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wardenparker · 1 year

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Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 2

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 30k Warnings: *Contains flashbacks*. Cursing, food/alcohol, drug use referenced underage substance abuse), controlling/abusive parent, false positive pregnancy, reference to underage sex with an adult, depression, really bad coping mechanisms, loss of virginity, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, piercings, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex. Summary: The blurred lines of playing lovers and being lovers have been blurred for you and Dieter before, but it seems like this time you might be much closer to your characters than either of you want to admit. Notes: Guys this story came out of a silly little dream that I had about hanging out with a movie star and allllll this angst is what poured out onto the page. Keri is a magician at helping me unravel all my wild thoughts 🧡🧡 The play we used for reference as their Broadway show is “In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play)” by Sarah Ruhl in case anyone is wondering!

It should have been useless to be anxious when you got to the theater that night, but you couldn't help it. After delivering terrifying-yet-somehow-still-exciting news to Dieter before your shift at the restaurant, and then that shift going disastrously badly because you weren't feeling well, you were just hoping you could talk to him and try to come up with some kind of plan. You'd been dating for ten whole months, for crying out loud. You love each other. Surely you could come up with some kind of pathway through your future that could allow both of you to have your careers and still love this– this baby that you had created together.

Baby.

For such a small word it's fearsome. The idea of being a mother is more daunting than anything you've ever faced in your life but with him? Dieter makes you feel like you can do anything. His praise is like armor that shields you from the world. From all the scary things and hurtful things and the things that make you unsure of yourself. With him, you're sure you can make this work. Which is why you sit on your anxious hands and wait. Wait and wait, wondering if he's running late to show tonight since it's well past call time.

******

Dieter’s hands shake, from the nerves, too many cigarettes and fear when the phone rings and his father’s name comes up on the screen. He should have known he would find out quickly. The Hollywood circle is far smaller than people believe and Baxter Bravo was still in the center of it despite his ‘retirement’ ten years ago. “Dad.”

"Dieter." The elder Bravo coughs halfway through his son's name and doesn't bother to cover his mouth, making a hideous sound through the phone line. "You got a call today, unless I'm mistaken." And Baxter Bravo is never mistaken. "It's a good role. Decent enough, anyway. I'm having the maid air out your room."

“Yeah.” Dieter hesitates, still reeling over your news and honestly piss scared about it. “I might not take the roll.” He admits, knowing his father will disapprove. “I just found out that my girlfriend might be pregnant.”

"Don't be stupid." His father scoffs, the derisive laugh making him rattle. "Of course she thinks she's pregnant. How else is that pitiful little corn-fed thing supposed to get you to stick around?" He had met his son's paramour only once – at the opening night festivities that he attended with an appropriate smile on his face despite loathing Broadway – and he had been glad to forget the girl's name immediately after. "You can't possibly think she's serious. Of course you're taking the role."

“Dad, I love her.” It terrifies him, but he actually loves you. It had started out as something casual, a way to feed his ego and to get laid but there was something about you. He hadn’t gotten bored within weeks like he had expected. And watching you mature as a performer made him give serious thought about giving up acting and becoming an instructor. The only thing that stopped him was dear old dad. “I’m happy on the stage. The audience is amazing.”

"I knew I never should have let you go out there." Baxter huffs and loudly smacks on the end of his cigar. "I know she's been an amusement, Dieter. And that's fine. But you've been bred for far better than some mid-Western virgin and a smattering of applause. There is no immortality on the stage, son. Besides which, I've already accepted the role for you. So you'll come home immediately and I will graciously forget that you considered being disobedient."

“I’m fucking twenty-six, Dad!” Dieter shouts, frustrated that his father isn’t listening to him. Though that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t listen when he told him he didn’t want to act at six, or that he just wanted to go to school like a normal kid. Definitely didn’t listen when he said he wanted to go to school for art.

"Whatever does that have to do with anything?" His father asks, confused by the assertion, but rambles on before Dieter can reply in any way or shape. "I've had the attorney inform your landlord that you'll be out in forty-eight hours, and your airline ticket is being held at the service desk for when you arrive tomorrow. Noon flight, and if you're late I'll have to pay a fee to have the fare transferred to another flight, so please don't be a nuisance about it."

Dieter closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No.” He decides. “I’m going to stay here.” He tells his father firmly. “I can’t leave her if she’s pregnant.”

"She's not, though." There's boredom in his father's voice, as though Baxter has gotten tired of even having to speak to his own son. "She's a poor girl trying to trap a rich boy in the oldest way possible." A lazy puff of smoke curls out of his mouth and he sighs drearily. "But I can simply cut you off, if you're so determined to prove a point. Raising a bastard child that may or may not be yours on the streets of New York ought to be fun for you. Homeless and self-righteous. Is that what you want?"

“My money is from my acting when I was a child!” Dieter doesn’t know exactly how the money gets to him, just that he gets a healthy check every month.

"Your money goes through me." The reminder is as dark as it is serious, making his father's chuckle on the other end sound even more ominous. "Every cent you've ever made has gone into an account managed solely by me, Dieter. One call to a doctor and I can have a conservatorship in place faster than you dial a telephone. Pack, Dieter. Pack and come home to take your rightful place here or I will force you to. Am I making myself clear?"

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, running his hand through his hair as he paces in the apartment he had called home for the last three years. Knowing that he can’t see you, he’ll stay if he does. He’ll lose everything.

“You are a Bravo.” His father reminds him when he doesn’t say yes right away. “You will do the right thing, you have a family legacy to uphold.”

Closing his eyes, Dieter's lip trembles and he imagines your face. Tries to imagine it when he tells you he’s leaving and the way you would look so heartbroken. He can’t. He can’t see that. He can’t do it.

“Yes sir.” Dieter responds woodenly, hearing his father’s satisfied grunt on the other end.

“See you tomorrow.” Baxter hangs up the phone, satisfied his son will do as he is told.

******

"What do you mean he's not here?" You're supposed to be face to face with Dieter right now. Places has been called and the curtain is about to go up, but you're standing with his understudy and the stage manager on the verge of tears. It's worry more than it is anything else. If he's not here, is he okay? Is he hurt? Sick? Anything could have happened.

“He got the call.” The stage manager knows the two of you are sleeping together, everyone knows. It hasn’t been a secret for the entire run of this play. Although he had expected Dieter to tell you what was going on. “He left for L.A. Apparently got the role of a lifetime.”

"He..." In an instant, your heart and stomach drop through the floor and tears well up in your eyes. "He's..." The words won't even come, even breathing makes you feel like you're going to be sick all over the floor. "He's gone?"

“Shit, we’re about be ready for the curtain.” The stage manager looks at you with a mixture of pity and worry. It’s obvious Dieter didn’t say a word to you and just skipped town. Hating that he had to tell you the bad news and potentially interfere with tonight’s production. “Do you need a minute?”

"Ye–I–I–" The prop on the table a foot away from you catches your eye and you sob, loudly and openly. The baby doll is all wrapped up and swaddled to open the first scene. Just you and that little doll for a full minute until Dieter is supposed to walk out onstage to join you. But it won't be him. It won't be him on that stage or anywhere else, you realize all at once. When that baby doll in your arms is replaced with a real one, he won't be there either. "Stall." You beg, finally forming a full word as you throw yourself toward the nearest bathroom. "Two minutes!" You're a professional. A real professional, but you definitely do need to go throw up and rinse with a half bottle of mouthwash before you go out on that stage. He left you. He's gone.

Hiding in the darkest part of the theatre, Dieter keeps his hoodie up, not wanting anyone to recognize him. He knows that he shouldn’t have come. It would have been better to just walk away clean. To ‘wipe the slate clean’ like his father likes to say after so many of his misdoings or affairs when they were done. Getting to watch you perform rather than being a part of it. You’re beautiful, your performance even stronger than it normally is when he is your co-star. Making him realize that you don’t need him. Maybe you never did. All he had done was hold you back from your full potential. Right as the last curtain falls, Dieter turns around and heads for the exit. Away from New York and the one person who he had honestly loved.

******

In the month since filming began, an awkward truce has settled between you and Dieter. You don't openly antagonize each other any more, or even give each other the periodic silent treatment. You've become oddly respectful to the point of making it uncomfortably polite for people around you. The way the two of you tiptoe around each other is like the polar opposite of the way your assistants have become attached at the hip during every second of downtime that they have. Sadie and Desiree are possibly the sweetest couple you've seen in a long time, and as happy as you are for them, it makes you ache in the deepest corners of your heart and mind.

Dieter is in hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You don’t insult him. You don’t ignore him. You’re polite to him. Making his skin crawl as he remembers all the times people were sickeningly sweet to him only to want something, but he can’t figure out what you would want besides this movie to be done. Snorting coke only goes so far and he’s almost bored with getting blitzed every night after filming is done, knowing you are next door and hating himself for wanting to go to you.

"I wish you would tell me what's going through your head." Sadie had asked you this morning, when you blankly accepted the cup of tea she handed you. Your anxiety had been high lately so she had insisted on cutting back on your caffeine intake. "You know you can talk to me." You can talk to her. And you probably should. But the fact is that you can't really find the words for what you're feeling. Being polite to Dieter is the only way you can get through the day without wanting to go to him and you can't do that. So you've just sort of...shut down. Everyone on set gets perfect manners from you, and no one can see the riot going on inside you.

Sadie frowns slightly and sighs, knowing you won’t open up. Ever since that first night, something has changed. “Let me go help Desiree.” She slaps her hands on her thighs. “Make sure he didn’t OD.”

"Is it really that bad?" You can't help the way your head pops up at such a casual remark, or the fear in your eyes when it does.

“It’s not good. Something– I don’t know. Desiree said he’s just given up.” She told you that she would tell you anything about Dieter, but she’s been hesitant to bring it up. “All he does is sit in his room and get bombed on whatever he has. She’s had a hard time getting him to eat.”

"I thought he'd lost weight." It's not as though you haven't paid attention. You spend most of every single day with the man. Blowing out a breath, you shake your head and stand up. "Will you do me a favor, honey?" When she nods, you wipe your hands on your pants nervously and return the gesture. "Order a pot of green tea and three shots of espresso to Dieter's room, and whatever Desiree says his favorite breakfast is. It used to be French toast, but I don't know if that's still true." Maybe you can get through to him and maybe you can't, but either way, you're going to try – and just hope you can keep your head on straight while you're at it.

“Okaaaaay.” Sadie frowns but she’s going to do what you ask of her. “It’s your day off today.” She reminds you. “You have tickets to the Tower of London and that tea room you wanted to try.” It’s been rare to get days off with the grueling schedule and luckily Dieter has sobered up enough to put in a spectacular performance everyday but it’s been rough.

"If it's my day off, then it's his day off." Considering you have very few scenes apart, your schedules tend to be identical. They won't be separate until you get to the location in France. "I–" When you turn to look at Sadie your eyebrows are knitted together in concern. "I'm worried about him," you admit quietly.

“Desiree is too.” She confesses quietly. “He’s – well, at least he’s been somewhat normal on set, but it’s been something.” She shakes her head, thankful that her boss wasn’t going through something like Dieter is, although Desiree is protective of him.

"She cares about him." It's good to see. And you do like Desiree a lot – she's a kind woman with fierce loyalties and a huge heart. And she looks at Sadie like she hung the stars in the sky. "I'm just...he might not want to talk to me. But I have to at least try."

“He might not know who you are, depending on what he’s taken.” Sadie warns you, aware that Dieter has done that with her quite a few times. “It’s fucking amazing he remembers his lines and the blocking.”

"I have to try." You reach out to squeeze her arm and head out the door, just to take six steps in the hallway to knock on his door. "Dieter?" His name is soft on your lips and there's no answer, so you try again. "Dee? It's me...can I come in?"

Dieter stares at the wall, not moving, not blinking. Barely breathing. Lost in his mind, fuzzy and muted. Barely hearing the sounds coming from the door. Staring at a single spot in the wallpaper that doesn’t match the rest. The pattern is off, just slightly. Like the wall was damaged and had to be repaired.

It's Desiree who opens the door, face drawn in concern. "It's not a good time," she tells you gently, glancing back toward the bedroom where Dieter is lying almost entirely catatonic.

"Sadie said he hasn't been doing well?" You're not about to let her close the door on you. Not when you're this concerned about him. You know things have been off lately, but that doesn't mean you're detached from it all. "I'm not here to chat or play board games, Des. I'm honestly worried about him."

“I–” Desiree bites her lip and decides to be blunt. “What happened that night? Did you see him? Did you talk?” She knows something had to happen for Dieter to sink this low. You seem to be a trigger for him, good or bad, she hasn’t decided.

"I'm afraid there's more than one that night to pick from." You tell her when she steps back to let you and Sadie inside. "If you mean the first night of filming? Yeah...we...we ran into each other at dinner. And I...I got mad. It's not my proudest moment, I'm afraid."

“What happened?” Desiree’s heart drops and she bites her lip as she looks back towards Dieter. Unsure of how to snap him out of this particular funk. She normally can, but nothing is working this time.

"He had a sketchbook with him." It's really not anything you're proud of, but you're honestly shocked that whoever had filmed it in the restaurant that day hadn't put it online. "I–I saw him drawing me and I kind of...well, I yelled. We came back here when I insisted that he explain to me why he was drawing me and he...well," you exhale deeply, remembering the deep lines of hurt in his face right before he walked out your door. "It didn't go well."

She can’t even begin to imagine what Dieter is thinking, but she nods. “Okay.” She glances over at Sadie and bites her lip. “We’ll go downstairs to give you two a few minutes.” She decides, desperate to have her boss back and willing to do whatever it takes.

Silent hugs of encouragement are had between the three of you, and you watch Sadie and Desiree go out the door before you step back toward the bedroom door. It’s open but you still knock, not wanting to startle Dieter. “Dee?” From the doorway you can see that the room has been left to get messy along with his mind. He’s laying on the bed staring at the walls and you gulp nervously. “Dee, is it okay if I come in?”

Dieter grunts, hearing you although it sounds like he is in a water tank. Wondering why he hears you, you shouldn’t be in his room. The blissful feeling of floating is starting to wane and he knows that he’s coming down from his high. Must be his call time for the day.

When the biggest response you get out of him is a nonverbal sound, you leave your bag at the door and push inside with worry worn on your face. “Can you talk?” You ask gently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Fifteen.” Dieter croaks out. His voice is rough and raspy from not using it for so long. He always sounds a little hoarse, but it’s amplified by the cottonmouth the drugs leave him with.

“Fifteen what, Dee?” A deeply ingrained part of you just wants to reach out and wrap your arms around him but the fear is overwhelming. He might lash out or he might not want you here at all – regardless of you just trying to help.

“She was– was my father’s girlfriend.” Dieter tells you, tone flat and void of all emotion.

“Your father had fifteen girlfriends?” You ask, not understanding at all. Of course, you knew his father for a womanizing asshole, but not much else. Dieter has seemed to fear and revere him when he was younger, but you had only met the man once.

“N-no. Yes.” Dieter doesn’t know why he is thinking about this, but it’s what he keeps replaying in his head. “I was– fifteen when she– he sent her to my room.” His father had decided he was tired of his son being a shy virgin. So he had sent his twenty-one year old girlfriend to him to show him what to do.

“Oh god.” Dread curls on your stomach when you realize what he’s saying, and you shift closer to him on the mattress. “That’s all done now, Dee. It’s over. And he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” While the news of Baxter Bravo’s death rocked Hollywood a few years ago, you had paid it little mind. Now, though? Even that one little piece of information makes you want to dance on his grave when you get back to California.

“He had my money.” Dieter croaks, frowning and closing his eyes. “Threa-threatened to cut me off. If I didn’t– if I stayed in theatre.” His thoughts have shifted to his father, guilt and anger fusing together. “First time I got drunk was because of him. Eight years old at his party.”

“Shit…” He’s bouncing all over the place in his memory, and unfortunately there is a lot about his father that you just don’t know. But the piece about theater sticks directly into your heart – because the only time Dieter was in the theater was around the time you met. “When did he say he’d disown you?” You ask, trying to get him on a clear train of thought if that’s at all possible.

“I watched you.” His eyes open again and he turns his head to look at you for the first time. “I was in the back, I watched the entire thing. I couldn’t go without seeing it– you. It was your best performance. Without me.”

“The night you…” It’s an impulse, the way you reach for his hand, but your fingers tighten around his and the gesture feels so small. Not nearly enough, but you’re afraid to go further. “You watched the show the night you left?” You were broken that night – sobbing and sick to your stomach at every turn, lashing out at people who tried to take care of you because you were hurt and terrified. You couldn’t even let yourself drink after the show to numb the feeling because you thought you were pregnant. “Dee…” Your inhale is ragged. “It wasn’t my best performance. Not by a long shot. I was a shell that night.”

