#sliding an arm around David's waist to steady himself

[ingravinoveritas]

irvinis replied to your post “Thinking about the photo from tonight, i almost…”

@ingravinoveritas this may be fanon (canon created by fans), but it fits so well into the daddy/boy dynamic. Michael comes to David's performances with his doors wide open, wearing his best sweater (or baring his arms) and giving a standing ovation: THIS IS MY BOY! And David makes his way to Michael’s performances, wrapped in a scarf up to his eyebrows and sighs quietly in delight from an inconspicuous place in the corner.

@irvinis Ohh...this is tickling a very specific part of my brain. Oh, I love this. In the past I didn't usually go for the daddy/boy dynamic with Michael and David (because I've always seen their relationship as one of equals/switches), but this absolutely fits them like a freaking glove.

We have the picture Georgia posted of David all wrapped up exactly like that, so right away that gives us a visual:

And what you've described goes perfectly with what we saw when Michael went to see Macbeth in December--that white-bright moment of Michael gazing up at David from the audience, and David looking right back at him, captured forever on film and in our hearts. That, in contrast with last night, with David quietly going to the show and doing everything to keep the focus on Michael. David waiting until the lights have dimmed and all eyes are on the stage to let out that little sigh, feeling a shiver of unrestrained happiness work its way through his body as he watches, enraptured, as Michael does the thing he does best.

It's also interesting how this potentially ties into Michael not doing the matinee today. I know we could say it's because he's still recovering from being sick (and that would certainly make sense), but I love the thought that Michael sat out so many performances earlier in the week to make sure he had his strength specifically for last night's performance, because he knew David was coming and wanted to do a good job for him.

I could also see David going to Michael's dressing room after (with thanks to @greeneyed-thestral for planting the seed of that lovely idea) and seeing Michael all enthralled with a post-show high from performing, yet still anxious about how things went--worrying if he was on key for the musical number, if he missed any cues. I can see David slowly backing Michael into the mirror without a word, until the lights frame Michael like a halo. He takes off his ball cap and unravels his scarf in an elegant heap on the dresser, revealing himself, both of them now bare and vulnerable. David grasps either side of Michael's face in his hands, thumb tracing over the crow's feet at the side of Michael's eyes, and smiles softly. He kisses Michael, mouths opening just slightly as the kiss deepens and their tongues meet. Kisses him long enough to quiet Michael's mind, to get the overthinking voice inside to stop.

He is quiet, this David. Always making himself smaller to fit in rooms within rooms, hiding away, keeping the peace. Until Michael. Michael, who somehow had the key to every door. Something in David expands, becomes louder, growing to more than his slender frame could seem to handle, and he pours it into that kiss. A mark of this moment, of Michael bathed in light, of the two of them together and David silently saying, we are here. We are together and I am going to take care of you now.

Oh, yes...I could certainly see that happening. Thank you so much for this delicious prompt on a Saturday morning...

[if-not-now-tell-me-when]

Soul Gazing

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jason Gideon/David Rossi

Summary: Surprises and revelations abound when Jason visits Dave’s house for the first time. Dave thought he'd give Jason the tour of his house, but Jason instead decides to tour his soul and allow him room to show who he really is.

“Woah, this place echoes,” Jason said as he looked around the airy white foyer. Dave came in the door behind him and set Jason’s duffle bag down.

“Yeah, it's the tile I think,” he said as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. “You can hang your coat over there.” He pointed to an ornate metal coat rack.

“It’s a little blinding, white walls against white tile,” Jason chuckled as he unzipped his coat and slipped off his well-loved brown leather boots.

Dave watched as Jason hung his maroon corduroy jacket next to Dave’s dark leather overcoat. It looked so modest in comparison, and he felt a slight pang at the sight. This was Jason. So different from the man that Dave was. Dave had spent decades collecting expensive artwork and overpriced clothes, while Jason had spent his time collecting knowledge and experience.

“So let me give you the official tour!” He said hastily, swallowing the lump growing in his throat. “This is the foyer, through that door is the living room that I use for entertaining. So it’s never used, basically.”

Beside him, Jason laughed softly. “I don’t believe it. David Rossi was always up for a party.”

Dave shrugged. “A lot has changed since the 80s.”

"Clearly," Jason said softly. Their eyes met and a familiar lopsided smile appeared on Jason’s face. For the briefest moment Dave felt a peace he had never known before inside these white walls. He took a trembling breath and forced himself to look away, knowing that Jason could read him by his expression alone.

Dave turned, gesturing ahead through the hallway. "This way," he said. Jason followed closely behind, close enough that Dave could smell his musky aftershave. “The library is through these doors,” he said as he approached a pair of glass-paneled French doors.

They stepped through the doors. He heard Jason draw in a sharp breath as he took in the room’s towering shelves and floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was brightly lit from the large windows, which were covered only by thin lacy curtains. The white tiled floor gleamed, and the two dark brown armchairs in the center of the room matched the rug that they bordered.

“You must have thousands of books in here,” Jason said softly as he moved towards a shelf and ran a finger over their spines.

“I knew you’d love it in here,” Dave said, savoring the expression of wonder on Jason’s face.

“Well," Jason chuckled, "you know me. I do love my books.”

“My books,” Dave joked.

“Well, can knowledge ever really be owned?” Jason looked up with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.

Dave took a few steps over to him, reaching out to wrap his arms around Jason’s waist and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He smiled as he felt a hand slide up his back. A moment later, light pressure at his hip gave away where Jason's other hand had traveled to. Dave took a small but steadying breath as he tried to stop himself from melting into the touch. “Is that how you’re going to be?” he murmured as his nose whispered over Jason’s jawline.

“Oh, you love it,” Jason hushed him before dipping his head and capturing Dave’s lips in a soft kiss.

"I do now, do I?" he managed to utter between kisses. Jason merely hummed.

Dave pulled back just a little, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Hey wasn't I giving you a tour, or something?"

Jason paused, seeming to consider his words before he spoke. "Possibly. You know, I am curious where you're keeping the giant marble fountain.”

Dave pulled back further, keeping one arm wrapped loosely around Jason’s waist. "Oh, you'll want to see the arboretum, then."

Jason frowned, his face suddenly serious. "You have an arboretum?" he asked skeptically.

Dave chuckled as they moved towards the door. "No, I don't have an arboretum. And even if I did have one, I wouldn't show you. I'm sure you'd insult my marble fountain, especially the statues of bare chested ladies inside.” He slid his hand into Jason’s, entangling their fingers.

“The kitchen is this way, through the dining room.” Dave said as he led Jason out of the library.

As they walked Jason ran his eyes over the white walls lined with muted art pieces, the bare surfaces, the widely spaced out white furniture. “You know,” he said softly, “I kind of feel like I’m in a hotel.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, taken aback.

“Well…Everything is elegant and tasteful, but there’s so little here that tells me who you really are.”

Dave swallowed hard. He looked around the room for a moment, suddenly finding it hard to do so. His face flushed, and he silently cursed Jason’s uncanny ability to read people. His ability to read Dave like an open book.

"Where are you, Dave?" Jason asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Where is your presence in this house?"

Dave pressed his lips together for a moment before spreading his hands out in a plaintive gesture. "What do you mean, where am I? This piece over here, I got it in Alaska, from a Native woman who made the whole thing by hand. And that painting, it’s made entirely out of tiny dots. It’s incredible. I watched the artist make it. I chose it. There's magazines under the coffee table, books in the bookcases...All of them are things that I chose." His voice trailed off as he looked around one last time. "I... I'm here...I really am," he said weakly. His hands dropped to his sides, and he ducked his head to avoid looking at Jason. Avoid his loving gaze and his beautiful soft eyes.

“You know,” he finally said, “there is one place I wasn’t going to show you. A…A place I’ve never shown to anyone. Come on.” He quickly led Jason through the dining room, averting his eyes from the Italian marble, the shimmering chandelier and the ostentatious glass centerpiece in the middle of the table. For the first time, he felt embarrassed by the lavish environment he had built around himself. Less than an hour ago, this place had been a beautiful house, but now it echoed like an empty shell. Jason had done what he always seemed able to do - seen right through his bluster, laid him bare with gentle ease.

He gently laid his hand on Jason’s lower back to guide him, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his thick plaid shirt.

A wide smile spread across Jason's face as Dave led him through another door into a small den. The room's muted lighting danced off light tan walls and a large painting of multicolored birds in flight. An overstuffed burgundy couch was angled so it faced the small fireplace but left enough room for a high pile white rug between them.

Dave gestured vaguely around the room. "This is where I come to...to think, I suppose. This is my place to get away from everything - away from the BAU, my publicist, social demands... My ex-wives' demands for money."

He chuckled for a moment but then turned serious again. He swallowed nervously, feeling bare and exposed under Jason's piercing gaze. "This place, it's my escape from the world. This, as you so aptly put it, is me. It’s where I really am.”

Jason slowly strolled around the room, taking in the shelves of well-read books and knick knacks. He paused in front of the mantle, reaching to pick up the single picture frame that sat in its center.

Dave watched him as he set out a decanter of whiskey and two glasses. “That’s us, in Tacoma in 1990. Remember? We went out to that ridiculous karaoke bar after we wrapped the case up. Or rather, I made you come to the karaoke bar.”

Jason nodded, a beaming smile spreading across his face. “As clear as day. You dragged me up on that stage to sing Piano Man with you.”

"Oh, right," Dave smiled. "I almost forgot about that part. I think I was a little buzzed.”

"I’ve never forgotten it. Your voice sounded -" Jason hesitated, "delightful, actually."

“I did?" Dave froze in place, a glass of amber whiskey in either hand. "You made fun of me for days afterwards.”

Jason gently set the picture down, and sat on the edge of the couch. "Of course I did. I felt like I had to. What was I going to say? ‘Whenever I can’t sleep, or I’m just overwhelmed by the horrors of the job, I think of your voice when you sang that song with me.’”

Dave joined him on the couch and handed him a glass. "Uh, yes,” Dave deadpanned. You should tell me that."

Jason chuckled as he took the glass and leaned over to settle his head on Dave’s shoulder. “I love your voice. It’s rich and smooth, like our favorite whiskey,” he murmured. “It always grounds me, settles me when nothing else can.”

Dave gently pressed a kiss to his temple, grateful for the fact Jason couldn’t see the flush spread across his face and neck. “Let's make a toast," he said softly. "To...us. To singing together at a karaoke bar, and to coming home after all this time."

[whataboutmyfries]

Russian roulette

Hello Hello! As promised, the new chapter of Russian roulette! Thank you so very much to @ttylfedora and @asunshinepuff for being my wonderful Betas and giving this chapter some semblance of punctuation.

