#my curls have been on some weird shit lately im trying to make them nice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tigerdrop · 3 years ago

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so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else. In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished. A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver. He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to. Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

#writin stuff #please clap.

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santigarcia · 4 years ago

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Watermelon 🍉

Human Touch Part Three

a nathan bateman x f!reader series

Part One | Part Two

word count: 1.7k

rating: M/E for sexual themes, smut (pls only read if youre 18+)

summary: Nathan offers to teach you to box, but he ends up showing you something else instead...

a/n: sorry im late getting this one out! make sure you read part one and part two!! thank you again to @punkpascal and @sergeantkane! let me know what yall think!

Nathan took you back to your cousin’s after a few more days spent tangled in the sheets. He fucked you a couple times at your cousin’s place just for good measure. It was a bittersweet goodbye, you had to go back home. But there was a promise you’d come back, stay longer with him.

You dated virtually for a few months. It worked out because he was up all hours working and could text you. He’s surprisingly good at multitasking. The sexting and the phone sex were nice, but you both missed each other’s touch. Something about him made you ache to be back in his arms.

He surprised you with plane tickets one day, and you flew out to him. You spent a week this time. But the goodbye was even harder.

An intimacy had grown. Your lives begin to merge.

But there was an air about him that was different. He was happier than he’d ever remember being, but also scared out of his mind. There were hours that would go by when you wouldn’t see him. He’d be working, but mostly he was trying to collect his thoughts. You were such a damn distraction. Every moment spent with you felt like the air in his lungs would leave him, he’d never be able to breathe again with you taking the air from him. His heart thuds in his chest and he swears he’s having a heart attack. But it’s just you, it’s you.

He still can’t believe you’re real.

One afternoon you walked in on him pleasuring himself. Fully naked, flat on his back on his bed. Big hand pumping his dick. Moans echoing in the room. He didn’t see you or notice you until his end. He came with a loud groan and he moaned your name.

When he sat up, he saw you, there was a moment of panic in his eyes, but then it turned to a smirk.

“Enjoy the show?”

“Why didn’t you….come get me?” you flush. He looked away from your gaze, a heat rises in his face and the tips of his ears turn pink.

“I still can’t believe you’re real.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How long have you been so alone?” your heart hurts and you go over to him and kiss the top of his head.

These are the things that plague him. He’s been so alone for so long; he’s trying to adjust to life with you in his home. The heat in his bed. Someone else showering. Your clothes in the closet. Your shampoo in the shower. Little traces of you.

He’s also not used to having to talk to anyone. He’ll spend hours or days even deep in his work. Barely remembering to eat.

You ate alone one evening, so you wandered into his lab to check on him. When you asked him why he wasn’t with you he snapped at you like a scared wounded animal.

“We don’t have to spend every second together,” he’d said. But as soon as he said it, he was full of regret. He never wanted to see that upset look in your eyes again.

“Well, I only see you if we have sex!” Which wasn’t true, but it’s what it felt like. You’re only here for a week, you wanted to make the most of it.

You walked out of his lab leaving him alone. You saw the look on his face, and he looked defeated. Hurt. Angry. At himself, not at you.

Later you went back into apologize, only to find him asleep at his desk. His face smushed against the keyboard. Several lines of letters were being typed by his cheek on the screen.

“Nathan,” you whisper and gently touch his shoulder. He bolts upright and groans a silent “fuck” when he sees all the letters typed out.

“You need to rest, come with me right now,” you tell him. He doesn’t disagree and he follows you to his bed. You lay down first, on you back with pillows propped behind you. “Come here,” you beckon. And with a happy sigh he lays down, resting his head on your stomach just under your breasts. He breathes deeply as you scratch his back and softly rub his fuzzy head.

“I’m sorry,” you say first. “I’m a little nervous about this.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I’m nervous as shit. I’m not used to having another person around. Especially not someone so-“ his throat tightens. How can he tell you that he loves you already? “What if I’m not good enough for you? I don’t want to hurt you. But- I’ve been trying to think of ways to ask you.”

“Ask me what?” you stroke his beard gently.

“Move out here with me,” he’d whispered into your skin.

“I’d love to,” you whispered back. “And we’ll figure this out. But you are good enough. My only,” you smile and kiss him softly.

He paid for everything. He hired movers to get your things. He paid for any expenses and every ticket. Your parents were a little surprised you were dropping everything to stay with someone they’d never even met, but they’d also never seen you happier in your life.

Nathan enjoyed helping you unpack. He analyzed everything you owned. And he liked making a space for all your things. He rifled through your record collection with keen interest, and all your underwear.

It felt so domestic being with him, and you knew it was the right decision. You’d been worried about being homesick, but that feeling never came. He was your home. You had everything you needed and could possibly want.

You kept in contact with all your friends, you’d video chat with them. There were things you missed, but you settled into life with Nathan with ease.

The newest part for you was sharing space with someone. He’d not done that in some time either. He’s not used to someone curling up against him in the middle of the night. He runs hot, but he can’t push you away. He’ll just turn down the AC.

This morning, the bed is empty. Which isn’t uncommon. He keeps weird hours. You pull on his Henley and some warm pajama pants and wander through the house looking for him.

You find him outside on the deck, he’s practicing his boxing this morning. His fists collide with the punching bag and you can hear him grunt with effort. Unashamedly you watch his tight ass bounce as he hops around on the balls of his feet.

You make your presence known by opening the sliding door to the deck. He sees you with a smile, but he keeps going. He might be showing off just a little for you, but you don’t mind. The newness of the relationship has him doing things of the sort.

“Are you going to teach me how to box?” you ask sitting on one of the deck chairs nearby.

“Well get over here and I’ll teach you,” he grins, his shoulders heave as he breathes deeply.

He holds your hands in his, showing you how to make a fist. His touch is warm, his eyes flicker with desire. He’s sweaty and his kisses are salty.

“Hold your hands like this-“ he tells you. He stands behind you and guides your arms on how to throw a proper punch without hurting yourself. He slots himself behind you, and you can feel him through his thin gym shorts.

“Nathan.”

“Hmm?” he hums in your ear and kisses your cheek.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I was showing you how to box? What did you think I was doing?” He hums again and ruts his hips against your ass.

“It’s this shirt isn’t it?” you lean back against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses your neck and his beard brushes along your skin.

“Yeah, you look so fuckin’ good in my shirt. Hold still,” he tells you and slips his hand down your pants. He wraps his other arm around you to keep you still while he rubs tight circles on your clit. “You know, kitten, I haven’t eaten you out yet. Would you let me?”

“Outside?” you moan while his fingers move. He chuckles in your ear.

“No one’s out here. Please baby, let me taste you.”

“You really want to?”

His fingers move faster, and you buck against his hand. You’re so close, chasing it when he pulls his hand away. He brings his fingers up to his lips and groans in your ear.

“You taste so good, I want more.”

“Please- let me finish. Use your mouth.”

“Attagirl,” he winks and squeezes your ass. “If you’re not ready though, say so. It’s not like I haven’t seen you.” He smirks.

“Where do you want me?”

He points to one of the tables. You sit down on it and lay back. He kneels in front of you and pulls your pants and panties down your legs. He spreads your thighs and puts them over his shoulders while he dives in.

His eyes close in pleasure while his tongue laps at your folds and sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucks and kisses and grazes his teeth. His beard scrapes your thighs, and you scream out in the open air.

“That’s it baby,” he moans against your heat. “Fuck, you have the best tasting pussy.”

“Nathan!” you whine his name, and he goes in harder. Sucking and eating you alive.

“You’re sweeter than the watermelon we had the other night,” he purrs into your heat. He doesn’t stop until you’re coming all over his tongue. Your sweet essence he could drown in. You’re real. Warm, wet, and real. He burns with need after tasting you. He’d keep going if he weren’t so hard in his shorts.

He pushes his shorts down and leans over you, kissing you deeply.

“Can I?” he asks, there’s a pleading tone in his voice. You practically beg him to push inside, you wrap your legs around him and pull him towards you. He sinks in with a sigh. The table scrapes on the deck as he thrusts into you.

“So much for teaching me boxing,” you gasp out a moan when he spills inside of you.

“Next time,” he chuckles, falling on top of you. “I’ve had my workout for the day.”

tagging: @pascal-isaac, @wasicskosgirl, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @shadow-assassin-blix, @writefightandflightclub, @aellynera, @softboywriting, @veuliee2, @spider-starry, @mylifeliterally, @millllenniawrites, @ntlmundy, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire, @mandoplease, @anetteaneta, @feelmyroarrrr, @artsymaddie, @shakespeareanwannabe, @poedameronsbeard, @deanfanatic, @magicsuperheroes, @phoenixhalliwell, @that-one-weird-one, @mariesackler

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x you #my writing #human touch series #part three

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

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JoJo (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: JoJo Rating: PG-13 Length: 1800 Warnings: Fluff! Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set July 1993. Javier POV. Becca, I owe you for this prompt! Summary: Javier gets up to take care of Josie.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

“We are going to let your mommy sleep, okay?” Javier said softly. He carefully supported Josie with one arm as he pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed one of the bottles of breastmilk off the shelf.

He adjusted her in his arm, bouncing her a little as she fussed. “I know, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head as he turned and moved to the sink to run some warm water over the bottle to take the chill off.

“Shh. Shh.” He rubbed his hand over her back, “Don’t wake your mommy up, JoJo. She needs all the sleep she can get.”

Javier shut off the faucet and headed back down the hall to the nursery.

He wished he could be there every night to do this for her. She was juggling motherhood, the end of mat-leave, and working her ass off at the office.

Last night he’d had every intention of making it over to her apartment, but he had worked late and ended up falling asleep on his sofa when he swung by his own place to grab a suit for tomorrow — well, today now.

And of course, Josie had been a little terror. Her mother had looked like shit when she rolled into the office. It killed him that he couldn’t comfort her at work. But she panicked if he so much as lingered at her desk for too long.

Javier couldn’t risk doing something wrong. Not when he still considered their relationship to be a precarious thing.

“That’s it, princesa.” Javier drawled out as he nestled her into the crook of his arm as she started sucking at the bottle contentedly. “We’re going to get you back to sleep in no time.”

Josie curled her little fingers around one of his, holding it as she drank her bottle. God, she was so precious. Even after she’d woken him up at three in the morning.

He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that this little squirmy baby girl was part of him. She seemed too precious and innocent to have a single drop of his blood in her veins — and yet he knew she was his.

That one night — the one that had been a long time coming — had given him the greatest little miracle. He had Josie and he had her mother. And even if it wasn’t forever… it was worth it to have them now.

“I wonder if you’ll have curls,” He remarked as he brushed his fingers over her dark hair. There was a definite wave to her hair. “I had the curliest hair when I was a baby. My mother used to say she was so jealous of how nice it was.” He chuckled at the memory.

Josie squeezed his finger gently as she pulled away from the bottle, her little tongue working at the milk that lingered on her lips.

“Was that good?” Javier questioned. “I think you need to drink more, sweetheart.” He tilted the bottle back to her lips and she latched back onto it.

“And then you’re going to go back to sleep, JoJo and I’m going to go back to sleep.” It was so easy to talk to her, despite the fact that there was no way she could respond to him. It was cathartic.

“I hope you grow up to be just like your mother, Josie. She’s a hell of a woman.” He shook his head. “She puts up with so much shit at work, just to make this family of ours work.”

Somehow, she had the patience of a saint. He didn’t know how she did it, but she did. She gritted her teeth and refrained from murdering Chris every goddamn day.

“She puts up with a lot of shit from me too,” Javier sighed, brushing his fingers over her hair. “I hope by the time you’re older, I’m a man worthy of having a daughter like you, JoJo. I’m trying. For you and for her. I wanna be better.”

Javier wished that he could call his father. Chucho would know what he should do. He used to coach him through all sorts of shit that he got himself into. And he could really use his advice on fatherhood.

How did it work? How could someone like him deserve this? How did he become the father that Josie deserved?

Josie stopped drinking and Javier was swift with sitting the bottle aside and cradling her to his chest to burp her. “And then we are going to sleep…” He reminded her softly, kissing the top of her head as she fussed. “You’ve got to be quiet, sweetheart.”

If someone had told him a year ago that he’d become the father of such a perfect little girl, he would’ve laughed in their face. Him? A father? And yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It helped that he had a good partner too.

She made his life better just simply by letting him be part of hers. He couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

“Javier?”

“Uh-oh,” Javier said lightly as he settled Josie into his arms. “I think we woke your mommy up.”

She appeared in the doorway of the nursery, wearing one of his tee-shirts she’d commandeered during her first week of maternity leave. “You didn’t wake me.” She told you, rubbing at her eyes as she stifled a yawn. “My body did.”

“She drank most of the bottle,” He explained, looking back down at Josie in his arms. “I wanted to let you sleep.”

“I appreciated the few extra minutes I got,” She stepped further into the room, smiling at him. “She kept me up last night.”

“I know,” Javier frowned. “I really did try to come last night. Had my bag packed and everything.”

She shook her head as she reached out to stroke her fingers through his hair as she looked down at the two of them. “It’s alright. You’re here now, that’s all that matters, Javi.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Want me to put her down?”

“Sure, baby.” He passed Josie to her mother, cradling her head until she was securely in her arms. “I’ll clean this up.” He offered, picking up the bottle as he took a moment to watch her as she sank down into the chair with their daughter. “You’re a natural with her.”

“So are you.” She tilted her head to look at him, “I already know that she misses you when you’re not here.”

“Yeah?”

“And so do I.”

“I feel like shit for not being here,” Javier confessed, working his jaw as he looked away. “I had to help Danny with the reports from last week. It was a fucking nightmare.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked away. “You’ve got me all weekend.”

Her eyes lit up, “Really?”

Javier nodded, scratching at the back of his neck. “The conference today. The one at noon. The assignment got pushed off. There’s shit that needs to be worked on before we tackle it.”

“I was afraid to ask.”

“Baby—”

She held up a hand to stop him, “It’s weird, alright? I had months of desk duty when I was pregnant, but… I feel ready to get back out there — with you and…” She looked back down at Josie. “She’s worth it.”

“Yeah?” Javier questioned hesitantly.

She rubbed her lips together as she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Yes. I mean, maybe in time I’ll get back out in the field.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?”

“I miss it.”

“Me too.” Javier admitted. “It’s not the same being stuck on a stakeout with Chris or Danny.”

She snorted, “I can’t imagine why.” She rose to her feet and carried Josie over to her crib. “I’ll be back in bed in a few minutes, Javi.”

He let his gaze linger on her for a long moment as he ducked out the door to put the bottle of milk away.

By the time Javier was headed back to the bedroom, she was slipping out of Josie’s nursery with a finger pressed to her lips.

“Out like a light,” She murmured as she followed him into the bedroom. “Thank you for getting up. I’m glad she’s started taking the bottle better.”

“How’s pumping at work going?”

She made a face, “Aside from having to pump in the bathroom, it’s fine.” She explained, sinking down onto the bed beside him.

“I’ll kill Chris if he pulls any shit about it.”

She laughed as she draped her arm over his chest, “I’ll kill him first, don’t worry.” She ran her hand up his chest and neck, before cupping his jaw. “I love you.”

His heart skipped a beat, “I love you too, baby.”

She pressed her lips against his bare shoulder, her breath tickling his skin. “Our novellas should be on tomorrow.”

Javier chuckled, “It’s been awhile.”

“Too long.” She brushed her fingers over his collarbone. “I miss a lot of things.”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Maybe we can make some time tomorrow while she naps.” Javier suggested, pressing a kiss to the center of her hand. “Has it been long enough?”

“It’s been about… seven weeks.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. “Things are still a little sensitive.”

“I would imagine so.”

She shoved him with a laugh, “We can try.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Javier could only make out her expression when she shifted out of the shadows and into the glow from the window. And he could tell that she was staring at him too.

“Javier Peña being so diplomatic about not having sex,” She teased, leaning in to kiss him.

“Oh, fuck off.” He snorted, nipping at her bottom lip. “I’m very diplomatic in the bedroom.”

“So I’ve heard,” She pressed her forehead to his and tilted her head to brush her lips against his once more. “Having you here is almost as good as an orgasm—“

“What?”

“I did say almost.”

Javier slid his arm beneath her and pulled her to his chest. “Have you lost your mind?”

She laughed happily and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “I’m really tired, you can’t judge me for anything I say.”

“So you’re telling me to ask you anything?”

She tugged at his hair roughly, “Shut up.”

“Baby, you can’t get out of this that easily.”

The soft sound of snoring came as her response and for a split second he was certain she was putting on, but he recognized the slow and steady in-and-out of her breathing.

Fuck, he wished he could fall asleep that easily. He ran his hand down her spine and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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dapandapod · 4 years ago

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I went out for a walk and was struck with inspiration. This is kinda sad and probably a lil weird to do for someone else but Hey, let me. I want kindness. Tw for breakdown and implied cheating. On Ao3 here 💖

It’s late. Too late to be out for a walk depending on who you are asking. And I’m asking me, so no, midnight is not that late.

I walk alone among the streets and houses. As I walk past the roundabout four motorbikes blast past. On the next street over I get company. I smell them before I see them. Perfume and cigarettes. So strong I can actually feel the taste on my mouth. I look up and see young man in front of me. He seems to be a little drunk, but he walk with a steady pace ahead.

I’m three lamp posts away but I can still smell him. Hell, I can even taste him. I slow my pace, not wanting to get too close. The sound of our footsteps mingle in the silence, bouncing between the brick walls.