“It was beautiful.” Dieter insists, frowning at you, showing emotion for the first time since anyone entered his room this morning. “You were beautiful. And I–” he swallows. “I couldn’t keep you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“Because of your father?” The pieces begin to slide into place in your mind, but the puzzle is still wildly incomplete. “Is that what happened?”

Dieter blinks, frowning slightly and then lifts his head. “Bambi?” He asks quietly. “Are you really here?” He’s talked about this so many times to a figment of his imagination he doesn’t know if you are real.

“Yeah, Dee.” You shift another few inches up the bed, keeping his hand in yours until you’re sitting right next to him. His eyes are glossy from whatever he’s taken but his words are coming a little clearer, and you’re hoping that’s a sign that he’s coming down. “I’m right here. I was…I’m worried about you.” There’s no past tense about it, but you bite your lip from saying anything deeper when he’s not entirely himself. “So I came over to check on you.”

“Why?” That confuses him. You hate him, you have every right to hate him after what he had done. Not just twelve years ago, but the way he had prodded at you and taunted you since then, fueling the hatred because it was easier for you to hate him than to delve into his losing you. “I– I left you. I left you for him.” He grunts, disgusted with himself for choosing a man who had never viewed Dieter as anything more than an extension of himself. Forcing him to choose the Bravo family dynasty and then dying on him a few years later, leaving a widow that was nearly too young for even Dieter to date.

“Because—” It sticks in your throat, choking you with truth and sadness and tears of regret. With anger and frustration. With things you have never said out loud to anyone before, not even Sadie or your therapist. “Because I c—care about you,” you manage to choke out, feeling the half-truth of it crack in your chest. The decade of anger and disgust really boils down to hurt and worry, when you’re honest with yourself.

“You shouldn’t.” That is the crux of Dieter’s issues. He knows he is completely unworthy of someone caring about him. It’s easier to not care when you push people away and they look at you in disgust. “I–” he closes his eyes again, humming to himself. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly, his mind settling and the rush of the high wears off as he fades into fatigue.

“Dee, can you stay awake for me?” You don’t know a whole lot about drugs or their side effects but you know that there are a whole lot of things that can make a person tired or even pass out, and you’re about as prepared for that as you are to handle what he just said to you — which is to say, not at all. You don’t know whether to trust it or not. Whether he would have said it at all, or if he would even come close to meaning it when his mind is his own. The best you can do is try to keep him awake and hope that Desiree sends up his breakfast soon.

“Hmmmm.” Dieter doesn’t want to, not when he is feeling this tired. “Bottle–” he gestures with one lazy hand towards the nightstand. “Red pill.” He needs a hit of speed to be ready for his call time. “Need.”

“What are the red ones?” You’re not prepared to give him more drugs, but if it’s an antacid or a simple ibuprofen or something, that’s different.

“First time I took speed– I was ten.” Dieter grunts. “Dad gave it to me. Needed to stay up for a night shoot.”

“Fucking hell…” If his father wasn’t already dead you’d be hunting him down yourself. How could a grown man do that to his child? “It’s okay,” you tell him quietly, putting your other hand over his. “We don’t need that today.” Or ever, but one step at a time. “We’re just going to sit together today, is that okay? Just you and me? Have something to eat and if you need to nap we can ask Desiree, okay?” At the very least, Des can give you a better idea of what his symptoms and side effects look like. She can give you some kind of idea of what to expect.

“Gotta–” Dieter opens his eyes again and gives you a soft smile. “Bambi.” He murmurs breathlessly. “Still so innocent.”

“A little less than I used to be.” In this, though? In the world of these abusive experiences and using drugs to compensate? You really are very innocent.

“Great ass.” Dieter groans, acting more like his normal front for a moment, but he means it. “I lied, your tits are amazing.”

You can’t help but snort, holding back an appreciative laugh because you don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him. “You were always a big fan of them.”

“Why did you rip my sketches?” He asks quietly, a question he has pondered for a long time but never asked. “Were they bad?”

“Because I—” Unconsciously, your hands tighten slightly around him, not wanting him to pull away. “I thought you were making fun of me. That you wanted to remember how much you had hurt me…and then I saw more and I…I was just confused as to why you kept drawing me.”

“That's all I have left of my beautiful Bambi.” Dieter chokes out, his face twisted in sorrow and remorse.

“Dee…” It makes you deflate, the confusion and the anxiety leaving your body so you nearly sag beside him on the mattress and shake your head. “You really loved me, didn’t you?” For years you had convinced yourself that it was a lie. That he had just told you what you wanted to hear and that he had never meant it. But the voice in the back of your mind that knew it wasn’t true seems to have been right all along.

“Told him I was staying.” He rambles, shaking his head. “Not going to Cali, but he said I would be cut off. Raising the baby on the streets. I’d be a bad dad.”

It doesn’t matter that the tests had been wrong – it was the fear that was real. And the fear that his father had instilled in him was real, too. “I’m sorry you were scared.” You murmur, still holding onto him. “I was scared, too.”

“I shoulda stayed.” Dieter huffs. “Been stronger. Always been so weak. You’re strong. So strong. Better than me.”

“It’s not about ‘better’.” It breaks your heart to hear him say that, and you shake your head. “We’re just different. That’s…that’s why we were good together. Balance.”

With his confessions off his chest, Dieter falls asleep, his soft snores coming out evenly with his breathing relaxed. Hand going slack in yours.

Once it’s clear he’s sleeping and not in some kind of stupor, you text Desiree to let her know that he seemed lucid before the snoring started and you sit back to wait. Unfortunately, you’re somewhat of a restless person and sitting while someone else sleeps just isn’t your cup of tea. So the compulsive cleaning starts. First it’s tucking him in properly, then dropping his rejected sweaters and t-shirts into the laundry basket in his wardrobe. It’s tidying his stacks of books, then art supplies, and scattered notebooks that you assume hold more sketches. It’s curiosity that does it – that same old thing that got the cat and now you.

The first sketchbook is the one you recognize from the sandwich shop, and you very carefully and quietly set to work taping the pages back in that you tore. The next has images of sets and landscapes – nothing out of the ordinary there. But the third seems to be self-portraits. Gruesome renderings of his own visage with gore and mutations, some intentionally missing whole chunks of himself from the image. Drawings where his chest has been torn open, or where he seems to have no space for a heart at all. It’s an overwhelming discovery, and you compulsively find yourself flipping through every single image until you’re sitting in the corner armchair silently crying.

Dieter sleeps for several hours without dreaming. Just the deep sleep of the exhausted. Until images of you start to creep in. Moments he has missed until he is running towards you and he can’t seem to catch you. “Bambi!” He moans, the word coming out gargled and far quieter than he has said in his dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The second you hear your name – your nickname – your head shoots up from the book you were reading and you head for the bed to sit with him again. Desiree had said he said Bambi in his sleep and she was being honest, though he had always talked in his sleep from time to time before. “I’m right here.” You take his hand again, not caring if you wake him up. He’s been asleep for hours and he needs to eat something. God only knows how long it’s been since he had a proper meal. “I’m right here, Dee.”

You’re running away from him, making him run faster. Trying to catch you before you disappear out of sight. Until you leave him. “Don’t go.” He whimpers, feeling a pressure in his hand and he squeezes it in desperation. “Please. Please Bambi.”

“I’m right here,” you repeat, watching his face contort in the dream, and you find yourself wondering if it’s unsafe to wake someone from a nightmare if they’re still tripping. But since you have no idea if he is still high, you decide to say fuck it and put your other hand on his shoulder very deliberately. “Dee, wake up.” You barely keep yourself from calling him baby — cooing the way you would have years ago. It’s too easy to slip back into. “Wake up for me? Please?”

Dieter’s eyes shoot open, like he’s had a shot of adrenaline shoved into his heart. Reaching out and grabbing your hand on his shoulder. “Bambi!” He gasps before he realizes he’s awake and gives you a confused look, “did I– where am I?”

“The hotel.” You nearly jump three feet off the bed when he woke up, but you manage to keep your voice calm. “We’re in the hotel. In London. Does that ring a bell?”

“Yeah.” Dieter groans and looks around, blinking owlishly, although his vision is a shit ton better since the lasik surgery. “Did I miss my call time?”

“It’s our day off.” He hasn’t let go of your hand and you don’t let go either. “You haven’t—I mean I—” You exhale to let the shakiness out of your voice. “I’m worried about you. Desiree says you haven’t been eating.”

“What?” He makes a face and then gives a small shrug before he grunts and sits up. “Not hungry.” He murmurs, feeling like everything tastes like despair.

“Says the guy who used to be able to eat two entire cheeseburgers plus fries in a sitting.” Looking down at your joined hands, you’re not sure if coming over here was a good idea or not, but you’re here. You made the decision. So you’re going to stick with it. “Does whatever you’re taking make you not hungry? Or is it the depression?” It’s not like you haven’t dealt with it yourself. You know what depression can do to a person and you know it firsthand.

Dieter looks away guiltily, remembering all the times that his father would tell him that there’s nothing a snort of coke or a tight pussy couldn’t fix. “I just– nothing tastes good.” He says finally, registering that his mouth is dry. “I gotta–” he moves to get up, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“There’s water right here.” That, at least, you could have ready for him. The bottle is ready and waiting on his side table where you point to it. “Do you…” your voice wavers but you clear your throat. “Do you remember talking to me this morning? At all?”

Dieter’s eyes narrow and and despite the drugs that he takes, he unfortunately remembers it all. The curse of a photographic memory, though it serves him well in memorizing lines. “I told you about that day. And my dad.” He gulps down the water thirstily and sighs when it’s gone.

“You did.” He also said that he loves you – present tense – but if he doesn’t remember that part you’re not going to put more pressure on the situation. “I’m sorry, Dee. I had no idea he was so hard on you.” You knew he was strict, obviously, but some of the things he described were downright odious.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Aware of what he had blurted out to you in his very honest dialogue. “You can just– pretend I didn’t say anything. It’s okay. I won’t blame you.”

“Do you want me to forget?” It’s a very touchy game you’re playing here, and you’re not sure which way he’s leaning.

“I know you can’t forgive me.” Dieter murmurs quietly. “But no. Use it to make yourself feel better about how shitty I did you.”

“It sounds like things were a lot more complicated than I ever knew.” The urge to just reach out and hug him is so hard to ignore. There’s always been a magnet between you and it seems to have been recharged as more and more information came to light today. “I wish you had at least said goodbye, but I get now that you didn’t have a choice in leaving. We…we were just kids.”

Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “I was a grown ass man. I should have told him to go fuck himself. Sued him for my money.” There've been plenty of regrets and ‘would haves’ where you and that situation was concerned. “If I had said goodbye, I would have–” he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I knew I couldn’t face you. I’m a coward.”

“He was abusing you.” If he’s been in therapy, then he knows that already. But the stubborn voice inside you refuses to let him get away with putting himself down. “Of course you were afraid of him. He did that on purpose. But Dee…” You shake your own head this time and sigh. “He’s gone. He doesn’t get to keep hurting you like this.”

“The ghost of Baxter Bravo always haunts me.” Dieter tells you. “It’s like a never ending A Christmas Carol.”

“Is there…” It sticks in your throat like lava, some kind of fear that you can’t name, but you manage to swallow. “Is there anything I can do? To help, I mean?”

Dieter shakes his head, knowing it’s not your place to fix him. He doesn’t even know if you can. He’d just drag you down with him. “Doubtful. Unless you want to show me your tits?” He asks hopefully, lifting his brows.

You roll your eyes, seeing his walls go back up and shut you out all over again. Making it clear that he doesn’t want you looking into that part of his life anymore. “You’ll see them on set in a week.”

“I don’t–” he sees the way your expression falls, the annoyance you are trying to hide. “Thank you.” He offers, swallowing. “Life is full of regrets, right?”

“I guess so. Or…I don’t know anyone whose isn’t. So it must be universal.” This conversation feels like a time bomb, ticking away to the point of oblivion, and you just don’t know when the explosion is going to come. You’d thought it was just a second ago, but apparently not. So you try a different olive branch. “I don’t like being mad at you, for the record. Even if we’re not…what we were…I still don’t want to hate you.”

Dieter licks his lips, eyes quickly darting between yours and he lunges forward, desperately pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is needy and wanting.

It makes sense that your first impulse is to push him away. This impulse of his seemingly came out of nowhere, after all. The problem – or maybe more accurately, the complication – is that as soon as you register the fact that Dieter is kissing you, you become twenty-one all over again and hold onto him for dear life instead of using your hands on his chest to create distance. It’s pull instead of push, and the kiss lingers just long enough to become soft before your mind comes back down from whatever cloud it lighted on and you have to part for air.

He frowns when you pull back, wanting the kiss to go on longer, for it to never end. Opening his eyes with a small pout on his lips and wishing he could lean in again but your hand is on his chest gently keeping him in place.

“Wha—” With your mind going a hundred miles a minute, you feel like you’re spinning and holding on to him is the only thing keeping you from drifting away. “That—” One hand drifts to your lips to touch them like you’re not sure if the sensation is real or not. “You meant it, didn’t you?” Is what eventually comes out of your mouth, utter bewilderment obvious in your tone.

“Meant what?” Dieter asks, not sure exactly what you are talking about. He had meant everything he said.

“Before you fell asleep…” It’s been ringing in your head for hours. “You…said you love me.”

“Yes.” Dieter admits it quietly. “I don’t – I’m honest when I’m high. I have no filter.”

“I just…I spent a long time thinking you hated me. Or…or that you didn’t think anything about me. It’s…” You swallow again, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “An adjustment.”

“I’m sorry.” Dieter bites his lip. “It’s a – it's a safety thing. Push people away before they can hurt you.” He’s not proud of it, nor would he say that it’s right, but it’s what he does.

“I get it.” Shifting in place from mounting anxiety, you find yourself moving closer to him instead of just adjusting in place. “I mean…I haven’t had a relationship last longer than six months in…” You huff at yourself when you do the math. “In twelve years.”

He knows that’s his fault. He caused you to be that way. He had taken his Bambi, his innocent Bambi, and ruined you. He sighs softly and shakes his head. “I’m a piece of shit for that.”

“What happened was complicated.” That’s a very kind way of putting it, but you can’t bring yourself to be ferociously upset or angry with him anymore. Not now that you’re starting to have a picture of how bad the abuse was that he endured. “But it’s good to know that you didn’t do it on purpose. That’s…that means more than you know.”

Dieter nods, feeling like he should say something else but not knowing what. He’s not…good with emotional entanglements. Trying to keep everything surface level for so long had fucked with his heart. “I– that’s good.” He says awkwardly, his stomach deciding it would be the perfect time to rumble like Mt. Vesuvius.

“You need to eat.” It’s the spell that breaks the tension, and you sit back again on the mattress with renewed awkwardness. “I’ll, um…I’ll call for room service?”

“You don’t have to stay.” Dieter knows that you might not want to spend too much time with him. “It’s your day off. I doubt you want to spend it with me.”

“If you don’t want me to stay, that’s one thing,” you tell him honestly. “But if it’s up to me, I’d rather stay. I haven’t stopped being worried about you just because we talked without screaming at each other.”

Dieter frowns and wonders why you are worried about him. But he also doesn’t want to be alone. Instead he nods. “I– I need to shower. I feel grimy.” He knows he looks homeless routinely, but he does shower regularly. “Could you– could you order us something to eat? If you’re staying?”

“I’ll order some food, you go shower.” That gets you up at last, moving across the room to grab the hotel’s service binder from the table it’s sitting on in his front room. After a second you step back, hanging in the bedroom doorway. “Our assistants are dating, by the way. I don’t know if you know.”

“I figured when she snapped up the reservation she had made for me.” Dieter mumbles. And it explains why another woman had been coming into his room. “That’s how you found out about me talking about you in my sleep.”

“Yeah.” You nod slightly, but look up at him with a lopsided smile. “But you always talked into your sleep anyway. I could have been bluffing.”

He pouts, knowing that you could have been bluffing and he would have believed it, because he does dream about you. “True. But you burp in your sleep.”

“Which I’m pretty sure is the reason nobody sticks around more than a few months.” It’s a friendly jab at yourself, and you shrug it off. “Go shower. I’m gonna get us some food and let Desiree know you’re up.”

Dieter turns and stops. “Thank you.” He tells you seriously. “You could have just left me to my misery.”

“Turns out I might have a little soft spot for you.” A fact which is going to have your stomach, nerves, and heart in knots all at once.

“Don’t know why, but I’ll take it.” Dieter turns and walks into the bathroom, only pushing the door instead of latching it.