As always, credits for the cubs goes to @lumosinlove!

~

Chapter 4

Finn sighed, propping his head on a hand as he drove, the street lights flashing over the car in the dark. Finn looked over at Logan, his small form spread over the passenger seat, his head resting against the cold window while he slept.

Finn’s heart clenched painfully at the sight. The flashing lights made Logan look like an angel fallen from grace; incandescent, gorgeous and utterly unattainable. His breath hitched ever so slightly, gone in an instant as he turned back to the road.

He’d dealt with this for eight years. What’s a few more?

~

“Tremz, Tremz, we’re here.”

Logan woke to Finn gently shaking his shoulder, quietly calling his name. He slowly blinked his eyes open, “‘M awake, ‘m awake.” he shook his head blearily, trying to shake off some of the sleep.

“C’mon, up you get,” Finn grunted, tugging him out of the car, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you in bed.” Logan groaned, leaning heavily on Finn as he muttered something about fishes and bedrooms.

By the time they got to the door, Logan was properly awake; though his arm stayed wrapped around Finn’s shoulder, the heavy warmth sending a shiver of delight down the redhead’s spine.

“Fish, I can walk back to my room myself, y’know.” Logan teased. He turned to look at his friend, his hand slipping off Finn’s body. Finn huffed a laugh, though he felt a strange sense of disappointment at the loss of contact.

“Go home, get some sleep, meet me back here tomorrow. We have to see what we’re going to do about Lizard and Leo .” it’s a little repetitive so i think one tomorrow works

Finn just looked at Logan, melancholy and regret swimming in the hazel irises.

“Go home, Logan. Get back to your own bed, it might help.”

“This is my home.”

“I know.” Finn sighed. “I know it is, but it shouldn’t be. Home should be somewhere you can be safe, somewhere you can call completely your own.”

“Is this not a place I can be safe? A place I can call completely mine?”

“Fuck, Tremz,” Finn shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “Stop being so difficult, you know what I — you know what? Nevermind. Goodnight.”

Logan’s heart ached to say something, anything, to get that look off of Finn’s face, but he came up empty. He could do little but watch as Finn walked away, his lithe figure disappearing into the night.

Logan hated his flat, the empty space altogether too full of absent reminders of the person he had been, the person who’d let things go so horribly wrong. It had driven him mad; those one cosy, warm rooms once filled with laughter and merriment reduced to bleak snapshots of memories lost to time, black and white mementoes of love and companionship. The keepsakes on his mantle no longer bringing him laughter and happiness but left to rot like relics of a person who had once been.

His lungs grated against his ribcage as he let out a sigh, the breath making his shoulders slump lower, his head dipping as his feet dragged sluggishly on the polished marble floor. One foot after another, he reminded himself; one foot after another.

~

Finn parked his Maserati in the garage, letting out a deep, slow sigh as he let his head thump back against the headrest. He was so goddamn tired as of late. What with the recent loss of a high-profile asset — and friend— and the stranger-who-wasnt-really-a-stranger dropping by with seemingly perfect timing, it had all been a little much lately.

He ran his hands through his hair, relaxing a little in the star-flecked comfort of the night. His breath shook a little. He leaned forward, resting his head against the cool steering wheel, the light of his phone illuminating his face from his lap.

‘I’m sorry about today, but you know I can’t go back there’ No prizes for guessing who that was from.

Finn closed his eyes, thumping his head against the wheel gently. Ignoring the notification in favour of unlocking his phone, he connected it to the car’s music system, the soft, slow strumming of the guitar soothing his nerves, the heavy weight of being him falling away for a few blessed minutes.

With that, Finn pulled right back out of his garage and drove into the blissful peace of the night.

The tension leached out of Finn under the steady thrum of the engine. The smooth, cold texture of the steering wheel under his hands a comforting presence, the soft movements of the car a balm to his emotions.

Finn barely even noticed when the mechanical edges of buildings and skyscrapers faded to the soft, flat land of the country.

And then he was flying.

His beloved car pushing her limits underneath him, faster, faster, faster, until the world around him was a blur, until the steady thump of his heart, tangled with the rhythm of the soft bass coming from the speakers was the only thing keeping him anchored to his reality. He was soaring, higher, stronger, faster; battling the winds themselves to touch the stars, dancing with the soft moonlight, playing amongst the clouds.

And for a few blissful moments; Finn was nothing and everything all at once; a gust of wind trapped in a cage, a shard of starlight caught in a jar, a famed mob boss looking for freedom.

~

Finn walked into their shared office feeling infinitely lighter, the rumble of his vehicle a song in his blood and the flash of starlight dancing behind his eyes.

Logan looked up from his laptop, shoving his pencil behind his ear while he leaned back in his chair

“Well, you look like shit,” he grinned, nudging forward the cup of steaming coffee that Finn had just now noticed was sitting on his desk. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?

Finn’s mind flashed with the image of the sunrise on the horizon while he had driven straight to Headquarters and he flashed Logan a winning grin “Like a log, you?” he lied easily, sliding over the desk to sit on his chair.

“Lo, I have something important to ask you.”

The man in question turned around in his chair, tipping his head to the side as he looked at his friend. “Sure, what’s up?”

It took an unjust amount of willpower for Finn to ignore the way the light twined through Logan's hair, weaving through the chocolatey curls. He cleared his throat roughly, forcing himself to look anywhere but at him.

“Are we going to help our friendly neighbourhood Houdini?”

Logan scrunched up his nose in confusion, laughing when he finally realised who Finn was talking about.

“Houdini?!?! Of all the brilliant magicians, you went with Houdini?”

Finn crossed his arms, pouting. “Well, who else was I supposed to think of?”

“Literally anybody else, Dynamo, David Blaine, The Horsemen, Robert Angier? I don’t know, maybe his own father? Have you even seen the prestige?”

Finn’s sigh of exasperation was only betrayed by the way his lips twitched up at the ends. “Oh shut up, you know who I’m talking about. Anyway, what do we do?”

Logan’s smile faded into a frown as he chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. He did know Lizard’s name, besides, his father was an asset too. Liz knew him well.”

Finn hummed, a small knife already spinning around his fingers. “You’re not wrong, but how do we know we can trust him?”

Logan shrugged, “I can ask around if you’d like that better, but I think we’re alright. Bliz knows him too. Says he’s a good kid.”

Finn hummed, already lost in thought.

Logan sucked in a deep breath, “I think we should do it.”

Finn’s amber eyes snapped to Logan, and he nodded, a wayward red curl falling into his eyes.

“Yeah….I think so too.”

~

“Hey! Portami il vecchio mazzo di carte per favore? voglio provare qualcosa.” Leo called, shuffling his deck of cards in increasingly complex ways.

He missed a particularly risky shuffle, and the cards flew out of his fingers, falling to the green grass of Natalie’s backyard.

“Porca puttana” Leo muttered, stooping to pick up the cards for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Language!” Natalie called from the kitchen, stirring a pot of something that smelled absolutely divine. “And it’s about time you stopped anyway, dinner’s almost ready.”

Leo sighed, picking up his deck and tapping it on the side of his shoe as he walked into the house. He paused to kiss Natalie on the cheek before dropping his things on the couch to help her in the kitchen.

“Nat, you are a goddess, this smells incredible.” Leo sighed, stirring the pot Nat had put him in charge of. “Dio santo, Nat, could you take over for a sec? I left my phone in the yard. I’ll get Bliz on the way back?”

Natalie rolled her eyes at him fondly, shoving his shoulder as she took the spoon from his hands. “Of course you did. Go get it. And bring Kase too.”

Leo nodded, slipping his shoes on to walk to the yard, whistling as he went.

He was so preoccupied with looking for his phone; he didn’t notice the tall man striding towards him, his gait soft and even.

“Leo Knut?”

Leo could’ve sworn he’d had half a heart attack in the split second it took him to turn around to face the stranger, his heart beating double time as he looked around for something— anything— he could use as a weapon.

But the man just raised his hands, taking a step back.

“O'Hara and Tremblay want to see you.”

~

Leo’s leg bounced under the table, his eyes glazed over with the look of someone who wasn’t quite present.

“Knut, are you listening? We need the plans.”

“Huh? Oh, um, it’s actually pronounced ‘newt’ not ‘nut’. And how do I know you’re not going to take the plans and sell me out the second I walk out of here?”

Finn and Logan exchanged a look, a silent conversation clearly taking place as they met each other’s eyes.

“Because you’re planning the damn heist right here with us.”

Leo wished he could say he handled the situation like a normal person, casually accepting the information and moving on, but that would be a lie. Instead, it took him a solid 20 seconds to even begin to process the fact that they had said yes.

But in true magician fashion, Leo had his bearings back before anyone could notice.

“Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen,” He said, shaking their hands over the table. “But I hope you know that I have an insurance policy against you should you choose to fuck me over.”

Both Logan and Finn startled, Logan’s hand immediately going to his gun. “What the fuck did you do.”

“Don’t cross me and you won’t have to find out, Mio Signore,”

Leo could feel Finn’s searing stare on the back of his neck as he walked away. “I’ll stop by tomorrow evening with the drive and the laptop.”

~

Leo’s mind kicked into overdrive the second he entered his apartment. Drive, map, encrypted journal. He wasn’t quite sure what had possessed the two of them to help him with one of the riskiest plans he’d ever heard in his life, but damn him if he wasn’t going to milk it to his advantage.

It always gave Leo an electric sort of thrill to start a new project; dark rooms, hushed arguments, pages and pages of data and plans the heady adrenalin rush of it all. And so Leo flicked the lights off, settled in with a mug of coffee and cracked his knuckles. It was going to be a long night.

~

Logan stared at Finn as he paced the office, watching as his friend ran his hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Lo, this is going to be the single most dangerous mission we have ever agreed to.”

Logan swiped a bit of sweat off his cheek, going back to cleaning his gun as he replied.

“I know. I know it is Harzy. But we’ll be going in hot, we’ll plot out every possible outcome. You know we will.”

Finn turned to look at him, the corners of his mouth twitching at something he saw.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing you just…” Finn walked over to Logan’s desk leaning over the table to run his thumb across his friend’s cheek wiping a stripe of black grease off his face.

Logan went so uncomfortably still he wasn’t sure he’d ever move again.

Finn, meanwhile, went right back to his pacing, rambling about men and ammo and whatnot. This mission was going to be a hell of a ride if they kept going on like this.

Logan wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

But damn if it wasn’t a heavenly way to die.

“Lo, you’ll train with me, won't you? I might be a little rusty at hand to hand.” Finn said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Logan winked. “Always, it’s been a while since I kicked your sorry ass.”