Suddenly the man in front of me stops. Leans against the wall. He seems to be getting smaller, curling in on himself. Is he trying to light another cigarette? Is he going to get sick?

I keep walking towards him, my house is only a block away. The perfume smell gets stronger for every step I take. It’s a nice smell but so strong it makes my eyes sting a little.

Im prepared to walk past him when I hear it. A sob. A heart wrenching, deeply felt sob.

I stop dead in my tracks and we the mans shoulders shake in restraint. His hair is a soft brown, bangs falling into his eyes. He has one arm clasped around himself, the other presses tightly against his mouth. I’m only a few paces away, and must look like an absolute weirdo.

I take a tentative step towards him, reaching out with my hand towards his shoulder.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

The man startles badly and press himself against the brick wall. Cornflower blue eyes stare up at me, tears and a little snot streaming down his face.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” I say, I know I don’t come off as the most approachable or friendly dude. I’m big, tall and my long white hair make people look at me like I’m some kind of mobster. “Are you alright?” I ask him again, because he looks a strong wind away from collapsing.

He looks at me for a moment longer, then his face crumples. He shoots forward from the wall and suddenly his arms are around me. He is taller than I thought, his head fitting nicely against the crook of my neck. He press his entire body against mine, his cheek is wet and his nose cold agains my neck.

This is not what I expected. Slowly I put my arms around him, and it’s like I break something when I do. He presses his forehead against my shoulder thankfully, but a wail of despair tears from his throat. I can tell he is crying because my shirt is getting damp where he press his head against me. His fingers claws and grips my shirt, drawing it against himself, pressing us closer.

I don’t know what to do. This stranger, this broken man in my arms in the middle of the night. How can I just tear free and leave?

I won’t do that. I know what it’s like to feel that terrible, only I didn’t have somebody there to catch me.

I let my head rest against his, the stench of cigarettes almost overwhelming when I’m this close. Slowly, softly, I let my hands rub circles on his back. He is leaning heavily on me so I twist us a little so the brick wall will support us.

Us.

I suppose it is now. There is a comfort in ‘us’ somehow.

I hum, not really talking nor singing, just letting my voice vibrate through me. My ex Yen once told me it was like leaning agains a giant purring cat when I did that. She took comfort in it, so maybe he can too?

I don’t know how long we stand there. His arms are still tight around my ribs, his breath is still fast and uneven, but he doesn’t seem to cry anymore.

I let my hand cradle the back of his neck. I don’t know why, it’s uncalled for and frankly a little creepy to do to a stranger. But I do it anyway, some strange instinct telling me this is what I must do.

“You will be ok,” I tell him. “One deep breath. Another, there you can do it.”

Being alone sucks. I hope this helps.

After another long ten minutes it seems like he is done. His grip has slackened a little, the breaths evened out. There is a slight tremble in his shoulders.

“Feel any better?” I ask him, trying to make him look up at me.

He doesn’t but I can make out a mumbled “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” I say, still rubbing circles into his back. “Do you live far from here?”

There are a few seconds of silence before he sighs and pulls away. It’s cold without him against me.

“Not anymore.” He smiles sadly and puts his hands in his pockets. He looks so miserable and broken. “I uh... I found him with someone else in our bed. I didn’t think, I just left.”

Fuck. Fuck.

I can’t.

“You can crash at my place tonight if you want to.” I offer this complete stranger. I don’t even know his name. He also haven’t met my eyes since he broke down.

“Sorry, shit, that sounds totally suspicious huh? But I’ve been there so... I know how it feels not to have anywhere to go. I’m Geralt.”

Finally he looks up at me. He is absolutely drunk and he should not be out here.

“Jaskier.” He says, a slow smile finding his lips. “And thank you. I uh... I guess it’s that or sleeping on the street tonight.”

I lead him with me that last block. His perfume and cigarette smell is still overwhelming as he walks up the stairs to my flat. I give him a T-shirt and send him into the shower while I carry pillows and blankets to the couch.

He looks a little better when he exits the bathroom. He absolutely smells better now. We don’t speak, just make sure he has what he needs for the night before I settle into my own bedroom. This was one weird night.

The morning turns out to be even weirder. When I open my eyes and return to awareness I do so to the smell of pancakes. I pad barefoot across the floor into the kitchen just to see my stray stand there in my slightly too big T-shirts, trying and failing to flip a pancake in the air. He looks a little better.

I lean in the doorway for a moment just watching him in the sunlight. When he notice me he startles just as badly as the last time and almost drops the frying pan.

“Shit! Fuck!” He struggles to catch it, but the pancake is destroyed. He frowns at it and puts it on a plate next to the stove with three other failed attempts.

“Morning.” I say, amused. He is so at ease in my space. It’s weird. I scratch my bare chest and cracks a yawn. “Are any of those gonna be salvageable?” I catch him staring at me with a slight blush on his cheeks. It’s a good look on him.

“I uh... fuck, sorry, I was just thinking I could make breakfast as... thanks...”

“It’s all good.” I say again, another yawn breaking free. “Jaskier was is?”

“Yeah.” He puts a new load of batter in the pan and it sizzles promisingly.

We share breakfast. Some of the pancakes were good enough to eat. Jaskier seems like he is starving but I know crying is a hungry business. We talk a little, my cheap coffee working as a icebreaker.

After almost an hour Jaskier declares he must go back. Not home, just back.

“Do you have any friends you can stay with?” I ask him when he puts on his shoes, knowing that he probably doesn’t. Why else would he end up here, with me?

I feel a pang of something, sympathy.

“It will be alright.” He says with a smile. “Thank you for everything. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” My arms are crossed in front of me, all I wanna do is just scoop him up in another hug. To make things alright again, to make that awful sad go away.

“See you around, Geralt.” He says, another smile and a little wave as he disappears down the stairs.

I hope we will, I think silently to myself

#dapanda writes #the witcher #geraskier #modern au #break ups #falling apart #pancakes #kindness of strangers #idk im tired its 01.45 am #i walked behind a strangers drenched in perfume and this happened #angst #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #tw breakup #the witcher netflix

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angeltrapz · 3 years ago

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helo beloved mutual connor, im sorry ur goin thru it rn but i come bearing asks n a heart emoji (💗): bcuz i have had this thought floatin around for a lil bit, wld love 2 hear ur takes on an Adam/Eric/Mallick (+ Art too if u want!) road trip vacation! how long wld they go, do they get motels or camp or just sleep in th car? whats everyone's favorite road trip snack? what sorta shit do they like 2 stop for? (weird tourist traps like giant balls of yarn etc, small town main street stores, cool looking restaurants, nature sites, Actual Destinations, so on n so forth!)

fjkdsd thank u beloved mutual adam,,, <3

ohhh I love tht idea!! road trip fics/hcs are one of my weaknesses,,

but um!! I rly like the idea of th four of them going camping a few hours up north!! (we... don't rly know where. SAW is set so just. imagine a vaguely rural campground lmao. I'm used to camping in th upper peninsula of MI so) it's smth tht Art did a lot w his family when he was growing up, so he's th most familiar w it - Eric went a few times as a kid too, Mallick went Once, n Adam has never rly been camping, w his family or otherwise (he's slept on a trampoline at one of his friends' houses once tho). Art is p excited abt it tbh, it's not exactly smth he gets 2 do often so he's got this whole list planned of things he wants 2 show them!!

it's easiest 2 just take a week in late August, bc they can head back home on a Friday n have the weekend to settle n readjust b4 th coming week + they have to go back 2 work. so they head out around ten on a Monday morning 2 kind of get ahead of th traffic (or at least try to). Art drives both bc he insists and bc he knows they can switch if he needs to, which he does later w Eric. it's a good couple hours (at least 3) b4 they get 2 th campground Art wants to take them to, so clearly it is Music Time + Adam made sure 2 bring CDs! a lot of that time is just spent vibing 2 th music and singing very, very loudly (ESP on Adam + Mallick's end). Art's up front like u three are so fucking goofy (affectionate), but eventually he starts singing too lmao.

Mallick starts th Colour Game, where they try 2 find a car fr every colour of th rainbow. it's smth Eric is familiar w as well bc he used 2 play it w Daniel sometimes, and it's good until they come to purple bc how often do u see purple cars??? so Adam's just like "we're not gonna find pink either" n tht's when this fucking pink pickup truck (noticeably spray-painted, + not done well) passes them n Adam just groans n thumps his head against th window. Mallick is like, trying rly hard not to laugh by pressing a hand over his mouth + Art is biting his lip, but Eric is very openly cackling bc "u see what happens when u assume???" (he gets a very light slap 2 th shoulder but it's still very gentle)

ANYWAY. favourite snacks!! Adam can eat Way Too Many Sour Patch Kids. sour anything, actually, as long as it's candy. yes his tongue hurts and no he doesn't regret it. Eric just gets goldfish bc he tends 2 get a lil carsick + bc it's a food tht's familiar n comforting, n he doesn't rly want 2 be eating anything Too heavy (he's up front w Art, so he can sit by a window in case he needs some fresh air at any point). Mallick likes m&m's, but he switches fr cheez-its every once in a while bc he can only eat so much chocolate. Art likes those peanut-butter filled pretzel bites! he's also partial 2 animal crackers tho. they also bring a good amount of snacks/things they can b sure th four of them like, bc yeah there's a lil store abt a half hour away frm their campsite + they can go there to pick up things if they need 2, but it's easier 2 bring things they like, too. (there's also a mcdonald's in tht town n. they do go there at LEAST twice.)

th campsite they stay at has a lake + a beach, n one of Art + Adam's fave things 2 do is walk along it to see if they can find anything interesting! Mallick goes sometimes too, but mostly he stays w Eric bc Eric can't do tht fr as long as Adam + Art can (not tht he's resentful of it tho). he n Mallick chill on th beach w a blanket (it's kind of like. not necessarily sandy?) n just kinda sit against/lay on each other n read sometimes. Adam + Art come back 2 where they're set up to find them sleeping n Adam has never been more thankful he thought 2 bring his camera!!

on th second day Art + Mallick want 2 go swimming, so th four of them come back out to th beach, but Adam stays out of th water + Eric stays w him. they both know th water will be cold, even if it's late summer, n Adam rly doesn't like being in cold water ESP if it's over his head/he can't touch th bottom. fr Eric th cold can b kind of painful, so they chill n walk along th beach fr a little bit n just talk. Adam gets some good pictures n even gets some of Eric! he also does take a selfie of them, he can't help it. he gets a couple of Mallick + Art too. it's honestly such a nice thing fr them n it just feels like they can breathe easy, not having 2 worry abt looking over their shoulders constantly (tho they're all getting better abt that).

th third day they spend around th campsite to kind of unwind n relax. they might walk th beach a little bit again, but mostly they just sorta chill n walk some of th trails around the campground itself. when night falls they light a small bonfire (Mallick is still iffy around fire, understandably) n they sit around it in their folding chairs w th cupholders (Adam gets red, Eric has green, Art gets blue, + Mallick gets dark green) n make s'mores. they talk abt anything n everything until they're barely able 2 keep their eyes open, n then after making sure th fire is pretty much out they kinda just stumble into th tent n none of them r awake for very long after (they specifically got one tht cld comfortably hold th four of them).

fourth day!! they pack up n head into another little town about 45 minutes away; it's bigger than th one around th campgrounds. after they get situated in a motel room w two beds, they do some window shopping + going into lil stores that interest them! Adam def buys some niche graphic tees tht aren't going 2 make sense to anyone other than th four of them n he's delighted abt it. I like 2 think Eric gets a worry stone, specifically made out of rose quartz. Mallick too, but his is made of amethyst! he also gets a rly cool multicoloured jacket in a thrift store they duck into. Art gets a hoodie w th town's name on it n he's pretty happy w that. they get a few more lil things, just little knick-knacks while they're there, n then they have dinner in this lil diner they'd walked past earlier bc it's inexpensive + the atmosphere is very lowkey n honestly just Nice. there's not a bunch of ppl, the servers r rly kind n the lights aren't too bright, which Eric rly appreciates. it's such a tender moment bc they're squeezed into a booth, Adam + Mallick on one side n Art + Eric on th other, n they're talking n laughing n stealing bites of each other's food n it's Comfortable.

then they head back to th motel n channel surf while unpacking enough 2 get to their sleep clothes. Adam + Eric r sharing a bed n Art + Mallick r sharing th other one, tho Adam is very tempted 2 just push them together so they're all close by (th distance btwn th beds isn't tht big to begin with, but it's the principle of th thing). mostly tho, until they go to bed, they're pretty much just all stretched out Everywhere. Adam is only discouraged frm jumping across th divide btwn th beds bc Art breaks out his Lawyer Voice, despite trying rly hard not to laugh, to say Yr Going To Hurt Yrself, Don't Do That. he grumbles n whines abt it but Adam knows he's right jdhjks (th way he sees it is like. he can b silly sometimes. he's Earned It, but he also trusts Art + wasn't super serious abt tht idea). eventually tho Eric can hardly keep his eyes open n Mallick is just straight up asleep while he's still sitting up so tht's when they all go to bed after making sure every1 is comfortable. they leave a lamp on.

fifth day they pack everything up again n stop 2 walk th trails of this lil park b4 they head home! there's a lil shop near th parking lot so they spend a lil bit of time looking around in there first. they probably pick up a few lil things, souvenirs, n Adam walks around 2 get some pictures. he gets this rly cool one while they're on a bridge, th sun peeking thru the clouds a lil bit n shining down on th water. he's super excited to develop tht one (but he's excited to develop All of them, bc this is his family!!!) + he n Art discuss whether or not they're gonna need another cork board lol. eventually tho they round back to th parking lot n on th way home, they stop at another lil hole-in-th-wall kind of place, but it's just as nice as the first one they'd been to. after tht Eric switches spots w Art n he drives them home!!

they're all exhausted when they get back but they have room to crash w each other while they nap so tht's what they do. they fall asleep all tangled together, Art stretched out w Eric's head on his chest, Adam curled against Eric's back, n Mallick w his head on Art's stomach. there r arms n legs everywhere n tht is okay. they're happy. they love each other. they had a lot of fun on their trip n they're tired, but they're comfortable!! tht's what it's all abt!!! it's just such a good n relaxing experience fr them after all th shit they've been thru.

#can u tell I. love camping jdkfks #saw #art #adam #eric #mallick #ty ty!!! I rly appreciate it #I'm doing okay now mostly I think. pretty much always open fr saw asks tho djhfkjsd ESP if they're abt the polycule!!#I literally Do Not get sick of talking abt them dkjdskd #asks #gotta update th masterpost later!! I remembered yesterday but I was up fr too long lmao #real talk tho. thank u fr sending me asks they're my fave <3

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edsbev · 5 years ago

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Ok now we have how they both realized their feelings mayyyybeeeee how they told eachother?????????

it takes a little while. theyre a little bit older. have both come to terms with the fact that they might just have to pine forever.

and its richie who finally cracks. bc of course it is. hes been pining for longer. he has trouble keeping his mouth shut. honestly its a miracle he managed to keep his feelings a secret for this long.

its a saturday night and theyre sitting in an empty parking lot in richies truck, eating fast food. and a lot of things have happened recently.

one - eddie has taken up baseball at school, and his skin has bronzed from how much time he spends out in the sun training. his thighs are toned and his arms have filled out. and its become ridiculously hard not to stare.

two - bev and ben have started dating. and being around their in-love, coupley gooeyness has only made richie want eddie even more. he’ll watch bev and ben cuddle on the couch during their movie nights, kiss each other hello and goodbye when theyre hanging out, and his brain will immediately go to: what if that was me and eddie.

and three - the combination of those two things have made being around eddie so hard that richie has been actively avoiding him. he barely turns up to the losers hang outs anymore, he cancelled the last two catch-ups he and eddie had planned. and, while they can, thankfully, just chalk it up to them being older, being busier, richie knows that eddie has started to notice, and he doesnt want eddie to think that hes avoiding him bc he hates him.

so richie has come to conclusion that he needs to tell him. the truth.

“this shit is so disgusting,” eddie says, shovelling fries into his mouth. the whole trucks smells of them. hot, stuffy, salty. “i can already feel the grease clogging up my fucking arteries.”

“yet you keep eating them,” richie says. he adds, “idiot” because he knows he’s being soft. he knows he’s looking at eddie with that stupid, dopey smile he gets whenever eddie is being cute.

its just. eddie is cute. his hair curling around his ears, shovelling fries into his mouth with a sort of pinched, irritated look on his face, like the fries have personally insulted him. hes so fucking cute and there’s been a hundred other moments just like this. where richie will watch him, and his heart will swell up like a balloon, and he’ll almost say it. eddie, i like you. i like you so fucking much, eddie. i want to kiss you so badly.

so he’s gonna do it right now. just get it out there. it doesnt matter if eddie doesnt feel the same way, he just needs him to know.

richie wipes his palms on his jeans, taps his fingers against the steering wheel, breathes in, out. shaky. nervous. and then he finally says, “eddie.”

“mmm?” eddie mumbles, poking through their takeout bag.

“i…” god, richie wants to throw up. he swallows. “i just thought that i should…explain. why i’ve been so weird lately.”

eddie glances up from the bag, quirks an eyebrow at him. “you’re always weird,” he says.

“yeah, youre right,” richie laughs, a breathy, nervous laugh. “i mean why i’ve been weirder than usual recently.”

and eddie seems to realise what richies talking abt, seems to pick up on richies anxious energy, bc he shrinks a little into the seat.