As soon as you hear the shower turn on, you call down for a sizable lunch plus a whole pot of the green tea he seems to be favoring these days, and then turn right around and call Desiree to give her an update. She and Sadie had gone down to Sadie's room to wait things out, and while you realize you might be calling in the middle of...things, it's worth the risk of interrupting them to let her know that Dieter is okay.

Standing under the hottest water the hotel provides, he leans against the shower tiles and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why you are here, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. His head is pounding but he’s not reaching for the bottle on the counter just yet. Groaning as the water beats down on his skin and he reaches for the soap he prefers, eager to scrub himself clean.

******

The day has been such a whirlwind that you barely know what's happened except that from rehearsal to dinner to the cab right back across the city, you and Dieter have been inseparable. He’s been so kind and so attentive, answering all of your questions about what it was like to grow up in Hollywood and all of the exotic places he’s visited. He’s told you stories from movie sets and all about the sunny beaches out West that just beg for anyone to enjoy them. And now – on top of it all – you’re sitting in the living room of his upper East side apartment with him with glasses of sticky sweet rum and Coke to drink while you listen to someone across the small neighborhood playing piano with their windows thrown open. It’s so romantic you could cry, or maybe jump for joy. You certainly wouldn’t want to cry right now, with his fingers grazing your shoulder gently – a little more every time they pass.

He doesn’t understand how you are still untouched, so fucking pretty and clever, sociable when you want to be. Keeping his own ‘losing his virginity’ story to himself because what can he really tell you about that? Instead his fingers trail over your bare shoulder, your tank top is a toy at times as he hums. Itching with the need to draw you, another talent he doesn’t talk about. It was highly discouraged in his household. Hell, the only thing that was encouraged was acting and being a slut. Living up to the old man’s reputation. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is how your body inches closer to him and those kisses that you’ve been enthusiastic about sharing have turned slightly greedy.

The dam broke at rehearsal, of course. The script calls for a kiss and he had kindly suggested that it would make it less awkward in the future to share a few early on. That led to a fairly intense make out session in your dressing room, and now this moment on his couch. You’re so drawn to him – unsure of how or why this is happening but determined to make the most of it. Dieter toys with the strap of your tank top, sliding it off your shoulder and grazing his fingertips across the bare skin to make you sigh and shiver. It’s divine and slightly intoxicating and he has completely wiped every thought from your head except for him.

"You need another refill?" Dieter hesitates to ask the real question he wants to. Wanting you to be comfortable. "Or water?" He probably drinks a little more than he should, smokes some grass and pops a few pills when he isn't working, but he wants you clear headed for what he wants tonight.

“I guess water might be smart.” You fluster slightly at the fact that you probably would have just had another drink if he hadn’t offered an alternative. To you, that signals the end of the night – he’ll be walking you to the door and sending you home soon. But what a day it’s been.

He nods, reluctantly removing his arm from around you so he can stand to get you a new glass. “Let me get it for you.” He bites his lip, wondering what you are thinking as you play with your rum glass. “So how do you like kissing me?”

The straightforward question earns an embarrassed giggle from you, and you take the last sip of rum and Coke from your glass while you think of the least embarrassing way to answer. "A lot," you admit, hiding your flustered face behind the glass. "I like it a lot. But I'm sure I'm not the first girl to tell you that."

“No, but you’re the only girl I want to hear it from.” Dieter flirts, turning around and winking at you from around the corner to the small galley style kitchen.

"It's going to be a really remarkable show." The playwright is amazing, the rest of the cast is phenomenal, and you're basically feeling like an imposter being a complete unknown and leading this cast of incredible talent. The fact that you've had a crush on your leading man since you knew what a crush was doesn't hurt either.

“Yes it is.” It only takes him a few moments to get your glass and he brings it back over to you and sits down to face you as he grins. “Because you are in it.”

"You're so sweet to me." You put down your empty glass to accept the water and feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Between how he keeps flattering you and being nearly desperate to kiss him again, you feel like you're on fire from head to toe – and the center is that familiar and powerful want that starts between your legs and grows infinitely.

“I want to talk to you about something very serious.” Dieter raises his brows and looks at you playfully, in a way that he can only manage when he wants to know something naughty. His fingers find your bare arms and he strokes the skin softly.

"Okay." There has been no shortage of conversation between the two of you, which has been nice, but you call yourself to order for something serious.

“So we’ve been….doing this–” he motions between the two of you and bites his lip, aware that you might not be ready for something like this. “But….do you want to have sex with me?” He asks. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I really want you.”

"I–" The surprise on your face is obvious as you set the glass of water down carefully on the table beside you and turn back to Dieter on the sofa. The answer is obviously yes, but it's a shock to hear him ask out loud. And a shock that he would want you when he could have his choice of anyone in the world. The signals in your mind cross themselves, and you're nodding yes right away, but what comes out of your mouth is slightly different. "I'm a virgin," you blurt out, unable to stop yourself from being honest to a fault.

He had known that. The way you responded to him had told him that, but his half hard cock twitches at the words. “That’s okay.” He promises you. “It’s okay Bambi, I don’t mind if you’re a virgin.”

"You don't?" As far as you understood, that was the worst thing a girl could be. It smacked of being prudish or snobbish, and even though there just hadn't been any boys at home that you were interested in. In the city you had focused entirely on your studies. Now your studies have led you here...and to him.

“I love that.” Dieter confesses, sliding closer another inch, his cock throbbing now and he knows if you look down, you’ll see his hard on straining against the joggers he was wearing. “I want to be the first one to touch you, maybe the only one.” He’s breathless, as if it would be a treasure to cherish.

The only one. It takes your breath away unexpectedly, and you can feel yourself staring with your mouth slightly open. He's remarkable and magnetic and the closer he moves to you the more you move to meet him, and your hand tentatively rests on his leg to steady yourself. "I want you to be, too."

Grinning, he raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure. “You want me to take your virginity?”

"I've..." Your fingers dig into his leg a little, curling as you lean forward a little and nod. "I've dreamed about it." You confess quietly. Those dreams were long before you met him, obviously, but here you are.

He nods seriously and points to your water. “Drink up Bambi, I want to show you my bedroom.”

“I’m not drunk,” you promise him, but drink the water anyway. It’s probably good to give you a minute to cool down before you spontaneously combust right next to him.

He smirks and shakes his head. “I know. I just want you in complete control of the decisions you make.”

“Saying yes to you isn’t exactly a difficult decision.” In fact, you’d be hard pressed to think of any time or place you would say no — the idea of turning down Dieter Bravo is unfathomable.

“Yeah but…” he doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want you to regret it, instead he just leans in and kisses your throat. “I want you begging for it.”

Somehow you really don’t think that’s going to be an issue, and the whimper that escapes your lips when you feel his tongue flick across your pulse tells him so. It’s all you can do to gulp down the water remaining in the glass he brought you so you can have both hands on him as he kisses his way along your throat and shoulder, then back up to your jaw again.

“You want to go to my bedroom?” He asks softly, keeping his voice low and easy. Hands ghosting over your sides and grazing over your breasts.

“Yes.” The emphatic nodding would have given your answer but you whine on the word, making it come out strained and eager. Like you’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. And maybe – as of this moment – you haven’t. “Yes—I—please?”

Standing up, Dieter drags you up into his arms and rushes you towards the bedroom. He’s lucky that he even has a bedroom, most apartments are studio closets like yours. He nearly picks you up in his rush to usher you through the apartment, and you giggle against his lips as he moves you. Dieter groans and giggles as he slams his shoulder into the door frame in his eagerness to get you into the bedroom.

You’ve heard things, because of course you have, from girls around you. About how the first time is always bad, or it hurts, or it doesn’t last more than two minutes. There are always plenty of bad stories in circulation as warnings. But you can’t imagine Dieter would be a disappointment like that. Whether it’s the rose-colored tint of brand new feelings or that very long-distance crush that you nursed for forever…or even just the surety that anyone who kisses as well as he does can’t be bad in bed. Whatever it is, you’re more excited than you are scared.

“Now.” Dieter collapses on the bed with you and rushes to kiss you again. “I’m gonna lick your pussy.” He groans, reaching for your leggings. “Don’t be shy and try to hide from me.”

For just a second you’re tempted to point out that he seems to like when you’re shy, but when you register what he’s said you end up gobsmacked instead. Almost every girl you know has bitched and moaned about their boyfriends hating to eat pussy — and here you are with an international movie star about to strip your panties off.

Some people call him selfish, and he is. Dieter can be a needy, selfish asshole but he also has a massive praise kink. Learning quickly from his first encounter that the easiest way to earn moaned praises is for him to service his partner. Making them willing to fuck him again the next time, so he is a man who will happily bury his face in a cunt or wrap his lips around a cock. Now, he pulls back to drag your panties down, spreading your legs wide and tutting when you try to close your legs. Sensing your embarrassment, he flashes you a grin. “Don’t worry Bambi, I don’t shave either.”

“I would have…” You mumble, heat flooding your cheeks that has nothing to do with arousal. “But I never expected this.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi.” Dieter scoffs. “I like the au natural look.” He promises. “It’s womanly.” He grips your thighs and ducks down to suck your clit into his mouth.

It’s a shock to your system that makes you tense up at first, keening at the sensation that is completely unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. No fumbling hand in your panties could ever come close to the sensation of hot breath and plush lips on your clit. Not that any of the boys that came before him ever even knew where your clit was. This is the kind of pleasure that makes your back arch and your brain shut off immediately.

Humming, he smirks against your mound. Reaching up to push your shirt up so he can reach your tits. Eager to touch them. He’s wanted to see your tits since he’s kissed you. You shiver under his attention, body responding to everything all at once and yet focused entirely on the places that he’s touching you. He grunts in disapproval when he feels you move, but it’s just so that you can peel your tank top off, stripping away your bra along with it to leave yourself completely bare for him.

Groaning, Dieter reaches up with both hands, filling them with your tits and massaging them as he spells his name into your folds with his tongue, making sure to flick it over your clit as much as possible.

The breadth of his frame keeps your legs pinned open, body moving in waves underneath him as you arch up and roll your hips down alternately. You’re trying to chase every single sensation possible as the pressure mounts in your core, unashamedly whimpering and moaning at every turn. By the time your legs are shaking you’ve nearly forgotten your own name, but you sure as hell remember his – chanting “Dee” in increasingly breathless moans until the damn breaks and your orgasm washes over you with an intensity you’ve never felt before.

For his part, he’s incredibly patient for a man in his twenties giving pleasure to someone else. Keeping his tongue sweeping over your nerves with practiced skill and precision, groaning when you shamelessly press yourself harder into his mouth. Wanting and willing you to come apart so he can witness the spectacular sight.

“Oh my fucking god.” Most of the time, you really don’t swear. It’s not a big part of your vocabulary, or at least it hasn’t been so far. But as the aftershocks of that first orgasm at his mercy roll through you, you can’t seem to form a sentence that doesn’t include a curse. “D—Dieter—shit…that was…” It was amazing, but you’re not sure if gushing about it just makes it all the more obvious that he’s the first person ever to make you cum that way.

He chuckles as he gives your soaked folds another lazy lick before turning his head and kissing along your thigh. “You enjoy that, Bambi? I fucking love the way you taste. So sweet for me.”

“You’re so fucking incredible.” Without him holding you in place, you easily twist down the bed to meet him, eagerly tasting your own essence on his lips and tongue. Some people might not like it – most men you’ve known say they don’t – but you don’t care. All you care about right now is being as close to him as possible.

The kiss is messy, frantic. Aided by your fingers pulling at his clothes. The role of shy virgin peeled away and he’s left with his Bambi who is desperate for him. Dieter groans, hating that his lips break away from yours long enough to pull his shirt over his head, he has to be the one thinking rationally. “Condom.” He gasps, nearly whining when you cup him through his pants.

Like a shock to your system, you pull your hand back immediately and look guiltily away. Since you never thought anything like this could happen in a million years, you certainly didn’t come prepared. “Shit…” the murmur that passes your lips is fully regretful and your face drops.

“No.” Dieter cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours firmly. “I need to get a condom.” He clarifies. “I have one.” He keeps them in his dresser. He was just so overwhelmed he was reminding himself he needed to protect you.

“Oh.” Your whole face burns in embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you look away. “Right. I—I knew that—”

“It’s not on you to provide condoms.” Dieter has a fucked up view on sex and love, but he had always been taught to fucking wrap it up. His father didn’t want scandals about his son catching the clap.

“Okay.” Taking it as fact from someone who knows far better than you, you nod your understanding and tentatively press in to kiss him softly. “Whatever you say.”

He smirks, wonderfully entranced with your easy acceptance and he shuffles over, still kissing you so that he can open the small nightstand and pull out a ribbon of condoms. “Fuck baby, you’re so good to me.” He groans. “Lay back. Let me get this on.”

There is no instinct in you to question him or the situation. Absolutely nothing matters more here or now than him, and you just naturally assume that you aren’t the only girl to have ever felt that way. After all, how could you be? He’s a movie star. Of course he’s had sex with plenty of other people. But your mind rings with him saying he wants to be the only one to touch you and it’s the most utterly special you’ve ever felt in your life.

Dieter hops off the bed and smirks, making a little show of stripping off his pants and underwear. Watching your eyes widen gives him a quick ego stroke. Ripping open the foil packet with his teeth, he frowns slightly as he rolls the rubber down his length and strokes himself a few quick times. “Are you ready?”

It’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before – you’ve had boyfriends after all – but this is more significant than a hand job after prom or messing around on spring break. This is something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. And you couldn’t be happier that it’s him, feeling like a string exists between the two of you that will keep you tied together forever. “I’m ready.”

Dieter climbs back onto the bed, his protected cock swinging underneath him as he slots himself into the cradle of your thighs. Taking his time to kiss you softly, letting it build up as if you have all the time in the world. The muted taste of rum on your tongue and your need are intoxicating and making him feel drunk off of you.

Desire outweighs your nerves, teaching your body how to move without the need for more formal instructions. Your hands wander and your hips roll, lips trailing down the column of his neck and tracing the prominent veins there in an attempt to memorize him completely. If he was handsome before – and he definitely was – he’s stunning now, moaning in your ear when your fingernails graze over his chest and scrape his nipple — which you somehow hadn’t realized was pierced in the darkness of his bedroom.

“Shit.” He hisses, cock throbbing at the sharp burst of pleasure. He rocks his hips forward, cock laying between your lips. “So sexy.” He moans quietly into your mouth when you find each other in the darkness again.

“What is?” You hum into the kiss, feeling emboldened by his praise. “This?” Nails finding their mark again, this time you bring both hands down his chest to play with the sensitive buds.

“Fuck, fuck.” Dieter whines, snapping his hips forward to grind against you. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

“You are, Dee.” The more he grinds against your mound, the slicker and more swollen your clit gets, making you lean into the motion more and more.

“You want me to slide inside you?” He asks, moans the question in your ear. “Break open your needy pussy on my cock?”

“Fuck.” Needy is definitely the right word, as you actually might combust if he doesn’t. “Please,” you nod frantically, rendering what he said about wanting you to beg. “Oh god, please do it—”

It takes just a moment for him to drop his hips and feel the tip of his cock catch at your dripping entrance. Your legs widen even more to let him in and he captures your lips again as he starts to rock forward. The feeling of fullness is indescribable, beginning right in the core of your whole self and spreading outward until even your fingers and toes feel different somehow. Even kissing him seems fuller now, although that might be from the reverberating moans you share as he sinks deeper inside your body.

“You’re so good.” He praises, breaking away from your lips so he can roll his hips back. “Tell me you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you. Tell me you are feeling this.” He begs quietly between kisses.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You promise him, shaking your head and brushing kisses across his lips and jaw. “Feels amazing, baby.” The little term of endearment slips without thinking about it. You might have been more self conscious or doubting about it if he weren’t inside you, but since he is you just relish it. The physical closeness and the intimacy of this moment that is so much more incredible than you could have expected. It is…different than you expected, though, and you squirm slightly under him. “So full, Dee. Fuck, I—does it feel as good for you?”

“So goddamn good.” He moans, ducking his head and tucking his face against your throat. Needing a minute himself shows how tight you get when you contract those muscles. “So good.”

The long moments – maybe whole minutes or more – that it takes both of you to get your breath back are exquisite. You start moving under him sooner than he moves on his own, not because you're impatient but because it feels too good not to. He takes his time establishing a rhythm. Letting you roll your hips up to meet his thrusts. Pinning you down every other thrust and letting you feel every inch of his cock as he pushes forward.

Every girl you know said that their first time was over in the blink of an eye, but this is practically lazy. Dieter is in no rush to have the night over with and though you're already climbing your way back up that immense mountain of pleasure, you're in no hurry for it to be over. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling a little bolder every time he groans at the tight squeeze of your velvet walls.