Finn’s expression morphed into one of mock hurt. “Next time at target practice, I’m pinning your face to the board”

~

[language-of-love]

aesthetic... 

Mild M / 1800 words / early relationship fun / AO3

“I think I need to stage an intervention.”

“Huh?” Patrick says over his shoulder, finding David staring into his closet with his hands perched pointedly on his hips.

“There has to be an addiction or something driving this. It’s the only explanation.”

“Driving what?”

He knows, but watching David get wound up is one of the things that Patrick first found made him go absolutely crazy about this man, so he never hesitates to find reasons to get him going. Especially now, when he’s in a position to act upon the impulses David’s actions conjure up.

“The blue, Patrick. All. Of. This. Blue.”

Abandoning his laptop where he’d been searching Netflix for a Sandra Bullock film they haven’t already watched, Patrick leans back against the dresser and folds his arms tight across his chest. He knows it thins the material of his shirt along his biceps and that, apparently, is something that gets David going, so he never hesitates to find reasons to do that, too.

“I just like the color, David. It’s not that serious.”

“Fashion is always serious.”

David looks actually offended, which honestly, just makes Patrick want to laugh. But he holds it in, albeit barely.

“How is me wearing a lot of blue any different than you and your constant stream of black and white sweaters?”

It’s an honest question. One he already knows the answer to, because this isn’t the first time they’ve had this interaction.

“This,” David says as he gestures down his body, “is an…”

“Aesthetic,” Patrick finishes for him. “I know. But why can’t blue just be my aesthetic?”

There’s a slight narrowing of David’s eyes and Patrick wonders why he’s never thrown that retort back at him before as it appears to have hit an unexpected target. He can feel his chest rising just a little as he notches a win on his belt, but then, David’s crossing the few steps towards him and he wonders if maybe that was a bit premature. Those perfect lips he knows every dip and curve of are curling into a knowing smile just as David’s hands reach out and take purchase of Patrick’s arms. His thumbs are digging into the muscle Patrick’s placed on display and in that instant, Patrick knows he’s about to let David win this round.

“An aesthetic is something you craft and nurture, perfect over time through nuanced choices and careful exclusions. Is that something that sounds familiar when it comes to…”

David pauses and lifts his hands from Patrick’s biceps, leaving Patrick embarrassingly breathless with an ache to have his touch return.

“This?” David continues, his long fingers gripping the open collar of Patrick’s button down and giving the material a gentle tug. Patrick has a fleeting concern over the cheap construction and the strength of the buttons, but that thought falls to the wayside when David steps even closer, his long, lean body pushing Patrick deeper into the dresser.

“No,” Patrick somehow manages to answer through the lump of desire clawing its way up his throat.

“Didn’t think so,” David whispers as he tugs Patrick forward by his lapel to meet his mouth for a kiss. It’s been about a month since the first time Patrick tasted this man on his lips and even now, after he’s lost count of how many kisses they’ve shared, he feels that same rush of excitement that was there that night in his car.

As David slips his tongue into his mouth, Patrick unfurls his arms so he can grab at his waist to drag him closer, an impossible thing that just knocks the dresser back into the wall and sends some of Ray’s knick-knacks flying onto the carpet. He can feel David’s fingers between them fumbling with his shirt buttons and a flash of heat surges up the back of his neck, the sudden flush making him feel lightheaded and in need of a breath or two. Prying his mouth free, he sucks in some air and opens his eyes, welcoming another surge of heat when he’s met with David breathing just as hard as his lips curl up into a smile Patrick can only categorize as fond. He smiles at David the same way multiple times a day, so he knows it well.

“You know,” David begins to say, leaning back enough to give himself better access to pop the first of Patrick’s shirt buttons free. “Just because it isn’t an aesthetic, doesn’t mean you don’t make these blue shirts work.”

Another button comes free and Patrick inhales sharply as David’s fingertips feather lightly down the skin he’s exposed as he begins to work on the next one. His belly is now in an anticipation spin cycle and he has to reach back and grab the dresser to steady himself a little.

“If you’re not offended by it, why are you currently taking it off?”

David’s fingers stop moving for a brief moment and Patrick immediately regrets the words he’s just said. But then, David’s chuckling under his breath and tugging the bottom of Patrick’s shirt up and out of where it’s still tucked into his jeans. He doesn’t say anything right away, just keeps unbuttoning until the shirt falls open and Patrick’s chest is completely bare.

Patrick might feel a little bit on display, but he can’t stop the flush that follows David’s gaze from his belly button all the way up to his neck. When he meets David’s eyes, they’re darker than he’s ever seen them.

“Because I like how you look in pink,” David says on a long breath that adds unnecessary heat to Patrick’s already flaming cheeks.

He doesn’t need clarification on what David means, knowing from how sweat is building beneath his arms and beneath the waistband of his jeans that he must be flushed all over. And thankfully, David doesn’t make him dwell in the embarrassment of that fact a second longer because David’s mouth is back where it belongs, tugging at Patrick’s lips and coaxing a groan from his throat as the cool metal of his rings press into the hot skin of Patrick’s back inside his shirt. As David’s fingers dig deeper into his skin, Patrick just clings to the back of his neck, letting that sense of desperation that David’s touch always seems to conjure take over once again.

Before he knows it, Patrick’s sitting on the dresser with David grumbling about how stiff his jeans are as he struggles to drag them down his thighs.

“Are you just going to disparage my entire wardrobe tonight?”

“Yes. Or you could help me? Unless you want me to stop and wait for Ray to get home and...”

“No!” Patrick practically shouts. “I’ve got it. Go put the thing…”

As Patrick frees his legs from the denim and his briefs, David shoves the chest in the corner against the door, the only solution they’ve found to delaying Ray’s inevitable intrusion the moment he arrives back home. David still has a bruise on his hip from the time last week he had to roll completely naked off the side of the bed and out of sight while Patrick threw a pillow over himself as Ray poked his head in to say goodnight.

When David returns to Patrick, he’s pulled his own sweater and undershirt off and Patrick’s traitorous blush is back full force. But David spares him this time and just steps in close again, cupping his cheeks as he nips playfully at his bottom lip. Their next kiss is deep and sensual, arms wrapping to bring their chests flush and relish in that heady feeling of skin against skin.

Over the next ten minutes, Patrick’s skin burns over and over beneath David’s lips and fingers, electricity sparking from David’s tongue down the inside of Patrick’s thighs where they are anchored over David’s shoulders. Crying out David’s name with a fistful of his hair trapped between his fingers as he comes, Patrick’s still struggling to catch his breath as David gently lowers his legs and presses kisses into the now sweaty hair beneath his belly button.

“You look like a fully cooked lobster.”

“Don’t care,” Patrick pants.

And he doesn’t. Not right now. Not while David’s looking so smug as he stands up and teases his fingers along the button of his own jeans. He’ll never admit to it, but even with his more olive complexion, he’s flushed, too - along his neck, on the apples of his cheeks, and even a little beneath the swirls of dark hair curling around his nipples. Patrick’s legs are a bit wobbly as he slides off the dresser, but he somehow manages to put one foot in front of the other and guide David backwards towards his bed with one hand on his hip and the other swatting David’s hand away from the now open front of his jeans.

“Unlike some people, I don’t need help getting you out of your pants.”

Patrick’s too naked and David’s too dressed and all of his focus is now on rectifying this imbalance. He’s got the jeans unzipped only halfway when David’s hands come up to steady himself on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Oh really?” David teases. “I seem to remember someone needing a tutorial to find your way around my Rick Owens just last week.”

“Fine, but I can handle jeans,” Patrick relents as he gives David a playful shove onto the mattress. It does take a bit of shimmying on David’s part and more than a few laughs shared between them, but Patrick does, eventually, get David out of his jeans and those long, perfect legs draped over his own shoulders where they belong.

They’re still naked, but thankfully covered by Patrick’s comforter when the door to Patrick’s bedroom smashes into the chest on the floor a half an hour later.

“Patrick, there’s something in the way of the door!”

“Ray, we’re not decent,” Patrick groans.

“Oh, sorry boys! Just wanted to say goodnight. Goodnight David. Goodnight Patrick.”

“Night Ray,” Patrick and David say in unison.

Patrick turns to David with an apologetic smile, but Ray’s back entirely too soon.

“Oh Patrick, I picked up your dry-cleaning. I’ll just hang your shirts up in my closet. That new dark navy one will really bring out your eyes.”

“Thank you, Ray. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, yes. Night boys.”

He can just feel David itching to say something and turns to him with his finger raised.

“Don’t say a word.”

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything,” David says with feigned disbelief.

“Uh huh…” Patrick grumbles, sliding closer and dragging David in so he can hide his surely beet red face beneath his chin.

It’s quiet for a minute, maybe two and Patrick takes a deep breath, knowing it’s just a matter of time. But David doesn’t say anything and Patrick wonders if he’s really going to let that go.

“It’ll really bring out your eyes?”

Maybe not.

[kumkaniudaku]

Soulstice

For @kikimiyazaki​, the anon that requested John David Washington content and all the Black folks who go their powers today. 

John David Washington x Black Woman OC! 

December 21st, 2020 - 10:11 am

“Baby! Malik is bouncing off the walls!”

Shelly took a deep breath and contemplated a response for her husband. She considered unleashing all of her pent up frustration in a tirade that could shake the Earth’s core. The weekend had flown by and snatched freedom from her grasp only to replace it with a mountain of laundry and scattered Legos in the living room. Instead of shouting back at him, Shelly rolled her eyes and pulled another t-shirt from her son’s pile to fold.

“Baby, how the hell do I get him to sit down?” John rushed into the laundry room out of breath, searching for answers from his wife.

“John, I don’t know. You’re a Marine. Figure it out.”

“They don’t teach us how to wrangle a six-year-old with superspeed?”

Shelly shook her head. “Is it superspeed, or you just being too old to catch up these days?”

“Haha, very funny, Shell,” John deadpanned. “Come see for yourself.”

As John turned to leave the room, Shelly cycled through every reason why leaving her position would land her in chaos. If she continued to fold clothes in her corner of the house, nothing would change. She could pretend that the outside world no longer existed. But, the temptation and the creeping sense of fear set her feet in motion before her brain could command them to stop.

When she reached the living room, her eyes grew wide in shock and fear. Malik was bouncing off the wall. His eyes emitted a blinding white light while he ran between family photos and wall decorations. His giggles bounced off the walls as Shelly’s favorite abstract picture crashed to the ground in its glass frame. Footprints detailed his journey around the room, as did the wreckage in his trail. Fear quickly became anger that John used to his advantage.