“i just…dont want you to think that i havent been around recently bc ive been avoiding you,” richie starts. and it just kinda all tumbles out of him, messy. “well, actually, i have been avoiding you. but it hasnt been for, like, a bad reason. like i dont hate you or whatever. i, um.” he works his thumb against the steering wheel, clears his throat, glances hesitantly at eddie. “i like you.”

eddie doesnt say anything. he looks very small against the seat.

“as in…i like like you,” richie continues, bc now he cant shut up. “like how bev and ben like each other - ugh, whatever you get it, im being stupid. but it just…makes it hard to be around you sometimes.”

the still, quiet expression on eddies face is impossible to read. richie is so antsy he swears he’s going to explode.

“so. yeah. i just thought i’d tell you. i’m really not trying to make things weird or anything. and you don’t have to say anything back. i just didnt want you to think that i hate you, or whatever.”

eddie still doesnt say anything. a car pulls up a few spaces away, turns half the parking lot gold with its headlights before it shuts off, plunging it back to black. richie drums his fingers skittishly against the steering wheel.

“ok i need you to say something, eddie,” richie says finally, after what feels like a decade, “i’m going crazy over here.”

eddie blinks, and even in the shadowy-dark, richie swears he can see eddies face go red. “i…dont know what to say.”

richie feels like he’s going to be sick. “just, uh, that you dont hate me and still wanna be a my friend would be nice,” he says, tries to play that off as a joke.

“i dont hate you,” eddie says. and at least that sounds sincere.

“well, thats a relief,” richie says. it looks like eddie is about to say more, but he doesnt. a crease forming in his brow, lips pursed and pushed up toward his cheek, as though he’s contemplating something.

“ok. uh. lets just talk abt something else then, eh?” richie says, awkward. “pass me some of those fries.”

but eddie doesnt. the little crease in his brow just deepens. and then eddie is shoving away the fastfood and kneeling up on the truck’s bench seat.

richie startles, watches with wide eyes as eddie shuffles closer to him. places one hand on richies shoulder, reaches over with the other to cup richies jaw and turn his head to face him. looking very determined.

“i…” richies whole face is burning, his throat tight. “what are you doing?”

“im going to kiss you,” eddie says, very matter of fact.

richie tries to say something, but all that comes out is a broken, strangled sound.

“is that okay?” eddie asks.

“uh yes. yep. fucking. yes.” eddies face is so close. his lips are so close. slightly parted, look so plump and soft and kissable. its a surprise richie manages to have a single coherent thought, but he gets out: “im just very confused.”

“i like you too, okay? i just didnt know how to say it.” eddie’s voice threatens to speed up in that way it does when he’s nervous. but he breathes in, swallows it down. and says, much gentler, “so i… thought i’d show you.” and as he says that, his cheeks go red and his gaze drops to richies own mouth, and richie just about passes out.

“okay,” richie breathes. okokokokokokokokok

eddie hesitates. they are paused, staring at each other’s lips. then eddie lifts his hands from richies shoulder to cup richies face with both hands.

and he swoops in and kisses him.

but eddie pulls away quickly, like he’s still a little unsure, anxious eyes flitting between richies. but richie just says, dazed, “kiss me again” and eddie cant say no to that. so he does.

its a kiss thats soft for all of five seconds. theyve both wanted this so badly for so long. richie wraps his arms around eddies waist, eddie wraps his arms around richies shoulders. richie deepens the kiss, pushing up against eddie so much that eddie begins to lean backwards. eddie lets him, bringing richie even closer.

when they pull away for air, they leave only a breath between their mouths. lips brushing as their chests heave. eddie looks down at richie with lowered eyelids and it drives richie crazy.

“you like me,” richie breathes.

he can feel eddies smile against his own his mouth. “you like me,” eddie says.

“a whole fucking lot, yeah,” richie says, and then dives in to kiss him again.

they make out for ages in richies truck. and they’ll talk abt all that feeling stuff later. how long they’ve liked each other, when it started, what this means for them, where they stand now. and they do. but right now literally all they care abt is richies hands on eddies ass, and eddies hands in richies hair.

#Anonymous #reddie #reddie headcanon #ask #mine #my writing #this be dumb

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spaceysp · 4 years ago

Note

Saying random stuff to feed into the hyperfixations; pick one of these statements to rant about because I wanna read :)) if u want,

How skeppy must feel with everyone meeting up cause BaD JUST COME ON ,

Opinions on bad planning to take skeppy to dinner and all that jazz ,

Skeppys newest video on the skep channel where bad and skeppy are surprisingly sweet to eachother (and how lately in general bad has been less angee with him) ,

Literally the whole discount skeppy situation , bad being literally in love,

Ride with U,,,,,hetero,,,,explanation,,,, anywhere?

ANONNNNN I OWE YOU MY LIFE ILY

im literally going to talk about all of these so im sorry but read more at your own risk

one: skeppy, i am so sorry a mf does this to you. but seriously, i can only think of a few reasons (that dont sound entirely made for fanfic) that bad keeps putting off meeting skeppy

1. (the most unlikely) theyve already met and they keep the bit going so the fans dont find out. i can get that they wouldnt want to tell at first because its their own business, but i seriously doubt they would wait very long to confirm it, because ppl honestly can put a lot of pressure and hype on the meetup (esp with skeppy’s “surprise”) so i think theyd release something just so everyone knew that it finally happened! they didnt lie!

2. bad just doesnt want to meet skeppy (actually nvm this is the most unlikely)

bad seems to be genuinely excited to meet skeppy, even claiming skeppys the one to keep putting it off, not him (which skeppy immediately disproved but) and saying over and over he wants to meet up with him, but always avoiding actually making plans (every single tweet about the meetup) so its clear he does want to meet skeppy eventually, which makes trying to figure out why he wont even harder

3. its not the right time/ waiting for a specific date

leading up to this, i was thinking that there was a pretty good chance theyd meet up on their anniversary, but that never happened rip. the issue is with this is that they guaranteed they would meet up before the end of the year, and at this point theres only one “event” left, but they still dont seem to have any plans to meet. if bad was waiting for the perfect time to do it, why not just tell skeppy to confirm a meetup date? it would get him (and maybe the fans, if they told them) off his back. another variant of this is that there is a set date, but they havent told the public, but again, skeppy seems to be just as much in the dark about this as everyone else

4. health issues

bads apparently been feeling pretty under the weather lately, with his arm and kidney stones, its very plausible (and reccomended, imo) that bad doesnt want to travel when hes having these problems. of course, skeppy could visit, but he could either not want to spend their time together sick or the plans they have could also be too straining. i think this is probably one of the most likely atm, go see a doctor bbh im begging you

5. bads nervous

this is also one of the more plausible to me. for whatever reason, bads just anxious about it, whether it wont be the same as talking online, or be super awkward or whatever, he could just keep putting it off for that (its still weird and kinda doesnt make sense but in a more realistic way this time)

i know i totally went off track but this brings me to my point, skeppys kinda just waiting for bads confirmation at this point, so seeing his friends have fun meeting up is probably just lowkey depressing and i could see him using it as more the reason they should meet up. really the only thing he can do in this situation(at least, as far as i can tell) is what he has been doing, annoy bad about it or he take advantage of bads jealousy and meet up with someone else. the other option is to randomly come to his house, but it doesnt seem like skeppy is gonna do that, maybe to respect his boundaries? if he was planning on it i think he wouldve done it by now

OKAY NUMBER TWO LETS GO

this kinda ties into my point in the “reasons why bad wont meet skeppy” thing, that bad seems really excited to meet him yet still wont?? its clear he really values any time spent with skeppy, but he also make sure skeppys having a good time too! that why he never does any actual work with skeppy around (i.e. building statues or gathering materials for such), he knows its boring so instead theyll wander around the server telling stupid stories or punching each other off stairs for 20 minutes. im sure itll be the same irl, he mentioned wanting to meet somewhere like a nature reserve or amusement park, probably to make sure theres never a dull moment or time wasted. dinner seems much more low-key, and i wouldnt be surprised if bad just wanted to have an excuse to try and impress him with a nice totally-platonic date

NUMbeR tHree *airhorns*

they really do be the best of friends! ive noticed that skeppys def been trying to halt arguments fairly quickly now, saying a lot to appease bad and move on, and while bad seems to like to start fights for fun, hes also been a lot more chill lately, im guessing because hes been oh-so desperately missing skeppy and big s was also in Baby mode (aka if bad disagreed with him hed probably just cry until he got his way((sand))) i think that vid just showed them being a lot more natural and happy to talk (plus bad usually is more argumentative when theyre competing, while in that vid they were either just hanging out or working towards a common goal)

n u m b e r f o u r

where to even BEGIN with discount skeppy. well, bad actually first came up this idea a few months ago, in either july or august on an idots smp stream when he crafted an ‘artificial skeppy’ in his snack shack that he could talk to whenever skeppy was gone. as we all know idots smp is now rip, but the idea of replacement skeppys remained, just this time they can talk and also ship skephalo. it actually seemed like more of puffys idea at first when she put on skeppys skin as a joke, which bad didnt like the first few times, but when she brought it up again he actually requested it (missing skeppy brainrot 🤔?) this could be either cuz bad wanted to bait some shippers so gave in or he thought it was a pretty funny bit so went along with it (or he actually missed skeppy that much.. surely not ??) either way i think we can agree puffy is not only a comedic genius but a top tier friend and slight wingman, and getting some good jealous skeppy content out of it is also top tier. in conclusion, love and appreciate discount skeppy, badboyhalo has only skeppy on his brain and his friends have to deal with that, hoes (skeppy) mad even though the whole bit is how much bbh is into him

NUMBER FIVE im really doing all of them

What, can be said, about ride with u. GODDAMN. im not tryna insinuate anything, but if someone told me that song reminded them of me i would have no choice but to marry them immediately. i really really want someone to ask bad what songs remind him of any of his other friends (dream, sapnap, george, ant, puffy, etc.) because there are three options

1. theyre just cool platonic friend songs and bad is just in love with skeppy

2. he cant think of any songs for them and bad is just In Love with skeppy

3. they have equal romantic undertones and bad is just Like That with his friends (even so i bet people would be picking out the most minute differences between the songs that make one more.. You Know than the other)

i know FOR SURe that if i was in bads position (where even the person who made the lyric video assumed they were gay in love) i wouldve curled into a ball and never made another public appearance again, but he really owned that shit, singing it and making unprompted references to it (”i already have a bonnie” YOU AINT SLICK SIR WTF)

i just wanna know if skeppys listened to it (i mean, hes surely at least heard of it, i know he wouldve seen it all over his timeline) and what he thonks about it. pls tell us big s do you also feel the love in this chilis tonight (ALSO when is someone gonna ask skeppy what song reminds him of bad. im waiting ((hed probably say something like a faster remix or something equally memey (((unless???)))

ANYWAY SORRY FOR MAKING YOU READ ALL OF THAT HOLY SHIT i dont wanna reread this to check for errors so it might be incoherent but again ty for letting me infodump about this it was super fun im in love with you anon

#tw caps

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likeshipsonthesea · 5 years ago

Note

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive" for nurseydex?

heyyy remember months ago when i asked y’all to send in hozier lyrics as prompts and y’all fucking Delivered and i sat on my ass and did nothing??? (well,, two As and a citation in my classes but who gives a shit about that)

HERE IT IS. well. one of them. here one of them is. it’s weird and wishy washy and most reminiscent of my writing style from Forever Stained (remember that?) and nursey is mildly ooc and dex is Emotional and if you don’t know my oc luke it may be confusing for a bit but anyway it’s FUN and i hope y’all enjoy it

will be tackling the other prompts soon!! hopefully!! :]

warning for parental homophobia and older-person-young-person relationship (a 14 year old and a 17 year old, only in flashback)

The first night Dex is in New York, he dreams.

He dreams himself a house. A loud, angry house. The walls shiver, the floors ache. He drags his rough palm against peeling wallpaper until his fingers catch on the latch of a back door.

The night air is cold. It hurts, but tastes like water, and he chokes it down until his lungs close up. When he finishes swallowing, he is on a beach. The house is far away, a distant thrum in the back of his head. To his left is an outcropping of mossy rocks. To his right are the glassy waves of low tide. Behind him, he can feel, is a roaring fire.

If he turns around, he will find a ring of drunken teenagers cupping sixty cent beer like salvation. He will fade into their circle with little fuss and spend the night with sand in his jeans pockets wondering if he will ever be allowed to leave this place.

If he turns right, he will be chilled and damp and alone.

He turns left.

The rocks create a familiar path. The bottoms of the stones are encrusted with salt from high tide washing in and moss grows along their sides and tops, soft with stolen sunshine. The moss is smoother than the wallpaper and soothes his rough hands. Sand steals into his sneakers, irritating, but he continues to walk. He knows what is waiting for him at the end.

The house is all but silent, now. The bonfire’s warmth has evaporated, leaving the late autumn chill on Dex’s fingertips, his nose. He cannot hear his drunken peers and, more than that, he does not think of them. He tastes sixty cent beer and salvation and he has more important things to worry about.

After walking for hours, he turns the final corner, and there is a boy.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy says.

“Sorry,” Dex says. He dreams he is small. “I tried to be quick but—”

The boy shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now.” The boy grab Dex’s wrist. His fingers are cold. He pulls Dex close. Dex comes to his chin, stares up at him with a broken back neck.

Moments before their lips meet, Dex realizes what’s wrong.

“You’re not Luke,” he says.

Nursey doesn’t stop to respond. His mouth, on Dex’s, is cold.

Dex wakes up, shivering in June, in an unfamiliar bed. He wants to go home. He wants to call Nursey. He turns over, instead, and tries to fall back asleep.

*~*~*

“Is the apartment nice?” Ma asks, when she calls the next morning.

Dex bends to grab a water bottle from his fridge. “It’s clean,” he says, pressing the bottle against his red, sweating neck. “It’s in a good location.”

“It was so nice of them to set you up with a place,” Ma says.

Dex nods, taking a breath. “Yeah, I got lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Ma says. “You worked hard.”

Dex breathes.

“You’re breathing funny,” she says. Hesitant, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head at nothing. “Yeah, I’m fine, Ma. You just caught me right as I finished my run.”

“Oh. You must’ve been up early.” Dex doesn’t know what to say to that, and doesn’t really want to explain that he woke up in the middle of the night after dreaming a memory all twisted and couldn’t force himself back to sleep, so he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Ma asks, “Is there a nice running route nearby?”

“There’s a park close enough to go through.” He takes a quick sip of his water. “It’s nothing like home, though.”

“Well.” Ma fiddles with something—a pen or a piece of scrap paper in front of her. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“I know, Ma. I’m—I’m glad to be here.”

“Good.” She lets out an audible breath.

Dex can picture her, curled small against the phone, fiddling with a pen. She’s probably sitting in the kitchen, at the end of the table they squished in there. They use it as a kids’ table during family gatherings, but it’s otherwise just a junk surface for every odd end they bring into the house. Every few months Ma will get stressed at work, or worried about money, or someone in the family will get sick, and she’ll decide that it’s time to go through all the junk and keep the table clean for once, God damn it. Now, it’s probably half organized, half mess. She’d only started a week ago, when Dex got home from Samwell to pack for New York.

“Good,” Ma says again. “This really is a good opportunity. The company is great, right? And it will give you experience.” Dex hums, sipping his water. “And—and you won’t be alone, right? You have that—that friend of yours, Nurse something?”

Dex stops drinking. The water bottle sweats in his hand, one chilled droplet sliding down his skin. “Yeah,” Dex says, “he lives nearby.”

“Good.” Ma taps some more, with the pen. “Good.”

Dex puts down the water bottle and wipes his hand off on his gym shorts. “How’s cleaning going, Ma?”

“Oh. You know, it’s getting there.”

“This time’s the charm, I’m sure. As long as Dad remembers to keep it clean.”

“Yes, yes. He has to get better about that.” Dex breathes. Tries to think up another thing to say that won’t lead anywhere that makes Ma tap. He can’t think of anything. Ma says, “We all have to get better about things, though.”

Dex tangles his fingers in the fabric of his shorts. “I—I’ve got to go shower, Ma, but I’ll call you, okay?”

“Oh—okay.” She hesitates, and Dex thinks about just hanging up. “We love you.”

“I love you, too.” Dex picks up the cap from his water bottle. Ma doesn’t say anything more. “Okay, bye, Ma.” He hangs up, cutting her off in the middle of a second-too-late goodbye. He debates calling back to apologize.

He ends up leaving his phone on the counter, chugging the rest of his water, and stripping on the way to his shower. Whatever heat the run in the summer city air had given him has since disappeared, leaving his skin chilled, shivering.

*~*~*

The dreams don’t stop.

The next one is in a bathroom. Dex doesn’t remember the tile or the shower curtain with little blue whales on it, but he knows somehow that it’s Luke’s childhood bathroom. Downstairs a graduation party ensues, clean fun music simmering through the floorboards as Dex is nudged back into the wall.

Cold hands push under his shirt, nails catching. Cool breath hits his neck, wet, and he shivers. He is not drunk. He is worrying, about Luke’s parents, about the other guests. People here know him, know his family. This is a bad idea.

“We should go back,” he says, in the dream. He didn’t say it, back when this happened. “This is a bad idea.”

“You never go along with my ideas, Poindoodle.” Nursey laughs into Dex’s chin. “Come on, just try one play. I think we could make the two headed beast work.”