He’s determined to make this good for you. Kissing and sucking on your skin. Groaning because he feels how your walls tremble when he rasps in your ear. “So good baby.” He moans. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You'll feel him tomorrow in every way that counts, from the ache between your legs to the bruises he’s leaving on your skin. You'll taste him on your tongue and have the ghost of his kisses left on your lips, and every time you remember how deep his voice gets when he moans in your ear, your toes will curl all over again. Tonight, though, as you gasp and keen, wailing his name into the darkness, you can't help the curiosity rolling through you alongside the pleasure. "Want to t-try–" Gasping between thrusts, your lips practically tremble at his ear. "More, baby, please. I want to try everything."

“We will, baby.” He promises, twitching inside you. “Fuck, all of it. Gonna do everything with you, to you.” He wraps his hand around your shoulder to have better leverage to thrust into you.

"Everything." It's a vast, bottomless promise but somehow you don't doubt him. Like everything that he's done is everything that you're aching to try, and the things that he hasn't are the things that you were always meant to try together. The new angle he achieves with his arms wrapped around you like this gives him the perfect opportunity to strike a spot inside you that you've never felt before – one that turns keening wails of his name into shapeless cries and shouts, too lost in pleasure to even find words to express how fucking good it feels.

Once he gets that response out of you, Dieter clenches his teeth together and concentrates. Making sure he hits it again and again, wanting to hear you squeal his name. “There it is. Oh fuck, you gonna cum Bambi? You gonna soak my cock?”

Without enough presence of mind to even be able to form the word "Yes", you manage a nod, clinging to him and moaning so deeply you can feel it in your toes. It feels like you're about to shake apart and yet if you let go of him for even a second you might crumble from the inside out. Orgasms have never felt like this before – like a ticking time bomb inside your body might go off if he just strokes that spot inside you one more time.

Rocking into you is as close to secular prayer as Dieter has gotten…ever. “Oh god, oh god.” Is chanted on repeat, barely able to keep his eyes open as works his cock in and out of your pussy, poised on the edge of spasming around him.

It takes two more strokes, not one, but when you fall off the edge of pleasure you manage just a single syllable - crying "Dee!" Out into the night and sobbing as wave after wave of pleasure crests across the two of you. Your whole body seems to draw him in, cunt clenching and arms tightening, legs twitching at his waist before you slip away into a sky of stars that burst behind your eyes. The poets were not exaggerating, not one little bit.

He is tumbling right after you. Pushing as deep as he can with a worshipful groan of your name. Thankful for the condom because he would have never been able to pull out in time as he fills the prophylactic with a shudder.

The rush of endorphins that hits a second later has you giggling, dusting kisses across his lips and every inch of skin you can manage while pinned underneath him. “I—” As articulate as you try to be in everyday life, words fail you now. “Wow.”

As soon as Dieter gets done, he’s burrowing into your neck. Becoming an adorably snuggly koala. Always loving the post coitus high that comes from sex. “So fucking good.” He praises, scattering kisses over every inch of skin he can reach.

“You’re amazing.” Still working to catch your breath, your legs may drop back to the mattress but your arms keep him close.

Dieter’s hand slides between you to hold the condom as he pulls his hips back, but he doesn’t make any effort to move beyond that. “You’re amazing.” He counters. “How do you feel?”

“Empty.” The pout you throw at him and the way you bat your eyelashes is purely playful, but you do already mourn the loss of not having him inside you. “I feel amazing, baby.”

“Yeah? Give me twenty minutes and if you aren’t too sore we can go again.” Dieter chuckles quietly.

“You’re on.” The giddiness of it - the lightness - makes you feel like you’re floating on air. Either every girl you know was wrong, or you now have the world’s best experience of losing your virginity.

“I think I’ve created a monster.” Dieter moans playfully, pulling his head up so he can kiss the tip of your nose. “Wanna stay tonight?”

“Of course I do.” In this moment, you’re certain you would stay forever if he asked you.

“Okay.” Dieter kisses you again before he starts to actually move. “Let me get this condom off.”

******

“Clear the set!” The order goes out after everything has been readied, everyone but essential crew retreating to other tasks to allow for intimacy on set. It’s a day you’ve been anticipating with immense nerves. These last two weeks have been complicated — more time spent with Dieter and less fighting has only left you questioning how you feel about him all these years later. Things had happened that he never shared. That you never knew about. And while he still hurt you, you can understand now why he acted the way he did. Maybe even forgive it, if he ever asked you. This scene is one you have been nervous for, not for nudity but for having to be almost entirely naked in a bed with Dieter? It’s consumed almost every thought for the last few days leading up to this shoot. So much so that yesterday when he sat next to you in your trailer, you erupted in goosebumps and immediately put on a sweater.

Dieter slaps himself, looking in the mirror at his reflection. While the lack of eating had cut some unwanted pounds off of his belly, he was still nervous about this scene. Crazy considering he was never shy about flaunting his body no matter what kind of shape he was in. He was nervous now because it’s you. Since that day, things have changed but he can’t say that you have forgiven him. The awkward moments are still there, but you are treating him like he’s a fragile bird with a broken wing. Which, he is, but he doesn’t want to upset the very relieving truce between you. His own dickishness to keep you at arms length had fallen away, with a quiet desire to be with you starting to take hold.

Only a few people are on set when you come out of your trailer, wrapped in a robe and striding toward the newly-finished bedroom set that makes your palms sweat. But you’re a professional above all else, so you hand off your robe to the only production assistant and slip under the sheets.

“Remember she doesn’t actually want you.” Dieter had actually agreed to the modesty sock, even though he tries to avoid it as often as possible. The last time he had a scene where it called for one, he had taped his dick to his thigh.

“You’re wearing it?” When he hands off his robe to the PA you can’t even hate yourself for looking. You have to work with this man. To function around him. You can’t hate yourself for looking, but you can curse yourself for being affected by him. “I half expected you to show up naked like the Emperor showing off new clothing.”

“Didn’t think you would want to see me in all my middle aged glory.” Dieter jokes, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the bed. The intimacy coordinator is nearby but she had already said that she wanted to see how you organically greet each other.

“Why do you think I got here first?” You have to laugh at yourself, at least a little, being so anxious around the first man who ever saw you completely naked. It should be ridiculous, but instead your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest.

“Things have changed.” He also didn’t know what you would think about the…piercing he got after coming back to Hollywood. He doubts you’ve heard about it.

“You should get in.” Reflexively, you pull the sheets on the other side of the bedside to let him climb in, studiously keeping your eyes on his face.

It’s hard not to think back to that tiny apartment on the upper East side. Sharing a queen sized bed with you for months and thinking about asking you to move in when your lease was up. He has never told you that. Knowing it would just be another bittersweet symbol of the hurt he had done. Nodding, he slips beneath the sheets and settles on his back.

“I want to give you guys the chance to find a comfortable position organically,” Sam steps closer to the bed on set and crosses his arms over his chest. The director has no idea what has been going on between his lead actors, but he knows things are tense. “But you will have to touch. Sooner than eventually.”

Dieter twists his head and looks over at you, knowing that this scene calls for you to be on top of him. “Not like you haven’t been there before.” He murmurs quietly so no one else can hear.

You snort under your breath, knowing he’s right, and shift closer to him. It’s a simple matter of situating yourself above his waist, but you’re desperately afraid of giving yourself away when you do. Not that you might be aroused - being in a room full of relative strangers - but that he’ll remember the other things. Goosebumps and shallow breath, the way you squirm when something feels particularly good.

“It’s okay, Bambi.” Dieter knows that you are an accomplished actress. He might have a copy of every thing you’ve ever been in, but you are biting your lip like you are that shy virgin all over again. His chest aches with how badly he wants to kiss you. “You’re a professional. Just another day at work.”

“We both know it’s not.” It’s sweet of him to say so, though, and you hate the way it makes you ache that he’s started using your nickname in private again. It takes a deep breath on your part before you have the nerve to sit up, twisting the sheet around you for modesty and making it pool around the place you’re connected. It looks perfectly like you’re straddling him but you’re actually hovering a few inches north of where actual sex would require you to be. And yet? All either of you would have to do is shift once and you would be in place.

“No, it’s not.” Dieter can agree to that and his hand slowly slides up to hover over your waist. “Can I touch you?” He asks before setting his hand on your skin.

Goosebumps. You can feel them the second they happen, but there’s nothing you can do now. They’re there, and Sam has noticed enough to call for the heat to be turned up on set, mistaking it for you being cold. “We’ll never get through this if we can’t at least touch each other.”

“Figured I would ask.” He shrugs, not giving a damn if it takes longer than Sam would like. It’s more important that his partner is comfortable. He can’t flirt and joke like he would with someone else, because of your history together.

“And I appreciate that.” Tentatively, you let both of your hands down onto his chest the way the script had described. If Sam wants it changed, he can say so. Right now you’re just trying to baby step your way to even a tiny bit of comfort. “Are you…okay? I’m not sitting on you weirdly or something, am I?”

“I’m good, just let me…” Dieter slides his hand between the two of you to adjust the ‘sock’. “I’ll try to keep it under control.” He murmurs.

It takes a second, but the half-guilty and half-flattered grin that overtakes your face comes with a snort of amusement to cap it all off. You snort again, suppressing a giggle, and shake your head at him. “Good luck with that. He has a mind of his own.” Sam hasn’t said a word as he watches the two of you get comfortable, but even he smiles seeing you relax.

“Okay,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s just find the motion, before we add in the dialogue. I want you guys to see how easy or awkward or difficult it will be for you to switch places from here. Dieter, just go ahead and roll her over carefully, and that will lead us into the kiss and the rest of the dialogue.”

There is a thirty second pause. Ten seconds of that is Dieter staring up at you, as himself. Then the set of his jaw changes, his eyes darken and his brow pulls down just enough to signal a change into character. He’s not Dieter Bravo now, he’s the character he’s bringing to life. His arm swings around you and his hips roll, making a seamless transition to push you under him and as blocked out, his mouth fuses to yours in a frenzy of need and lust.

It’s acting. It’s all acting, you promise yourself, not letting yourself react in any way beyond wrapping your arms around his shoulders and returning the rapacious kiss. It’s false. Entirely the character in a way that the scenes of the two of you screaming at each other truly isn’t. “Hold.” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, his footsteps on the wooden floor audible over the heavy breathing in the set. It might have been false, but it was still a kiss. “Try it again,” Sam insists. “Less forceful this time?” He hums while he thinks – a habit of his.

“Maybe we can get a beat of looking into each other’s eyes right before the kiss?”

That seems to be a good idea to the young director, and he nods. “Make the decision,” he tells Dieter. “I want to see you make the decision to have her.”

Dieter nods and resets, waiting for you to get back into position and covered like you had been before. It takes less time to slip into the skin of his character this time and the way he holds your eyes is more assessing before you see the way his face changes almost imperceptibly. Rolling you over again and the kiss is less forceful but just as passionate as the last.

This time your fingers are in his hair when Sam calls for a hold, and it takes you a second to come back to yourself, but the real problem is that kissing him again is doing things to you. You squirm slightly, hoping no one notices, and try to clear your mind enough to pay attention to whatever the hell Sam is saying. At the very least, you’re just determined not to make eye contact with Dieter between these rehearsal moments. It’ll give you away – but you aren’t even sure what feeling you would be betraying at this point.

“Something’s missing,” Sam is saying when you finally tune in. “There’s so much honesty…and I don’t…” He huffs out a sigh. “I don’t believe you. Either of you. When you hated each other, I believed you. The confusion, the yearning, the—everything else. But I don’t believe that when the cameras cut, you’re going to tear each other apart.”

Dieter frowns slightly. “What do you mean?” He huffs, not sure what the director is looking for. The way your hand had tugged at his hair with just the right pressure had made him start to harden. He had been working so hard on holding himself back. Not making it real.

“I mean…” Sam pauses, trying to suss out the right way to explain it. “There’s something about the other scenes that makes me hold my breath when you two get going. Something honest about them. But I’m not holding my breath now.”

“So you’re saying…” you sigh, pinned underneath Dieter and trying desperately not to react to what might be his cock twitching or might just be the fabric of the modesty sock against your thigh. “You can tell that we’re acting?”

Dieter mulls over the director's words, his fingers pressing against the divot of your hip and he nods. “We’ll reset and then I’m going to change it slightly.” He offers, looking down at you and silently asking for permission.

“You have an idea?” The question is more or less rhetorical, but he nods and you swallow your nerves. “Okay. Let’s reset.”

Dieter reaches down between you and removes the modesty sock and shoves it under the pillow to hide it from the crew as you adjust.

The second you sit up again to put your leg over his waist, your eyes widen and you look down at Dieter with an expression halfway in between murdering him and melting. Even if you'd never sat on his cock before you would definitely realize the difference between fabric and skin, and you swallow a gasp when you look down at him. "This is your idea?" You whisper, shifting on his lap to try to raise yourself up off of him so you're not sitting directly on what is now his hardening cock.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dieter shoots back with a snort before he grins at you. “Hey—”

Cutting him off by settling yourself directly on top of him isn't quite the victory you imagine it is, because you have to bite your lip to keep from reacting and end up pinching your eyes shut as you twist to wrap the sheet around you again. Thank god, at least, for pasties. No one needs to see your nipples bud and pebble with arousal. "This is going to be interesting," you murmur, looking down at him from this more-familiar position. There's a pretty solid chance that this counts as cock warming. Or it would, if your own modesty garment weren't in the way.

Dieter bites back a groan and stares up at you. “Do you want to have sex with me?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"The first time you asked me that, the answer was my virginity," you remind him extremely quietly, as if he might have forgotten what had happened then. The problem, though? Is that you want to say yes. You actually, completely, in this exact moment – you want to say yes.

This time, the expression is less the character and more Dieter. Letting his own emotions and confusing needs blend with that of his character, reaching up and cupping your breast over the sheet while he rolls you under him desperately.

You don't gasp this time, but whine. It's your sound, the one you make naturally, and the one that is automatic when Dieter grinds against your core. Your eyelashes flutter of their own accord and your hand reaches to grasp his hip in turn. The internal war of whether or not to succumb to him that your character is supposed to be having reads in your confused eyes as clearly as a neon sign, and this time when he leans down to kiss you, you meet him halfway there.

This time, there's a need that is more raw, realistic. It’s his need. His want that comes through the slot of his lips against yours. The subtle slide of his tongue into your mouth.

The hand you have in his hair pulls a little harder this time, your body lifts off the mattress and your other arm wraps around his torso to drag him closer instead of draping prettily on his shoulders. It's barely acting, in the sense that you're currently presenting as two fictional characters. That's the surface of what is happening, as you moan softly into his kiss. But the fact is that if he slipped inside you right now, you probably wouldn't hesitate to let him have you right there on that set. Which...is something you're going to need to think about later when your mind isn't completely fogged by desire.

Dieter doesn’t pull back, doesn’t stop kissing you. His hand squeezes your tit softly, knowing that there are thirty people watching the two of you simulate working up to having sex.

Neither of you heard the command from your director to hold, too wrapped up in each other and too overwhelmed by the pounding of your own blood to have noticed. It's only when you break the kiss to have a gasp of air and turn your head to the side for Dieter to trail his lips down your neck that you open your hazy eyes and see Sam standing there with his arms crossed and a slightly gobsmacked look on his face. "Well," he chuckles, when you snap back to reality and open your eyes in his direction. "That's more like it. Let's reset and get ready to roll cameras."

Dieter pants and closes his eyes, leaning down and pressing his head against your clavicle for a second before he moves over onto his back again. “That’s what you want?” He asks Sam, wanting to make sure he doesn’t need to change anything.

"See if you can add a growl without making it sound forced." Sam chuckles at the thought and steps off the edge of the set, bound for the chair with his name on it.

Dieter chuckles, closing his eyes for a moment and blowing out a deep sigh to try to calm down his raging boner. “Sounds good.”

“Need another second?” Since you know what he did - and have an inkling as to how thin the shred of Dieter’s self control can be, you don’t want to just hop back on his waist without warning. You’d either knee him in the dick by accident or end up making him moan out loud for real.

“I’m good.” Dieter knows that you are fully aware of what is going on under the sheet, and another conversation will need to happen. He will have to apologize to you. But for now, he reaches for you so he can be as close as he can be to you.

Onto his lap one more time, you wrap the sheet around your torso artfully and let the set dresser nitpick the specific placement of things until she’s satisfied and steps away. You place your hands on his bare chest and note with a frown that his own previously pierced nipple has healed through, but school your expression back into place when Sam calls for “Action!”

This time, Dieter gives the scene his all. Taking his need up a notch and just like Sam had asked, he included a small growl into the scene as he rolls you under him again and presses against you.