“Son, I’d slow down if I were you.”

“I don’t know how,” Malik shouted back, laughing when another item hit the floor. “I only know how to go in circles like this!”

“Malik David, stop it, right now! And turn the lights off in your head!”

John burst into laughter for several seconds, only stopping when he caught a glimpse of his wife’s scowl from the corner of his eye. He threw his hands up in surrender. “What!”

“Stop laughing!”

“You told the boy to turn the lights off in his head. How is that - oh shit!”

As if in slow motion, Shelly and John watched Malik make a crucial misstep and tumble toward the sharp end of their stone fireplace. The light in his eyes was gone, making way for childlike fear. Malik’s arms flailed as he tried to reach for any surface to steady himself.

Instinct and hyper-focus took over Shelly’s body as she moved to leap across the room. John felt his bones tingle with uncontrollable static, creating a green halo around him. All of his attention became focused on saving his son.

Shelly’s arms extended like limitless elastic to grab hold of Malik’s waist just as a glowing cushioned barrier materialized to shield his impact against the cold, hard stone. John’s focus immediately retrained on Shelly snapping her elastic arms back to her body with Malik in tow. She hadn’t moved from her spot beside him despite her limbs stretching to the furthest corner of the room. John marveled at his wife for a moment before realizing that the barrier still suspended in the air came from his hands. He stood in shock while examining his hands.

“Oh, my God! Malik, are you okay? Let me look at you!” Shelly’s voice jolted John back into reality, and he rushed to join her side.

Together they gave their son a once over to check for injuries until a tiny giggle caught their attention.

“What? What is it, son? What’s wrong?”

Malik continued to giggle before answering. “Mommy looked like a rubber band!”

“I-I did,” Shelly answered as she looked to her husband. “I did?”

“Yes, and it was amazing. I always knew you were super-mom but damn!”

“And, Daddy, you were all like pew pew pew! Are you a superhero?”

John and Shelly shared a look, silently debating their response. “Superheroes aren’t real, buddy. All that stuff is make-believe. Like for the TV.”

“Then how come Mr. Campbell can fly?”

“Fly?” Shelly followed Malik’s gaze to the sliding glass door facing the backyard. Sure enough, Mr. Campbell, their ornery next-door neighbor, clumsily teetered in the air above the tall hedges separating their yards. John sprang into action and ran outside to assist the older man hollering for help.

With his mind, John willed a glowing lasso into existence and quickly wrangled Mr. Campbell back to the ground.

“See! Daddy is a superhero,” Malik exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement.

Shelly watched John attempt to quell their neighbor’s worry before looking back at Malik and smiling. “Malik, can you go in your room and color Daddy a cool picture of his new superhero outfit? Make one for all of us because I think you have powers too!”

“Cool! I’ll make them green!”

“Perfect, baby boy. Go ahead.”

While Malik ran with his back turned, Shelly used her new ability to reach into the kitchen from the living room and grab her cell phone. She rapidly tapped at the screen to search for any explanation she could find. Her social media search led to the local news station where a white delivered breaking news.

“All around the world, people are waking up with unexplained supernatural abilities. Haven’t noticed any changes? It may be because you aren’t Black. More on the Solstice Phenomena after the break.”

“What the fuck,” Shelly whispered to herself as she watched images of Black people all over the world indulging in their newfound powers.

The faint screech of the sliding doors caused Shelly to snap her eyes to John, who shared her bewildered look.

“Baby, I-I think…”

“We’ve been inducted into the Negro Justice League,” Shelly laughed. “Seems like it.”

John trudged his tired body across the room until he reached the couch. He plopped down in a heap beside Shelly as he untucked his t-shirt from his uniform pants. They sat together in silence, listening to the low murmur of the television until a piercing scream ripped through the air outside. Shelly looked down at her husband as he looked up at her. She smiled.

“Go on out there. The neighborhood needs savin’, John Stewart.”

[killingkueen]

Fic: Nooner

Summary: Belle wants to ask Gold something. It’s very important and can’t wait. Obviously. || A companion to Seeing Red, but you don’t need to have read it.

Rating: E (this is just porn); specifically mutual masturbation and a tiny bit of cum play

AO3 link

Thank you to the spectacular @paradigmparadoxical, who keeps the world turning.

OOO

“—but close enough in shape and color.”

“That’d be great! Honestly, whatever you have to do, you know? Mary would be devastated if nothing was salvageable.”

Belle closed the door behind her, the bell chiming merrily.

“A moment, dearie,” Gold called absently, bent over the display case inspecting whatever David Nolan had brought in. “Most of them aren’t,” Gold continued with David. “But if Mrs. Nolan doesn’t object to a couple glue lines on the ones that aren’t shattered, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s more than we expected, honestly.”

She hovered at the door, wondering if she should come back tomorrow—her lunch break was only so long—and perhaps she would have, if the view were different. Belle liked watching Gold in his element: behind his counter, the sun just missing him as it stretched across the floor of his shop. It left him in shadow, despite the lights overhead. He might not enjoy working with the public, but he was good at it, letting his knowledge and expertise guide him.

Gold wrapped the glass pieces back in the towel that David had brought them in, placing the bundle carefully in the shoebox. “I’ll dig around for the figurines I have,” he said. “They might be too small, but I have a few sources that would likely have more appropriate sizes. If it comes to that, I’ll call you with an estimate.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” Belle could hear the relieved grin in David’s voice as he reached out a hand to shake Gold’s.

Gold’s lips twitched into a polite smile. He let go and turned to greet his new customer, finally spotting her.

“Miss French,” he said, voice deepening. His smile became no less placid, but he looked more present than moments ago, his eyes brightening. “What a surprise.”

“Hey,” Belle sighed, smiling in return. There was no way there was enough time left on her break—even taking the rest of the day off wouldn’t suffice. 

David coughed, catching the changed air between them. “Well, now that I got the mobile squared away, I think I’ll be leaving. Thanks again, Gold.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” he said automatically, eyes glued to Belle. He didn’t turn to watch David leave.

For that matter, Belle wasn’t inclined to do more than offer David a quick smile in goodbye when he passed her. She made quick work of flipping the closed sign and lock, before prancing up to the counter.

“Can you fit me in, Mr. Gold?”

“It’s quite short notice, Miss French. I’m afraid I have to charge a fee.” 

“And what would that be?” she asked slowly. She relished the way his eyes trailed down to her lips.

“Nothing too steep, I hope,” he said, leaning forward.

Belle happily met him for a sweet peck. When they parted, she bit her lip. No, there was not enough time in the world with this man.

“Tea, sweetheart?” Gold asked.

“I was thinking lunch? Maybe? Eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow, gaze darting to his locked door.

Belle cleared her throat. “Let’s talk in the back.”

“Talk, hm?” There was the beginning spark of mischief in his eyes as he swept the curtain aside, holding it for her pass by him.

“Yes. Talk.” Belle put on her most stern face. It was hard to keep up when he was smirking like that, when he popped his hip as he stood in the backroom, waiting for her first move.

She cleared her throat. “So,” Belle began. “I want to see your—cock.” 

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. It would be really silly if she were blushing, considering all the things they’d already said and done to each other. But Gold murmuring dirty things so sweetly into her ear while he moved in her felt vastly different when she tried to say the same things in the light of his backroom while they were still fully clothed.

Instead of cringing in secondhand embarrassment, Gold’s smirk deepened. “Do you, now?” He hooked his cane on the edge of the worktable and reached for her waist. Belle accepted the kiss, letting it deepen. She sucked his bottom lip until his wandering hands trailed to the zipper on her skirt.

Belle stepped away reluctantly, her hands running down Gold’s arms until she was loosely holding his hands—and it was with a huge amount of self-restraint that she didn’t abandon her plan right there and let him have his nefarious way with her.

“I mean, I want to actually see it.” Belle pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. Gold’s eyes strayed to her mouth longingly.

Gold turned their hands so his thumbs were rubbing circles into her wrists. The gentle movement belied his filthy smirk.

“You’ve seen me plenty,” he said.

“Yes, that’s true.” Belle trailed her eyes downward. “But, see, I had this completely random thought while I was doing something very important at the library,” she started.

“Reading on the job again, Miss French?”

“And,” she said, admitting nothing. “I realized I have never seen a hardening cock.” At least her  voice was steady, even if she had to dart her eyes away from his face.

Gold gave her a blank look, his thumbs pausing.

“I’ve seen you hard, but never how you got there,” Belle elaborated.

“Huh.” Gold thought on that as she took a deliberate step back, his hands brushing against hers as they let go. She then took another, until she could lean against his work table.

“If that’s what you want, I suppose I have no reason to say no.” Despite his confusion, he started to work at his belt buckle, so that was something.

“It really is,” Belle said, toes curling as she watched.

He got as far as unzipping his trousers before asking, “Do you mind if I sit for this?”

“Not at all,” she said, but Gold was already limping to the cot. He waved away her help as he settled, slipping off his jacket and placing it carefully on the pillow. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, folding it on the jacket. 

Next, he toed off his shoes, then toed them to the side so they wouldn’t get in the way. His fingers fidgeted with the top buttons of his shirt, not sure if that should go, too.

“The point is to be seen, yes?” He glanced at her, still against the table, but couldn’t hold her gaze. It dropped to his feet, and he focused on peeling off his socks instead.

“Do—do you not want to?” She thought they had gotten past his initial shyness; considering how often they’d seen each other naked, she thought this request would be easy.

Gold opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. “I guess you could say I’m not a fan of being scrutinized,” he finally admitted.

“I have already seen it,” she reminded him. “And I like how it looks when it’s hard. I only want to see how it gets there.”

“Do you?” Gold asked. 

“Yeah,” Belle said. If Belle were to rank the aesthetic appeal of a human body, a penis would rank near bottom—dicks were strange and beyond the obvious use for them Belle never understood their appeal. Not that she saw the point in mentioning that. 

She was still honest when she said: “It’s yours, that’s why I like it.” 

Gold, thankfully, believed her; he undid the trouser button, and lifted his hips so he could slide them and his briefs down his thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He smiled at her, and it was less the filthy smirk of minutes ago than the tender melting of his eyes, a soft tilt at the corner of his lips. A wonder (a privilege, an honor), that such a small assurance from her was enough to get him to look at her like that.

It was really, really hard for Belle not to walk over and straddle him. It would be the work of moments to push her panties aside and sink onto him like a rock at the bottom of an ocean. She just had to remember she wanted to see this through more. 

He spread his knees, welcoming her greedy eyes, but the tails of his silk shirt obscured his lap.

“You’re still hiding,” she accused.