This is wrong, Dex thinks, and opens his eyes to the soft grey ceiling of his New York apartment.

*~*~*

“Good work so far, Will.”

Dex looks up from his screen as his boss raps his knuckles against Dex’s monitor. Dex’s fingers pause on the keyboard and he smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

Dex’s boss shakes his head. “Call me Hugh. I don’t feel old enough to be a sir yet.”

Dex inclines his head. “Thank you, Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, wide, and lifts his coffee mug. “Keep it up,” he says, and heads into his office. The walls of his office are see-through, all made of glass, and Dex’s eyes follow him without thought as he sits down at his desk. The building they work in is nice enough, clean, lots of glass that lets in sunlight. It’s nothing like Dex had been picturing, some dark room where they code for hours on end with no break. Dex likes it. Likes it here. Likes the people. To think such a thing feels almost like a betrayal, like he shouldn’t be enjoying this place of exile, but he can’t help it.

Dex returns his attention to his code. He lets the logic of the work soothe his brain, until thoughts of trading in worn wood for clean glass and disguised disappointment for blatant pride leave the forefront of his mind. He just works, and doesn’t think, and enjoys every moment.

Sometime later, his phone buzzes.

what’s up willy p, ready to hit the town this weekend :PPP

Dex stares at the screen until it goes to black. He turns over his phone and pushes it away, to focus on work, and two minutes later has to restrain himself from looking when it buzzes once again.

*~*~*

Not all of the dreams have Nursey in them.

“Good work so far, Will,” Luke pants into Dex’s neck.

They are in a car—Luke’s probably, it has the fancy leather seats and the driver’s side window isn’t stuck perpetually open. The air tastes like sweat and the windows are fogged, obscuring the beach outside with its black, freezing water.

Luke’s fingers scrape at the base of Dex’s back. “Keep it up,” he says, grin wide against Dex’s shoulder. “Keep it up, keep it up.”

Dex stares at the glassy waves. They loom ever closer, higher and higher tide until they reach the tires of the car. The air tastes more and more like salt until it’s dripping from his tongue. The car has filled with the sea. Luke is cold, like the water, and he keeps saying his lines, “Good work,” until Dex opens his eyes to a grey ceiling, alone.

*~*~*

On Friday afternoon, Dex texts Nursey back.

I’m not up for anything crazy. Still settling in.

Dex grabs his things—wallet, keys, sticky note reminding him to call Ma—and bids goodbye to the few left in the office, Hugh and a nice girl named Kate a few desks over he’s chatted with during their coffee breaks.

Nursey responds by the time Dex reaches the street. no p dude. wanna come over and watch a movie?

Dex falls into step with the endless, faceless mass of people. The city buildings around him cut into the sky, grey, unyielding. He needs something like fresh air.

What movie? he asks.

;) Nursey sends back.

Dex breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey’s brownstone is tall and clean and, surprisingly, cozy. Dex was picturing something styled out of a magazine, hard edges and white and unwelcoming. Nursey welcomes Dex into a house full of oranges and deep browns and yellows with a big smile. He’s wearing a t-shirt and Samwell branded shorts. He is not wearing socks.

“Dude,” he says, emphatic, and pulls Dex into a hug. “Feels like it’s been years, bro.”

Dex hugs back, automatic. “It’s been three weeks, Nursey. Chill.”

Nursey laughs, chest rumbling against Dex’s. His back shakes, sweaty and warm, under Dex’s hands. “Shut up,” he says, pulling back. “You’re allowed to say you missed me, too.”

Dex scrunches his eyebrows. “Did you say you missed me? I didn’t hear that part.”

Nursey laughs again. With all the colors around him, he looks like sunshine. Dex skitters his eyes away, blistering. Nursey coughs. “We’ll be in the living room tonight,” he says, walking towards one of the open doorways. Dex follows. “I’ve got snacks and shit, and my dad made food and put it in some containers before he left but I don’t know what it is.”

“He’s not here?” Dex asks, looking at the old concert posters on the far wall, next to a long stretch of built in bookcases, all filled to the brim.

“Nah, he left on a business trip on Wednesday. Mom and Mama have been gone since Monday. Date vacation.” Nursey flops onto a leather couch, plush. With limbs thrown about, he embodies coziness. Despite the heat outside, the air conditioner keeps it nice inside, and the idea of climbing onto the couch with him is irritatingly desirable.

“You’re here alone?” Dex asks, taking a seat on the other end of the sectional.

Nursey grins. “Not anymore, now that I have you.” He flutters his eyelashes at Dex. Dex laughs and says, “Shut up,” and doesn’t think about it any more than that.

*~*~*

When Dex gets home that night, after several movies, more than half of them Very Bad, full of popcorn and homemade food and laughter he’d forgotten the taste of, he gets into bed alone with his grey foreign ceiling and does not dream of anything.

*~*~*

“I’m glad work is going well,” Ma says, when Dex calls her in the morning. She’s on speaker phone, he can tell, while she works around the house.

“Me too.” Dex stirs the eggs in his pan. Eating Nursey’s dad’s food reminded him that he could actually use the kitchen in his temporary apartment. After his run, he decided to start easy, with breakfast.

“That girl you mentioned, Kate, she sounds nice.”

“She is.” He scrapes some cooked egg from the bottom of the pan and swirls around the yolks a bit. “She’s been working there for about two years now and she says it’s a nice place.”

“That’s good.” On Ma’s end, there’s some movement, probably throwing something out because there’s a soft swooshing sound, like the trash can makes. “Have you been able to do some fun things around the city yet? Maybe with your new coworkers?”

“Kate invited me out to dinner next weekend.” Dex turns down the heat and continues to scrape.

The movement noises stop. “Oh! How nice of her.”

“The restaurant is supposed to be really good. Her fiancé is the head chef there.” Dex checks on his toast just as they pop and he carefully plucks them from the toaster.

“Oh.”

Dex hums, dropping the toast on his plate and turning to find the eggs done. “I also watched some movies with Nursey last night.” He deposits the eggs next to the toast and then hurries to check the bacon before it gets too crispy.

“Oh. Your aunt and I wanted to see a movie, but nothing was playing that we liked.” Distantly, Dex hears tapping of something, probably as Ma cleans.

Dex pulls out the tray of bacon. “We didn’t go to the theaters, so we could just stream.”

“He came to your apartment?”

Dex uses tongs to transfer the bacon to his plate. “I went to his family’s brownstone.” Satisfied, he gets the pre-poured glass of orange juice out from the fridge.

Ma hums. “Were his parents nice?”

Dex gathers together his plate, utensils, napkin, drink, and phone onto a tray and carries it out to the living room. “They were traveling, but I’ve met them before. They’re nice.”

“Oh.”

Dex settles his things down on the coffee table and sits on the couch, refraining from digging in for a moment to admire his handy work. It isn’t amazing by any means, but since being home, since finals, the playoffs, even before that when the stove was temporarily disengaged, he hasn’t had a chance to make food for himself, really. He almost wants to snap a picture.

“Are you—”

Dex looks away from his plate, to his phone sitting next to it. He picks it up and turns off speaker. “What, Ma?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Dex drags his thumb against the case. Either the lack of AC or keeping up the call has made his phone heat up. Against his cheek, it itches. “Everything okay, Ma?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I just—” Dex hears the tapping, louder now that it’s in his ear. “I just want you to remember why you’re there. You’re working. This is for your future.”

The uncomfortable wrinkles appear between his eyebrows. “I know, Ma.”

“Good. I just don’t want you to—”

“To what, Ma?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Tapping fills the silence. “I’m glad you’re having a good time so far,” she says, quiet. “I’ll let you go. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ma hangs up. Dex drops his phone from his ear, hot in his hand now. He breathes for a moment and then picks up the tray. He digs into his eggs and, though they’ve just started to go cold, it tastes good enough.

*~*~*

He dreams he’s trapped under sheets.

Fingers curl in his hair, tight. His scalp hurts, but he keeps going, stops breathing. He’s smothered under blankets, but he’s shivering. Every time he tries to surface, the hands on his head hold him steady.

After long, long minutes, the sheets flood with saltwater and he breaks through the waves and gulps in air. The world is still freezing but he can breathe. He can breathe.

“Be quiet,” Nursey rasps, cold breath against Dex’s ears. “Don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Nursey is swallowed by the sheets and Dex is left floating, freezing, staring at the ceiling of his own childhood bedroom. The open window lets in chilled winter air that flutters the drapes, dark blue that blends in with the water he’s drowning in. Ma could walk in at any moment. Jay could hear them, just a few walls away. What if someone walks in? What would happen then?

When Dex opens his eyes, he’s staring at the grey ceiling again. He can’t breathe, even though the air is air, and not water. He grabs at his chest and tries to press down, like he could manually make his lungs work.

With his free hand he reaches for the nightstand, the light, and floods the room with yellow. He sits up, gasping, and knocks his phone off the table, disconnecting it from the charger. Grabbing for it, because it seems important in the moment, he sees there’s a notification.

y tf are safiya nygaard’s videos so entertaining

it’s fucking 3 in the morning and i’m watching her wear clear plastic jeans for a week

like wtf

Dex realizes that he still can’t breathe, but now because laughter is bubbling in his chest and clogging up his throat. He laughs, hard and long and unbearable, until his whole body aches.

He lies back in his bed, on land, now. He types back a message.

Who let you on YouTube this late at night? You know how easy you fall into holes.

The three dots appear within seconds.

i am but a simple man with no self restraint

The dots appear again, disappear, and reappear.

you would understand if you watched her

Dex grabs for his laptop, sitting by the foot of his bed. He double checks the name and clicks on a random video about a merged Ugg and Teva shoe.

What… I.. what? Teva Uggs?

ur watching!!

I don’t understand

it’s Art dexington appreciate it

Dex doesn’t end up falling back asleep for a while, and getting up for work that morning is hell, but when he lies back down in bed with a buzzing phone and too-bright computer screen, he’s not drowning.

*~*~*

Someone taps Dex’s shoulder and he turns to find Kate smiling pleasantly at him. He takes out one earbud.

“Break time!” she says.

Dex laughs. “Wouldn’t want to be productive for too long.”

“Exactly.”

He turns off the music he was listening to to concentrate—some Spotify playlist Nursey made him to “be more productive” that just tends to make Dex laugh at inopportune moments—and then he joins Kate in the break room as she talks at him about dinner the other night.

“George says to come back whenever you want, he loves when people love his food, it’s a little ridiculous.” She fiddles with the coffee maker as Dex grabs his smoothie from the fridge. He’s taken to making himself smoothies in the morning and bringing them in for his breaks, since he’s never loved coffee all that much.

“I’ve been telling my friend all about it and he’s begging me to take him now, so tell George he can expect me back soon. My friend is pretty pushy.”

“Perfect, then he’ll stop bothering me about it.” Kate reaches out without looking. “Could you pass the cream?”

Dex dutifully hands her the cream.

“You’re coming to the office party next week right?” She fixes her coffee the way she likes it and turns to Dex, sipping. Her eyes are wide and clear that Dex’s answer should and will be yes. It’s a bit like Bitty’s captain look and it curls something sharp and sad in Dex’s chest. Going back to school in August is going to be so very different without him.

“I didn’t know there was a party next week,” Dex says, licking excess smoothie from his upper lip. “What’s it for?”

“Jenny’s birthday. There’s gonna be a cake.”

“How can I say no to cake?”

Kate grins. “You can bring a guest, too. We need fresh meat at these things. Also if you don’t bring a date someone is going to try to set you up with someone and believe me, you do not want to get stuck on a date with Karen’s second cousin Stew. He’s basically the opposite of whatever a hoot is.”

Dex snorts into his smoothie. “Noted.”

Dex’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out without thinking twice. He doesn’t check it while he’s working and there are a few messages.

buzzfeed unsolved is THE SHIT

shane and ryan r defo u and me but i can’t tell who’s who. you believe in ghosts right??

ur homework is to watch every episode tonight and then come sleep in my apartment bc i’m scared af rn

Dex smiles and quickly types out a response.

Sounds like the writing is going well.

“Who’s that?” Kate pushes onto her tiptoes to look over the lip of Dex’s phone screen.

“My friend from school.” Dex keeps his phone out long enough to see Nursey’s response– f off– and then shoves it back in his pocket. “He’s supposed to be writing a short story for the publication he’s working with over the summer and he’s getting a little sidetracked.”

“Ooh, a humanities. How did we meet someone from the Other Side?” Kate grins into her coffee.

“He’s on the hockey team with me.”

Kate hums. “Hockey, I should’ve known.”

“Huh?”

“George and I were betting that you played some kind of sport. I thought basketball because you’re so tall, but he guessed baseball.” She scrunches up her nose. “Basketball’s closer, I think.”

Dex huffs, laughing a little. “What was the prize?”

Kate is staring at nothing, face scrunched up, and then blinks, hearing Dex, apparently. She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, I can’t tell you that, HR would have a fit.” She sips her coffee again and Dex can’t help the volume of the laugh he lets out.

*~*~*

In the next dream, the sun is high and bright and dead in the sky.

“You’re good,” Luke says, walking next to him on the sidewalk. The ground is too hard against Dex’s feet, even through his sneakers. He turns and Luke is Luke, but also Jack. They speak at once. “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere.”

“You really think so?” Dex asks. He is small. Short. He looks up at Jack and his neck aches.

Luke grins, all teeth. “I really do.”

Dex wakes up reaching for his phone. Two texts wait for him, and he breathes as he makes his shaking fingers type out a response.

*~*~*

“I can’t believe you work a block away from my favorite coffee shop and it’s taken you this long to meet me on your lunch break.” Nursey tsks, reaching over to steal a bit of Dex’s muffin.

Dex slaps lightly at his hand, but Nursey still escapes with a sizable crumb. “I’ve been here for less than a month, it isn’t that long.”

“It’s ages,” Nursey insists, fingers still in his mouth as he speaks.

Dex winces to smother his smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nursey retorts, and then sticks out his tongue to further prove it.

Dex huffs, sipping his smoothie to keep himself from doing something stupid, like responding. “How’s writing going?” he asks, when he’s taken his sip.

Nursey hums, swirling a mixing stick through his iced coffee. “Pretty good. I have a working draft done, but it needs some serious editing.”

“That’s good, dude. ‘Swawesome, even.”

Nursey grins around his straw. “’Swawesome,” he repeats. “C would be proud.”

“You talk to him recently?” Dex picks at his muffin.

“Yesterday, actually. Training is going well.”

Dex chews thoughtfully. “S’good. Last time I talked to him he was more worried about Bitty than the NHL.”

“Oh, he definitely still is.” Nursey laughs and makes another dive for Dex’s muffin. Dex deftly moves the plate out of the line of fire.

“It took him two weeks to pick a wall color,” Dex says, pausing to drink his smoothie. “And Jack must be drowning in all the tester bakes.”

“Let’s be real, though, if Bitty Bakes ever does open it’s gonna be the sickest bakery of all time.”

Dex inclines his head, slowly nodding. “Oh, I’ll definitely be spending my entire paycheck on imported pastries.”

“If you run out we can share my trust fund,” Nursey says, batting his eyelashes.

The laughter tastes so pleasant and—more than that—familiar on Dex’s tongue that he doesn’t even do anything as Nursey makes another grab for his muffin.

*~*~*

The worst dreams are ones that aren’t really memories at all.

It’s a beach, but the sand is blue and the ocean is clear and all Dex can see is sunshine, though he can’t feel a thing. Nursey is next to him and their hands are stuck in the sand, twisted together and hiding.

“I love you,” Nursey says, and it’s his voice and his words except not, because Dex knows it’s wrong, know it’s his brain that made it all up, and he starts running, slipping against the sand.

He trips and falls onto his knees and he looks up and it’s Luke and he’s grinning and looming and huge and he speaks, “Quiet, kid, quiet or they’ll hear you,” and for some reason Dex knows they is Nursey and he swallows every breath, worried it will sound like a scream, and when he wakes up he is, screaming, except no sound will come out and he’s just broken with his throat open and empty and—

He presses call without thinking and Nursey answers on the third ring.

“Dex—what—”

“Can you—just—” Dex swallows, tries again. “Just talk. Please.”

“Dex, what’s going—”

“Please.”

“I—uh. Okay.”

And he does. He talks, about the funny conversation he had with his mama today and these cool shoes he saw on Instagram and the pretty clouds he saw yesterday and this fruity drink he wants to try at a bar downtown that he’s going to drag Dex to whether he wants to go or not.

And sometime later, Dex falls asleep. He wakes up with his phone warm and nearly dead against his ear and a text from Nursey asking if everything’s g and Dex doesn’t respond, half because Nursey used g for good and half because he doesn’t know the answer.

*~*~*

His old running route in Maine took him through the woods. Past gnarled roots that curled, mischievous, and tried to trip him up, under a canopy of green that shivered in the early morning wind. He liked to wake up with the sun, at home, liked the quiet moments before the rest of town woke up and started looking at him. So he’d wake and run and take his path until the trees gave way to a dusky beach, accompanied by a barely awake sun.

A lot of the time, the water would still be smeared with the red hues of the fading sunrise, and Dex would stand and pant and stare and think about nothing, or Samwell, or—later on—Nursey.

It was a nice path, back home. Even if it would inevitably bring him back to houses that creaked under his footsteps, full of people that couldn’t look away until he met their gaze.

