#both times ive gone so far dan wasn’t on but now i finally get to see him!!

[montygatorguy]

i told myself I’d stay off of insta and disc to avoid cover spoilers but i got curious and now im incredibly excited because i get to see dan lord cap huzzah!!!!!!

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[charanteleclerc]

Promt: pete bonnington/bono? Could be about anything really💕

(sorry it took so long!)

we’re made of secrets

He’d decided, after his many years of being in the Paddock, that the majority of these drivers were idiots. They lived these lives in the limelight, and were all terribly bad at hiding secrets. It was shameful really, someone should really tell them, but he didn’t want to be the one to do it. So he left it be, and kept quiet when he stumbled across them in compromising situations. They never knew, and that suited him best.

i.

The first time he’d discovered two drivers in a… situation, he’d been still fairly new to this circus. Well, he liked to think so anyway. It felt like a lifetime ago now, but it was only nine years ago. Christ, that made him feel old.

He’d been taking a weird route down the Paddock, the media having been kicked up into a frenzy with all the on-track entertainment. He hadn’t really been concentrating that much on what happened between the Red Bull and the McLaren, too focused on his own team. It wasn’t like they were scrapping for the race win, or even points, another retirement for them was almost inconsequential. From what he’d seen, it had looked like a strange incident, and a nasty one for the McLaren, no wonder the journalists had descended. The Championship was still wide open, this just made it even more exciting.

He was rushing between motorhomes, when he heard two hushed voices, though the anger was still evident. He stopped, almost as if he’d been struck. It wasn’t as if he was in awe of anyone (which was a lie even to himself but he wasn’t going to admit it), but he wasn’t massively important. He knew that, and he didn’t want to be chewed out by anyone for disturbing something he really shouldn’t be hearing.

He knew he should go back, and he was really just about to start retreating, but one of the people said something quietly, and he just knew that voice. He crept forward, peering round the corner of the motorhome, mouth falling open. Even his in his wildest dreams, he’d think he was crazy. Completely insane.

Jenson was stood with his arms crossed, still looking furious, but even from the distance he was standing at it was obvious that the anger was disappearing. Seb was standing close, hand on Jenson’s waist, curled like it belonged there. Jenson’s face was slipping into frustrated, to slightly irritated, with a glimmer of fondness. Seb was still talking, looking upset and slightly red in the face, and Jenson was still watching him like Seb was his entire world.

Holy shit.  

As Jenson leant in to press a kiss to Seb’s head, he pulled back behind the motorhome, not making a sound. He retraced his steps, turning back into the main paddock, trying to concentrate his mind on his job. He was going to pretend he saw nothing, it was best for everyone, right?

                                                        ~*~

ii.

The second time he stumbled across two drivers, he was standing in a corridor, and they didn’t even notice him. It was the end of the season, and 2011 was looming ever closer. Seb was off celebrating with his team still, the party still being heard from all the way across the hotel. He’d come into this race the underdog, even Red Bull not believing he’d be their champion, which possibly made it all so much sweeter.

He was digging in his bag, he knew he’d thrown his door key in here somewhere, it was just where . He was tired, and after the excitement of the weekend was just the empty, drained feeling that was left behind. He just wanted his bed, and to pass out for a few hours. He deserved it, really.

He vaguely heard the lift open, and two figures stumbled out. He only glanced up, not really concerned, until his brain finally caught up with his eyes. It wasn’t two random strangers that had stumbled out of the lift. It was Fernando and Mark. Both blindingly drunk, and both completely unaware that there was anyone else in the corridor. Fernando was completely invested in trying to tear Mark’s clothes off (and he really meant tear), and Mark was only focused on kissing whatever part of Fernando he could get his hands on. They stumbled into walls, not really caring where they were going or who heard them, and if they had noticed him he figured that they probably wouldn’t care. There was an intensity about them that stunned him, it made him feel like he was intruding on something desperately private and emotionally raw, even though it looked like they were trying to have drunken sex in a corridor.

He looked through his bag again, trying not to make too much noise, finally finding his door key and letting himself in, ignoring any noises he could hear from outside his door. He was going to put this evening into the same place in his mind as that day in the paddock, and pretend it never happened. He didn’t even know what they were to each other, so there was no use in thinking about it.