It’s a fucking miracle you can remember your lines or deliver then clearly enough for the boom mic hanging a foot and a half over Dieter’s head to pick up, because when Sam calls cut you half want to kick everyone off set and just rip the sheet away. “Let’s just set up for the next scene,” Sam instructs, sending the crew scurrying all around you. “Guys, you’re doing great,” he promises, stepping back up onto the set. “I want to try the image two ways – once spooning and once having you face each other. We’ll see which one we like better in post, okay?”

“S-sure—” You manage a vague nod, trying to remember what the next shot even is. Ah. Right. It’s him watching you sleep. The page in the script has whispered words of love and a kiss to your head while you sleep, and you had decided stubbornly not to read it ever again after the read through. The idea of Dieter ever saying sweet things to you again had been horrible at the time. But now? It twists deep in your heart how much you have to admit to missing those days.

The first set up is Dieter facing you. He’s managed to slip back on the modesty sock and his cock is only half hard now that the scene has cooled down and he doesn’t have his hands on you. “You good, Bambi?” He asks quietly after you get positioned.

“I’m good.” You have to be. There’s no option to go running off the set because you got horny and emotional during the last shot. “I just…” A soft exhale comes when you rest your head on the pillow next to him. “I wasn’t expecting Sam to want more.”

“No, no, no.” Sam huffs, like he has developed sonar hearing out of nowhere. “Get closer. You guys look like you’re politely keeping your distance at your in-laws. Sprawl out over Dieter,” he instructs you, coming back onto the set to look at things from the angle he wants. “One leg over his, hand on his chest. Intimate.”

Dieter reaches for you, pulling you closer and draping his arm around you. He moves closer and presses his face right up against you. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly.

“Hey.” It’s just a little whisper, but you smile as you flick your eyes up to look at him before closing them again when Sam pronounces the shot to be perfect. “You’re comfy,” you murmur before you can stop yourself, and squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.

Dieter sighs softly, reaching up and his fingers brush over your cheek. “Dee! Wait for the call!” Sam yells, making him drop his hand. That part hadn’t been scripted.

“Yeah, Dee,” you can’t help the way you giggle under your breath, like you ought to be sticking out your tongue at him. Under the sheets, though, your hand comes to rest softly on his chest after not really being sure where to go. It’s a small gesture of comfort between you, but it’s there.

There's a small grin, quickly squashed before you close your eyes and Dieter settles down. When the director finally calls 'Action!', he reaches up again to brush your face lightly as he watches your face. "I do love you." He whispers softly, "I'm not a good man, I don't know why I am the way I am. I don't want to say the things that come out of my mouth." He murmurs quietly. "You are my world, even when you aren't around."

Professionalism, you remind yourself, trying desperately to keep your eyes shut and not react at all even though you’re fighting every instinct you have that wants to surge up and kiss him now that that dam has been broken again. It’s all you can do to keep perfectly still until Sam calls cut and tells you to hold your position so they can fiddle with the camera position for another angle. Your eyes flutter open, lip bitten as you try not to smile too much. “Good line delivery,” you murmur quietly, looking up at Dieter from your place in his chest.

"Dee, Dee." Sam tuts and walks over. "You are a man in love." He stresses. "Obsessed and yet completely aware that you have treated your lady wrong. This is supposed to be almost like your act of atonement." He sighs and motions. "Reset."

“You okay?” The direction seems harsh to you, but you don’t want to get in the middle of things. Your only job right now is to not react, but you still check on him.

"I'm good." Dieter brushes off your concern and waits for you to close your eyes again. Channeling images of the last time he saw you twelve years ago, watching you take your bow on stage before he turned around and walked out of that theatre and your life "Action!"

There’s something Sam is looking for but he can’t quite describe it. There’s a feeling that he’s gotten from the other big scenes that has made him want to alternately jump out of his chair in excitement or apologize for intruding on such an intimate moment. That’s what he’s looking for.

There are tears in his eyes when the director calls for the scene to end. The dialogue changed slightly, more personalized. Words that he had wished he could have said to you so many years ago come pouring out of his mouth as his fingers fan your face, tenderly brush over your features as if he’s memorizing every curve and valley.

“I don’t think we need to do the other set up.” Sam decides, apparently satisfied with the set up and the reset he has just gotten. With his hands on his hips, he seems to look at you and Dieter in that bed on set but not see you at all. “Good work today. Let’s call it an early night tonight.”

Blinking, Dieter shuffles back from you as Desiree rushes over with his robe. "Good work, Dee." She coos as he sits up and shrugs into the robe. He's a little raw, unable to look over at you at the moment as the lines between his character and himself have blurred more than he had anticipated. "Thanks."

“Dee?” Sadie has your robe out to you barely a second later, and you thank her with a nod and a silent moment of eye contact before turning back to him. “Can we…um…can we maybe talk?” The last few weeks have been so careful – such a tiptoeing around each other – that you haven’t done much meaningful talking. Just surface level stuff or spending time together in relative silence. Now, though, you feel like you need to talk to him or you’ll burst.

Nodding, he stands and quickly ties the robe shut. “Ten minutes?” He asks, needing a few moments to try and find an emotional balance so he doesn’t collapse against you and sob. “Or back at the hotel?”

“I’ll meet you at your trailer and we can drive back together?” You’re afraid of losing your nerve if you wait too long, but you also don’t want to scare him. Dieter can be like a horse sometimes – he spooks easily.

Agreeing, he gives you a quick nod and turns around to practically run back to the safety of his trailer. Feeling exposed and vulnerable as Desiree rushes along beside him.

“Do you guys have plans tonight?” You loop one arm through Sadie’s on the way back to your own trailer, trying to keep your spirits up.

“Just a night in.” Sadie admits with a grin. The relationship is everything she’s wanted and to be honest, she’s not looking forward to when the filming wraps. “With Dieter behaving, Desiree wants to stick close by just in case and to relax.”

“So if I send a bottle of something bubbly and dessert from room service, should it be to your room or hers?” Seeing Sadie this happy has been such a sweet thing. She’s not only fantastically on the ball as an employee but she’s also been just a wonderful influence on your life in general, and you want to do everything you can to help that happiness grow for her.

“I think I’m staying in her room tonight. But you don’t have to do that.” She protests. “Dieter just has her room number memorized and he might call on the hotel phone since he likes that better than cell phones.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” At the door to your trailer, you unlock and push inside first to let her in after you. “You take such amazing care of me. If I can do little things now and then to make you smile, I’m going to.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you back to the hotel?” She had assumed you meant to ride with Dieter and the assistants ride together since the cars needed to get back.

“You and Des enjoy some quiet time. I’ll drive Dieter and me.” Amongst other eccentricities, the man hates to drive. It’s secretly one of the reasons he loves cities and having an assistant. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car voluntarily since he got his license. “I—honestly I kind of need to talk to him. And I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to say.”

“The scenes were very…intimate.” Sadie answers honestly. “I know you are on better terms but talking will be good.”

“It was…a lot more intimate than it looked.” Disappearing into the tiny trailer bathroom to peel the modesty garment off your skin – thank god for bikini waxes – you re-emerge a second later and step into the little bedroom for clean clothes. “If not for that shred of adhesive, we would officially be making a porn.”

“Did he remove the sock?” Sadie asks, “Desiree swears she saw him remove the sock.”

Half-dressed, you stick just your head around the door of the little room to look Sadie dead in the eyes. “Oh yeah.” You confirm with a look of slight desperation. “Your girlfriend’s got a sharp eye.”

“Jesus.” Sadie shakes her head in horror. “I– what was he thinking?” She is still operating under the assumption that while things are better between you, you want nothing to do with Dieter Bravo once this movie ends.

“That it would be a more authentic reaction from both of us.” You shove away from the door again long enough to pull on your blouse and cardigan before coming out. “Which, let’s be fair. He was right. But I—” You blow out a breath and shrug your shoulders almost desperately. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Sadie. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know what I want, and I don’t know what he wants either. It’s going to drive me crazy to do this whole movie without knowing when he’s crossing the line into reality and when he’s not.”

“Oh God.” Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open slightly. Realizing that her boss is falling in love with the man who broke her heart again. “Yes.” She decides firmly, nodding. “You need to talk.”

“The trouble is that talking to Dieter Bravo is like talking to a forest sprite or a fae or something.” With another shake off your head, you reach into the mini fridge for your water bottle and sigh after a sip. “You’re not going to get a straight answer, or if you do, it’s not going to be anything like you expected. And it’s going to cost you just for asking.”

“But you love him.” She murmurs quietly.

“I—” Most of the time, you really would like to think that you know yourself. The things that you want and the things that will help you be healthy and happy. Right now? You really don’t know if the thing you want is going to be good for you at all. “I don’t think I ever stopped,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think you can be as angry as I was with him for so long without there still being love left. That’s why it hurt so much.”

Sadie walks over to you, taking your hands in hers and staring into your eyes. “I love you, you are my friend and I want nothing but the best for you.” She assures you softly. “Talk to him. Be honest and make sure you know what you are getting into.”

“I love you too, honey.” While most of Hollywood would tell you that you were silly or overly sentimental for being friends with your assistant, but you hold her in a tight hug and let the tension roll out of you for a minute before exhaling deeply. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” She’ll cross her fingers and her toes for you if it means that you can have a significant, meaningful conversation with Dieter.

Dieter’s trailer is only a few doors down, and you walk over together so Sadie can pick up Desiree at the same time. You swear it feels like walking out in front of a judge when you knock on the trailer door, but since you haven’t been sick from nerves in years, it’s still a win.

Desiree opens the door with a grin. “Come on in. Dieter is just finishing getting dressed.”

“Long day.” The sun has well since set, and if it weren’t for how tense the last few hours had been, you would probably be starving.

“It has been.” Desiree nods, having calmed her boss down enough to be able to change and interact like a semi-normal human being after a small cry. “We are planning on marking it an early night. And he asked me to order room service for both of you.”

“That sounds like a good plan. And thank you.” Desiree’s exceptional eye for details and time spent with Sadie means she zeroed in on your favorite foods extremely quickly and anytime you’ve eaten with Dieter or as a group, she’s been pretty on point ordering for you. Although, the last time that the four of you all had room service together, you had splurged on luxury items and watched a few episodes of Black Sails together. That was actually a very fun night.

Dieter emerges from the back bedroom wearing a pair of loose palazzo style pants, a t-shirt and a crocheted sweater with his crocs. Hair still wet from his five minute shower and his face shiny and free of makeup. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly when he sees you, rubbing his hands on his pants nervously.

“Hey.” It’s such a small word for all the big things you’re feeling, but you put on a smile and point your finger at the door. “I’ll drive. You can look out the windows or meditate on the way back if you want.”

Swallowing hastily, Dieter nods. "Thanks, you know how much I hate driving." Especially here he was always driving on the wrong damn side of the road. It was nerve wracking. "Are you ready? I'm ready."

“Yeah, I’m ready.” To drive, anyway. You have no idea if you’re ready for this conversation. At least the hotel isn’t more than a twenty-minute drive away.

“Okay.” Dieter is the last one out of the trailer even though Desiree locks it for him. Trailing behind you and waiting for some kind of sign about what you want to talk about. Fingers twitching as he reaches for the ever-present candy in his pocket.

“You’re not in trouble,” you murmur with a shake of your head, opening his door for him when you reach the rental car.

“Shouldn’t I open the door for you?” He frowns at the reversal of roles and the way that all the women in his life are walking on eggshells around him right now.

“I was just trying to be nice…” It makes you frown much more deeply than you expected when the small act of kindness seems to upset him. And within seconds you’re rethinking everything you wanted to say, wondering if you didn’t just get caught up in the moment with him all over again.

“I know.” He blows out a sigh and shakes his head as you put on your seatbelt. “I just – I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not – I should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” If you surprise yourself with the honesty of it, he must be shocked. “Not really. I mean…I could have told you no. Or to put the damn sock back on. But I didn’t.” Both of you are buckled in and the car is on, but you haven’t pulled out of the lot yet. “Maybe it says more about me than it does about you, I don’t know. But the last few weeks have really…they’ve really proved to me…” You blow out an unsteady breath. “How much I’ve missed you.”

He bites his lip, closing his eyes and wondering briefly if he’s imagined you saying that. He’s had auditory hallucinations when he’s detoxed before and it’s been nearly seventy-two hours since he’s done anything more potent than weed or ‘shrooms. “I– can you say that again.” He begs softly. “Please?”

Your hand reaches carefully over the console, covering his larger one but not pressing any further. Just simple skin on skin in the most innocent way possible. “I missed you, Dee.”

“I miss you too.” Dieter turns his hand over and squeezes yours when your palm hits his. “I– today was– it wasn’t my character.” He confesses quietly. “It was me.”

“Apparently, it was both.” There’s a certain amount of pride in your voice for that fact, and you squeeze his hand back more tightly this time. “But…I was sort of hoping you would say that…that I was right when I heard you through the lines.”

“I’ve never done that.” He shakes his head in amazement. “Never.”

“Not even the first day of filming?” It seems silly to ask, but that moment had felt so real. Hell, it had been real enough for you to go berserk on him at the tea shop.

Dieter frowns and tries to remember what the first day of filming was. His brows shoot up when he remembers. “No.” He shakes his head furiously. “Not– no, I– not even then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pull the slap.” It was unprofessional if nothing else, and you do regret hurting him. It had been such a horrible, complicated day. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. No matter how upset I was.”

“I deserved it.” Dieter can admit that. He absolutely deserved that. He had been hurt that you had seemed to anticipate it with glee, but he thinks you hadn’t enjoyed it very much afterwards. You hadn’t gloated, at least.

“This is the kind of stuff I wanted to talk to you about.” Carefully pulling the car out of its space and through the lot, you weave into London nighttime traffic deftly. “I just…I’m anxious as hell to talk about any of this. But I feel like the longer I put it off…I’ll psych myself out or convince myself that I’m overreacting. Or reading into things too much.”

“If I overstepped…..I’m sorry.” Dieter turns his head and looks out at the passing city. His heart aches when he realizes that he had been hoping for some kind of reunion of sorts but it sounds like you are not interested. “I know that when we are done with the press junket and whatever that you won’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Dee...” His hand is still encompassing yours and you thread your fingers through his when you hear the heartbreak in his voice. “That’s kind of the opposite of where I wanted to go with this conversation,” you admit quietly.

“Wha—” he doesn’t trust himself to ask that question. Instead he just turns and looks at you in confusion.

“I don’t know how any of this will work with us now.” When you sigh this time it’s admitting to yourself that yes, this conversation is happening in a moving vehicle so no, you absolutely can’t cry during it. “We’re different people than we used to be in a lot of ways, but at the same time the fundamentals of who we are…well, they’re kind of baked into us.” At the next stop light, you turn to look at him and are so sure you see hope in his eyes. “And I don’t know how it would work. Or if it would work. But of all the things I regret, I don’t want to regret not taking a second chance when we had it.”

“You want….me?” Dieter asks, bewildered by that confession. “Like– another chance? You want to give me another chance?” He’s so confused, but his voice breaks. “Y-yeah.”

“I had planned on being more eloquent than this.” A whole speech had been forming in your head, rolling over and over as you tried to figure out exactly what you wanted to say. But in the end it has turned out not to matter. “I had this whole plan. I was going to have champagne and chocolates sent to Sadie and Des and to us and make it this whole romantic thing and I just…please don’t take the fact that I asked you like this instead of doing something absurdly romantic to mean that I’m any less sincere.”

“You wanted to give me chocolates and champagne?” His voice sounds awe-filled, as if he had never even had someone consider doing something like that for him. “We can still have them. I’ll order them.” He offers, squeezing your hand again.

“Then it’s you giving them to me and not me giving them to you…” The distinction is important to you, considering there was a time when you couldn’t give him more than a glass of water.

“I–okay.” He murmurs quietly. “Um,” he glances back at you briefly before looking out the window again. “This isn’t because you feel sorry for me, is it?” He doesn’t know if it would hurt him more or less than he had already been hurting.

“No.” The speed of your answer should probably speak for yourself, but you still keep a hold of his hand. “Pity isn’t a foundation for a relationship.”

His sigh of relief is quiet, but he knows you hear it. Realistically, he knows he doesn’t deserve another chance. Not after what he’s done, but you are giving him one. “Good.”

“It’s…” you steer the car into the underground parking below the hotel you’re staying at and glance over at him as darkness overtakes the car. “It’s because kissing you…even on set, even through the lens of characters…” Your voice is shaking as you park the car and you can hear it, so there’s no doubt he can too. “Kissing you today felt like coming home.”

“I’ve never been happier than in that little shitty apartment, wrapped up with you.” Dieter admits, swallowing down the thick emotions. “Not even winning that fucking Oscar.”

Now that the car is parked and things are out in the open, you sink back in your seat and unbuckle your seatbelt. “Maybe we’ll win one together this time,” you tease, trying not to think of the note he sent to your house after you lost a few months ago. That wasn’t really him. It was a coping mechanism.