In New York, he runs against sidewalk. Smooth and uncomplicated, it brings him to a small park, with a few trees and some grass and, occasionally, some pigeons. He takes the path set out for him there and doesn’t have to think about winding roots, but does, anyway. He thinks about how easy it is without them, and how much he misses them, and wonders what that means before the adrenaline in his body pulses in his temples and he stops thinking of much all together.

He returns to his apartment and guzzles down water and makes himself breakfast and sometimes calls Ma and tries not to think about how different his life is here, tries not to categorize the things he misses, and the things he’s glad to be without.

He runs to forget, and it doesn’t always work, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try.

*~*~*

Jenny’s birthday party is, surprisingly, fun. Nursey texts him in the middle of the afternoon apologizing, saying that his meeting is running late and he might not be there in time, but he will be there. Dex, dejected, expects the party to suck, but when they all clock out and the cake is wheeled out on one of the trays they typically use for mail and Kate grabs the AUX cord for the speakers, things actually become interesting.

It’s not quite a kegster—nothing is quite like a kegster—but his coworkers are nice, funny people and the music is lively and the cake, while not Bitty’s, is pretty damn good. Nursey texts him intermittent updates with ridiculous comments and Dex, after Karen is drawn to the dance floor to Cotton Eyed Joe, takes up a spot by the wall with his cake and his phone and snickers down icing to type out a response to do you think they sell candles that smell like the subway.

Then, suddenly, Hugh pops up.

“Will, hi,” he says, holding his own plate of cake. “Thought I’d come over and say hello, now that Karen’s let you go.”

Dex swallows a bite of cake and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Oh, Karen wasn’t holding me hostage or anything. We were talking apple pie recipes.”

“Good to hear she wasn’t trying to get you to meet Stew.” Hugh leans in, secretive and exaggerated. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but he isn’t quite the catch she makes him out to be.”

Dex laughs, because Hugh is his boss and you laugh when your boss makes a joke. “I’ve been warned.”

“Good, good.” Hugh leans back, nodding. The silence hovers for a second, then he asks, “How’ve you been liking it here?”

“New York or the company?”

Hugh shrugs. “Either. Both.”

“New York I’m liking more than I thought I would. I’m from Maine,” Dex says, smiling in that way Nursey describes as country-boy-sheepish, “so I’m used to some greenery, but the city has its perks too.”

“Good, good!” Hugh grins. “I grew up in the country too. Northern Michigan. It sure is an adjustment. But I think it’s worth it.”

“Working here has helped,” Dex says, and if Nursey was here he’d probably cough to poorly disguise a kiss up but he isn’t really lying. Working here has proved to him that he would enjoy going into this field, and while he is keeping his options open, that’s a good thing to know.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Hugh says, gesturing haphazardly with his cake. “We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir—Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, and they stand there for a beat, two, and then he says, “Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but are you seeing anyone?”

Dex stiffens. Hugh isn’t—? He’s Dex’s boss, he can’t—is he? It’s like ice, gone down Dex’s back, through his veins. He wants to pinch himself, almost. Is he dreaming? But Luke never said those words before. But the dreams have been stranger lately. Is it—?

“Because my brother,” Hugh continues to speak, unaware, “just got out of college and I couldn’t help but notice the Bruins t-shirt you had on last Friday and he is the biggest hockey fan—”

Nursey is there, suddenly, and he’s right there, bumping his shoulder into Dex’s. He’s out of breath and smiling and warm and Dex leans back into him without thinking. “I am so sorry I’m late,” he’s saying, to Dex, and then to Hugh, “I’m sorry, I just completely interrupted you. I’m Nursey—well, Derek, but everyone calls me Nursey, so take your pick.” Then, to Dex, “Do you go as Dex or William here?” He scrunches up his face. “William. Ew. You sound like an uncle.”

“I was named after my uncle,” Dex says, vaguely.

Nursey nods. “Exactly.”

Hugh coughs. “My apologies, Will. I didn’t know—well. I see now.” He smiles, tight. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he says, lifting his cake, untouched, in parting.

“What was that about?” Nursey ask, peering after him obviously. “Ooh, is that cake?”

Dex hands over the rest of his second slice. He isn’t much hungry now.

“You will not believe my trip here,” Nursey says, beginning to eat. “It was, like, totally unchill, dude.”

Nursey hasn’t moved, still pressed up against Dex’s shoulder. Dex takes a deep breath. “Tell me about it,” he says, and Nursey does.

*~*~*

“—and all the ladies at church say hi,” Ma says, over speaker phone as she works around the kitchen.

The table, a continuous project, has been tabled for now—pun intended—for the sake of getting the dishes clean. Ma has to yell over the roar of the faucet. Dex is doing his own tidying as he folds laundry and listens to Ma talk. She always did used to talk while doing chores, Dex following her around, soothed by the words and the humming and the simplicity. It’s been a while since they’ve done chores together, and the familiarity, the comfort, mellows an ache in Dex’s chest.

“They all worry for you down in the big city,” Ma says, scrubbing audibly. “They don’t like the idea of a sweet country boy like you surrounded by all that crime and greyness.”

“You can tell them I’m holding my own,” Dex says, which makes Ma laugh a little, the short chuckle thing that he inherited from her.

“I will,” she says. A small clatter comes over the line as she, presumably, adds a dish to the drying rack. “They’re all in a tizzy planning for the July 4th social. I’ve been assigned drink coordination, which really means fielding arguments between Mrs. McMahon and Mrs. Fielding about soda over spirits, even though we all know we’re going to end up with the same drinks we always get and one of the rotten teenage boys is going to spike the lemonade despite whatever ridiculousness Mr. Spaulding tries to rig up.”

Dex smiles, remembering. When he was a kid and accidentally drank some of the spiked lemonade and wouldn’t stop giggling the whole ride home, when he was a teen and helped his then-girlfriend Isabelle spike it herself, when he was back from college and roped into standing watch over the lemonade but let one of the teens through anyway, on account of tradition.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess who I ran into in the grocery store the other day,” Ma continues as Dex reminisces. He probably could guess—there’s only so many people in their town, after all—but he lets Ma tell it how she wants as he searches for the pair to the sock in his hand. “Do you remember your old hockey captain? Luke Rossi?”

Dex freezes with his hand buried in laundry. A chill runs through the apartment.

“I ran into his mother,” Ma continues without a response. “She looks great—she says it’s yoga! I wish I had the time for something like that. But she was telling me all about Luke—you remember him, he was your hockey captain back when you were what? A sophomore?”

“A freshman,” Dex says, rough.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, anyway, his mother was telling me, he’s working with some big company out in Boston. He’s engaged! His mother says the girl is sweet as all get out, a tiny little thing. And she’s one of us, a ginger!”

Dex sits back on his couch. Small. Ginger.

“His mother’s just thrilled. It must be so nice to have a son engaged. Jay’s been with Kelsey for years, but who knows with him. Maybe I should send him Luke’s way, let that boy rub off on him!” Ma laughs. “Maybe he could rub off on you, too.”

A sick kind of laugh bubbles up in Dex’s throat. He swallows.

“It was just such a surprise. I knew all those kids you boys were friends with in high school, but I never get to hear what happens to them after, really. Luke was such a nice boy, too. It was just nice to hear about him.”

Nice. Yeah.

*~*~*

He dreams he is swallowing ice.

Someone’s mouth is on his and their tongue is heavy, leaden. Dex’s mouth catches on it, too cold, and it rips the skin from his lips until they’re bloodied. Copper stains everything, his tongue and eyes, and it rushes until he can’t hear anything but the blood.

He tries to open his eyes, and between one blink and the next the boy above him shifts, blond hair and blue eyes and too many teeth, then green and smile and salvation, and back again, sickening, spinning.

He manages to push himself away, sits up in whatever bed, ocean, driftwood, he’s on. Ma stands in the doorway. “Luke was such a nice boy,” she says, smiling, laughing. “That friend of yours, Nurse something? Is he a nice boy?” she asks, frowning suddenly, eyes intent.

“You’re wrong,” Dex goes to say, but chokes on the blood on his lips. He looks back over to the end of the bed, where Luke or Nursey or whoever is sitting, except it’s not just them anymore, it’s Jack and Hugh and Bitty, even, and they’re all staring at him.

“Good work,” they say, “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere,” they say, “Keep it up,” they say.

“She’s one of us,” Ma says, “Maybe he could rub off on you,” she says, “Nice boy,” she says.

Through it all, he can hear Nursey. “I love you,” shivers down Dex’s spine, ice. Dex swallows and swallows and tries to push through the rest of the voices to find Nursey in the haze.

Dex wakes up running and doesn’t—can’t—stop.

*~*~*

The sky is dark and the world is dizzyingly bright when Dex knocks on Nursey’s front door.

By all rights, it should be too warm to stomach. Late June, with all these people stuffed into one little place, blistering. But Dex clutches his jacket to his body, shivering. He can’t get warm. He can never get warm.

“Dex?” Nursey answers the door with a frown. Dex’s eyes catch on it and can’t pull away.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“I—okay?”

Dex nods. He steps inside, around Nursey, and their arms brush. It burns.

“What’s going on?” Nursey asks, shutting the door.

“Are your parents home?” Dex turns around to face him. The door—big and green behind Nursey—brings out the deeper green tones in his worried eyes. Nursey’s eyes have always made Dex homesick. Now, he aches.

“No,” Nursey says. “Mom’s in Milan and Dad’s in Chicago and Mama—she’s somewhere in the UK. Why are you—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay?” His face is all scrunched and his hair’s a little messy, curls hanging over his forehead, and he’s soft in Samwell pajama bottoms and so fucking gorgeous and Dex’s whole body is shaking, shivering, freezing.

“I—I’ve been having these dreams,” Dex says, hands clenching in his pockets. “For months now, these—these dreams about—” He swallows and shakes his head. “And now he’s engaged and it doesn’t—it doesn’t make sense, he—he shouldn’t get to move on when I’m drowning every fucking night, I don’t—I—”

“Dex.” Nursey is closer. Hands up, palms forward. Frowning. “What are you talking about?”

Dex shakes his head, but all of him is shaking and he doesn’t—he shouldn’t have come here. His broken brain isn’t Nursey’s problem, just because he’s in New York doesn’t mean they’re more than what they were before all this. Just because Dex’s home isn’t home anymore doesn’t mean he can build one in Nursey.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I should go.” His mouth tastes like a panic attack. How did he make the decision to come here in the middle of the night?

“Dex.” Nursey grabs onto Dex’s forearm, a brand. “Sit down. Please.”

Dex stares at Nursey’s hand. He hasn’t been warm in—it feels like years, now. It feels like he went out into the Maine winter one year with a boy’s hand curled around his wrist and frost spread from that point out and he never got warm again.

“Nursey,” Dex says, the word broken like so many shards of ice, and Nursey’s grip on his arm stutters, hesitation. Dex, without thinking, breaks the hold, and in the next moment he has his mouth pressed against Nursey and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s—

Dex doesn’t know if he’s been alive, before this. The heat from Nursey’s mouth, soft and surprised and then—firmer, more intent, it warms him from the bones out, until his skin itches with it, sings. Dex sighs into it, slumps.

Hands come up to his cheeks, pull him back, so soft. “Dex,” Nursey says, quiet. “Can we please sit down?”

Okay, Dex thinks. He breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey makes them cocoa. In July.

Dex holds the mug between his shaking hands and explains, in starts, but mostly stops. I had this captain when I was a kid, he says, and then, not a kid, he says. Well.

“I was fourteen,” he says. “He was—older. I wanted—I wanted to be good for him.”

I was, he says, but doesn’t quite make the words work.

“Ma never knew. No one ever knew. Ma, though, she loved him. Thought he—brought me out of my shell.” He brushes his thumbs along the sides of the mug, takes a sip and licks marshmallow off his lip.

He jumps in time. “After Bitty and Jack—after the kiss, home wasn’t—home. Maybe before that, too, but—but after the kiss, everyone knew, they knew I was.” He shakes his head. “It was hard to be there. So I came here.”

She doesn’t, he says. She thinks, he says. “Ma thinks you’re gay, because you live in New York, and you go to Samwell, and it’s easier to think it’s—it’s you. Easier than thinking it’s me.”

Nursey holds back questions. Dex swallows. It’s me, he says. I talk about you. Too much. She worries. She thinks—she sees. Sees that I—that I love—hm. “She doesn’t like it,” he says, without finishing the last sentence. “It worries her. It worries me, I guess.”

He tries to put it together. The dreams—they pulled it all together. “She looks at Luke and she doesn’t—she likes him, he’s a nice boy, but he—he left me with all of these—these things, the things where I can’t have a normal relationship with my fucking boss, and all this—this cold in my body, and she doesn’t—she likes him when he is so cold and she doesn’t like you when you’re so warm and it just—I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was and how angry it made me and Nursey, it’s just—it’s so—you’re so–”

Nursey curls his mug-warm hand over Dex’s knee. “Hey,” he says, quiet. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dex says, and he can feel the way his eyes are rimmed red, itchy, and hear the hoarseness in his throat, and feel the way that Nursey’s hand burns against his skin, and he wishes that he’d done this different, more coherently, earlier.

“No,” Nursey agrees, “it’s not. But I—it’s late. And we’re both tired. We can talk more in the morning, if you want. But I think—I think we both need to sleep.”

Dex swallows. He tastes cocoa and gratitude and—thick, clinging love. “Okay,” he breathes.

Nursey leads him up to a bedroom filled with books. Mussed blankets encourage Dex into the bed. Nursey gets in on the other side. It’s cozy and the duvet is heavy against his aching body and the ceiling is blue and Dex is not alone.

Nursey curls his hand around Dex’s, under the blankets. Dex curls back, and squeezes.

“I love,” Dex says and swallows.

“I know,” Nursey says, close, breath hot against Dex’s skin. “Me, too.”

Dex closes his eyes. He may dream. He may not. Either way, when he opens his eyes, he will not be cold.

76 notes · View notes

raylee-kai · 5 years ago

Text

When You Love Someone - Park Jae Hyung Chpt. 1 (Part 1/2)

Here's the thing.

You hated playing the guitar.

You were clearly a keyboard/piano person but when you heard that Jae had volunteered himself at the local music shop, you barely hesitate to put your name down on the form for the guitar lessons. It might have got something got to do with the crush you harbor on the guy.

Your hate of the guitar was mostly because of the fact that your fingers were never flexible enough to press on the strings, how loud and gritty the sounds of an electric guitar echoes and also how there were different ways to play with different songs.

Like what on earth was plucking?

Why are there different ways to play one instrument?

It didn't help that there were different ways to tune a guitar. The amount of time you struggled with the tuner was making you regret the decision but as soon as Jae smiles at you and helped you out, you found yourself back in the studio, practicing yet another song on the guitar.

"Have you been practicing your chords?"

You nod, totally forgetting that he was actually asking about guitar chords and not keyboard. He gave a small chuckle and settled in front of you.

"Great, let's see it!"

The next few minutes consisted of;

"Did you tune your guitar? It sounds a little weird.."

"That's the G chord."

"Bring that finger here and this one here..."

"Show me A chord..... Uh... That's C chord."

"That's not even a chord."

It was amazing how Jae was never frustrated with your inability to learn the chords because your limit was approaching fast.

Every mistake you made, you simply want to throw the guitar down and leave but Jae was always there to stop you from doing that. With his kind smile and carefree attitude, you could not stop yourself from falling for him even more. He was honestly your only motivation to learn the guitar.Your frustration was clear on your face but once he ruffles your hair, you can't help it but to come back for the next session.

"You did great! Just need a little more practice."

Jae flashed a proud smile when you get a chord right was the highlight of the entire lesson.

"That's it for today!"

Jae clapped his hands and pats your shoulder, as if signing to you that you did a good job. Your shy smile made its appearance along with a slight blush but luckily, his attention was on the notification of his phone. He briefly read through and perked up, catching you before you leave.

"Before I forget, here!"

He held out a shiny silver ticket out to you and grinned.

"Umm... What is this?"

"There's a gig, tomorrow at Club Eclipse. Thought that maybe it would be nice for you to see a few live performances."

You eyed the ticket for a bit before you glance up at him.

"You'll be playing?"

"Not this time but I'll be sure to invite you next time! Pinky promise!"

He stuck out his pinky, wiggling childishly to which you curled with a small giggle. Jae gave you a ruffle on your hair before looking at his watch.

"I'll pick you up at about 7 at the cafe near school?"

"You have a license?"

"Only one way to find out right?"

He winked, smiling while you tried to bite back your smile.

You might have went all out in trying to find the perfect outfit which had Seungmin groaning in pure annoyance at the fact that you just practically dumped a bunch of clothes infront of him. The amount of times that you ran into his bedroom's toilet and came out with a new outfit had him regretting his friendship with you.

As if he could break a childhood friendship that easy.

You and Seungmin met each other at a piano recital when the two of you were younger. Ever since then, it was as if it was fated for the two of you to be friends. Both of you kept getting into the same classes, courses and school with or without planning on it. Plus, it did not help that Wonpil, Seungmin's brother, was your partner for a piano recital which made the two of you even closer.

"Are you seriously doing this at my house?"

"I need fashion advice."

You pouted, turning away from the mirror for Seungmin's view. He barely gave you a glance and scoffed.

"Stop pouting. You ain't cute."

You pouted even more at his harsh words but it was just a Seungmin thing to do so you weren't offended in the slightest.

"Why aren't you asking Hyunjin for fashion advice? He is better than the rest of us at fashion."