He was still trying to convince himself of that when he laid down on his bed, and then he was thinking about nothing at all.

                                                            ~*~

iii.

When Dan and Jev arrived onto the F1 scene, he’d known almost at once that there was something more there. It was in their body language, in their looks. He’d resigned himself to running into them in some unfortunate situation, he was already up to two hands with his encounters with Mark and Fernando, and it was almost impossible to see how in love Seb and Jenson were once he knew the truth. It was the same with Dan and Jev, you could almost see the adoration in their eyes, how they gravitated to each other without really realising it.

It didn’t take long to run into them, in a nondescript bar in Melbourne, hours after the race ended. He’d only left the Paddock an hour ago, helping take down the motorhome where needed, and staying for the debrief. There wasn’t much they could do first race in, but it was always helpful to get as much feedback as possible. Couldn’t hurt, could it?

He’d barely sat down with his beer, when he noticed them in the corner of the bar, already fairly wasted, and Dan all but sitting in Jev’s lap. If he had been someone from Red Bull or Toro Rosso, both of them would be toast - getting drunk after the first race of the season wouldn’t be the way to go about keeping their seats. But they seemed comfortable, with people seeing them in the open, with each other. Jev saw him staring, and he could see the panic burst onto Jev’s face, but all he did was wink and turned his attention back to his beer, smiling to himself. He was already keeping secrets for two couples on the grid, what was the harm in a third?

                                                            ~*~

iv.

The drivers seemed to be getting younger all the time. Or maybe it was him getting older, maybe a bit of both. They were all so idealistic and unafraid, happy to stare death in the face with nothing but a laugh. He admired them, he truly did. He wished that he could be so carefree, or even that he’d seen others like them in years gone by. It might have made all the difference to some. Now those drivers he’d started with were older, more cautious, still products of their time in a way. The difference between Seb, Lewis, Fernando and Kimi to the rookies on the grid was outstanding. There was no other way to say it.

However, it almost meant that they were even more reckless than some of the predecessors. He’d seen so many get themselves into situations, and didn’t know what to do about it. These guys didn’t seem to care what happened, almost playing a game of dare. How far could they dare to push it? How long would that thrill pay off, until the worst happened and their world bottomed out?

He only thought it was the thrill seeking experience, he was certain of it. But then Japan came, and Charles was quieter than usual, looking pale and withdrawn. And at his side was Pierre, only having to look at someone to make sure they got out of the way, keeping any unnecessary distractions away from his friend. And something just didn’t add up, in his mind. He knew the two of them were closer friends than they usually let on, but this was something else.

It wasn’t until the Sunday, right before the race, before he realised that he’d been right.

He’d stumbled across the pair again, Charles holding onto Pierre tightly, looking like he was trying to calm himself down. Pierre was just holding him, letting Charles get all his emotions out without judgement. He didn’t dare move, it seemed like such a fragile moment that even the slightest sound would break it.

“I’m sorry.” Charles managed to get out, hiccuping. “You shouldn’t be here with me.”

“This is exactly where I need to be.” Pierre responded, pressing a gentle kiss to Charles temple. “I’m not leaving. You need me more.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He backed out here, conscious not to make a sound. It wasn’t just thrill seeking with them, then.

                                                            ~*~

v.

With Carlos and Lando, it was almost inevitable. Even half a Paddock away, he could see the pining between the two, and he was pretty sure that some of the McLaren engineers had started betting on the two. There was less secrecy between the two, and Lando was so young and had no barriers on his life, it didn’t really seem to matter anymore. It was almost like an open secret, except the only two that thought it was a secret were Lando and Carlos themselves.

The tension kept mounting, both almost oblivious, until Germany. Lando had crashed out spectacularly, though no-one was really paying attention to that outside of the McLaren pit. He was walking back to the motorhome after the race, knowing that the debrief was going to be long and painful, when he heard a shout from somewhere behind him. He turned, and saw Carlos running up to Lando, concern etched all over his face.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, starting to reach out like he wanted to touch. Lando was grinning, bad race already forgotten.

“Yeah, why? You didn’t worry did you?” Lando teased, expecting Carlos to laugh along with him. Except he didn’t.