He hid his grimace well with a smile that reached his eyes. Before Belle could offer an alternative, his hands were already sliding each button through the eyehole, and then his front was bared to her. 

Gold was a slim man by nature, his thin frame hinting at a wiry strength. His skin was smooth and tanned, framed by the shirt he left hanging off his shoulders, open. He was welcome to leave it on; the purple was a good color on him.

Belle was too far away. If she was going to watch the show, she needed a front row seat. Slowly, as if to keep from spooking a wild animal, she crouched to her hands and knees. Crawling was the work of moments in the cramped space of the backroom. She stopped as she reached the cradle of Gold’s knees, her eyes never leaving his cock.

He made a noise in his throat at her approach, and his cock gave an interested twitch, but otherwise stayed very pink and very soft.

Gold blew out a breath of air from his nose. She watched as he ran one hand down his stomach, over his hips, then cupped his sac underneath. Before his other could grab hold of the shaft, Belle stopped him.

“No hands,” she ruled, tapping his knee until he let go of himself. “I can’t see.”

Gold frowned. “How do you think this works?”

“I don’t know. It just happens, right?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, shifting his hips.

A few moments passed.

“Aw, does he not like being put on the spot?”

Gold snorted. “Keep staring like that, it’ll perk up.”

Belle regarded his nethers curiously. “Usually you get hard so quickly. You’re almost always ready to go by the time I get your clothes off. It’s actually quite flattering.”

“Happy to please,” he murmured.

Belle had never been this close to his flaccid member before. It wasn’t exactly shriveled, but it was limp like a deflated balloon, pillowed on his balls, head pointed down. It humored her to see that it fit quite neatly on top of his scrotum, the dick being a little narrower, a little shorter—like nesting dolls.

Her gaze broadened slightly, taking in his spread thighs, the hair he kept trimmed, the V of his hips that stood prominent, despite the rounding belly above. Belle knew exactly how the skin below his belly button tasted, knew how he’d jolt in pleasure if she cupped his sack in her hand or trailed two fingers behind to tease at his perineum. 

“He is shy, isn’t he?” she said, her mouth feeling dry. She was getting impatient.

“Stop calling it a ‘he,’” Gold huffed, trying to smother his indulgent smile.

“Maybe I can help?”

“Your, ah, mouth, perhaps?” Gold said promptly, licking his lips. He spread his legs further, an invitation for her to settle between them.

It was a tempting offer. “I would feel it, not see it.” 

A fascinating sensation, surely—to put her mouth on his soft cock and feel it harden, lengthening against her tongue. How different would his skin-warm flesh feel before the blood warmed it further? Would the heat of him burn her? And if she palmed his balls, if he thrust his hips, how long until he grew too big to fit completely in her mouth?

Belle leaned forward on her hands, watching him twitch. “Next time, definitely,” she promised.

“Your breasts, then,” 

She realized then that she had him at a disadvantage, what with being fully clothed while Gold was very nearly naked. And that sent something through her, didn’t it, a heat that was as familiar as her hands. She was warm before, but now felt a blaze alight under her skin, right in her groin.

They could play with that later. Belle started to undo the buttons on her blouse, pulling at the fabric to release it from the waistband of her skirt. She’d leave it on though, like his was. Her bra was not front latching; she shrugged the straps down her shoulders, then pushed the cups down. She wished, not for the first time, that she was better endowed. Never would her breasts be described as being contained by her bras; they were comfortably blanketed.

From the look of rapture on Gold’s face, he didn’t mind. His hands were squeezing his knees, likely to keep from pulling her closer and ruining her game. His eyes were dark and hungry, focused entirely on her chest.

Belle bit her lip, cupping herself in her hands, pushing the mounds up and then together. At his groan of approval, she flicked her nipples with her thumbs. The welcoming pull that sent through her was almost enough to close her eyes, but she couldn’t forget her purpose.

Her eyes trailed down, back to Gold’s cock. Was it bigger than it was, moments ago? She pinched her nipples, pulling them out, then pushing in, leaning into the movement. The jolt was deeper than her belly; she could feel it right in her cunt. She couldn’t keep her mouth from opening in a silent gasp of pleasure, but her eyes stayed focused on Gold.

And there, finally—he began to swell, his cock growing and lifting off his balls as it filled with his hot blood. Slowly, it came to swing between them, long and hard. If he gave his length a pull or two (with a slight twist at the head that she knew he favored), maybe it would fall back against his belly, sitting as he was.

 And wasn’t that an idea.

“Did you know erections produced from oral sex are longer than erections without?” she asked without thinking.

His answering laugh was surprised, short. His eyes, still dark, still heated, melted somewhat into a look of complete adoration.

“If you want it longer, by all means,” he panted.

Belle hummed, eyes scanning up and down his length carefully. The skin was flushed like the sky at sunset; the tip darker than the peach at the base.

“You’re already perfect,” she decided, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to the tip. Her tongue flicked over him, teasing inside his slit.

His hips twitched, and he released a rush of breath at the contact that turned into a moan of disappointment when instead of taking him into her mouth, she leaned back on her heels.

Belle gave him an encouraging smile, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Go on, then.”

He looked at her blankly. “What?”

“I want to watch.”

“Watch what?”

“What do you think?”

She hadn’t had a plan when she first walked into the shop. Nothing concrete beyond asking for what he so delightfully just delivered. But the view was too good to pass up, and ordering him around sent such a delicious thrill down her spine. Belle settled back on her heels, expectant.

Gold’s throat bobbed. His hand loosely gripped his shaft. He took to this request with a surprising but welcomed ardor.

“There’s lotion. In that drawer." He nodded to the cabinet by his chair.

“Unscented?” she teased, slipping off her heels before standing up. She didn’t trust herself to walk in a straight line in this state.

She found the bottle near the front, brandishing it proudly when she turned back to face him. “The question is—” she started.

While she was digging through the drawer, Gold had freed his ankles from his trousers, his shoulders and arms from his shirt. He now sat bare and hard on the cot. Belle froze—couldn’t help but stare.

“Take a picture,” he teased. “It’ll last longer.”

“Maybe I should,” Belle murmured. “Give me something to keep me warm when you leave me cold and alone in my apartment.”

Gold whined. He held his hand out for the lotion, and when Belle gave it to him, he grasped her hand in his, turning it so he could press a hard, needy kiss to the palm of her hand.

“I love your cock,” Belle said, getting comfortable at his feet. “I don’t tell you enough, just how much.”

He whined again, fumbling with the bottle. When he was lubed, he wasted no time wrapping a hand around himself. To Belle’s delight, he started slow, with firm strokes. His other hand cupped his balls, fondling himself as he stared at her with open want.

“It’s so hard and thick. I love how it feels in my hand, how it tastes in my mouth.” The words came much easier than before. Gold leaned forward slightly, desperate to hear them. “And especially my wet, hungry cunt.”

Belle was wiggling her hips before she realized she had started tweaking her nipples again. Fuck, but she wanted him so much. She could feel the moisture that had seeped into the gusset of her panties. 

She spread her legs wider, giving herself more purchase to run her hand up and down her thighs and then hike up her skirt. As Gold twisted his hand at his tip, she pushed her panties aside so she could swirl her fingers through her moist curls. 

Gold’s grip was firm as his hand gripped his cock and he pumped it a little faster up and down, watching Belle the entire time. “Fuck, Belle,” he moaned when she used two of her fingers to open her cunt lips, showing him how wet he made her.

Smooth and musky, she could smell her scent mixing with his, and she inhaled deeply, wanting more of it. 

He squeezed his erection, hand tightened on his balls, and Gold watched, rapt, as Belle slipped a finger inside of herself, where she desperately wanted him; his fingers, his tongue, his hard cock. 

He was leaking precum, could see it glistening on his fingers. She pictured him sliding against her labia, how it felt to grind against his shaft. Her thumb pressed gently across her hard clit, finger pinching and twisting her nipple. She watched his hand work himself, matching his pace as she added another finger.

“Belle, love,” he panted in answer, stroking himself harder and faster, listening to her sweet moans as she brought herself closer and closer to orgasm. She knew he was close, could almost see his cum boiling in his sac.

Gold’s eyes stayed trained on her cunt, to the gushy slide of her fingers and fuck, she can practically feel herself dripping on his hardwood floor. She gasped, cunt squelching at the image of making him lick it up.

She made a sound, drawn out and low, as her fingers curled in her just there. She desperately tried to keep her eyes open, to keep watching as Gold fisted his cock, and she nearly succeeded. Wave after wave rushed through her, and she felt electric and loved and beautiful. With a final gasp, she fell forward, catching herself on Gold’s good knee.

His movement had slowed at her orgasm, but picked up with a frenzy when she sucked her fingers into her mouth with a happy hum.

“Belle, please,” he cried, desperate. “Please, fuck.”

“Anything,” she promised, looking up at him with hooded eyes, mouth already watering at the thought of swallowing him down.

“Your chest,” he said. “Please, please, may I?—”

Belle blinked, surprised, but straightened enough so she could settle in front of his frantic hand. His eyes were glued to her tits as she bared herself, making sure her shirt and bra were out of the way.

The first ropey splash at her collar bone made her toes curl, the warmth surprising her more than it should. The second, the third, accompanied by a low groan. Gold squeezed his cock in one hand, cradled his scrotum in the other, making sure every last drop was wrung from him.

Belle felt the cum cool even as it dripped down her chest, but she wasn’t paying much mind to it, not when the lines had disappeared around his mouth, when he was so lovely and content, the sweat making his hair stick to his face. 

Their eyes caught, and he smiled. Belle let the laughter burst from her, and she ran her hands up and down the insides of his thighs, kissing his knee.

She was probably hours late to the library. Her clothes were disheveled and if she got cum on her shirt she was going to die of embarrassment, but she didn’t care. She was laughing with the man she loved, who loved her back.

“This is called something,” she said, when her laugh subsided. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, her knees felt a little raw from kneeling unprotected. She felt better than she had all week.

“Ah, a necklace, of some sort.” His hands found hers on his thighs. He laced their fingers together.

“Opal necklace, was it?”

“Pearl, I think,” Gold said. The crow's feet at his eyes crinkled. It suited him, this contentment. The blush of his orgasm was clearing up, his cock drooping down again, yet he kept the rosy glow, the liquid adoration in his eyes.

“That’s right,” she murmured. With her finger, Belle smeared some of the mess across her collar bone, careful to miss her blouse. “You’ve given me a pearl necklace.”

It was getting tacky. It’d dry soon. She wondered what it would feel like to have to peel it off her skin. She had to admit, the image was a lot less fun than how it was put there.

Gold watched her fingers, chest rumbling with a sound that wasn’t quite a growl. “I’ll buy you real pearls. As many as you want.”