“Yeah.” Dieter nods. “I meant what I said to you. You deserved it, and hopefully next time you’re nominated, you win.”

“You sent me a note that said ‘Whoops. Better luck when Meryl isn’t nominated.’” Actually saying it out loud makes you pause, and you shake your head at yourself for getting so wrapped up in seven stupid words.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, wincing slightly. “It’s Meryl, I’m happy I don’t have to go up against her.” He huffs. “You would have won if her movie had come out the next year.”

“Come on.” One more squeeze of his hand and you let it go to pull the keys from the ignition and retrieve your purse from the backseat. “Let’s go upstairs? I’ll catch hell from Desiree if I don’t feed you, and that girl is scary when she defends you.”

Chuckling, he climbs out of the car. “She scares me.” He admits with a grin. “I think that’s why my agent loves her.”

“Your agent loves her because she is impossible for you to talk into your bed.” You grin at him as you round the hood of the car and hold out your hand for him to take again.

“That too.” He admits shamelessly. “Girl doesn’t like dick at all.” He huffs, smirking slightly. She had a knack for putting him in his place and it was something that was needed every now and again.

“She and Sadie have that in common.” The elevator to go upstairs isn’t far away and you let Dieter press the call button as you unconsciously lean into his side. “They’re very sweet together. I think Sadie’s nervous that you and I won’t be on good terms when filming ends. Like that would affect their relationship. I didn’t…I didn’t really tell her what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Not all of it, anyway.”

“You aren’t giving me another chance because of your assistant, are you?” He’s joking, but he stares at you suspiciously.

“No.” The elevator doors open and you nudge him inside, pressing the button for your floor yourself. “I’m asking if you want to try again because I’ve…I’ve never loved anyone in the world as much as you.”

“There’s a reason why I couldn’t get a relationship to last.” Dieter admits quietly. “They weren’t you. And I fucked up the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Well…” The elevator car starts to move and you shrug a little. “Better later than never. Isn’t it?”

“Twelve years later.” Dieter sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bambi.”

“The person who owes us both an apology is your father.” Something which you will never get, unfortunately. “But barring that? I’d say…maybe we focus on the future instead of the past?”

The idea of a fresh start isn’t new to Dieter, they talk about that shit all the time in therapy but he bobbles his head, wanting it now. “Okay.” He agrees quickly.

From the elevator to his room, the two of you stay connected long enough to get inside and long enough for you to call room service for those bottles of bubbly and boxes of chocolates that you had planned for. According to the staff member on the other end, Desiree has already arranged your dinners. “I swear,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. “Between the two of them, they might start reading our minds.”

“I think they know us better than we know ourselves.” Dieter huffs, pleased that you have wanted to do something for him. “Um–” Dieter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a little shy about showing you his sketchbook since you had freaked out last time. “Do you want to see the rest of my sketches?” He asks quietly. You’ve done something for him, so he wants to do the same.

"Yes." They're intensely personal to him, you understand that now. It was something you couldn't wrap your head around before and you're embarrassed by how you reacted weeks ago. "I'm sorry I–um...is there any real way to repair the book? I'm so sorry, Dee..."

“I redrew it.” Dieter admits. “When I was – when I was high.”

"You've been doing that less." There's no judgment behind it. It's just an observation on your part. He's barely touched anything in the last few weeks, and nothing dangerous at that.

“You said you were worried.” Dieter explains. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

"How do you feel without it?" Mostly you were worried that he was going to overdose out of sheer desperation or depression, but from everything you can see, he's actually doing okay being more sober on a day-to-day basis. Or maybe he's just a good enough actor to get through the daily motions of life on autopilot.

“I–I don’t know?” He shrugs carelessly. “Weird. It’s all too bright.”

"That's the pot. It makes you more photosensitive. Not to a degree that could hurt you, but just enough that sunglasses are good." You follow him through to the bedroom of his suite where he keeps his sketchbooks, shrugging your own shoulders in turn when he looks at you in confusion. "I–I did some reading. In case you started having withdrawal symptoms or anything like that."

“I don’t know if I should have known or shake my head at you.” He snorts. “I’m sure you could have asked Desiree. I think the woman has a binder of all the drugs I take and their effects.”

"I wanted to put in the effort myself." It means a lot to you, to be able to step out of your comfort zone for him, and it probably is an obvious clue that you still felt strongly about him far before you were able to admit it to yourself. "What if something happened to you on her day off? Or in the middle of the night when I'm here and she isn't?"

Dieter swallows and feels guilty for putting so much responsibility on you. “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay." Your hand touches his arm gently and you offer him a smile, not wanting to dwell on too many heavy things all at once. "Do you still want to show me your sketches?"

“Yeah.” Dieter picks up the book and hesitates for a moment before he offers it to you. Reminding himself that you wouldn’t tear it up again. Maybe you would be impressed with the sketches now that you aren’t angry at him.

Cradling the book carefully, you sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed and smile at the fact that Desiree found time to make it – because he certainly didn't do it himself. The early pages of the sketchbook are rough images of your face with your eyes closed, followed by several more that concentrate entirely on your eyes being open. As the book goes on, the images become larger and more varied. A full page is dedicated to a sketching of you wearing a dress that you particularly loved – it had been in magazines, if you recall correctly. The designer was someone previously unknown who had sent you a thank you card for mentioning her name to a reporter. The ones of you smiling are the most remarkable, though. With nothing but pencils, paper, and raw talent, he's made you more lifelike in that book that you are in some days of your own life. "They're..." you exhale shakily when you flip to a page that shows you sleeping. One hand lays in front of your face with a ring on your finger, almost like a dream. "They're stunning, Dee. You're incredible."

“I–” Dieter reaches out and touches the binding of the book. “I bring this book with me everywhere.” He admits quietly. “Desiree never touches my backpack. I don’t allow her to. It’s my carryon.”

"You bring me everywhere?" It touches you far more than you can really say, sticking in your throat and making you swallow thickly.

“Yeah.” Dieter knows that it’s dumb, perhaps even creepy to someone if they were to think about it. “Just– wanted you to know.”

"I'm flattered." When you reach for this hand this time you press a kiss to his palm and smile. "And I'm sorry again for...for being so over dramatic about discovering them. You have every right to express yourself and keep your memories however you want to."

“I get it.” He hadn’t been able to recreate that sketch in the new book. Not wanting to see that look again. “I understand, I do.”

"Maybe in the future there can be happier reasons to draw." Trying as hard as you can to lighten the mood, you tip your chin back to look at him and waggle your eyebrows. "Or sexy reasons?"

“Yeah?” Dieter’s brows shoot up and he gets a hopeful look on his face. “Would you model for me sometime?”

"I'm surprised you never asked me to before." You chew on your lip, brows furrowing. "Or...did you not draw back then?"

“Not really. Nothing beyond doodles.” Dieter snorts. “The idea of Baxter Bravo’s son being an artist beyond the silver screen was never an option.”

"You can do whatever you want now, you know." Arguably, he could before. But abusive parents have a way of caging in their children that cannot be easily broken. "I mean...even if you wanted to go as far as quitting acting altogether, you could."

“What the hell would I do?” Dieter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Not even imagining what he would do since he’s not doing as many drugs and he doubts you would be interested in orgies.

"I'm not saying that you have to, or even that you should. You're an amazing actor, and you did deserve that Oscar." A knock on the suite door has you standing from his bed and putting the sketchbook back down on the blankets. "I just want you to be happy. That's all."

Happy. What would that entail? He frowns as you open the door, thinking about what would actually make him happy. You, for one. You would make him happy. He watches as they wheel in the cart of food and you sign off on the bill. “What did she order us?” He asks, striding over as the server discreetly exits.

"Looks like a roast dinner for two." The covered platters of beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, and Yorkshire pudding are as English as it gets, and the boat of gravy is steaming away happily. Beside it, the ice bucket of champagne and box of chocolates are a decadent cap to the meal. "She ordered us a celebration."

“Sounds good.” Dieter has showered but you are still wearing remnants of the makeup from the set. “Do you want to shower before we eat?” He asks, wondering if you would go back to your room after dinner or stay. Feeling off kilter from the way things have turned out. Who knew you would be the stronger of the two of you?

“Five minutes?” Considering your room is right next to his, you could be in and out in no time and come back in pajamas. “Everything will stay warm if we keep the lids on and…if today’s already been a lot we can just watch a movie or something. I don’t really mind…I just…” It feels so silly, yet it’s true. “I just want to be around you.”

“You could always shower here.” He offers quietly. “But – no, that’s stupid.” He shakes his head and waves. “Go shower and change. I’ll be right here.”

“Why is that stupid?” You tilt your head at him.

“You don’t have clothes and I–” he shrugs one shoulder. “I know that it’s dumb to not want you to leave for five minutes.”

“I—” Biting back the suggestion at first, a smirk ends up creeping across your face anyway. “If I shower after dinner I just…might not get dressed afterward?” It wasn’t so many hours ago that he was grinding against you in that bed on set and the memory is still making you a little hazy.

Dieter has been trying sooooo hard not to turn things sexual, especially given the way that he had finally been on even ground with you. Groaning quietly, he bites his lip. “What would you wear?” He’s a little breathless at the thought, remembering how you looked even with the modesty garments on.

“Um…I was kind of leaning toward wearing nothing? But I can borrow one of your shirts if that’s too fast or too uncomfortable.” The question makes you stumble a little, wondering if you misread any of the conversation that the two of you have been having. He had said that nothing this afternoon was faked, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s ready to just dive into bed with you.

Dieter closes his eyes for a moment, lips parted as if he is in prayer. “I–I can’t guarantee I won’t get down on my fucking knees and beg to touch you,” he admits, cock twitching in his pants. “Fuck.”

The reverence and desperation in his voice has your eyes flicking up to meet his again, and your lips twist into a relieved smile. “I wouldn’t be suggesting that I get naked in your hotel room unless you were going to be allowed to touch me.”

“You– want to have sex with me?” Dieter asks, slowly opening his eyes. “Or– is this something where I need to make things up to you?” He’s had partners that have been more dominant and denied him an orgasm. He didn’t mind it, as long as he got to eventually cum.

“It’s not a game.” You never played psychological games with him back then and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now. “I thought…after what happened on set…that you wanted to?”

“I want to.” Dieter nearly makes himself dizzy, nodding so quickly. “I– fuck, I’m aching.” He admits. “Been hard all goddamn day around you.”

“Yeah…” You smirk a little, cheeks burning at the memory. “I noticed.”

“No one could get me as hard as you fucking could with a look.” He huffs, pouting at you like it’s entirely your fault.

“Well I’m very sorry.” You’re not. At all. And your tone would make it obvious even if you weren’t stepping closer to him. “I’ll make sure never to look at you like I want you again.”

“You better.” Dieter whines. “I want sex in my relationship with you.”

Just hearing him say he wants a relationship - any kind of relationship - with you is enough to make you giddy, but this little back and forth you're having is fun. "We generally had a lot more trouble keeping our hands off of each other than not, if I remember correctly."

“I am older.” He warns you with a grimace. “And drugs can sometimes make things…uh, not hard.”

"I don't expect either of us to have the same sex drive we had in our early twenties." That would be completely ridiculous, and you reach out to offer him a place in your arms with a soft smile. "Things aren't going to be the same as they used to be, and that's fine. We're different people than we were. For now, all I care about is that you're willing to give this a try."

“I want that.” He doesn’t have to think about it. Of course he wants to have a relationship with you. He’s wanted you ever since he walked away.

"Then...?" You hold out your arms again with a little shrug, still hoping for a hug or almost anything that isn't propelled by a script or a set. As intense as filming had been, and as honest, it was still not fully you.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you want a hug and Dieter rockets forward to wrap his arms around you. Sighing softly. There's a distinct difference between how Dieter holds people on set versus in real life when he's only himself. When he's himself it's like being enveloped in the beaming embrace of summer sun. He's a blanket of warmth and comfort that could best be compared to hugging a weighted blanket. Your nose burrows into his chest and you let out a sigh that almost matches his, squeezing your arms tightly around him before just relaxing into him.

“This is nice.” He hums. Rubbing your back gently as he tries to stretch out the much needed hug.

"You've always been a sucker for cuddles," you chuckle softly, nuzzling against him as naturally as breathing. "Glad to see that hasn't changed."

“Didn’t get this when I was a kid.” He murmurs, not bothering to even try to move away.

"Glad to change that for you." The food can get cold, for all you care. Having him with his arms around you again is the most heavenly comfort that you've been without for so long. No one gives hugs like Dieter does.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there, wrapped up in each other's arms. The comfort of the moment is one that neither one of you is willing to give up. Not until he realizes that it’s getting late and you have to be uncomfortable with the makeup and adhesives from modesty garments still sticking to your skin. “Go shower. I will set up our plates in front of the tv.” He offers as he pulls away.

"If you insist." It takes you a second to open your eyes, and even longer to be willing to let your arms drop from him. "I'm going to steal one of your t-shirts to wear while we eat, if that's okay?"

“Yeah.” He grins, biting his lip and congratulates himself on not immediately popping off with something dirty. “That’s okay with me. They are huge and comfortable.”

"I'll be right back." It's only a single moment of hesitation, but you decide that you've talked enough for it to be safe and you lean forward to kiss his cheek before turning to head through his bedroom to the large bathroom that matches your own on the other side of the wall.

Dieter rubs his cheek, grinning again as he rushes over to the dresser where Desiree had put all his clothes. Picking out the softest shirt he had that wasn’t currently on his body.

Some old habits apparently will never die, and you’re grateful to see that Dieter’s obsessive exfoliation is one of them. His loofah is perfect for scrubbing away the last remnants of the work day, and whatever fancy formula shampoo he talked about once in an interview that he now has a lifetime supply of, is divine. Five minutes in scalding hot water from start to finish and you feel like a new person when you step out of the shower. There’s a towel on the counter that you didn’t put there and you smile to yourself – an expression that only grows wider when you step out into the bedroom after drying off to find that he’s picked out a t-shirt for you. It’s soft as a feather and a nondescript blue-gray color that looks as though he’s worn it a hundred times or more, and you’re swimming in the stretched out cotton when you put it on. After a quick debate about whether or not to dig through your eternally over-packed purse for the clean panties you know are in there through force of habit, you decide not to. You’ve already talked about having sex tonight. If you decide not to? Well, you can put panties on then.

He has moved the dinner from the couch to the bed and back again nearly half a dozen times. Unsure of when he became this neurotic, he justifies himself with the fact that he wants to make things good for you. Despite you wanting him, he knows he needs to make up for the hurt he had caused you. So now the plates are sitting on the coffee table and he’s even dug out those candles that were in the large gift basket waiting in his room when he arrived a month ago. The small lamp, the only other source of light beyond the tv, already turned to a movie that he vaguely remembers you enjoying.

"I was only gone for five or six minutes..." When you step out of the bedroom to find the living room has been transformed into a little oasis of romance, you almost sigh audibly. Candles and dim light accentuate the still screen of a favorite drama he's pulled up on the tv, and your dinner is sat out in front of the couch with the ice bucket of champagne and two glasses standing ready. It's so sweet that it makes your face burn. "You went for romance and I went slightly slutty."

“I like slutty.” Dieter nearly shouts it. “I like it a lot. Slutty romance.” He nods, patting the couch. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing panties?”

"You want to find out?" Of course he does, but you can't resist teasing him a little. You saunter up to the sofa to sit down next to him and make sure to flash him just a tiny bit in the process.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs until you cross them. “Eating– we– we need to eat.” He reminds himself.

"Sorry if the waxing is a disappointment," you eye him as you both pick up your plates. "But those modesty things we have to wear are sticky and the last thing I want to do after a day of filming is pull out my pubic hair by hand."

“It’s your hair.” He shakes his head slightly and shrugs. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

"I distinctly remember being told that you liked the au natural look because it was womanly." It's not as though you've forgotten a single thing from that night. It was one of the most important nights of your life. And happiest, honestly.

He smirks, remembering how suave that had sounded at the time. “That was good, wasn’t it?” He hums, sliding closer to you. “Smooth.”

"Considering how desperately in love with you I already was, you probably could have just grunted at me and I would have thought it was the sexiest thing in the whole world." It's honest, at least, and you lean into his side with the champagne bottle in your hands. "But it was definitely smooth."

“You’ve done really well.” Dieter compliments. “Your career is amazing and Heat Rush is probably one of my favorite movies of yours.”

"You've actually seen my movies?" It shouldn't surprise you, considering you now know he's had feelings for you all along, but it still makes you flush hot and duck your head before concentrating on uncorking the champagne bottle.