Instead, he gave a groan of frustration, dashing forward and giving Lando a kiss, pulling back almost as quickly, horrified. “I am sorry, I know you do not like me, I was just upset, and -” He broke off, as Lando pulled him back in, shutting him up.

He smiled from where he stood, turning back to the Mercedes motorhome. At least something good came out of today.

                                                           ~*~

+ i.

It didn’t always go to plan though. He’d seen so many of the drivers fall in love, and some even out of it.  And sometimes, they fell in love with the wrong person.

He’d worked with Lewis for a long time. He knew him almost as well as he knew his family, Lewis put his trust and faith in him every time he got in the car. And he knew exactly how he felt about Nico.

He didn’t know what had happened before Lewis was in Mercedes. It wasn’t his business. But he could see Nico was trying his best to impress Lewis, even if he was going about it all the wrong way. Lewis didn’t respond well to mind games, or snide comments. He was a racer at heart, and underhand techniques never did sit well with him. He watched as Nico tried everything he could think of, and when it finally became too much for him to bear, he retired. He wasn’t able to deal with the possibility of rejection, and took the easy way out. Not that he was criticising.

He thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. It never was. Nico took the time off, mending his broken heart back to something of normalcy. He returned back to the Paddock a few years later, holding his head high, but still up to his old tricks. He tried to drag Lewis’s competitors down, but Lewis took no notice. And there was nothing Nico could do but watch from the sidelines as Lewis took everything from him without meaning to.

There were a lot of happy endings in the Paddock, and he was happy to have seen some of them start. This wouldn’t be one.

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance - V

Summary:  Donna tortures Dean.  

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings:  Smutty language, smutty thoughts.  

Notes:  Donna’s messages are in italics and Dean’s are in bold italics.  

Don’t know what’s going on?  Catch up here:

Part I 

Part II 

Part III

Part IV

Professional Distance

V

When the sun rose the next day, Dean woke up with the itch of anticipation under his skin.  It was palpable in every breath he took and every thought in his head.  It was perfect and it was torture.  Euphoria and sweet agony, twined around every thought until he couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

Donna was coming back today.

Euphoria.

They had a date.

Ecstasy.

He wouldn’t see her until that night.

Agony.

The day crawled by at a snail’s pace, the sinking sun teasing him as the afternoon wore on.  He tried to work, tried to think, but it wouldn’t happen.  His brain wasn’t capable of processing anything other than Donna’s face behind his eyes and the memory of her skin under his fingers.  The knowledge that he would see her in a few hours only made the anticipation worse until it was all he could do to keep from running out of his office and across the city to her hotel.  He’d run through the halls, screaming her name until he found her room and she had no choice but to let him in.  It was a good way to get a restraining order but he couldn't help but entertain the thought.

Finally his alarm went off, telling him it was time to go home and get ready.

Dean had laid out his suit that morning, pressing the wrinkles out of the deep black fabric and starching his white shirt.  His best black tie was set aside.  He’d stopped just short of picking every individual piece of lint off the damn thing, but only just.  The nervous energy made him very detail-oriented, apparently.  Now, he smoothed the jacket down and looked in the mirror for the dozenth time in the last half hour.  It fit him the same as it always did, tight across his shoulders but otherwise fine.  His hair had smoothed into place evenly and he’d shaved, trying very hard to look like someone who belonged with Donna.  He’d even gone so far as to dress in neutral black, not knowing what she was wearing and not wanting to clash with her.  Even if he hadn’t quite realized his motivations, subconsciously he wanted it too look like they belonged together.

He was ready too soon, he realized with a groan when he was ready and putting on his watch.  He wouldn’t have to leave for another hour.  Sighing and loosening his tie, Dean headed to the kitchen.  He’d drink a beer, eat some leftovers.  Pretend this wouldn’t be the longest damn hour of his life, dragging on and on until he felt like screaming.  Luckily the beer was cold and smooth on his tongue, sliding easily down his throat.  It settled warm in his stomach and he sighed again, this time in satisfaction.  He tossed a tupperware container in the microwave and took another long pull from the bottle.  

Only fifty-three minutes left to go.

The microwave dinged to let him know his food was edible and at his phone beeped simultaneously, his inbox letting him know that a new message had popped up.  Faced with very little else to do, he opened his email to find that the new message was from Donna.  He frowned first in confusion, then in concern that she was cancelling, only to find that it was a work email.  The message contained the next three chapters in the saga of Chloe and Dan.  

