job by then, but y’know you could still come out to a few, yeah?” Clouded pupils catching yours, his voice lowers further. “It - It would mean a lot to me, I want you there for the start. You’ve always been here, and yeah we don’t talk as much as we’d like to at the moment, but - you’ve never doubted the band, me. Alexa did, you heard how many times she told me I was wasting my time. C’mon, it would be mint - especially with a really cool, really fit bird who doesn’t mind exchanging head every now and then.”  A smile, one that reaches his eyes while you roll yours and tell him he’s gone mad. 

But - George has never been one to give up easily, you know that by now. Just as stubborn as he is placid. Shifting to sit up against the wall. “Look, babe - think about it, anywhere in the world you want to go,” and he lists off names and places you’ve mentioned before, you’re surprised he remembers. “all that with paid hotels. And new merch,” fingers tugging at the faded Nirvana tshirt you had put back on, “Okay, it’ll be our merch, but the best. We get to meet new bands, work with new people - and all those gigs we wanted to go to but could never afford, Matty won’t be able to blow that much on fucking drugs anymore.” 

Smoke clouds, and time passes. George blurts out more selling points, and by the end of it - watching how happy, ecstatic the whole topic makes him. Whether  it’s got to do with the possibility of you being there or not. You’ve made up your mind. You want to see more. More of him being this happy.

Winding down - George’s voice fizzling out, for a second you think he’s fallen asleep. Your name - a different tone, more serious, a hint of uncertainty, vulnerability. A pause. Dilated pupils - focused on a mark on your thigh. Watching - his brow furrow. 

“You’re one of my best friends. It sounds soppy as shit but - I really, I need you there, babe.” 

Deep brown - flickering up, and it’s a rush of breath resembling, “Come with me?”

You stare, gauging for a few seconds. Bringing a near burnt out spliff to your lips, eyes holding his. On an exhale you nod with a shrug. “Alright, mate. I’m in.”

Warmth floods - when a smile that almost splits his face breaks out. Voice wavering, excitement, disbelievement. “Yeah? You’ll do it? You’ll come with me? With the band?”

An amused sound - nodding telling him yes again. Almost pouncing on you at that, a bone shattering hug, one arm tight around your waist. Built on giggles and messy short sloppy kisses that begin to get more heated. 

It’s sudden - a charring heat at your ribs, enticing rasped squeals, screams in shock more than pain, George pulling back in mild confusion. Until - you let out a shout of, “you just bloody burned me with the fucking spliff, you fucking twat.”

Albeit it trails off into a laugh, one he joins in on. Lips - messy kisses, teeth clashing. Mumbled endearments and false promises. A lot like old times, a lot like something new.