“I don’t watch my own movies, but I watch yours.” What that says about him, he’s not quite sure, but he shrugs and tries not to look too pleased with himself for you suddenly seeming bashful. “I was invited to a couple of your premieres, but I’d have ruined it for you if I had shown up.”

"Well, you're going to have to come now." Concentrating on pouring out two glasses means you don't have to look him in the eye, which saves you from looking him in the eye and letting him see how touched you really are. "Can't have my agent trying to manufacture a date for me when I can take an actual date to things."

“That might be better for you, considering my reputation.” Dieter knows the image that he has crafted for himself, so often compared his father.

Frowning, you had him a glass of champagne and examine his face before shaking your head. "Do you really think that I would hide the fact that I love you?"

“People will talk.” He points out, not upset about it, he doesn’t care what people think. About him. You are a different story. “Start a countdown for how long it takes until it blows up.”

"And?" The shrug of your shoulders is pointed as you turn to face him on the couch. "Worst case scenario is we find out we are very different people than we used to be, and we part as friends." A scenario – as you call it – which is highly unlikely because you doubt you could ever just be his friend, but if he decided that he didn't want to be with you after all you would take whatever relationship you got to have with him. "But if you ask me? It will be fun to watch them all eat their words one by one when we prove everybody wrong."

Everyone who has ever tried to ‘date’ him in the last twelve years has tried to change him. To make sure that his image is revamped and they prove to the world that they are the one who ‘tamed Dieter Bravo’, like they used to want to do with his dad and Warren Beatty. Although Beatty was a bigger prize since he had never married. Baxter was always sore about that. To hear you just casually say that their opinions would change is refreshing.

"I wouldn't start something with you if I didn't think it could last," you tell him, hoping that he remembers your policy of honesty in relationships. It had served the two of you well right up until the day his father stepped between you. "And...I would hope that you feel that same way."

“I just don’t want you to regret it.” Dieter admits. “You have before.”

“What I regretted was a situation I didn’t fully understand.” You put your glass down and sit up fully, trying to figure out if this is him telling you to run. If he unconsciously is trying to give you some signal or other. If it is, unconscious isn’t good enough. “The only reason I would back off now is if you told me that you didn’t want me for some reason. But the inability to see the future isn’t a reason not to try.”

Dieter nods and reaches for your hand. “I’m scared.” He admits. “I know if you walked away from me – hypocrisy, I know – it would kill me. Because I walked away and it nearly killed me then.”

“It’s okay to be scared.” Your fingers twine together and you squeeze his hand gently. “I’m scared, too. But…life is kind of terrifying on its own. So I’d rather be scared with the person I love than without you.”

Nodding, he sighs softly. “I know. I just–” frowning, he turns his eyes towards you seriously. “I’m tired of hurting you.” He confesses. “I’m worried that I will.”

“Then how about we talk about things?” It seems so easy and so obvious, but sitting down and having a serious conversation can be one of the most difficult things in the world sometimes. “Any time one of us is feeling off-kilter, or worried, or anything like that - we talk about it before it gets bad. That way we don’t ever get to the point of something dramatic or hurtful happening.”

That’s the smartest thing to do, but no one has ever accused Dieter of being the brightest. Still, he’s willing to do anything in order to make sure he doesn’t screw up again. “Yeah. Yeah, we should do that. And I– I’ll start writing down when I’m feeling off.”

"We can set aside some journaling or sketching time, if you want." You tilt your head at him, knowing he doesn't know you keep a journal. You hadn't back then. "It's...something I've been doing since I started seeing a therapist a long time ago. I don't see her very frequently anymore, but I've kept up with my journal. It helps me keep my thoughts straight."

He winces slightly. “I can only imagine what is written in them about me.” He’s not vain enough to think you’ve thought about him a lot over the past twelve years unless it’s when he runs into you and there’s some little spat.

Frankly, you don't want him to imagine it. There've been some truly not-very-nice things that you've thought about him over the last decade, but they all came from a place of being hurt. A place that you are very much not in anymore. "It doesn't matter anymore," you promise him, picking up your glass again. "What matters is that we are good going forward. Together."

He chuckles and lifts a brow. “That bad, huh?” He teases. “I deserve it. I picked at you to keep you angry at me.” He admits.

"It was easier to be angry than to admit that I was still hurting." You shrug slightly and take a sip from your glass. "But that's...that's when I didn't want to admit to myself that I was hurt because I still have feelings for you."

“I’m surprised you do.” He’s gobsmacked by that if he’s honest. “I would have imagined it would have resulted in you not pissing on me if I was on fire.”

"Love seems to be a very illogical thing." Nudging him to pick up his plate, you trade your glass for your own dinner. "Fortunately, I'm a stubborn and illogical person to begin with, so I'm okay with it."

Laughing, he shakes his head and holds up his champagne glass to yours. “To being completely illogical.” He offers with a smile.

“Here, here.” Now that is something you will absolutely drink to.

Once the mini toast is done, Dieter removes the lids off the dinner. “We should eat before it gets too cold.”

"What a very logical thing to say." You tease, despite doing exactly as he suggests. For the first time in ages, you might truly be relaxed.

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” He jokes, feeling more at ease with the situation. You’ve never lied to him, and if you say you want to have sex with him, that’s the truth. “Have to eat dinner before I can have dessert.”

That earns him a half-snorted laugh as you take your first bite, and you shake your head at him. "Eat up then. I'm in the mood for sweets tonight."

“Yeah? You want to drink champagne and eat those chocolates while I eat you?” The idea has him twitching in interest, the lazy indulgence of it enticing.

"Oh, I just meant that I want you." He always has been, and still seems to be, incredibly sweet. That's part of what his anger and seeming hatred had stung so badly. "But if you want to be fully hedonistic, I'm on board."

“Been a long time.” He admits with a shrug. “Need to get back into the habit.”

"If I ever object to having my pussy eaten, call a doctor because I've been body snatched." You tell him definitively.

He snorts and then busts out into a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Things really start to feel normal as you eat, joking at the movie and reciting your favorite lines here and there until your plates are empty. You creep closer together on the couch as time ticks by, pulled together with that same magnetic attachment that has always seemed to bring you together. Before you know it you're leaning into his side, fingers threading together and head on his shoulder.

There’s a sweetness to the moment that Dieter is reluctant to end. It could have been twelve years ago, the two of you sitting on his tiny loveseat couch in that apartment. Or in your dressing room.

"I missed this." It's a big thought for such a quiet moment, but you sigh into it and just let the truth of it settle around you. It's not a heavy or foreboding thought anymore, and that feels like a weight off your shoulders.

“Me too.” His hand slides around your shoulder and he pulls you against him even more.

"I'd suggest sleeping right here if we didn't both have the backs of people over thirty now." Back then, the two of you could and would sleep wherever you dropped. It was usually a bed, sure, but not always. One memorable night saw you falling asleep in his lap when you couldn't bear to tear yourselves apart after riding him.

He snorts and shakes his head. “We are getting old.” He admits. “Hangovers take forever to get over now. Do you remember when we used to perform while still drunk from the night before?”

"It's a fucking miracle I could remember my lines sometimes." Theater work really has differences from film work, and you giggle about it almost wistfully. "I think...I miss theater, too. I haven't been on an actual stage in years."

“Me too.” He hasn’t stepped foot on a stage since leaving the production you worked on together. His father would have pitched a fit and he didn’t have the heart to do it anymore.

"Can you imagine?" It earns another small laugh from you. "If we wrapped this movie and then ran off to play on a stage somewhere? Gossip magazines would practically sell our tickets for us."

He snorts and gives a fond smirk. “We find some hole-in-the-wall theatre in Nebraska and make it bigger than Broadway.”

"Would you go all classical on me and want to do Shakespeare and Chekov and Tennessee Williams?" It sounds like fun for once. Like something you could do without looking over your shoulder and making sure you're doing precisely what ten thousand sets of eyes want you to be doing.

“Why not? Or Oklahoma.” He chuckles, smirking at how his father would roll over in his grave. “Or do you think it’s sacrilege to perform that in Nebraska?”

"I think it's a sacrilege to perform Oklahoma! at all," you snort, enjoying the image of him in a cowboy hat regardless. "We'd do Shakespeare and musicals and classics and experimental whatevers whenever we felt like. The king and queen of Midwestern regional theater."

“Build a theatre that rivals Juilliard for performances for students.” Dieter slips into the dream a little more, enjoying the idea of it. “Teach the next generation of performers.” Hell, if he were honest, he thinks of you as a mentee of his.

"An institute for performers, staring with high school." There is a smile on your lips when you tilt your head to look at him. "Not kids. Kids should get to just be kids. No stage parents thrusting their children on our stages. We'd make sure of that."’

“Absolutely.” He nods in full agreement, hating being dragged around to auditions when all he wanted was to go outside and play.

"It's a beautiful dream, Dee." One that wouldn't necessarily be so difficult to achieve, given his multiple generations of accumulated wealth. It would take a little while to bring together the right people for a school, but a theater? The two of you could fund that yourselves without a lot of effort.

“It’s been a long time since I had a dream that was fun.” He admits softly. Smiling at the idea and tracing a pattering on your shoulder under the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Maybe it's worth going back on stage first to make sure it's as good as you remember?" Support is something that you know he hasn't really had, and that's definitely something you can give him. Your full and unconditional support for moving in a positive direction. Positive being whatever makes him truly happy.

“Yeah. It’s not good to just jump in.” He reminds himself, not wanting to jump in too deep, too quickly.

"But if you could..." He loves to dream - or at least he used to - and you don't want him to just box up the thought and tuck it away in his brain to forget about. "Where would you want to open it? Anywhere in the country. Or hell, anywhere in the world?"

Dieter frowns and considers it seriously. “I’m not really sure. Where would you want to go?”

"I mean, if we were really thinking about it?" You lean back against his arm on the couch and smile softly, letting childhood memories come through to the surface. "The theater that I did my first show at ever is in my hometown in Washington. It was this big deal summer stock left over from the 1930s or 40s, and they'd built up a hotel around it for a while. But the hotel went under and the theater squeaked by for a few decades more after it was demolished and..." you shrug slightly, knowing how nostalgic you sound. "I grew up in the mountains, so now it's this big, defunct theater in the middle of a valley. I wish it could be restored and turned into something great again. But I don't know if Snoqualmie, Washington is the place you want to build your legacy."

“That’s pretty cool though.” Dieter grins. “You get all the Hollywood types out there for the summer theatre program and then the local kids and kids who dream of theatre and can’t get the lessons.”

“Can you imagine?” It warms through you, the idea of your little town reinvigorated. “We get occasional tourists because they filmed some of Twin Peaks in my town. But a whole theater and a school? It would be something else to see.”

“That would be cool. Bring some more life to the area. Is it a nice vibe? I like a good view.” Dieter asks, not really caring about much, but this is the first thing that’s gotten him thinking about more than himself in a while.

“I thought it was boring growing up, but I like going back for the holidays and family stuff when I can. It’s pretty. And there’s something to be said for having all four seasons.” He sounds like he’s actually thinking about it, which makes you smile more than you would have expected. “If you decide this is actually something you want to do, I can help you look at different places. If…if you want me to, I mean.” It would be a drastic change in how he lives his life, and if he wanted you to come with him it would be a drastic change in yours. Who knows when or if it would ever happen. All you know is that it’s good for Dieter to dream.

“You would want that too?” He asks, surprised. Your career is taking off, still running like a freight train without the hints of or outright scandals he has weathered.

"I mean...I'm not thinking about taking a running leap out of Hollywood anytime in the next year or two, but I've definitely thought about what I would want to do when I get out. And I want to get out on my own terms, not because people have stopped returning my calls or because the only offers I'm getting are witches or overbearing mothers." You shrug slightly, nuzzling deeper against him as you do. "I don't want to wash up or fade away. I want to be present to enjoy every stage of my life. That's what I've always wanted."

“Whatever you do, you’ll be great at it.” Dieter knows that without even considering it very much. You’ve always had the raw talent that most people are in awe of.

"So will you." You're not about to let him think less of himself or avoid the very honest compliment just because he redirected the conversation. "And besides, if you decided to open your theater and drama school in my hometown I would certainly hope you would want me involved in things. It only seems fair."

“Oh it’s fair, huh?” He cracks a sardonic grin. “Because it was your idea?” He knows that if he did do something like that, he would absolutely want you involved. Your talent as an actor has only gotten better.

"Alright, maybe not fair." You have to laugh at it yourself, even a little, and bat your eyelashes at him. "More like...wishful thinking?"

“Wishful thinking.” He hums, enjoying the idea of you being interested in taking that on with him. “It’s something to think about. I think we do need more theatres.”

Empty plates and empty glasses stand by on the coffee table, and you smile from your place, tucked into his side on the sofa. It’s comfortable and also comforting, to be able to sit and talk like this. When you were young everything was about the here and now, but now that you’re adults the dreams are a vital part of pushing through each day’s monotony.

When the two of you are like this, Dieter wonders how the hell he had ever walked away from you. The way you calm him down amazes him, the nervous energy dispelled easily without the need for chemicals.

The movie ends soon afterward, not that you were really paying that much attention. You had talked all through the meal and maybe only sat and watched the last fifteen minutes. But those last fifteen minutes were calm and quiet and saw the two of you happily wrapped up in each other. It’s nice. It’s comforting. And it’s also making your skin tingle any place he touches you.

“Do you– do you want to watch another movie?” Despite having a call time tomorrow, Dieter feels like the two of you have all the time in the world. The way the sexual tension has shifted into something… more has him reluctant to give in to his body’s wants.

“If you want to.” Once upon a time he would have been tearing his shirt off of you at the first possible opportunity, but things aren’t the same as they were – and you have to remember that it isn’t a bad thing or anything to do with attraction. You’re both very obviously still attracted to each other if what happened on set is any indication. This is about being close again, and you reach to grab the remote off the coffee table to pass to him.

“Not really.” He admits with an amused huff at himself. “I kind of want to go to the bedroom.”

"Oh yeah?" The eyebrow you raise at him in sheer amusement comes with a smirk. "You thinkin' about asking me to come with you?"

“Hoping you would.” He chuckles. “It’s either that or I’m gonna need to go jerk off.”

"And that would be a damn shame." Nodding solemnly, you shift out of his lap and stand up before holding out your hand to him. "Come on, Dee. I don't mind leaving a mess for once."

He grins, remembering how you would want to pick up his apartment before going to bed when you were staying practically every night. “Yes ma’am.”

Your clothes from the day are neatly stacked on the dresser across from the bed, and the towel you used hung just as neatly in the bathroom. There's barely any trace of you here at all, but Dieter's marks are everywhere, just as they should be. This is his room and his space, and he's welcomed you into it. In some ways that first night together comes roaring back into your mind - but that night was a lot more about tearing each other's clothes off than this careful tiptoe of a dance you're doing right now.

“You still like the right side of the bed?” He asks, bolting towards the bed to pull the covers back. He wants you, he fucking aches with it, but he also wants to make sure you know that this isn’t just sex. “If you want to stay, that is. I don’t know. You might have a more comfortable bed than mine.” He jokes.

"Dee..." He's nervous, and you sure as fuck are too, but you cross the room to put both of your hands on his shoulders. "I want to stay. And I want you. It's okay. There's no reason to be so nervous." You should probably listen to your own advice. Oh well.

“It’s uh,” he shuffles and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this…sober.” He confesses, looking mildly embarrassed at the way his life had turned out.

"That's okay." Far be it from you to judge him for coping with the stressful way things have gone for him. "It doesn't have to be tonight. And if it is, it doesn't have to be a marathon."

“I want you on top of me.” Dieter groans breathlessly. “I fucking loved when you would grind down on me and fucking let me suck on your tits.”

"So specific." Yet you can't stop yourself from groaning, remembering how enthusiastic and sloppy he would get whenever the opportunity presented itself. "We should get in bed, then."

He bounces into the bed, flopping on it like he is about to start jumping as he pushes his boxers down and kicks them off.

You can’t help it, you smother your face with two hands to keep from becoming a giggling mess and end up barely stifling a snort in the process. “Is that my seat?” You tease, glancing at his half-hard cock when you put one knee on the mattress to climb in with him.

He pouts and wraps his hand around his cock. “It was hard all day.” He huffs at you. “It’s gotta let the blood flow back to my brain sometimes.”

“Only sometimes.” You move closer to him, about to put one leg over his lap when you stop short and groan softly. “I knew I felt something,” you huff indignantly. With one hand, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his length and moan all over again at the way he twitches in your hand. The thing that has your attention, though, is shiny rather than warm. “When did you get your cock pierced?”

Dieter groans and his eyes flutter while he enjoys the curious trace of your fingers over the metal in his cock. “I– oh fuck, about a month after I came to California.” He admits. “Wanted to rebel and what better way than to get my dick pierced?”