Dean pored over it, reading in between bites of leftover lasagna.  Chloe and Dan managed to kill the wendigo and make it out of the forest, although only barely.  Chloe was sporting some cracked ribs and Dan was spiking a fever, weak enough now that Chloe was almost carrying him down the trail.  She was able to radio for help as they got closer to civilization, the ambulance meeting them at the entrance to the forest just as she was ready to collapse.  They both got loaded up and taken in, Dan jokingly telling her not to run off before the pain pills kicked in and he passed out.

Chloe stayed.

Even after they taped up her ribs and she was cleared to leave, even after she learned that Dan would be fine, she stayed.  

This was a new MO for Chloe, who prided herself on her ability to avoid attachments.  She had her dad and her sister - everyone else was optional.  Except, suddenly, for Dan.  For Dan she stayed in that waiting room and worried herself sick, imagining the swollen and angry red edges of the wound as the EMTs ripped his shirt apart to treat him.  

A nurse came out and asked for her, shaking Chloe out of her brooding and down to something deeper than bone.  Maybe to her soul.  She hadn’t realized how scared she was that she might not see him again until the moment it was a possibility.  

“Detective Ransom?”

She nodded.  “That’s me.”

Ahem.  Sort of.

“He wants you.”

The words struck her completely mute.  She realized that the nurse meant he wanted to see her, but Chloe had been scared philosophical and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.  

“Do you need a minute?” the nurse asked, clearly making an effort to be accommodating.  In reality, she had a whole other wing of patients to worry about and mopping Chloe up off the waiting room floor was not a priority.  

“I’m good,” Chloe said, easing her sore torso up out of the chair.  “Lead the way.”

He wasn’t in the ICU, which she considered a good sign.  She was led to his room and then abandoned as the nurse took off for the next room, the next tower of paperwork.  Fine by her.  Dan was staring out the window, watching the sun as it sank behind dark storm clouds building on the horizon.  The light filtered through as a dark, bloody red that splashed over the floor and the blanket on his bed.  A reminder of what could have happened.  It made bile rise up in Chloe’s throat even as she studied him, appreciating the strong jaw and the half-week of beard growth.  He was gorgeous.  And smart.  And kind.  And resourceful.  Maybe even perfect, even if her logical brain balked at the word.

The nurse’s words rang in her ears.

He wants you.

She wanted him, too.

Finally Dan noticed her there and turned to face her with a big dopey grin, taking ten years off his face while still making those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appear.  Damn him.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Chloe was supposed to show up, kill the monster, and leave.  Maybe have a few laughs and a roll in the hay if a pretty face was in the area.  She wasn’t supposed to let herself get tied into a knot over some park ranger, even one with glittering emerald eyes and a voice that made every cell in her body hum.  

He was going to hurt her.

“Hey, detective,” he greeted, speech slurred by morphine, and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit with me.”

And goddamn it, she was going to let him.  

Dean closed the document and looked at the wall in front of him, his dinner forgotten next to him.  His beer sat neglected on the counter.

This was the closest he’d gotten to a window into Donna’s thoughts, he realized.  

She was a master of deflection, avoiding topics like Doug with ease.  A bright smile and a quick shift of the conversation was all it took to put the unpleasantness in the rearview mirror.  She may have narrated her adventures with Jody and opinions on bobby pins, may have confessed to having thoughts about him that made his heart race, but she’d never told him much more than that.  Certainly had never hinted on what all this was about, even with Chloe and Dan racing inevitably toward each other.

Now he knew.  

Now he knew that she was just as torn up over him as he was over her.  Dean could relate - he craved her like sunlight, like air, even as he held himself back from initiating anything for fear of rejection.  It might have killed him, he realized now, and she must be feeling something close to that if Chloe’s inner dialogue was to be trusted.  He knew now that Donna was opening herself up to him, to whatever it was they were cultivating between them.  Even after a divorce, even after being hurt.  

She was giving him a chance.

And goddamn it, he was going to take it.