He’d look at her the same, she knew; whether she was spread out on a bed wearing nothing but a dozen strings of pearls, or here in the back of his shop with her shirt hastily opened, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

“I’d rather you make me dinner,” Belle decided. She pushed herself up just enough to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

With an anchoring hand on the back of her neck, he took her hand—the one she’d used to finger herself, the one smeared with his cum—brought it to his lips and sucked them into his mouth. 

Belle could only sigh in approval as his tongue licked her clean. When he finished, he placed an open-mouthed kiss below her collarbone, sucking in her skin, their moans mingling as he cleaned her there, too.

Soon her chest was wet and sticky with his saliva and what cum he hadn’t licked up. She was quite pink, too, from his love bites. With a final kiss over her heart, Gold reached over to his suit jacket so he could pull the handkerchief from the front pocket and started in on the mess still on her chest.

“No, you’ll ruin the silk,” Belle protested half-heartedly.

Instead of answering, he flashed her a crooked smile. 

“I’m making fish tonight. With broccoli and potatoes. You should come.”

“But it’s your week with Bae.” She hadn’t been serious about dinner, at least not immediately so.

“The lad should get used to you being around, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think he likes me much,” she said, chewing on her lip.

“He doesn’t know you well, is all.” He kissed her temple. “You tend to flitter off every time he shows up. He thinks you’re avoiding him.” Anxiety had creeped into the corner of his eyes, dimming the warmth.

“I’m trying to respect his boundaries,” she said weakly.

She liked Bae; it was hard not to. But she was also keenly aware that Gold was the stable parent, and that the life of a single father and his teenaged son might not always have room for her. But perhaps that was a tad short-sighted. There would never be room for her if she didn’t stick around long enough to get comfortable.

“Come to dinner, Belle.”

She hummed. “What kind of potatoes?” 

“Roasted,” he said. He kissed her below her jaw. “With garlic and herbs.”

“And for dessert?” she asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, skin still bared and warm.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something when Bae goes to bed.” He caught her mouth in a kiss, swallowing her laugh as it bubbled from her chest.

[livesincerely]

dress you up, dress you down ch. 2 - the clothes make the man

aka the Tie Fic. Chapter one here.

Also on Ao3

00000

It’s early Monday morning. Davey is working on coaxing Les into his school uniform when there’s a knock on the bedroom window.

“Jack!” Les greets, the untucked tails of his shirt flapping behind him as he rushes over to open it.

“Hey, bud,” Jack says, climbing in from the building’s fire escape with easy grace. “How’s it hangin’?”

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I’m workin’ on some cartoons for Joe today, but I hadta come pick up some stuff from Dave before I head over.”

Les’ expression brightens. “Oh, you mean your new suits and stuff?”

“Got it in one,” Jack confirms, ruffling Les’ hair. “Your brother and Kathy ganged up on me yesterday and made me buy a buncha fancy geddups. They was real serious about it—said it was important for my ‘tential growth as an employee.’”

Jack leans closer, then continues in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think it’s all a waste of dollars, but if it’s important to them I guess it’s important to me.”

“Well it’s real important to David!” Les chirps. “He brought your stuff home but he wouldn’t even let me look at it. He hung it all up in the back of our closet and told me if I touched anything he’d murder me!”

“Well, they did cost a fair chunk of change,” Jack says slowly, blinking several times in rapid succession. “And I’m pretty sure if they got ruined before I hadda chance to wear ‘em out, Kath would kill us all.”

“Go brush your teeth,” Davey tells Les. “Jack needs to get ready.”

“But I wanna see the fancy geddup,” Les whines.

“You can see it when he’s dressed,” Davey says. “Brush your teeth.”

“But—“

“Go!”

Les lets out a huff but finally does as he’s told. Davey turns to Jack.

“The garment bag’s all the way in the back on the left,” Davey informs him, waving a hand towards the closet.

He goes to follow Les out of the room to give Jack some privacy but he only gets as far as grabbing the door handle before Jack’s voice pipes up behind him with, “Wait, where are ya goin’?”

Davey’s brow furrows. “I’m letting you get dressed.”

“But you gotta get dressed too,” Jack says with a frown, gesturing at the pajamas that Davey’s still wearing. “Distribution opens in a hour.”

“Oh, well, I was gonna wait for you to finish,” Davey explains.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna make you late. Just go ahead and change, don’t mind me.”

Davey hesitates. “If you’re sure it’s okay...”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Dave, you’ve seen the Lodging House—it ain’t exactly private quarters. If it don’t bother you it don’t bother me.”

Well, actually, it bothers Davey quite a lot, though probably not for the reasons Jack thinks. But he’s not sure how to excuse himself without seeming suspicious so he swallows down his reservations and steps more fully back into the room.

Jack unearths the garment bag and works the clasps open. Davey catches a glimpse of soft cottons and sturdy wools and feels his cheeks getting warm—just the thought of what’s to come is enough to send his heart racing. He takes a steadying breath, then throws open the trunk at the foot of his bed and starts looking through it for a clean set of clothes.

His only plan is to get changed as quickly and quietly as possible. So naturally Jack choses this moment to strike up a conversation. 

“So how’d your meetin’ go?” Jack asks. Davey instinctively turns towards the sound of his voice and is treated to the long expanse of Jack’s bare back as he wriggles out of his shirt.

“...What?” Davey says. His voice sounds distant to his own ears.

“Your meetin’?” Jack repeats. He lets his shirt fall to the floor at his feet, his hands dropping down to start undoing his belt buckle. “Didn’t you and Albie have a thing last week? Down by the water?”

It takes Davey a moment to shake off his stupor. Flushed and flustered, he quickly whirls back around but it feels like the sight’s been seared into the space behind his eyes. Good god.

“Oh, right, of course,” Davey stammers out, keeping his gaze fixed carefully on the wall in front of him as he fumbles through unbuttoning his pajama top. “Yeah, it went well. Better than I thought it would, anyway. We still need to figure a few things out but we’re off to a good start.”

“And Brooklyn didn’t give you no trouble?” Jack questions. “Spottie was nice and hospitable?”

“It was fine Jack,” Davey says, and the familiar banter is working wonders on calming his frazzled nerves. “Spot and Hotshot stopped by and checked in with us, just to make sure we were being honest and keeping to the agreement and all that, but they mostly left us alone.” Davey folds up his pajamas and leaves them in a neat stack on his bed, slips on a clean pair of underwear, then steps into his selling pants and fastens them up. “Honestly, I think they were... not happy, exactly, but proud? Honored? It’s a respect thing, right?”

“Well, ya only get asked to be neutral territory if everyone else trusts ya to play fair,” Jack explains. “So, yeah, it’s a sign of respect. But Brooklyn’s always been real particular ‘bout who’s all allowed to cross the bridge, so they don’t usually do it—I still can’t believe Spot agreed to play host for ya.”

“It helps that I can get through a conversation with him without picking a fight,” Davey comments lightly as he works his arms into his shirt sleeves. “Unlike certain others I could name.”

“I still say he started it,” Jack responds, and Davey doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s pouting.

“Uh huh,” Davey says. “Sure he did.”

“Hey, now,” Jack says, grabbing at the hem of Davey’s shirt and tugging him around to face him. In the time since Davey’s last looked he’s put on his pants and suspenders, his shirt done up but only partially tucked in. He should be easier to deal with now that he’s covered up, but the disheveled, partially dressed look is somehow just as enticing as the bare skin. It’s honestly not fair. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m always on your side,” Davey says, perhaps a little too sincerely, feeling a touch lightheaded. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out. And you definitely started it last time.”

“He’s been mackin’ on Racetrack!” Jack says, and he’s adorably grumpy about it. “I can’t just let that go!”

“They’re dating, Jack,” Davey reminds him for the thousandth time. “Obviously they’re gonna be holding hands and kissing and whatever else—you might as well get used to it. And regardless,” Davey pokes Jack in the chest, a gentle scolding, “you shouldn’t be letting your personal feelings about Spot affect your dealings with Brooklyn. You’re supposed to be professional, mister Union President.”

“It’s Racetrack,” Jack insists. “It’s my god-given right to give his boyfriend,” Jack makes a face as he says the word because he’s ridiculous, “a hard time. It ain’t my fault Spottie’s got such a short fuse.”

“And that’s why you’re not allowed to handle business with Brooklyn anymore,” Davey says, and he’s trying for disapproving but he can feel the start of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Worth it,” Jack says, utterly unapologetic. Davey just shakes his head. Jack’s bad enough now when it’s just Racer—he can only imagine how overprotective Jack’ll be if Crutchie decides he’s interested in dating too.

Davey finishes buttoning his shirt, then leans down and starts digging around in his trunk for a pair of socks and a set of suspenders.

“Hey, but back to your meetin’,” Jack starts after a moment, picking up the previous conversation where they left off. “You know who you really needta talk to? There’s a kid over in Flushing—I don’t think you’ve met him yet, name’s Paulie—but he’s got crazy connections with somma the dock workers. One time he managed ta—” 

Jack stops mid word, a sudden, sharp inhale interrupted by a series of coughs.

“You alright?” Davey calls over his shoulder, still searching.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack says, an odd note in his voice. “Just, uh, swallowed wrong, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Davey says, absently. He straightens up, then frowns when he realizes he’s grabbed a pair of Les’ socks instead of his own. He throws them aside, then bends back over his trunk, rifling even more vigorously through the assortment of clothes. 

Jack mutters something under his breath, too quietly for Davey to make out the words.

“What was that?” Davey asks, finally coming up with the right items. 

“Nothin’,” Jack says, head ducked low as he buttons up his vest. It’s a little hard to tell, but it looks like he’s gone a bit pink in the face. “I just⁠— it was nothin’.”

Davey watches him for a moment longer, brow furrowed. But when Jack doesn’t say anything else, he goes back to his task, pulling on his socks and carefully tucking his shirt into his pants. 

“How’s that?” he asks Jack, turning slowly in place. “Did I miss any spots?”

“Lookin’ good Dave,” Jack says with a smile. “Here, hold still,” he continues, patting at Davey’s hip with one hand and picking up the end of his suspenders with the other. “I’ll fix you up.”

“Oh, thanks,” Davey says tentatively. 

Jack steps in close, his knuckles brushing against the small of Davey’s back as he clips his suspenders into place. Davey swallows heavily around a suddenly dry throat, trying his hardest not to think about how he can feel Jack’s body heat like a tangible weight along his spine, how there’s the barest whisper of Jack’s breath tickling at the nape of his neck. 