“Enhances pleasure, I take it?” He’s squirming under the light attention and you shift to straddle his thighs while you explore.

“Yes.” He pants, cock now fully hard and curled nicely against his belly. “People– uh, seem to like it. And it feels really fucking good when someone plays with it.”

“Really good, huh?” You’re not as innocent as you used to be. Not by a long shot. And your experiences with men have been varied over the years. What you do know for sure, is that your experiences with Dieter were the happiest you’ve ever been. You tighten your hand around him experimentally, remembering how much pressure he used to like, and let yourself lean in easily to press your lips to his.

“Shit.” He hisses, muffled by your kiss and as soon as you lean in, he’s grabbing a handful of the overly large shirt. Bunching it over your breasts and dragging you closer to him while his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth.

None of the old feverish need for each other is missing from this moment, and it’s a perfect kind of ecstasy to realize that aging twelve years – a death sentence in Hollywood – hasn’t affected his attraction to you at all. You open up for him immediately, tongue sliding against his as you push your chest into his hands and start to pump his cock slowly in your hand.

The sounds that he makes breathe straight into you. Given up willingly and he kisses you like it is the last thing he will ever do. No one around this time, Dieter pours all of himself into you, giving into the need that seems to always come back to you.

There is no reason to hold back this time. No one to witness you or to have an opinion on what is happening except for the two of you, and you are the only ones whose opinions count at all. You shift forward, hand still wrapped around him and stroking his cock eagerly but now the heat of your core is hovering barely a hair's breadth away as you swallow every sound he has to offer you.

You still know how to touch him. His hands slide under your shirt, greedy for the skin he had wanted to touch but couldn’t before. Marveling at the way you still fit in his hands perfectly. “Fuck.”

"You let your nipple piercing heal," you pout, turning your head to kiss down the cut line of his jaw.

“Yeah.” He grunts when your teeth scrape against his skin. “Took it out eleven years ago.” He doesn’t tell you that he had almost had the damn thing ripped out by a jealous lover when he had been found in bed with someone else.

"At least you replaced it with something fun." Running your thumb through the dribble of precum at the head of his cock, you pull away from him long enough to suck the digit into your mouth and hum immediately, shutting your eyes for a moment while you enjoy the long-forgotten flavor.

“It’s supposed to feel good for you too.” He adds, like that had been the entire reason that he had gotten his dick pierced.

"I'm sure it will." You hate the way it makes you pause, but you lean in to kiss him softly and take an internal deep breath. "I...I have an IUD and...and I haven't had a partner in a while. Like...my last tests came back clean and I haven't been with anyone since..."

“I– the insurance physical.” Dieter admits breathlessly. “Clean…and I– it’s only…” he huffs at himself. “I haven’t been with anyone since I found out you were in this. And since the physical. I don’t get laid as often as everyone thinks.”

“We can change that.” One raised eyebrow aims itself at him and you can’t help but look amused with your own reaction. “I mean, it wouldn’t be all kinds of crazy orgies or random partners…but a world where Dieter Bravo gets laid every single night? That’s just about having a partner with a high enough sex drive.”

“Have you– since we– since I–” Dieter can barely think with his cock in your hand. He never could, the feeling of your soft skin gripping him so firmly, always making his brain short circuit into something magically blank to everything but the pleasure. “Orgy?” He finally manages, wanting to know if you’ve ever indulged in multiple partners.

“I–um…no.” The image that you built for yourself – the careful walls you constructed around the person you wanted to be seen as – would never have allowed you something so indulgent or hedonistic. Your image is modest and professional. It has been since the day you hit Hollywood. You were a Girl Next Door type in your first television show and your manager wanted you to keep that image. “But if you want—” You stammer, hands stilling as you try to sort out your thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel trapped with me, Dee.”

“No…no.” His frown matches the urgency in his voice. “That’s not– I wouldn’t–” He’s made a lot of mistakes over the past twelve years, but he would never push you. “If you wanted to, that would be one thing. But honestly?” He looks up at you seriously. “I would be jealous of someone else touching you. Like slapping their hands away to do it myself.”

“You always were a little greedy.” There’s nothing but fondness in your voice as you brush a tuft of stray hair from his face and lean in to slant your lips earnestly against his. “Possessive, I guess is more accurate. But…I’m not going to lie.” You flash him a grin. “I always found it kind of hot.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you.” He grins unrepentantly. “Never liked that idea. You were mine.”

You shift a little, cheeks on fire, and swallow a sigh. “Are.”

Quietly absorbing that new information, Dieter nods. “Then we are together.” He decides. “Just us. No licking frosting off someone’s tits or blowing the hot model from the shoot. Just us.”

“I mean…” Not wanting him to feel like he’s giving up his entire lifestyle, you take your hands away and wipe them self consciously in your thighs without even being able to tell if they’re sweaty. You’re just inexplicably nervous. Tonight had gone from sexy to serious very quickly. “If you want to lick frosting off my tits that’s completely cool — and if you’re doing a shoot for something, I will absolutely be blowing the hot model.”

“I just–I meant just us.” Dieter clarifies. “I want it the way it was back in New York. Me and you.”

“As long as that is what you actually want.” He has the biggest, warmest brown eyes and you just melt into him, feeling so freed by this conversation. The cage you’ve had around your heart for so long is finally open again.

“It’s what I want.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I think it’s what I always wanted when I could make my own choices.”

“We keep getting distracted with promises.” It’s endearing, and honestly pretty romantic, that as much as you might want each other, it’s the romance that keeps taking over. You cover his hands with your own and squeeze them gently. “Second chances don’t come around every day. I’m—I’m grateful for this.”

“I’m the one who fucked up.” Dieter admits. “I wrote you a letter, about six years ago. One of those twelve step programs where you write those who you wronged and don’t send them.”

“Did it help?” While you wish he would have disregarded the direction and sent the letter anyway, you know it’s more about admitting wrongs than reaching out. “To write it, I mean?”

“Not really.” He admits with a sheepish smile. “Because I knew that you still thought I hated you at the end of the day. I got baked the next day.”

“Then hopefully things will start to get better now.” It’s all you can really hope for at the end of the day. That things will return to how good they were between you since you know they’ll never be the exact same. Too much has changed, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t ever be that happy again.

“Okay. Now that I’ve brought the mood down, can we fuck?” Dieter whines, his cock twitching against you.

“Telling me you love me is never going to kill the mood,” you promise him, although you do laugh at the exaggerated pout on his face. Taking one of his hands off your hip, you carefully slip two of his fingers into your mouth and relish the way he groans while his eyelids flutter. Directing those same fingers down your body, you press the pads of his fingers to your slick slit and hum at the contact. No longer being shy about asking for what you want has its perks.

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, rocking his hips up so he presses the length of his cock against your cunt while he starts to rub your clit frantically.

If you had been thinking about it, you would have thought through it enough to expect him to go hard and fast getting you ready to take him, but all you had been thinking about was how good it would feel to have him touch you again. So when Dieter immediately starts rubbing your clit like he’s going for a High Speed score, you end up squealing and shaking against him in a fit of surprise. “Oh my—fuck— yes baby—”

There’s a magic to your breathy cry. Making him smirk and rub harder. Wanting to see if you can cum before he ever fucks you. You really had been planning on returning the attention while he fingered you, but the ferocity he goes into it with is enough to have your legs shaking immediately and your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your back arches and your hips start to roll.

Dieter doesn’t stop, not with you bucking and wailing on top of him. He bites his lip and watches as you shake, a sign you are getting close. “Come on Bambi.”

The tension coiling in your core is pulsing as fast as his fingers move, pushing you up toward the crest of your orgasm with force. You're on the edge almost before you can blink and rocketing over the edge with a high wail of his name that is barely muffled by burying your face in his shoulder as your body shakes. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit while you buck and shake through your orgasm. Marveling at how gorgeous you look.

"Fuck." Cutting off your own groan, you dive into kissing him as soon as your body sags, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pressing him back into the upholstered bedhead with determination.

“Hmmmmm.” He groans and kisses you back just as passionately. Loving how soft you are after cumming.

It only takes small shifts to move forward, knees bracketing his hips and core hovering over his leaking cock as you lose yourself in more kisses. Everything about this is better than you could have imagined and you just want to drown in it.

“Baby…please.” Dieter groans. “You don’t– you don’t have to move, just– just put me inside.”

“If you’re inside me, I’m going to move.” It’s a promise as much as anything else, and you reach between you to stroke his cock a few times before notching the head at your entrance and sinking down on him slowly.

Dieter's mouth drops open and he lets out a low, pained whine. Nearly shuddering at the heat of your cunt wrapping around his cock and gripping him like a vice. Not knowing how it's possible that you feel even tighter now than you did when he took your virginity, his heels dig into the bed in an effort to keep himself still.

"Shit, shit, shiiiiit," your head drops back the further down his shaft you slide, eyes drifting shut in bliss and body shivering with pleasure. When your ass is firmly planted against his thighs you rock forward, gasping at the way his piercing creates an extra layer of sensation deep in your cunt when you move.

"Goddamnit, fuck, shit, motherfucking whore." Dieter hisses, eyes closed so he doesn't blow his load right this second. You are just like a fucking glove around him and he's overwhelmed by how good it feels to have you around him again. It was something he had dreamed of, jerked off thinking about but had never really believed it would ever be afforded to him again.

It's counterintuitive, but you smother a burst of giggles at his tirade of curses and lean forward to kiss him. "You okay, baby?"

"Gimme a minute....." He pants, chest heaving as he tries to think about anything but the wet clutch of your cunt. Your walls contract and he groans, cock twitching deep and he grimaces slightly against your lips. "Trying to– trying to make sure I don't fuckin' embarrass myself." He complains, as if it is all your fault. Which it is, but he's not mad about it. "Too fuckin' tight."

"No more Kegels?" You can't help but tease him, feeling the way your pussy throbs around him. It's brilliant and sinful and makes your mind fog with pleasure.

"Those work?" He pops one eye open to stare at you, trying to gauge if you are serious or not. "No bullshit?"

“You tell me.” Whining a little when he twitches deep inside you again, you flash him a grin. “You’re the one feeling the results right now.”

"Mean." He hisses when you tighten down around him again. "Brat." His nails dig into your flesh but not enough that he would leave more than dull marks on your skin, easily gone later.

“You gonna punish me for it?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the two of you ever played with power dynamics in bed, and your lips curl into a grin.

Dieter is a cocky enough man, well aware of his abilities in bed to change things up. Enough of an asshole to flip you over onto your back with a quick tilt of his hips and follow you, staying buried inside your body and snapping his hips forward sharply when he thrusts down. "Yes."

“Fuck!” It happens all at once, as the begging mess of a man flips on a dime to being dominant without warning. The true definition of a switch, all depending on how his mood runs in that moment.

His one chuckle is breathless, but the idea of taking charge helps him keep the bare thread of his control. "Yeah?" He rocks his hips back and decides that another rough thrust is exactly what you need. Wanting you to experience what it is like fucking him with a piercing. "That's what I thought."

It’s probably a very good thing that no one is in the suite next door, otherwise they definitely would have heard you wail at that hard thrust that ran the ends of that bent barbell in his cock all along the walls of your pussy, stimulating places you didn’t even know could have extra stimulation and making you gasp in pleasure. “Fuck that feels amazing.”

“Yeah it does.” He groans in agreement, moving down so he can gather you up in his arms as he starts to normalize his sharp, steady pace. It will kill his back later on, but he needs this.

"Goddamn, Dee–" Each thrust pushes the air out of your lungs and you moan without restraint, wrapping yourself around him just as surely as he wraps up in you. Even a puff of air between you is further apart than you want to be tonight.

Lowering his head to your shoulder, he moans your name quietly. Pressing his lips to your skin and grunting with every thrust as your walls quake around him.

Unlike other encounters - even other encounters with him - this isn't about fancy positions or how well you can bend yourself up to take each thrust as tightly as possible. This isn't about the acrobatics of sex. It's the intimacy. It's the way he fills you to aching with every deep thrust and the way you cling to him like a lifeline even when he pulls away again that leaves you breathless, not just the simple act of sex itself.

“Fuck— fuck baby.” He moans quietly. “God I love you. So much, feels so good.” He can’t stop moving, breathing you in. Touching you like he had wanted to so many times while on that damn set. Now he can and like everything else Dieter is greedy with, he is going to gorge himself.

“I — fuck — I love you so much.” It’s like he’s trying to swallow you whole and you would willingly let him. There’s nothing standing in the way of you positively devouring each other and you just as desperately are trying to burrow under his skin or just welcome him fully into your body every chance you get. Time doesn’t matter right now. He could be between your thighs for five minutes or five days. All that matters is that he is right where he wants to be.

There’s something almost ethereal in the air tonight - or that might just be the way your heart is pounding so wildly that you feel like you’re about to take flight. Every time you rise up to meet him he bears down again and meets you in the middle, creating a symphony of gluttonous, lustful sounds as your bodies move together in that bed and your moans twine together.

“Fuck, fuck Bambi.” He moans quietly. Biting the juncture of your shoulder. “Please cum for me.”

It’s barely a request, more like a prayer as you tumble together toward that brilliant and eruptive end. A drop of sweat from his forehead on your skin seems almost as lecherous as anything else, like the tantalizing cream on top of a favorite dessert. Your back aches again as his hands push under your ass angling your bodies so that you cry out with his next thrust – vision going white as the explosion of orgasm washes over your body.

“Yes,” your real name falls from his lips as a prayer, trying to rock into you through your orgasm. Watching as your entire body thrashes under him.

“Fuuuck, Dee—” The more he works you up, the louder you groan and the faster his name falls from your lips. It almost rolls you over into a second orgasm altogether and all you can do is pray he follows you. The way you soak him has him unraveling, the wet slaps of his hips nearly frantic as he shoves himself deep and cries out in the most soul soothing release he’s probably ever had.

Panting for breath, you wrap both arms tightly around his shoulders and hold Dieter to you like an anchor. “This is…not how I expected today to end,” you whisper quietly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But fuck…I love you so much.”

Swallowing, Dieter tucks his head into the curve of your shoulder and tries to catch his breath. "I love you." He exhales breathlessly. "I've got– twelve years to make up for, so I'm gonna be a little clingy."

You can’t help but laugh at that, breathless and light, and you find his lips to kiss him gently. “That’s just fine with me, baby. I promise.”

Groaning quietly, he starts to roll the two of you onto your sides. He doesn't want to pull out quite yet, but he knows he's a hell of a lot heavier now than he had been twelve years ago. The skinniness of youth has filled into a broader frame.

“Now I know why some people have sex under blankets,” you giggle softly, tucking into his broad frame. “So they can go right to sleep after.”

"You want to stay like this for a while?" He asks, pulling you closer.

“We could lay like this forever.” Would people come looking for you? Sure. But in this moment you could not give a single flying fuck about the rest of the world.

"You might have to pee after ten minutes." Dieter teases, remembering how you used to claim you could sleep right after sex and always had to get up within ten minutes to use his small bathroom.

“Tease me all you want, I’m enjoying the romance of the moment.” You giggle against him and place a kiss over his heart. “I don’t want to go back to reality just yet.”

"I get it." Dieter's eyes are half closed and he strokes your back as he hums. "It's like being on that really good high and not wanting to come down."

“I guess that makes sex my drug of choice.” Or him, maybe — being with Dieter has always felt like a special kind of paradise while it lasts.

“Sex is always a good drug.” He agrees, knowing that tonight isn’t going to be one and done. Not when he’s wanted you all day. It might take awhile to recover, but he wants to make you cum again.

“The best.” Not that you have a lot of experience with others, but that isn’t the point. The point is him and you and getting your together back.

Humming softly, Dieter closes his eyes, the soft edge of a smile on his lips. “If I’m dreaming, I don’t want it to end.”

"I'm not going anywhere, baby." You promise, murmuring quietly in his ear. It's not that you're trying to rub salt in the wound that he was the one who left you back in New York, but the fact is - you probably never would have left him. The way you felt about Dieter while you were apart was a product of hurt, and of betrayal. Not that you didn't love him.

“You were always stronger than me.” He turns and kisses your face blindly. “Always.”

"I don't know about that." After all, he survived treatment from his father that would probably have crushed you if you had it from yours. "But either way? We made it back to each other."

“We did.” He reaches out and caresses your face. “I don’t deserve you. I never did. Just so you know that.”

"You deserve to be happy, Dee. And so do I." One of your hands comes up to cover his and you turn your head slightly to leave a kiss on his palm. "We had that spoiled for us by someone. But this second chance is just for us."

“Just for us.” He nods, opening his eyes to stare at you solemnly. “I love you.”

"I love you, too, Dee." And boy is that going to surprise the shit out of a lot of people.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #The Bubble #lost love #one that got away #movie star reader

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