-- X --

Donna’s release party was in one of the big executive’s penthouses, an entire two floors perched atop a skyscraper in the densest part of the city.  Deciding against taking the chance that someone would scratch Baby in a public parking lot, Dean called for a cab and anxiously kept an eye on his phone the entire ride.  He’d started a new message roughly a dozen times, only to erase it and groan in frustration.  Even now he stared at his phone, willing himself to find the perfect words to convince her that she was safe with him.

She was perfect.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

She drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much that it was a physical presence in his veins, incinerating him with every beat of his heart.

As always, Donna beat him to the punch.  Her message popped up a block from the party, simple and somehow managing to convey every bit of her anxiety.  He could feel her tensing up from his place in the cab, worrying about speaking in front of people and then worrying about how personal she’d gotten with Chloe and Dan.

You still gonna make it?

Dean sent his reply and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, hoping he’d said enough to put her at ease.

Wouldn’t miss this for the world.

The cab dropped him off and the doorman checked his name against the guest list, letting him in with a smile and a general encouragement to have a nice time.  Dean smiled in thanks and headed for the elevator, pleased when it was occupied with people he knew.  Making polite small talk spared him from getting himself worked up over this going well.  It was all he could do to keep his head in the conversation instead of wondering where Donna would be when they got to the penthouse.  Would she be mingling?  Would she be waiting for him at the elevator?  Would she be cornered by another agent, pitching the newest movie deal?

The elevator opened and they all exited, greeted by catering staff with pressed white shirts and slim flutes of champagne.  Dean turned his down, wishing instead for another beer.  Hell, maybe whiskey. His eyes scanned the party, looking for Donna and coming up empty.  She was probably hyperventilating in a spare bedroom.  The thought made him grimace.  He wanted to help if she was nervous, which she almost certainly was.  He kept half of his attention on his phone in case she needed him, doing his best to stay at the edges of the crowd to keep a better eye out for her.

She didn’t show.

He didn’t catch a hint of her blonde hair or the fabric of her undoubtedly bright dress against the dark formal wear everyone else had donned.  Her bubbly laughter never rose above the murmur of the crowd or the faint beat of the music.  Dean circled the main room one more time, exchanged words with a few people he knew, and made his way back to the kitchen to peek inside.  The food was all vampire-themed to match Chloe’s latest baddie and while he was interested in the fang-marked cupcakes, they weren’t what he was looking for.  His mind turned traitor, suggesting that maybe Donna had changed her mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed for it a little too quickly, leaning against a bookshelf to keep anyone from reading over his shoulder.  His first thought was to go into interrogation mode - where are you? - but her message stopped him.  

Donna watched Dean move through the throng of people, stone-faced and single-minded in his pursuit.  At first she thought he might have been looking for something a little stronger than champagne, she couldn’t blame him for that, but then she noticed that his eyes popped up whenever a blonde head passed by.  Was he looking for her?

Dean scowled.   You know I am.

Waiting was torture, Donna thought to herself as she readjusted her dress for the hundredth time in the last hour.  She’d spent the day agonizing over seeing him, counting down the seconds until she could get an eyeful of the man who made her feel like an idiot teenager with hormonal problems.

You and me both.   He sighed, looking around the room again in hopes of catching a glance.  If she could see him, he could undoubtedly find her.   You know we could skip this, right?  Just get out of here?

God, how she wanted to.  She wanted to climb down the fire escape and get a taxi out of there, especially if Dean was offering to escape with her.  But she made a commitment and had every intention of sticking to it, even if it meant waiting that much longer to touch him.  Donna stared at him, the pouting jut of his lower lip as he frowned at his phone, and remembered dragging her tongue over that plump swell of flesh.  She wanted another taste more than she wanted her next breath.  

Dean didn’t know what she’d been doing all day, in between makeup and hair appointments and looking longingly at food that she wasn’t allowed to have.  Devoid of all other human satisfaction she’d been forced to write, pushing Chloe and Dan ever further toward completion.  Narrative completion as well as physical, she thought as she recalled scribbling filthy words on a hotel notepad.  Her skin had superheated in minutes, thinking less of the Dan’s character than she had the man who inspired him.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he snuck glances over his shoulders, making sure no one was behind him to read his phone.  