He hopes Jack can’t hear the hitch in his voice as he asks, “So what are you working on today?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothin’ much,” Jack says. “Just some line work, and maybe sketching out some ideas for the Friday edition.”

“Is your, uh, desk mate still stealing your drafting pencils?” Davey asks. 

“He sure is, the prick,” Jack answers. “Which is so damn annoying⁠—it ain’t like they don’t give us plenty.” His hands slide up over Davey’s waist: “Turn around for me.”

Davey obediently turns. “Maybe you should call him out,” he offers.

“Maybe I should stab him in the neck with his stupid compass,” Jack says with a snort. He follows the line of Davey’s suspender straps up over his shoulders and down to the front of his pants, clipping the other pair of buckles into place. “There, you’re all set.”

“Great,” Davey says, his eyes flitting across Jack’s face. He’s very handsome. He’s very close. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jack says, his voice a little husky. His fingers are still curled around the straps of Davey’s suspenders. “Happy to help.”

“Right,” Davey breathes out. 

“Right,” Jack echoes.

They stare at each other.

“I should, uh, grab my vest,” Davey says, clearing his throat. His pulse is pounding in his ears. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jack says as he shuffles back a couple of steps, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. I’ll just⁠, I’ll finish doing… over here.” 

Davey spends a long while shaking the wrinkles out of his vest, then pulls it on with clumsy limbs. He smooths his hands nervously down the front of it, then pretends to pick away a few pieces of lint, just to give himself another minute to calm his fluttering heart. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

For a brief moment there’s no noise except the rustling of fabric and the sounds of the city drifting in from the open window. Then Jack calls, his voice tinged with a hint of alarm, “Uh… Dave? Help.”

Davey glances over. Jack’s made an attempt at putting on his tie and it’s ended in absolute disaster, the collar of his shirt crumpled beneath a too tight and incredibly tangled knot.

“What on earth did you do?” Davey asks, his lingering embarrassment burnt away by sheer bafflement. 

“I thought I had it handled!” Jack says. He tries to pick the knot loose, but only manages to make things worse. “Christ, these things are death traps.”

“Stop, or you’re gonna strangle yourself,” Davey says, smacking Jack’s hands out of the way. “Just let me⁠—”

Davey reaches up, undoing the mess of a knot with deft fingers, then expertly re-ties the strip of red silk into a perfect four-in-hand.

“There,” Davey says, carefully tucking the tails under Jack’s suit vest, then folding the sides of his shirt collar back down into place. “How’s that?”

“‘S good,” Jack says.

“Not too tight?” Davey checks just to be sure, noting the raspiness of Jack’s voice. He adjusts the knot one more time, then presses a neat little dimple right in the center of it. “I can do it again if it doesn’t feel right⁠—”

“No, it’s great, Dave,” Jack says lowly, and his hand closes around Davey’s own so that their hands are clasped together over Jack’s sternum. Startled, Davey’s eyes dart up to meet Jack’s and their gazes catch and linger⁠ again with that same soft, simmering intensity from earlier. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” Davey says hoarsely⁠, held captive by Jack’s stare. He almost can’t breathe around the pressure building somewhere deep in his chest; Jack somehow feels even closer than he had before, all dark eyed and broad shouldered and just far too much for Davey to handle. “Good, that’s…” Davey swallows, licks his lips, and tries to think of something to say that isn’t absolutely asinine. “I’m glad.”

An expression flickers across Jack’s face, too quickly for Davey to identify. Then his hand curls more firmly around Davey’s, and Davey can feel the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms. Jack takes a breath, opens his mouth to speak⁠—

“David!” Les shouts as he bursts back into the bedroom. Davey jolts away from Jack like he’s been burned, his hands dropping back to his sides. Jack’s mouth clicks shut⁠⁠—whatever he might’ve been about to say is lost. “Davey, stop hogging Jack! You already saw the fancy geddup, I wanna see too⁠⁠—”

He skids to a sudden halt, his eyes going wide. “Wow, Jack, you look swell! Like a real, pr’fessional artist.”

“Hey, I’m already an artist,” Jack counters playfully, though there’s a hint of tightness around his mouth. “All this stuff is just window dressing, ya hear?”

“Yeah, but now you look all serious and business-y and confident,” Les stresses. “Like you actually know what you’re doing.”

Jack laughs. “That’s just the clothes talkin’, bud,” he says. “Believe me, I ain’t gotta clue what I’m doin’ most the time. ‘S what I keep Davey around for⁠, to make sure at least somebody knows what the hell is going on.”

“Well, I think you look nice,” Les declares, like that’s the final word on the matter. He looks at Davey and says, “Mama says we gotta leave soon or we’ll be late.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Davey answers. Les nods, then skips away to put on his shoes and hat.

“I guess I should head on out,” Jack says, wandering towards the still-open window. “I’ll see you in a few hours⁠—”

“Jack Kelly, you are not going down the fire escape in your brand new suit,” Davey says, exasperated. “You can walk out the front door with us like a normal human being.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” Jack says with a grin, but he slides the window shut and dutifully comes back over. Once he’s close enough, Davey elbows him in the ribs. “Ow, what was that for⁠—?”

“Stop talking down on yourself,” Davey huffs. “You don’t give yourself enough credit⁠.”

“Or maybe I give myself exactly enough credit,” Jack counters. 

“Oh, please,” Davey says, rolling his eyes. “I know you’ve got a functioning brain in that head of yours⁠, you don’t need me to be successful⁠—you’ll get by on your own merits.”

“My own merits, huh?” Jack says with a rueful smile. “You make it sound so easy, Dave.”

“I know it’s not easy,” Davey says. “But I also know that if you really wanted something, you’d figure out a way to get it.”

“But, see, there’s a lotta things I want,” Jack says, and he’s gone a bit quiet in his contemplation. “Probably too many things. I ain’t figured out how to get hardly any of ‘em, and especially not the most important things.”

“But you will,” Davey says. “I’m sure you will.”

Jack stares at him, and for a split-second Davey can see the raw yearning in his eyes for... whatever his latest dream is. Davey hopes he finds it, even as his heart lurches at the thought of some new, Santa Fe-esque fantasy stealing Jack away, maybe permanently this time. 

“God, I hope so,” Jack breathes.

00000

Chapter three here

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely

Yes, I’ve found my way into the Schitt’s Creek fandom - it’s a lovely, hopeful place to be.  And of course, having met these wonderful people, I need to throw some angst and h/c their way.  Please enjoy this, the first chapter of my whump!Patrick fic.  

Thanks as always to my beta @perryavenue for coming along with me to yet another fandom :)

David/Patrick, M, A03 (tags/warnings this chapter:  injury, hospitalization, loss of consciousness, blood (minor))

Chapter 1 

David is arranging a new shipment of lavender sage lip balms by the cash register – he’s not sure they will sell as well as the honey vanilla but they are definitely more interesting – when he hears the crash.  

He grumbles again at Patrick’s insistence on spending their Sunday morning at the store when they could have just as easily slept in another few hours, and ambles to the backroom to see what happened.  It’s the last calm thought he processes.

There are wires hanging from a ceiling light fixture, a step ladder tilted at an angle against the shelves, and Patrick, lying on the floor, oddly twitching.  David crashes to his knees, hands flying to Patrick’s head, as words flow out of his mouth in a panicked stream.  “Patrick – Patrick- are you okay?  Patrick-”

Patrick is still breathing, David can feel his breath on his cheek when he presses his face close, but he’s not responding.  David’s hands are fluttering up and down Patrick’s body, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong.  He tries to hold Patrick’s head steady as his husband’s muscles continue to spasm.  “Patrick, wake up.  Please, come on, please, Patrick.”

David can feel something warm and wet in Patrick’s hair, and he faintly realizes that Patrick is bleeding.  “Oh my god, Patrick, open your eyes, please.”  He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls emergency services, one hand resting on Patrick’s head, trembling so hard he can only hope the operator can understand what he’s saying.

Something in his brain finally connects the wires still swinging above him with Patrick unconscious on the floor and his breath leaves him in a horrified gasp.  “Send help now, right now.  I think my husband has been electrocuted.”

*****

It’s David’s first time riding in an ambulance while he is sober enough to remember it, and it’s terrifying.  He can’t wish for anything to dull his senses right now, though, because he needs to be here for Patrick.  He needs to get a grip, to stay strong, to not fall apart like he absolutely thinks he’s about to do, because Patrick needs him to keep it together.

The EMTs don’t offer much information, and the ride to the hospital in Elmdale is a nightmare of spiraling anxiety.  David feels like his chest is going to implode, the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is his hand on Patrick’s ankle, his arm stretched out to touch him in the only place he can reach.  

He wants to say something, to do something, but his voice seems to have abandoned him.  Finally, the questions in his head break through.  “Is he going to be okay?”

He barely hears the noncommittal answer.  Patrick has to be okay.  Their story can’t end here.  They haven’t even been married a year.  David has plans for their one-year wedding anniversary, only a few months away.  He’s going to take Patrick on a hike.  He’s going to do it right, make up for how David almost ruined Patrick’s proposal with his grumpy mood.  He’s not going to complain, and Patrick’s not going to get stabbed in the foot with a branch.  David is going to pack a picnic, with Patrick’s favorite foods this time, and serenade him at sunset - or maybe not quite sunset, because hiking back down in the dark seems like a bad idea, but he still has time to figure that out.  They still have time, they are supposed to have time.  Lots of time.

David’s come far enough to believe that he’s pretty good at making Patrick happy, and at letting himself be happy, but there’s so much more he wants to do.  

So many more smiles he needs to see on Patrick’s face.

There’s a rush of activity as they arrive at the hospital, and David has to let go of Patrick’s ankle, even the loss of that small connection paining him.  “I’ll be right here,” he says, although Patrick can’t hear him, and no one is listening.  “I’ll be here.”

*****

David is pacing in the waiting room.  He has already filled out the necessary forms, his handwriting barely legible since he’s still shaking all over, and now there is nothing to do but wait.  He knows he should probably call someone and let them know what’s going on, but Patrick’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, and his own parents are in Fiji.  Stevie’s in New York for a conference, and Alexis is in L.A.  He’s got to handle this on his own.  

David used to be good at handling crises.  He prided himself on it.  Even when he was at the height of his drug happy party boy phase, he was always able to make a call to the right consulate and get Alexis sprung from whatever ridiculous situation she had wound up in.  He could act the part of a confident, competent savior, equipped with enough money and pull to get things done.  But things are different now.  Patrick has changed him, has cut right through all the walls he built to protect himself.  His defenses are gone.  And now this panicking, flailing, frightened man is all Patrick has left.