"YOU'RE A GENIUS, SEUNG!"

You immediately grabbed your phone and called Hyunjin over to Seungmin's house. It didn't take long for him to arrive but not alone.

"Who invited the sunshine twins here?"

"We are here for mental support!"

"Get out of my house."

"Why do you like Jae anyways?"

Felix's question threw you to a state of flabbergast.

"Why Jae?"

Jisung added on, while Hyunjin was picking up outfits and trying to pair them together.

You sat on Seungmin's mattress much to the other's displeasure and thought about it to yourself.

At first, it was the smile. You always thought that Jae had a cute smile with how he smiles with his eyes. He had a variety of smiles from the playful mischievous grin to the tired yet blessed smirk. It stays in your mind every time and you could not help feeling warm seeing his smile.

"Who's that?"

You asked Seungmin, who had been re-reading his script for the tenth time that day. Your dear friend was a part of the MC line up for some after school event which he was extremely nervous for which was why you, his dear friend, was there to cheer him on.

"What?"

"That blonde? I don't think I had seen him before."

"Oh, Jae?"

You raised a brow as if trying to get him to explain more. "He was a student here, my brother's senior. They called him back to help us with the event."

Your attention went to the blonde who was joking around with some of the MCs to calm their stage nerves. The way he threw his head back to laugh caused you to smile a little.

"Cute."

Then, you fell for his personality. How friendly and welcoming he was with everyone, how thoughtful to those he held those dear and how mature and gives the best advice at times. He was like a canvas with similar yet different shades that you would only realize after looking closely.

Jae was not close to Wonpil by any means.

It did not mean that they hated each other or anything but it is just that their friend circles never really clashed. So, Jae had no reason to protect Wonpil like he did that one time during his third recital.

During his third recital, the seniors had Wonpil running around, forcing him to do stuff which would make him late to the recital. They went as far as to cut his formal clothes causing him to turn up with red slick back hair and blue button up which had caused a ruckus among the audience and judges for not being professional. But without a doubt, he was able to pull a performance that had the audience crying and reaching out for their tissues.

Unfortunately, Wonpil was disqualified and was banned from joining in another recital in the event hall for not being "professional" and was reported for "harassing" the seniors that he had helped.

That had caused you and Seungmin to fume in pure anger with how you had seen Wonpil going around to help the seniors, even going as far as to cut his practice time.

It was the first time you saw Wonpil getting upset that he walked away.

You and Seungmin were about to storm into the judges when Jae reached before the two of you could and provided them with evidence and eyewitnesses of the seniors bullying Wonpil and forcing him on errands. You watched in pure amazement at how the older glared the seniors down.

When you asked why would he stand up for a total stranger, his reply would always be the same.

"Why not?"

After, you just could not help but pay attention to him no matter where he goes. It's like your eyes would constantly be searching for him. There was just something about his presence that made you look at him in amazement.

What do you like about Jae?

"I don't know. I just like him."

You should probably trust Hyunjin more than you did because the outfit he put together really looked good. Not only you looked good but you also feel good in the outfit. So there you were with nervous jitters waiting outside the cafe for Jae, typing at your phone furiously, trying to calm yourself down.

Millennium Line Unite (5)

Memelix : Still cant believe u got boss to give u today off

Memelix : On short notice

J.ONE : Not fair :(

SeungSky : I dont get y u guys complaining

SeungSky : M covering her shift

SeungSky : If anyone want complain it be me

lmao he saw my ticket

he just send me off

Dramallama : boss said you need friends

Dramallama : hes sad Minnie is ur only friend

Dramallama : WHO TF CHANGE MY USER NAME

Memelix changed Dramallama to PrettyJinnie

PrettyJinnie : Aww

PrettyJinnie : Thanks baby

Memelix : Anything for my Prince

J. ONE : my eyes

J. ONE : NEED BLEACH

SeungSky : No flirting

SeungSky : Not in this christian household

Memelix : jokes on you

Memelix : im catholic

SeungSky : And Jisungs a rapper

Memelix : ???

J. ONE : ???

PrettyJinnie : ???

???

SeungSky : it means idgaf

Ouch

taht got to hurt

SeungSky : Idgaf bout ur date either

SeungSky : u made me work on my off day

SeungSky : u officially out of my friend list

J. ONE : at least u were in his list

SeungSky : Han

SeungSky : stfu

Oh shit oh shit oh shit

Jae here gtg

wish me lcuk

Memelix : Stay safe

PrettyJinnie : Use protection

J. ONE : good lcuk

Private Chat : SeungSky

SeungSky : Text me ASAP if somethings wrong

SeungSky : Don't accept drinks from strangers

SeungSky : Stay close to Jae hyung

Must u do this everytime

SeungSky : U only have one braincell

SeungSky : It worries me that u dont have common sense

I do have

hope I dont make a fool of myself

SeungSky : Tough words for a clown like u

f u

"Coming in?"

Jae's voice hollered from the car as you look up from your phone. You darted into the car taking the seat next to the driver's and greeted him casually. You tried to avoid his look, considering how he actually put effort in looking good and you could barely stop yourself from combusting at the sight.

"Looking good today."

"Thanks. You too, Jae. It's been awhile since I saw you in something other than a shirt."

"That's cause I'm usually half awake and late for work."

"Well, does that mean that you are late everyday?"

"Hush now little one."

Laughing quietly at his words, you guys started talking about random things and before you know it, you were already there in the club.

"Nervous?"

He asked, seeing how you hesitate after parking the car nearby. An arm over your shoulder had you calming down almost instantly. It was as if just knowing that Jae was there brought you calmer.

"Is this the wrong time to tell you that this is my first time going to a club?"

"You mean to tell me… you're a club fetus?!"

You giggle at his dramatic scandalised face and playfully pushed him away. He laughed and placed his hands on your shoulder leading the way.

"Don't worry and just stay close."

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shhh-no-ones-home · 6 years ago

Text

give what it takes* 1/2 Remington leith x reader

+++++++++

hello i still hate writing for actual people but ya girls gotta do what ya girls gotta do, i love palaye and ive been like super obsessed with them again lately cause im seeing them in may and just bought their palette and cant stop thinking about it so ya know here it is #noshame #someshame

* - smut, mentions of sex, mention of kinks, thigh riding, etc. Read at your own risk

song: get some by ghosted

+++++++++

the concert ended but the party didnt. i was lucky enough to be on tour with palaye but still had work to do when the shows were over. it was a week we had stops that were close enough together to stay at an air b&b for the night, which was nice since i could finally sit down and get things done. we had all went back to the house after the concert to get cleaned up, the boys being extremely sweaty from the stage lights and high energy performance. i sat at the island typing as they all ran around getting ready for the night ahead of them. i sat quietly as they conversed with their girlfriends who were visiting for the weekend.

i looked up when remington threw himself into the bar stool across the counter from me. he smiled at me before picking up one of the apples from the bowl on the counter and tossing it in the air. he took a large bite out of it as emerson walked out into the kitchen/living room.

"you going with us tonight?"

i looked down at my laptop to scan my work before looking back at him.

"i dont think so, its already eleven and ive got too much work to do tonight."

he frowned at me before gesturing to remington.

"you coming?"

rem looked at me and i peered at him over my laptop.

"ya know what, why dont you guys go ahead, ill stay here and help y/n."

i looked up completely, shock written on my features.

"you dont have to do that rem, you should go and have fun."

his 'girlfriend' walked up to his side and played with his hair.

"yeah remi, come have fun with us, she doesnt need your help to do her job."

she peered at me and i sent her a stern glare.

he rubbed her back.

"why dont you go hang out with them, ill be right here when you get back."

she leaned down and kissed him and led the way for them all to leave. when the door was closed me and remi were the only two left in the house. he tapped the counter as i went back to typing.

"so, its been a while since we were alone together."

i looked up at him.

"yep."

i went back to typing.

"whatcha doin over there?"

"fixing lighting."

"whats wrong with the lighting?"

i looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"the yellows and greens where washing Emerson out the whole show. i have to fix the positioning on my renderings for the next venue."

he nodded and made an o with his mouth. i went back to typing.

"is there anything else you have to fix?"

i looked up at him.

"a couple things."

"like?"

i sighed.

"remington if you keep asking me questions im not gonna get anything done."

i laughed lightly and he smiled at me, throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

"okay, okay, if you want help with anything let me know, im gonna go chill on the couch."

he motioned behind him and i nodded before getting back to work.

---

i sighed and stretched, i had been sitting on this bar stool for almost two hours. none of the group had showed back up yet and remington was still sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. i closed my laptop as i heard him laugh out loud at something he saw on his feed. i rolled my eyes before standing and shaking out my legs.

"god, i feel like ive been curled over forever."

he turned to look at me as i made my way to the couch, sitting on the arm rest next to him. he slid down the settings on his phone to look at the time more clearly.

"well, in all fairness you have been sitting on your computer for over two hours, its one."

i groaned.

"yeah, im surprised no ones back yet."

he stretched and clasped his hands together behind his head, lengthening his body.

"im not, when the boys drink, the boys drink."

he laughed and i just shook my head.

"whatever."

he nudged my leg with his elbow.

"do you wanna do something now that your work is done?"

i shrugged and let my legs fall on either side of the arm rest.

"what did you have in mind?"

i looked down at him, seeing him quickly opening youtube then shoving his phone in my face.,

"look at this."

i leaned back a little before taking it and watching the video. i looked at remington funny.

"really?"

he shrugged.

"what?"

i turned the phone around to show him.

"boy out here on the weird side of youtube."

he laughed and took the phone back.

"i mean you didnt have to take it."

i rolled my eyes.

"yeah but i was curious."

he raised an eyebrow and smirked at me.

"arent we all."

i winked at him.

"you know it."

he leaned toward me and rested his arm on my thigh, smacking my knee with his hand. i shifted.

"what?"

i shook my head.

"nothing."

he tapped my my knee with his fingers like he was playing a keyboard. i watched his hand intently before looking back at him staring at me. he raised an eyebrow.

"okay maybe im just a little touch starved."

i ran a hand through my hair and looked away from him. he scooted closer to me.

"touch starved?"

i looked back at him and nodded slowly. he locked eyes with me and squeezed my lower thigh.

"are you okay?"

i shrugged.

"i just dont touch people or let people touch me and thats one of the leading reasons im depressed and sick all the time. like adult humans need affection and hugs and kisses and things like that but i cut myself off so i dont really get the things that my brain needs to be happy."

i looked ahead of me, i didnt care to see his pity ridden face. suddenly he moved and hugged me tightly from the side, his left ear pressed to my right arm.

"do you feel better yet?"

i laughed.

"yes rem, definitely."

i ruffled his hair lightly with my left hand and he looked up at me but didnt remove his arms from my body.

"liar."

i slouched into him.

"okay, its not like you can fix it right away."

he loosened his grip a little before kneeling next to me on the couch and squishing my face in his hands.

"what else would you want me to try?"

i shrugged.

"did you ever used to try things to feel better? like find one person to hug everyday or something?"

i laughed and he let go of my face. i just shook my head,

"what?"

i looked at him knowingly.

"sex. i used to have sex."

his face went straight.

"sex."

i nodded.

"yeah, i used to have sex to make myself feel better, it was intimate and 'affectionate' touching for at least a night. in case you haven't noticed though i havent been with anyone since we started plans for tour months ago so yeah theres nothing i can really do about that."

he sat back on his knees defeated.

"i guess you couldnt masturbate either cause thats still not another person touching you, that you touching yourself."

he looked at me with a straight face before we both laughed. he laid back on the couch, his feet pushed up against the arm rest i was sitting on. he rested one hand behind his head and the other on his stomach.

"so, did you just find random dudes or?"

i sent him a look.

"really, thats what your worried about right now?"

he shrugged.

"i figured it was a ligther topic i dont know."

i just shook my head.

"no they werent just random dudes, you gotta have a connection first ya know. they were people that i had hung out with before, kind of close but not enough for them to care if we slept together and then didnt talk for a little while ya know. it was always easier that way cause i knew who wanted a screw and who wanted more depending on the mood i was in."

he raised a brow.

"particular people for particular kinks or turn ons?"

i smiled at him.

"yeah sometimes."

"like?"

"like people or like turn ons and kinks?"

"turn ons and kinks, i couldnt care less about the people."

i laughed at the face he made.

"what you want a reference?"

"just trying to see what kind of person youre hiding under that hard exterior."

i raised a brow and smirked at him.

"okay, well for starters id say soft touches."

he laughed.

"wow, soft touches?"

"dont laugh, its a turn on, start light and build up ya know."

"youre right, continue."

"neck fetish, not just like i like necks im talking like hickeys and kissing and licking, weird vampire shit ya know."

"amen to that."

i laughed at him.

"thigh riding-"

"im sorry what?"

"thigh riding?"

"yeah what the hell kinda?"

i lifted my foot up on the couch so it wasnt dangling in front of it anymore.

"its where you are on someones lap or like knelt over one of their thighs while their sitting down and grind yourself on them to get off. i guess in my instance making out with someone while they touch me, but while thats happening im riding their thigh.? "

"that sounds like itd be an experience."

i looked at him with a sly smile.

"oh it is."

there was a pause.

"can you show me?"

if i was drinking i would have spat all over the place.

"you what?"

"can you should me? i mean your on the arm of the chair, you could do it on that right?"

i laughed.

"do you know how wet that would make someone? the couch would be near ruined."

i laughed.

"so do it on me."

i stopped and looked at him, he was staring up at me with a very serious face.

"You're joking right?"

"What's wrong with two friends hooking up?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know how about the fact that you kinda have a girlfriend."

"Oh come on no one here even likes her, not even me, and we're not really dating she's just like around."

I rolled my eyes.

"Tell her that."

"I'm telling you that, now get over here and show what the heck thigh riding is."

#wattpad #smut #x reader #remington leith #remington kropp #palaye royale #palaye royale imagine #one shot #thigh riding

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tartrazeen · 6 years ago

Text

How That Hug Confirmed Irondad

Alright - that's the other thing I'm thinking: Peter's reaction to the hug at the end of Endgame.

Whatever relationship he and Tony had during the two years they hung out was enough for Tony to try to invent time travel, all the way down to the little things like framing a goofy photo.

But Peter was surprised by that hug. It kind of seemed like the first time and only time that it'd happened so blatantly - as in, not a blasé side-hug at the end of Homecoming, but a legitimate, emotional, no-holds-barred one.

But then we have Morgan again (who I'm surprised I like as much as I do when my first thought was her 'replacing' Peter and erasing him), who gets Tony carrying her around, brushing her hair, openly saying he loves her as part of a regular bedtime... and it's like, "What happened? When did Tony get so overtly nurturing? When did the cycle break?"

It broke with Peter.

That death. That loss of a son-figure who - again, was important enough to want to invent TIME TRAVEL (and certainly enough to want to brave all the risks that led to Tony giving up; thank you, goofy pic), and who apparently never shared sincere and open moments like this before, let alone ones like those between Tony and Morgan.

Peter's death meant Tony lost every chance to tell that kid how much Peter mattered, and it casts a dark shadow over any consciously canon takes on a lot of the Irondad tropes the fandom adores. Passing out on the couch together after watching movies? Probably never happened intentionally. Brushing Peter's curls or ruffling his hair? Never while Peter was awake and probably never not as a joke. Any other hugs? Nope - probably just those side-ones. How about saying "I lov-" oh, nope, hell no, definitely not.

Tony has always been terrible at admitting his feelings until shit hits a critical fan. He kissed Pepper only because she's getting ready to quit and leave forever at the end of IM2 after a movie-long car-crash of a fight between them, and doesn't hint at the PTSD until Pepper's got him cornered during IM3 in his workshop. The hug in Infinity War with Peter is from Peter clinging on to him while DYING.

And Tony's constantly clamping down and undercutting any moments of vulnerability with a joke or total avoidance, and it's not until everything's gone almost irreparably wrong that we get to see the sincere emotion hiding under the surface (e.g., that Disappointed Dad after the ferry scene, right after Tony steps out of his armour (symbolic!) and riiiiight before Tony clamps the emotion back down again to take Peter's suit away and dress 'im in Hello Kitty PJs (anything's better than admitting he's actually and personally disappointed!)).

When Peter dies and those chances to have a genuine, little moment of open affection are gone, that's when the floodgates open instead. When Morgan arrives, Tony has already learned how agonizing it is to not take that chance to say what he means. That's why Morgan is getting all that sweetness and involvement: Tony's not making that mistake again, going so far as to make a goodbye message if he fails that's only to be played if he can't come back to say it in-person.

And with that practice comes the pay-off. Peter's back, and yeah, sure, it's the middle of a battle after five years, but it's not like Peter's in some traumatically broken-down state where he wants to cling to Tony again. No - Peter's happy and confused and doing pretty great. It's a relatively quiet moment where (like Cap did with Sam) Tony could've said, "You're back. Awesome. Hey, stop talking for a second because we're not out of the woods yet." Honestly, this could've gone the route that Tony took with Peter at the end of Civil War, with Tony doing the whole, "Okay, stop freaking out, here's the plan, we'll talk in the car on the way home."

Instead, Tony finally hugs his kid. No bullshit, no pretending to grab a door, just open and honest emotion. What he learned from losing Peter gains him a closer connection to Morgan, and what he gains from that connection confirms the unspoken one with Peter.