There was only so much you could do with your imagination but Donna did her best, imagining planes of muscle covered in lightly tanned skin.  She suspected the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones might appear elsewhere along the length of his body, a constellation to guide her intrepid fingers as they committed him to memory.  She would read him like braille before letting herself have a taste, Donna thought to herself.  If it took her all night, she would memorize every inch of muscle and bone and skin that made him whole.  Dean was an oasis and she’d been stranded in the desert a very long time - she would drink him in as though her life depended on it.

Dean’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath in through his nose, only barely holding it together.  The air passed back through his slightly parted lips but did nothing to calm his pounding heart.  

Maybe her life did depend on it, she mused to herself.  She’d spent the day fantasizing about what she’d do to him once they were in the same room and now it felt like she would die if she didn’t touch him.  Her imagination supplied all the details, from the fabric of his suit to the softness of his hair as it carded through her fingers.  The smell of his aftershave.  It was hell.  Sweet hell that made her every breath sizzle in her lungs.  They were a few scant feet away and heat had pooled mercilessly between her thighs, the slick flesh desperate for attention she couldn’t give.  Even if she could, her own fingers would only be a disappointment knowing Dean’s were in reach.

Jesus, Donna.   They were the only words his overwrought brain could process, most of his blood in the process of rushing elsewhere.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean was experiencing his own personal hell in that suit, flesh hardening against his zipper as Donna’s words scrolled across his mind.  Could he feel how much she wanted him through the phone?  She felt like everyone who passed her could tell that she was burning up, aching and wet.  How he was tolerating all this she would never know.

I’m going crazy here, he told her honestly.   I need to see you.  Please.

He never got the chance to plead his case.  The executive responsible for the party - Gabriel something or other - had stepped into the middle of the room, tapping his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention.  He gave a charismatic introduction that got plenty of laughs and applause, smiling smugly at the attention even as he was talking up Donna’s success and the work she’d put into it.  Goddamn it, this was lasting forever.  Dean was considering giving up his place at the back of the room in favor of searching every room for his date but then he heard Donna’s pseudonym and he stood at attention again.  

The healthy smattering of applause faded into the roar of blood in his ears as Donna emerged from a dark hallway onto the landing above them, overlooking the party.  Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and her eyes had been lined in dark makeup, turning her warm eyes into something closer to sultry.  Gold earrings dangled from her ears, drawing his eyes to the smooth line of her neck and then to the bare expanse of her collarbones.  Gold bracelets dangled on her wrists as she grasped the banister, grounding herself.  

She was wearing the tightest dress he’d ever seen, the smooth black leather stretching over her waist and hips before transforming into dense black lace that brushed against the floor.  It was strapless, the neckline dipping low between her breasts before converging into a solid gold zipper that trailed down her front to stop at the apex of her thighs.   Dean felt like his every daydream had been picked apart and put on display, exposing the depth of his desire to a room full of people.  He watched helplessly as Donna’s eyes surveyed the crowd and found his.  Her gaze hit him like a crack of lightning, shooting straight down his spine to the insistent throb of his erection.

Wanting her was going to kill him.

[stonfordpines]

Ten Moments - Egobang

ten moments in Arin’s life that led him to date Dan Avidan

-

i. The plane was about to depart, the last stragglers checking in. Arin runs from the other end of the platform, bag in hand and goal in site. He needs to get to the plane. He needs to get to that school. This school is supposed to be the place where his life actually starts. Just as he's about to stop in line, he finds himself crashing into another person. "Sorry," Arin mutters, quickly pulling himself and his bag up and hurrying off, not chancing a look to the stranger he hit- he did not want to miss this plane. Dan Avidan watches the stranger hurry off from his new place on the floor, a dreamy sort of look on his face. ii. Arin walked down the halls of his school, books in one hand and held up with the support of his hip. Right at his heels was the human embodiment of popularity, Dan Avidan. At first glance, you wouldn't say he was popular. But he definitely was. He couldn't walk down any hall without being fawned over by both men and women. He's worked his way up the social ladder by throwing his hands through his hair and singing songs and telling jokes and having a laugh that radiates his presence. It didn't help that he was also unnaturally kind and caring. People flocked to him. But he did turn all romantic endeavors down, seeking after one person, Arin himself. Arin personally had no idea why. Arin has shown no interest in Dan. But Dan persisted; over the years and no interest from Arin, yet Dan continues. "Hanson!" Dan says in an attempt to break Arin from his determined fast walking, Dan ran a hand through his hair for good measure, "Please! Give me a shot! This weekend?" Arin let out a huff of annoyance and rolled his eyes, "Avidan, yet again, the answer is no." And Arin continues on his way and Dan stops in the middle of the hallway, sadness etched on his face. iii. Anger rolls off of him in waves, coursing through his veins like poison. His fists are clenched and face red. He stares straight into the eyes that dared to challenge him. "Don't, you ever," Arin whispered in a deadly calm, inches from the other face, "mess with my friends again." Arin turns and is walking away but is interrupted by the smug voice of the man Arin was just walking away from,"check the attitude on that one! I can't believe that you fell for a bird like that." And then Arin is walking back, fist being brought back and then brought forward as hard as Arin could, hitting Brian Wecht straight in the nose. Brian Wecht was one Dan Avidan's best friends. Them, Barry Kramer and Ross O'Donovan were partners in crime. They were all horrible, from what Arin could tell. Personally, Arin didn't know them. But that didn't matter. Arin's seen what they've done to people. Arin turns away from the now heavily bleeding Brian to his friend who is sitting on the ground, Jon, who had just been bullied by Brian and his crew. Arin held out a hand for Jon, a sort of sad smile on his face. "C'mon, let's get out of here." There's jeers from Jon's other friends. Arin doesn't pay attention to them even though he knows they're for him. The school knows he's gay, but that's just something they'll have to deal with. Jon, however, doesn't seem to think the same way as Arin. He's nervously looking from Arin's hand to his friends. The next moment, a look of disgust washes over his face. "I don't need help from a fag-" Arin doesn't hear the rest of the word. Ice has turned his body to cold. He's frozen, face blank. Dan steps forward from where he was leaning on a tree, away from the action. "Hey! Don't you fucking say that!" Arin turns on him, a new flash of anger flowing through him, intense and raw. Arin walks up to him and puts a pointed finger on his chest, "so now you speak up to say something!" Dan looks like he's at a lost for words, "Arin- he just said-" "Don't you 'Arin' me!" Arin interrupts, "I know what he said! I don't need you fighting my battles!" "It looks like you were just fighting his battles," Dan murmurs, nodding towards Jon who was hurriedly picking up the contents from his spilled backpack in order to get away. Arin let's out a huff off annoyance, throwing his arms down like an angry child. "It was four against one! And I don't need you fighting for me, you, Dan Avidan, who thinks he's so high and mighty that I'll say yes to a date with him just because he's popular. Well, Dan, before you ask -because I know you will- I will not go out with you. Not now. Not ever. Even if it was a choice between you and the ass of a monkey." And with that final word, Arin turned and left, fire practically bursting from him. Dan was left speechless. iv. Arin sat on a bench, waiting for the bus to arrive. He had been reading a book, but it was left by his side as he was distracted by a site. Across the road, at the crosswalk sign, stood Brian Wecht on a ladder, fiddling with tools on the back, doing Arin has no idea what. After a few minutes, Brian seemed to have finished. He climbed down the ladder and then grabbed the ladder, disappearing behind a nearby bush. Just from around the corner, appeared Arin's old friend Jon, nose deep in a book. He wasn't paying attention, glancing up briefly to check if it was safe to walk at the crosswalk. The light said it was and Jon walked, continuing to not look where he was going. Arin then figures out what Brian did, he must have changed the light to appear it was safe to walk even though it wasn't; there was a car coming, not paying attention to anything but the green light saying it was still okay to drive. Arin was yelling Jon's name but Jon couldn't hear. Arin was too far