We know Peter and Morgan are on the same level to Tony because Peter's all Tony can talk about when he gets back to Earth, and Morgan's all Tony can talk about before heading off to master time. Plus, like - did Dr. Strange get a hug? No. No hugs for non-kids, guy-who-saved-Tony's-life-by-trading-the-time-stone-for-him. But because the Irondad denial was REAL in those two years between Homecoming and IW (pick your reason: Tony thought he'd be overstepping, Tony thought that was rushed, Tony was scared by feelings, Tony thought he didn't deserve a kid like Peter, whatever), that hug shows us how far it's GONE when Peter's returned.

And - and!! - Peter hugs BACK. There's a few parts to it: he's surprised so he apparently never thought Tony would want to hug him, he hugs back so he obviously is very happy with this hug, and he says "This is nice" like he doesn't quite 'get' why he's being hugged at all. It comes off like part of him thinks they're still doing that "I don't really need another Father-Figure but oops I guess you are one now forever" deny-deny-deny-so-it's-not-weird-and-so-Peter-doesn't-look-dumb-in-front-of-Tony-Stark dance, so what that says to me is that Peter's kinda convinced himself to not read too much into how Irondad-like Tony is, and that it's... I dunno, wishful thinking? And that's because Peter straight-up closes his eyes and enjoys that moment, hugging back before he kinda checks himself and gives a very Tony-like "Imma just undercut the weight of this vulnerability real quick" brush-off, so it's even more like... we caught you, Peter, it can't be wishful thinking without a wish, that was fully canon Spiderson right there.

Remember: this Peter who came back is the Peter who hung out with pre-Spiderson-death Tony, who was still ascribing to that Irondad Denial in its entirety, so Peter's just trying to be the good mentee eagerly hoping to impress his mentor by also clamping that shit down. There's just as much Spiderson Denial on our plates as Irondad, and if it'd be too totally weird and dumb and maybe even creepy and pathetic to think that Tony Stark - the man, the brand, the Iron Man - would actually want Penis Benjamin Parker hanging around on a personal level, then Peter's just going to have to accept being the best mentee that Tony could ever want.

(except he's tony's son now, you did too well)

As it turns out, Engame is the exploration of Tony embracing his Irondad status. As ten times more painfully, part of Peter's arc in Phase Four looks set to be (as hinted by Pepper's presence in Homecoming) about Peter playing catch up and cracking through to his Spiderson role... and then having to come to terms with the fact that it's...

Well.

It's too late.

But, but, but, but, but! That means there's more Irondad to come, and it's been perfectly prepped by the events of Endgame, because we now officially HAVE Irondad. We'll get you yet, Spiderson, mark our words, but that's still on our horizon. There's hope! There's a future! THERE IS WHUMP. But there's also confirmation and validation and a buffet of Irondad realness that was served to us through a heartbreaking amount of tears and grief (and I'm hoping through further deleted scenes and bonus features).

And now we have to wonder if Peter's going to 'get' it during Far From Home and face the loss Tony felt five years ago, or if he's going to rationalize Tony's actions as being Iron Man saving the universe instead of Irondad saving his kids.

Whump, whump, whump.

#avengers endgame spoilers #avengers endgame #marvel endgame spoilers #marvel endgame #endgame spoilers #endgame #irondad and spiderson #irondad in denial #irondad #iron dad #spiderson confirmed #spiderson #ironfam #whump #another essay you guys i'm sorry

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flannelpunkcalum · 6 years ago

Text

WANT YOU BACK, TOO

“I-”

“The thing is-”

They both stop.

“You first.” Y/N says, thinking she's being polite, but Calum shakes his head.

“You know how I feel.”

I know you know I will never get over you

Y/N licks her lips. “Fair enough.”

(GOD sorry this took so long but it’s also literally 4 times longer than the original WHICH IS A LOT.

anyway they bone in this one.

8k words, smut, angst, and really cheesy descriptions of love.

read part one here)

Y/N usually tried to focus on the positive. If she was going into an exam, she focused on how prepared she was, how cunning she could be. If she was going to a job interview she imagined clicking with the employer immediately and getting hired on the spot. Maybe it helped the most positive outcome happen, she didn't know. That said, the second they were wheels up she started thinking about plane crashes. Fiery ones.

This was a mistake. She was en route to New York to see Calum for the first time in months and it was such a mistake.

Y/N didn't like to fuck up in the same way twice, which is why she stayed friends with her exes if they wanted, but never more. She never entertained the thought. And Calum - he had ruined her, a little. Before she had him she had always felt fine spending time on her own, but it had been weeks and she couldn't even watch Netflix without thinking about how much better it had been with him next to her.

Sometimes she thought that even the time she had spent furious at him was felt better anything she could do alone. They had broken up for a reason, but that was hard to remember at times like this, when she felt restless for him. He always said that she helped keep him sane in his crazy stupid rockstar world - she was starting to think that he had done the same for her.

The man in the seat next to her had settled down for a nap as soon as the flight attendants had finished their speech. Y/N had been ignoring him, but now she turned towards him and pretended he was Calum. If they were still together, where would they be going together, on the edge of winter?

Well, for one, she would be in business class.

It's easy to joke about it, but Y/N knows what comes next. When she starts to think about Calum and her, she can't turn her brain off until it's done. It's probably unhealthy.

Really, if they were still together, he would have flown her out the second she had a break from school to wherever he was in the world. He’d send a car for her, probably, have a driver waiting for her with a sign with her name on it. Maybe a snack in the car if he was feeling really considerate. He’d probably have something set up in his hotel room for when she got there, fancy candles at least, and champagne, the cheap kind, the kind she likes. Maybe he’d be busy and come in later, but if he was there would be lingerie laid out, she's sure, or that sweater that she likes but didn't steal. And she'd put that on and nothing else and she'd wait for him, because she’d be in love.

Y/N tries to get through the next part quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

He’d kiss the taste of champagne out of her mouth and they’d fuck like rabbits and order room service and and talk and fuck like rabbits again until they tired each other out and it would be good, like the last time, like every time.

That's what would happen if they were still together.

But they're not.

Y/N is trying not to get her expectations up. For anything. She knows there's gonna be a big serious conversation, and she's dreading that, but other than that… Jesus, she doesn’t do this. She doesn’t even know what she wants from this. She’s gonna be lost and confused and aching in New York.

Calum better fucking buy her tickets to MoMA or she’s rioting.

The seatbelt sign flicks back on all too soon. Y/N wishes she lived a little further away from New York right now, so she had more time to sort through her thoughts. She’d been putting it off for days now, trying not to ask herself if she wants something with Calum again. Now she wishes she had, so she wouldn’t be suffering on the plane next to some guy from the midwest.

Unfortunately, the plane doesn’t crash, and Y/N’s only brought a carry on so she doesn’t get to stall at the baggage carousel. She texts Calum as soon as she touches down, because - fuck him, honestly - he had been determined to come and pick her up this time. Maybe that's a little harsh. It's not that she doesn't want to see Calum, she does, she loves just hanging out with him, it's just- she doesn't know what he wants from this, from her. That sounds stupid since he wrote and recorded a song about how he wants to get back together, but she can't help it. He said she didn't have to make any promises, just to come and see what happens. That makes it sound like he wants something to happen, just doesn't give her a clue about what. Like, does he just want to hook up, or does he want to make it “official” and post about her on Instagram?

The thing is, she doesn’t know if anything’s changed since the last time. She’s still guarded. He is, too. He’s still living like a rockstar. She’s still living like a student. They’re both busy, and it frustrated them both so much when they didn’t get the time they wanted together, and then they’d rub each other raw and then they’d argue and then they’d fight, say things they didn’t mean.

And if that had been it, the breakup would have stuck and she wouldn’t be finding her way through Arrivals at JFK.

Here’s the thing, though; it had been wonderful. When they were good they were so, so good, like nothing she’d ever felt before. Holding Calum’s full attention was almost overwhelming. When he focused on you you felt it, like the sun on your skin, but it was all just coming from one golden boy. Y/N had never met someone who could make her feel like that. And yeah, they were both trying to protect themselves, but even guarded he was such a giver. He knew he was lucky, he had so much, and whenever she let him he’d share it with her. It had meant a lot to the both of them. They’d both said some pretty awful things to each other after a late night. Every time, though, Calum would give her these beautiful fucking apologies that made her feel human again. Y/N is a little scared that she won’t be able to feel whole in a relationship without that pretty chaos, just because of how good it felt to have him speak tenderly to her after a fight.

Still, Y/N needs to focus. “Can there be love without pain” is a question for some pretentious philosopher, not for her, and anyway if she’s not careful she’s gonna walk right on to a plane to El Salvador.

She had texted Calum as soon as they landed, to let him know she was making her way out, and now he texts her telling her where the car is waiting. It feels weird, to be talking to him again like nothing ever happened. For weeks she moved through the world itching to tell him about her day, and now that she has the chance she’s paralyzed, somehow. She’s making the effort, though; as she fights her way through the airport she sends him the lady across from me ob the plane took off her soes AND socks as soon as we took off im dying with one hand.

The car is a black Audi, and Y/N finds it after a few seconds standing in the grey New York afternoon. She tosses her carry on into the trunk (she doesn’t blame Calum for not wanting to come out) and takes a deep breath.

She opens the door to the backseat and sees him, and the rush of relief nearly kills her. When she goes to sit down on her side of the car, she’s already reaching out, and Calum catches hold of her and tugs her across the seats into his arms.

Fuck, she missed him.

“Hi,” she says.

She feels him press his face into her hair. “Hi,” he mumbles.

The car starts moving, and she pulls away to put her seatbelt on. She has to slide over so she’s not sitting in the middle. That would be weird, right? Adults don’t usually sit in the middle seat, no matter who their ex is.

Y/N has to stop overthinking this stuff.

“So. You ’n the boys seem like you’re doing well.” She says, smiling. She’s a little proud of them, even though she’s got no claim on ‘em anymore.

Calum ducks his head. “Yeah, the new single, it’s- we’re all really happy about it.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” She teases.

“Oh, right, yes, thank you for breaking my heart, very kind of you. How can ever I repay you, sweetheart?”

Y/N wants to pretend she doesn’t feel warm inside when he calls her that, but her toes curl in her shoes. “Well, a muffin basket would be a start.”

They’re both smiling at each other, and Y/N knows if things weren’t so fucking weird he would have kissed her.

He doesn’t, though.

Calum doesn’t talk much on the way to the hotel, asking her about herself and her classes as much as possible. It’s probably all the interviews he’s in, eventually all the questions feel the same, she’s sure. It can be hard to get him to talk.

It feels nice, though. Some parts of her want him back in her life, you know?

There’s only so much you can say about college, though, and as they get closer to the hotel they get back on even footing. “I haven’t been in New York since I was like, twelve. What are the cool spots? Is it still hip to go to the M&M's factory?” She asks as they start to stall in traffic. She’s not sure if she believes in that whole ‘crazy New York energy’ thing, but she does find anticipation rising in her as they get deeper into the city.

“I was gonna ask you what you wanted to do, actually. Like, we can do those touristy things if you want, I don’t mind. There’s a place that does this Macbeth show, it’s a hotel, and I know you like that shit, but if you want we can-”

Calum looks a little worried all of a sudden, so Y/N cuts him off. “Hey, I’m here for like a week, we’ll figure something out. Don’t stress. I’ve had like seventeen midterms in the last three days, so that plane ride was like a vacation in itself, my man.”

Calum smiles at that, but it’s not bright, not usual. “‘My man’? ‘S that where we’re at?”

Oh good. Relationship talks. Y/N had been really worried they wouldn’t get to that. Not that she wanted to ignore it, but- fuck. “I dunno. I haven’t seen you for a really long time, I don’t want to get ahead of myself.” She says finally, glancing at the Uber driver. Is Calum famous enough for it to be worth their while to tell a magazine about what they’re saying? Is that a thing?

“Yeah, no, I understand. It doesn’t - like, you’d tell me if me callin’ you sweetheart and all was bothering you, right?”

Calum’s literally a rockstar, he’s a confident fucking guy, but they’re both edgy all of a sudden. It’s like the first time they dated, only about a hundred times worse; instead of waiting to be kissed she thinks they’re both waiting for both their hearts to be broken. Y/N has to try to fix this (she fucked things up the first time around, it’s only fair), so she makes a joke. It’s what she does. “Oh, Calum, if it was bothering me I would be in another Uber right now. I actually would have called an Uber to this Uber and like - on the bridge, I would have jumped to the other car - it would have looked really badass.”

Calum laughs politely, and she can breathe easier, but things still feel out of alignment.

It doesn’t take too long for them to get to the hotel after that. Calum directs the driver to the back door, by the dumpsters. He beats her to the trunk, grabbing her bag before she gets the chance. “I can get it.” She insists, but he’s already got it slung over his shoulder. “You haven’t seen me for ages, I’m really buff now.”

“I know you can, ‘m just not gonna let you.” Calum says, distinctly smug.

Y/N does her best pout, but here’s the deal; she goes fucking weak at the knees when Calum takes care of her. “You’re a tyrant.” She says, following him up a set of stairs, where he unlocks a door.

“That’s right.” Calum waits for her to get inside and for the door to close behind her before he hip-checks her. It’s very considerate of him.

Maybe she should have thought about this before, but oh, shit. Where is she supposed to sleep?

Calum leads her into an elevator and presses a button for a very high floor, so her ears almost pop as they ascend. But they didn’t stop by the front desk, which means she’s staying in Calum’s room, and she’s willing to bet good money that it’s not a double.

And if she’s honest, she knows some guilty part of her is desperate for his touch again. She hadn’t expected to be back in her ex-boyfriend’s bed so soon, is all.

It’s like Calum can read her mind as he unlocks the door. “There’s only the one bed, but I cleared out one of the drawers if you want to unpack. I was hoping-” He drops his keys on the table, her bag on the floor, and turns to her. “I was hoping we could share. I know we’re - we’re broken up, but I think I sleep better with you next to me.”

Y/N wants to sleep with Calum again. That’s not the issue. If it was just about being in his arms, curling up on his chest and letting him keep her warm, then fuck, yeah, she would already be in her pjs. She just doesn’t want to walk into something that destroys her, and she thinks if she gets back into the same mess she had with him she’ll get cut to ribbons by their sharp edges. “I-” She starts, and then she stops herself. She wants to do this right. “We should have our weird relationship talk first. Right? I like you, Calum, you know I do, but I can’t- we can’t hurt each other again, you know?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, too quickly. “Yeah, of course. You want me to order room service first, or-”

Y/N didn’t get much of a lunch on the plane, but all of a sudden she’s got no appetite. “Not for me, thanks.”

“Alright.” Calum says, shifting his weight. He leads Y/N into the living room, gestures for her to sit on the couch. She goes for the armrest, and he stays standing, running a hand through his hair. Even their positioning is awkward.

“I-”

“The thing is-”

They both stop.

“You first.” Y/N says, thinking she's being polite, but Calum shakes his head.

“You know how I feel.”

I know you know I will never get over you

Y/N licks her lips. “Fair enough.” She agrees. Fuck. She thought of a million ways to say this since their phone call, but now that he's here- she doesn't want to hurt him, and that's all she really knows. “Obviously, I'm here in New York, I want to see you. I miss you. And I think I still have-” She can't say she still has feelings for him. It's too ugly, too cliché. “-um, I miss you.” She repeats instead. Calum doesn't move. “But when we broke up it was the right thing to do, you know? We hurt each other a lot. And I don't know if I’ve changed.”

“I mean, you said you got super buff, so...” Calum grins, though it looks stiff.

Y/N laughs a little, just for him. “I'm super buff now, I could bench press a car, but I don't know if I can do long distance right. You know? It’s not- Cal, it's not a hard no,” she says quickly, because he looks agonized. Well, and she means it. “I just don't know what's different. I can’t go through that again.”

Calum is quiet for a long moment, which makes Y/N feel even worse. Is this whole week gonna be like this? “I get it.” He says, after a long moment.

Something inside Y/N breaks. She had hoped that Calum had met her here with a plan (or at least some really expensive lingerie) to get her back, to make them work. Songs can make empty promises, after all, and that's what she had been scared of - that he’d say that he’d do anything for her and then do anything but change. She misses him, enough to say it out loud, misses his touch and his laugh and that goofy fucking smile you have to earn from him. If he decides there’s no hope for them, is he gonna kick her out? Of his life, or- oh, shit, of his suite. He wouldn’t, she knows, but she doesn’t really have the money right now to stay-

“I read Macbeth.”

Y/N’s head jerks up from where she was staring at the carpet. “What?”

“I, uh, read Macbeth. The whole thing. And Einstein’s Dreams, you know- ‘bout a month or two ago I went through all our conversations and I read all the articles and books you said I should read but I didn't. I should have told you-”

“I knew you weren't reading those. It's okay, really.” Y/N says. She's not mad. She had been mad about it when they broke up, but now it's just shitty and she's over it. Their relationship didn't fall apart because he wasn't reading enough Shakespeare, that was for sure.

Calum smiles stiffly. “No, it's not. Those were good books, but when I was trying to read them they reminded me how smart and… and dimensional you are. I think, while we were together, I let myself forget. I should have been better to you. Y/N, I was falling in love with you, and I hate myself because I didn’t show you. I let you walk away.”

Her heart spasms, but he looks so sad when he says it. She can’t let that happen. “We both made mistakes-” Y/N starts.

“No.” Calum says, stepping forwards to stop her. “No. I mean, you said some mean shit, but only after I ignored you and brushed you off for weeks. I deserved it. Most of what you said was true, anyway, I was bein’ a- what was it you said? A bratty little shithead.” Y/N isn't proud of that. “Anyway, it was true. We had some bad fucking days, and the make-up sex was fun and all, but I’m willing to give that up to have you stay in my life.”

“You’re a martyr.” Y/N can’t help but tease. What he said in the car comes back to her; did she really break his heart? Calum looks miserable, even though he smiles at her joke.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “I think I was scared, before. I am- I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t want - well,” he gestures at their positions. She’s still sitting on the armrest like a bird on a wire, he’s just within arm’s reach. It’s a terrible distance.

She hadn’t wanted this, either.

Calum runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before he continues. “I think maybe that’s why I was so shitty. I know that’s not an excuse,” He says, before she can say anything. “I’m trying to be better. I am. I want to read the books you’re passionate about and listen to the music you love and kiss you on the cheek in every picture we’re in. I just- tell me what I have to do for you to give me another chance.”

So that’s it. The ball is all the way in her court.

Y/N looks up at him for a long moment.

She knows what she wants. If love is like the ocean, she would choose to drown for him. She wants him back again. It seems simple, when she puts it that way, frames it as what she wants. But she was always the sensible one. She won’t let herself hurt him like that again. She doesn’t want to break his heart - not more than she already has.

“Let’s just- let’s just have this week.” She says, carefully. Like the ceiling might cave in. “Seven days can be a long time. Let’s just do what we want for one fucking week and see where it leaves us at the end. I- Calum, I’m bad at this, but you know… you know what you mean to me. Love is a verb, you know? Let’s just do what feels right. And I’m not trying to say I -” She rushes to add (she didn’t miss the way his body jolted) “-like, you know, the “L” word, I know that it’s not the time. I just-”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Y/N blinks. Stands. “Yes.”

She had braced herself for him to kiss her like a starving man, but he reaches out and cups her face in both hands, fingers cool and dry. He keeps his eyes open as he leans in, searching hers until they’re too close to see anything.

Then their lips meet like sun meets rain.

Calum kisses her like slowly as she winds her fingers into his hair, like she’s made of glass, like she’s made of sugar. He doesn’t move his hands until she pulls her own body closer to his, and then he feels his way to her waist to keep her there. The gentle drag of their open mouths floods her body with warmth for what feels like the first time in fucking weeks.

It must not be long before they pull apart, but Y/N feels breathless.

“I missed you so fucking much.” Calum says, and this time when he pulls her in there’s real heat behind it. His tongue presses into her mouth with intent, and for once she lets him direct the kiss to show her just how goddamn much he missed her. She wants this so much her body aches when he pulls away again. “I’m gonna be so good to you, promise, I-”

Y/N cuts him off with her mouth on his. Promises make her nervous, but more importantly, Calum kisses like he did before they split and she missed that. It feels like she’s blushing over her whole body - almost like a kid, only there’s nothing innocent about what she wants to do with him.

Maybe she shouldn’t, but… all they have is a week. Maybe not even that. And fuck it, she wants to do love.

She stands on her tiptoes, pressing a little harder against him. She wants to direct this, but Calum pulls away again. He’s panting. They both are.

“We can start over, baby.” He says. “I’m just- I’m so happy to have you back.”

He’s still cupping her face, but he doesn’t pull her back in, and she takes that chance to speak. “We can’t do that.” She says, but she has to hurry to continue because she sees the fear that flashes across Calum’s face. “I mean- if we start over this is technically our first date, and I don’t fuck on the first date.”

She grins, but Calum doesn’t. All of a sudden he’s unreadable. Did she say something wrong? Already? She can feel his grip change on her hips, like he’s thinking about letting go. Her fingers relax in his hair, in case he pulls away, so she doesn’t hurt him-

He tosses her over his shoulder before she knows what’s happening, and then she is gleefully upside-down with his hand on her ass keeping her steady. She can see her bag on the bedroom floor as they pass by it, anticipation rising in her stomach.

God, she was trying to be cool, but he is so, so, so sexy she could spontaneously combust.

She only has a moment to take it in before he stops, and then she’s head-over-heels again until her back hits the bed. Before she can get her bearings back, Calum’s climbed his way back on top of her and is brushing the hair out of the way for another kiss. He’s not shy; there’s no air between them, his chest pressed hard against hers. One elbow is planted by her head, holding him up, and the other is running down her ribs, pawing at the hem of her shirt. She can feel him smiling against her lips before he pulls away. “You couldn’t wait five fucking minutes, could you?” He says, but she can hear that he’s teasing and anyway the way he’s trying to ease her shirt off says more than enough.

His lips go to her neck, so she can feel his stubble as he lays kisses down, looking for a weak spot. “I’m sorry, did you carry me to your bed like a caveman for something else? You didn’t wait five seconds.” She jokes. Her breath hitches as he moves a little lower, closer to her collarbone. He always finds those spots. It would be a curse if it didn’t feel so good.

Calum knows it, too. “What did you say?” When she starts to respond he bites down, just enough to make her squirm and snap her mouth shut before she can fucking squeal. He’s still playful, she can feel his lips moving against her skin when he says, “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“Shut up,” she manages, and swats him on the shoulder.

He catches her wrist as she draws back, and pins it to the bed right next to her head. She doesn’t miss the way the muscles in his arm flex to hold her down.They're both breathing shallowly; Calum’s close enough that she can feel his chest rise and fall just like hers. Y/N feels a little lightheaded, all of a sudden. When he leans in and kisses her again, it's less playful, there's real heat behind it. He kisses her deeper, and she parts her lips to let him, this time. He draws back, and rest his forehead against hers. They're close enough that their breath mingles between them.

They've both still got their clothes on, but this feels like the most intimate she's ever been with Calum. Neither of them speak for a long moment. His brown eyes lock with hers, and he is beautiful but she feels that gaze low in her belly. One of his hand is still on her ribs, but he's not pawing at her shirt anymore, just smoothing his thumb over her side like he can't stop touching her. She wants to kiss him again, but she can't bring herself to ruin this moment.

Eventually Calum huffs out a breath - was that a sigh? - and lets go of her wrist to haul her shirt over her head with both hands. Immediately, Y/N’s hands go to her back to undo her bra clasp. Calum helps slip her bra off her arms and doesn't waste a second throwing it into some corner of the hotel room before he’s back on her, kissing along the side of her neck and down her chest. It feels /good/ as his steady hands find her breasts, grasping at them firm enough for her to really feel it. He’s still kissing a path downwards, pausing to unbuckle her belt. Y/N plants her feet and lets Cal drag her jeans and panties off, but it feels wrong, her being all undressed while he’s still wearing his t-shirt.

As soon as she sits up to tear that damn thing off him, Calum grabs her hands and laces them with his, pressing them down to the mattress. “Baby,” he murmurs, “I wanna focus on you, tonight, please. Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Calum's great in bed, she's not gonna deny it, but it's not what makes her quiet. He means that. He's an intense guy, but she's never seen his dark eyes like this, like he can see right through her. She has to take a deep breath.

“Please.” She says.

Calum grins at that, and lets go of her hands to press her thighs apart.

Y/N sits back on her elbows, because Calum eating her out is a hell of a view, but that's not what he does. Once he has her legs spread he starts to kiss the inside of her thigh, so fucking close to where she needs him. She thinks he's just trying to tease, but then he starts kissing with intent, nipping and sucking like he's… he's trying to mark her up. He'd never done that before, although whether it was from trying to avoid paps or just class she wasn't sure. But this- it feels good, to see him kissing on her like it was his last day on earth. It's just very new.

“Cal, what’re you-” She starts to ask, but before she can finish he pulls off of her leg and licks a big stripe up her pussy, right up the middle, and her brain goes a little fuzzy. She moans softly, to let him know it feels good and to please keep going, but he goes back to working on her leg, lifting her knee to get a better angle. His tongue sweeps over her skin in a way that would feel so damn good just a few inches away, but when she tries to shift to direct him over, he just holds her leg a little firmer. “Jesus, don’t tease.”

Calum pulls away again and Y/N’s stomach swoops because his lips are glossy from playing with her. He almost looks smug. “From the way you’re dripping you don’t seem to mind, angel.” He says, and Y/N tries to look unaffected but she knows it’s not working. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, just let me take my time with you. Want every inch of you tonight. Trust me.” He adds.

Well, she’s not gonna argue with that.

Y/N goes back to resting on her elbows, toes curling in the sheets as Calum goes back to dragging his teeth over her thigh. The spot’s starting to get a warm little ache, but the way he looks at it when he pulls away goes all the way through her. It’s just for a second, but she feels his grip relax, like he doesn’t have to hold her so tight now that he’s got a mark on her. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s thinking, too. He presses a quick peck to the red spot, and reaches up to play with her nipple as a reward. /Nice/. She shifts a little in his grip, she can’t help it.

“You like that?” Calum grins.

“Fuck,” she moans, despite herself. His other hand is still holding her leg open for him and he’s so fucking close to where she needs him but he’s not biting. She knows from experience he wants her to beg, but she’s not ready to play, not quite yet. She might be lying back for him, but she can still do a little teasing of her own. “You got anything else planned?”

Calum smirks a little more at that, somehow, and lets go of her completely to sit back on his ankles. Y/N’s body shifts to follow him, unconsciously. “You know I do.” He says, pulling off his shirt. /Fuck/, was he always this built or was this new? His skin is intoxicating. “Like I said, I’m gonna take my time. You gonna be good for me?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Calum looks up briefly from where he’s undoing his belt. “No. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Before she can even start to process that, he’s fumbled his belt off and presses in to kiss her, catching one of her hands in his and steadying her at the waist. “You know,” he gasps in between kisses, “‘thought so many times about what I was gonna do to you once I got you back, don’t even know where to start. So much I wanna do to you.” He laughs. “And with you, I guess. But right now-” He starts to kiss down her neck again, gently.

She doesn’t mean to say it, but- “I want you to fuck me.”

“Gimmie time, angel,” He smiles as he pulls away.

“No, now, please, Cal, I’m so ready for you.” Y/N urges, and when he pauses she runs his hand, in hers, down her body to where she’s warm and aching for him.

Calum’s eyebrows crease. Not a lot, but even in her haze she can tell. “Baby, wanna make you feel good first, get you-” As he lets go to feel her up, he presses two fingers inside her, easy. She’s soaking. She can feel it, and she sees in his face he can too. “...shit.”

“Please.” She says again, and Calum’s face goes a little soft. She knows he loves it when she goes all quiet and nice, just for him, and she’s glad because she doesn’t want to wait. She wants- twenty minutes ago she didn’t know what she wanted but now she knows she wants him in her, looking into her eyes, she wants to watch him cum and flop down next to her and smile and pull her back into his arms. She wants to do love. She wants it with him.

Calum kisses her once, quickly. “Whatever you want.” It sounds like a promise but it doesn’t scare her, not this time.

Pants. Socks. They’re gone in a second and Calum is ready, cock hardening in his hand as he fumbles for a condom the bedside table. Y/N sits up too as he find one, to help him roll it on.

Well, he couldn’t sit there looking so beautiful and serious about making love to her and expect her to keep her hands off him. He tries though, using one hand at her waist to lay her back down. “Missed you.” She says to his dick as her back hits the pillows, and Calum chuckles above her.

She tries not to feel like it’s life changing, as he lines himself up with her, but it is. He’s still smiling as he pushes into her, and she can see it change into something /else/ as he starts to bottom out. Y/N is suddenly overwhelmed with how lucky she is that this man, smart and great and terrible, he saves this for her. At the same time she can feel him filling her like he used to, and her fingernails dig into his shoulders. When he groans, he sounds like music.

Fuck.

They stay that way for a moment, like they’re locked together. Y/N cups his face with one hand. She likes the way her fingers look on his cheekbone, her thumb on his jaw, like maybe she could keep him this time if she held tight.

She really had missed him.

He starts to move and it’s like she’s come back to life. It’s winter outside but her body feels like spring, and she reaches for him. Even hikes one leg up around her waist, and moans as it sends heat crackling through her body. Calum’s forehead rests on hers again. His nose is crinkled up, eyes closed, and he’s doing this sweet little groan every time he bottoms out. It’s just as intoxicating as the songs he wrote her, getting to see him like this. Only him- only her- fuck.

She’s close. She doesn’t know how, but she can feel her orgasm building in the pit of her stomach. No one-night stand compares, no other ex. Calum’s arms seem to be everywhere, and the motion of him- “Fuck, Calum,” and she’s not proud on the way her voice breaks but he leans in to kiss her again so it’s worth it.

He shifts his body just a little and suddenly his motion brushes her clit and she feels that shit in her toes. “Shit, baby, there, there, there-” The only thing that stops her begging is that he starts to fuck into her harder. She has to focus on breathing; it’s like he’s fucking the air right out of her lungs. His pace is still slow, still steady, but he’s making sure she feels every inch of him.

Y/N’s not stupid, she knows saying “I love you” during sex doesn’t count. But this doesn’t feel like just sex.

It’s scary. But as Calum grabs her waist, bumping his lips with hers, it feels right. Better. “So good, angel,” he says. Does he feel it, too?

The way he’s loving her is relentless. She’s starting to get close, record time, but as Calum suddenly stills and ducks his head down to kiss her, she can tell he’s almost there. She’s still cradling his face, and she gently tugs his lips away from hers. “Calum, I’m really close, I-”

“Don’t wanna wait, do you, baby?” He teases- or tries to. But he’s panting too hard for him to play cool.

She shakes her head. “Waited three months.” The weight and width of him isn’t enough; she’s about thirty seconds from trying to wrestle him over onto his back and taking over.

Calum huffs out a breath above her and smiles, ducking back down to kiss her. Yes. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He says, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes are crinkly as he kisses her quickly, and then while her eyes are still closed he tucks his face into the crook of her neck and starts to move again.

She always liked the way he’d hold to keep them close. Like two halves of a locket. This time, though, she’s practically got herself wrapped around him, with her leg around his waist, one hand in his hair, one hand on his bicep to keep anchored (and, wow, he has not been skipping arm day). He feels like fire around her, all warm skin and hot breath on her shoulder, and it’s kindling something inside her, too.

It’s like the unbearable tension of three months apart is threatening to overtake her, along with the beautiful ache of Calum inside her and the way he keeps brushing her clit with every stroke- it’s a lot, and Cal groans as she catches hold of his curls. She needs something to keep her steady. “Come on, baby,” he says, in between gasps of his own.

She’s close, she’s so, so close, and she hauls Calum’s head up by the hair and kisses him and closes her eyes and it hits her like a fucking tsunami. He keeps kissing her as her mouth falls open and she ruts her hips up into his, fast, and he speeds up in response- all she can do is feel the way his cock sends waves through her and hang on for dear life. With a groan, he pushes deep into her and stays there and she can feel him cumming, doing tiny little bucks of his hips that make her whimper as her own high starts to fade.

Eventually Calum settles in her arms, and she releases her hold on his hair. When she opens her eyes, he’s resting his forehead on hers, catching his breath.

He looks really fucking good like this.

He’s resting most of his weight on his elbows, but before she can untangle her leg from him he pulls her into his chest and rolls over so he’s on his back. His cock is still buried deep in her, and as she squirms a little he tosses a second arm around her. “Stay.” He murmurs, and although Y/N hadn’t been planning on going far she settles.

Calum looks fucked out, sweat beading like diamonds on his brow. His eyes are half open, like he’s gotta keep watch on her, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. All the hard, worried lines she had caused in his face have softened, and it feels like she might have done good by him for once.

...it had been really good sex, but maybe that was reading too much into it.

She tries to press herself up, to see him better, but as soon as Calum feels her movement he shakes his head. “You should save your energy, love.” His words rumble through his chest.

Y/N smiles. “You got big plans, Hood?”

“You didn’t let me take my time, remember?” He smiles back. She can hear it in his voice. “I’ve got a lot more to do to you before I let you out of this bed.”

She smiles at that. Fuck like rabbits, check. There’s still something bothering her, though. An aching in her inner thigh that won’t let her rest. “Cal?” She asks, after one more second of stillness. “Can I ask you why you had to make a love bite on my thigh?”

She can feel him tense up under her, and nerves pool in her stomach. Was that bad? They can’t have fucked this up already, can they? “I just… yeah. Um,” Calum starts, after a long second. “I realized after you left that I, uh, never got to leave any on you before and I needed to do it before I lost you again. I put it somewhere out of the way. Somewhere I’d be the only one to see it. Or… I don’t want to be jealous with you but if there’s someone else I want them to see it and know that there’s someone who…” Calum rushes. Y/N peeks up and sees that his eyes are shut tight, face aimed up at the ceiling. “...who cares so much for you.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. She presses a gentle kiss to Calum’s chest while she tries to think, but she can’t follow any of that up with sweet words. “‘M gonna leave a hickey on your dick.” She says, after a long moment, and Calum laughs underneath her.

It feels right.

“Is that even possible?”

“Only one way to find out.” Y/N grins. “Hey, if I suck your dick will you take me to the aquarium tomorrow?”

“Only one way to find out.” He says. “Just… in a minute, okay? Lemme hold you.”

Calum’s going soft inside her as she snuggles a little closer into his arms. The future’s unclear, but one thing’s for sure; it feels really fucking good to be back.

#i did it!!!!#here she is #like eight months late but she's done!!#want you back #calum hood smut #calum hood x reader #calum hood angst #i forget how to tag things #ch smut #ch #ch writings #my writing #ch series #calum hood series

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