away to do anything else. But then Dan Avidan appears from around the corner, already looking like he's ran a lot. He's sprinting, running full force at Jon and tackling him, sending him out of the way just before the car passes. Arin is standing now, hands over his mouth in a gasp. Dan's just saved Jon's life. v. Arin was walking the halls of his school, a new year just beginning. He had his books held at his side. He was humming a song, the sun making the day feel warm and happy. Arin turns the corner and abruptly stops. Sitting on the floor was a younger student, looking like they just had tripped. Dan was kneeling next to them, helping put a band-aid on their knee. He smiled at them and then looks up to see Arin there. His face flushes red and he has some sort of embarrassed smile on his face. "Oh, Hey, Arin." Memories of Dan saving Jon flash through Arin's mind. Arin doesn't know what to think of Dan. "Hey, Avidan." Dan turns to the injured student and returns to helping them. Arin turns and continues to walk to his class, he has an odd feeling in him. vi. Dan appears suddenly out of nowhere as Arin is walking, walking quickly in front of him and then turning around so he's walking backwards are they are face to face. "Hey Arin, I like your shirt!" And then Dan's gone, quick as he came. Arin stood in the center of the hallway, looking around confused. He looks down at his shirt. It's nothing special, but he still can feel his cheeks warm. vii. Arin's in the library, looking at a list of books he has and pulling certain ones of the shelf when he finds them. He pulls a certain off a shelf and can see to the other side. There, Dan is sitting with another student, papers and books surrounding them. Arin is intrigued, he watches them. "...And here, you just want to divide it by three so you can get the volume... there you go! You did it!" It seemed like Dan was tutoring the other student. He had real joy on his face when the student got the answer right. For some reason, that made Arin's stomach do flips and his hands feel sweaty. viii. Arin sat at a table in the lunch hall, he happily sat alone with a book opened as he ate. He hears someone sit down and looks over to see who it was. There, is Dan, holding something behind his back. Arin smiles at him, "what do you have there?" Dan reveals a rose, presenting it to Arin. "A beautiful flower, for you." Arin takes it, holding it close to his nose and smelling it. His heartbeat seems to quicken. "Thanks Dan." Dan smiles and stands up from the table, returning to his friends. ix. Dan and Arin are both sitting under a tree, a free period in between their classes. They lay on the ground and point out shapes in the clouds. "There's a turtle wearing full body armor..." "There's a decahedron..." They both share a laugh from their goofy attempts. Dan turns on his side and faces Arin and Arin copies. "Hey Arin..," Dan starts quietly, fiddling with the grass and not meeting Arin's eyes, "I was wondering, there was a concert this Friday night and wanted to know if you wanted to go." Arin smiled, Dan's nervousness was adorable, "Sure, I'll go." Arin didn't know if this was going to classify as a date but was too scared to ask. x. It was Friday night. Arin stood in the corner of the bar the band was going to perform at. He was waiting for Dan. He had come early, but as soon as the clock hit the time Dan said he was going to be there, the lights turned off and the smoke machines started. The band was coming out. Arin looked nervously over to the entrance. Arin looked back to the stage and his eyes widened, there standing was Dan himself, clad in costume and guitar. Arin couldn't help the grin that enveloped the entirety of his face. Dan had invited Arin to one of his own concerts. This was amazing. Then Dan was singing and it was the best thing Arin's ever heard. It felt like Dan was singing straight to Arin. Arin couldn't deny any longer that he was fully head over heels for this man. Arin didn't know how it happened- one second they hated each other, and then Dan saves Jon's life. That allowed Arin to see Dan in a new light. Dan turned into a new person who was kinder- he returned to the man Arin knew when he first met Dan, untarnished by the years of annoyance and pleas of dating. The concert was over way too soon, Dan sung his last word and strung his last chord. But he didn't go backstage, he put his guitar on a stand and walked down the steps, walking through the crowd like some sort of god right to where Arin was. Now that he was up close, Arin could see the sweat on his face. And the boots he was wearing, with heels on them. He was taller than Arin (Arin didn't know how to feel about that). But on his face was the pure joy of him enjoying performing for people. "Did you like it?" Dan asked, still breathless from stage. Worry was in his face for some reason. How could Arin not like it? But Arin didn't say anything, he just grabbed Dan's face and brought him down to Arin's lips. And they were kissing and it was the best thing Arin's ever felt. But then Dan was pulling away, concern showing in the scrunch of his eyebrows, "you aren't drunk are you? I don't want to kiss you if you are, and if you are we can just forget this even happened-" Dan was rambling and Arin started laughing. "I'm not drunk. But you're amazing for stopping when you thought I was." And they were kissing again. It was even better, Dan was kissing back more and their arms were wrapped around each other, Arin's hand making it to Dan's hair. Arin could only feel love at that moment, his heart swelling at Dan's touch, truly feeling alive for the first time.