It seems like forever but finally a doctor comes out to talk with him.  Patrick is stable, but still unconscious.  Apparently he is more impaired than would be expected from a minor electric shock, because he hit his head when he fell.  Tests are being run.

David takes a step towards the doctor as his vision narrows, and someone is there next to him, a hand on his arm.  “Would you like to sit down?”  He doesn’t seem to have any choice, as he’s pushed into a chair, and a moment later handed a cup of water.

David takes a sip, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together and forcing himself to take a deep breath.  “When can I see him?  Can I see him, please?”

Not yet, they tell him.  Soon.  They’ll let him know.

*****

<i>Four hours earlier</i>

David wakes to the feel of his husband’s lips on his own, and he hums and wraps a hand around Patrick’s head and holds him close.  But instead of finding a sleep-warm, enticingly aroused and naked Patrick shuffling closer to him under the sheets, he opens his eyes to see Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, already showered, a towel around his waist.

“Mmm, no, come back to bed.”

“Can’t do that.  We’re going to the store early, remember?”

David groans and flops over, pulling the duvet over his head.  “I don’t want to.”

“But we said we’d do it, and if we don’t, our lovely shelves will be empty on one of our best selling days of the week.”

David doesn’t really care to remember this fact, although it’s true.  Thursday afternoon he and Patrick had gotten into a disagreement about whether to keep sourcing peppermint foot cream from a particular vendor, and by the time David shut his mouth long enough to figure out why Patrick had developed a sudden aversion to Mr. Braden (he was unforgivably rude to their intern), some rather less than pleasant things had been said by David, too.  David suggested he make it up to Patrick by trading their regular Thursday evening at the store doing inventory and stocking shelves for an impromptu date night, and Patrick had agreed, on the condition that they come in early on Sunday instead.

“I’d like to suggest an amendment to our agreement,” David says, sitting up and slinging both arms around Patrick’s neck, loving the smile it brings to his husband’s face.  “Come back to bed for just a little while, and I’ll put all the labels on the body milk bottles myself.”  Patrick doesn’t like sticking labels on the bottles, he says the adhesive makes his fingertips itch.

“We’ll be late,” Patrick objects, but he’s already relaxing into David’s arms.  

David knows Patrick’s protest is mostly for show.  He runs his tongue up the side of Patrick’s neck, inhaling the smell of his warm, damp skin.  “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Patrick caves, attacking David’s mouth in a hungry kiss, as they both fall back onto the bed.  “You always do.”

*****

It seems like forever, but finally someone comes and tells him that he can see Patrick.  They lead David down hallways and around corners and finally into a room.  He goes past an empty bed and a partly pushed back curtain and then he’s there, staring helplessly at his husband, laid out unnaturally where he absolutely does not belong.

All the tropes are true, David thinks to himself.  Patrick looks small, diminished by the machines and the wires and the strangeness of the setting.  He’s lying flat on his back, which is just wrong – Patrick sleeps on his side, his knees always bent, body twisted around a pillow or the sheets or, when at all possible, David.  He says it’s because he doesn’t breathe well lying on his back, but David knows he likes the comfort of it, of being surrounded and held.  David likes it too.

They’re a good pair, right for each other in all the most important ways.  David swallows hard and moves closer to this fragile version of his beloved husband.  <i>Patrick has to be okay.</i>

“Here, sit down,” the nurse at his side says, sliding a chair closer to the bed.  “You can touch him.”

David sits down, stiffly, and hovers his hand near Patrick’s.

“You won’t hurt him.”  The nurse is looking at Patrick’s chart, and then back to David.  “He hit his head pretty hard, but there’s no sign of any other injuries.”

“Is he… is he in pain?”  David thought Patrick was still unconscious.  

“No, he shouldn’t be,” she says.  “But we’ll ask him when he wakes up, and go from there.”

David bites his lip, and forces the words out.  “He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?”

The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and David forces himself not to flinch.  “There’s nothing to be gained by not staying positive,” she says patronizingly, patting him twice and then, mercifully, leaving the room.  

David indulges in a moment of fury, imagining himself storming out of the room and demanding to speak to a doctor, throwing a Moira Rose-style tantrum until someone gives him better customer service, but then he sees Patrick’s hand twitch and all thoughts of histrionics disappear.

“Patrick?”  David takes his husband’s hand and squeezes it.  “Patrick, are you awake?”  He reaches over and runs a finger along Patrick’s cheek.  “I’m right here.  Open your eyes, baby, look at me.”  

Shaking, he leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s dry lips, and then another.  But there’s no response, no Sleeping Beauty moment of grateful awareness.  David takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and sits back up.  

“It’s okay,” he says, scooting the chair closer so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and hold Patrick’s free hand in both of his own.  “You don’t have to wake up yet.  You can sleep some more if you need to.  Rest all you want.  Heal that beautiful head.  I’ll be here when you wake up, Patrick.  I’ll be right here.”

*****

A doctor comes by a little while later, and tells David what he’s pretty much figured out on his own – they can’t say when Patrick will wake up.  So far, they don’t have any reason to believe he won’t, which is good, as far as it goes.  It’s not very precise, but Patrick suffered a head injury along with some level of electric shock, so they have to wait and see.  They’ll run some more tests tomorrow if there’s no change, but they are “cautiously optimistic,” whatever that means.

After the doctor leaves David makes the mistake of googling “traumatic head injury.”  He reads for a few minutes and then practically throws his phone across the room, watching as it slides across the linoleum floor and comes to a stop by the IV stand.  He’s historically not very good at looking on the bright side, but he refuses to entertain the possibility that Patrick is going to be permanently disabled from his attempt to make the backroom overhead light stop flickering.  

He leans down against the bed, resting his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped in his own.  He can feel the panic rising in his chest again, and he fights it, not wanting to be any more useless to Patrick than he already is.

“Hey, I know I said you could rest, but maybe just wake up for a minute?” he says softly into Patrick’s ear.  “Just squeeze my hand, or blink your eyes.  Can you do that for me?”  He waits, not really expecting a reaction, but it doesn’t seem fair to ask for something and then not wait for an answer.  “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, okay?  Even if you’re hurt, even if…” David can’t really put into words what it might be like if Patrick doesn’t recover.  “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.  Just come back to me, okay?  I can’t… I won’t make it if you don’t.  I need you.”

“David.”

David looks up to see Alexis standing by the foot of Patrick’s bed, looking almost as pale as Patrick.  Then she moves closer and folds David into a tight hug, squeezing him until he can hardly breathe.  It’s the safest he’s felt since he heard the crash in the back room.

After a few minutes of Alexis’s pointy chin digging into his shoulder, David eases himself back.  “Maybe give arm day a rest,” he says softly, as she loosens her boa-constrictor hold around his waist.

“Everyone always says I’m stronger than I look,” Alexis says, tilting her head as she gazes at him.  “And you are too, David.”

He shrugs and glances away, his gaze inevitably going to Patrick, still just as quiet and unresponsive as he was a moment ago, and then back to his sister.  “How are you here?”  he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic of his questionable ability to handle this particular situation.  “I thought you were in L.A.”

“That was last week.”  Alexis drops her bag to the floor, then drags a chair around from the other side of the curtain and positions it next to David’s.  “I was in Toronto, working with a new client, when Jocelyn called me.”

David blinks.  “Jocelyn?”

“Yes, David, Jocelyn called me, when you didn’t answer your phone – and so did Twyla, Roland, Ronnie, and everyone else.”  She waves her hand, apparently to indicate the universe of people blowing up her phone.

“But… why?”

“David, did you really think that an ambulance could show up in the middle of town and whisk you and Patrick away without anyone noticing?”  Alexis boops his nose and looks from Patrick back to David.  “They’re worried about you.  Half of the town is in the waiting room right now.”

“Wait, what?”

Alexis lets a smile tug at the side of her mouth.  “Kidding, no they’re not.  But they’ll come, if we need them.  Twyla did drop off some food, it’s in my bag.  Muffins, or something, she said you didn’t even come get one this morning.  And sandwiches.”  Alexis reaches down and pulls out a bag.

“I’m not hungry,” David says.

“Yeah, because you and skipping meals is a good idea.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about,” David says, his voice cracking.

“I know, David,” Alexis says softly.  “But you have to take care of yourself too.  And then we can take care of Patrick.”

It’s what breaks him, finally, that “we,” and David loses it, sobbing in Alexis’s arms at the side of his husband’s hospital bed.

[vlogsquadssquad]

Secure 3

Summary: the part 3 of my mini secure series. y/n and David have s8x for the first time together!!

a/n: I had SOOO much fun writing this! I really like this one and I tried making it as realistic as possible and really took my time with it. hope y'all loooove!!

warnings: language, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT! 

mood board:

— DAVIDS POV

i don’t know how i got here but i’m not complaining. she looks so beautiful and i can’t stop thinking about how we got here. my mind is going crazy, but my eyes keep looking up and down her naked body. how the fuck did we get here??

• b e f o r e •

y/n’s smile is gorgeous. i found out she wasn’t with charlie. after his speech i thought for sure they were together. but now we’re here at this expensive restaurant late at night laughing, and she’s opening up to me. i can’t keep my eyes off her. i never want to. she’s so smart with her words, she really speaks from the soul.

i’m driving her home and we’re singing. she’s incredibly amazing at it. it’s no wonder she’s successful so young.

now she’s closing the door behind us after our kiss on her porch. i’m not sure who made the first move but i’m glad it happened. my hands are exploring her body as she connects our lips again. she has me pinned against her hall wall, but she doesn’t know yet i like to be in control. i push her back. she’s walking backwards down the hall. she moans slightly in my mouth. i can feel the vibrations through my body. i keep pushing her down the hall and she takes off the sweater (my sweater) she was wearing. i’m sad to see it go but excited to see her skin. she falls against the couch and her hair is loose. i’m standing over her and i can’t stop smiling at the sight.

“you gonna make a move or should i go to bed?” she says. my smile gets bigger.

i lean down and rub my hands up her thighs watching as her dress gets higher up. now it’s mid thigh. now it’s up to her hips. i can see her underwear. she’s wearing a white lace thong. she gets goosebumps as my cold hands slowly go up her sides. she lifts her arms making eye contact with me. my hands go up her ribs and her dress stops at her breasts. i have to lift the dress now to take it off. i look to her-

“is this ok?”

she nods to me “yes, please.”

i slowly lift the dress over her breasts and then the realization hits. she wasn’t wearing a bra. her tits jiggle out as i lift it over her head.

“i don’t know what to do now. i’m speechless. you’re beautiful.” i admit. i didn’t want to seem like a pussy but i honestly was baffled at her beautiful body. she leaned up, her hair beautifully laid behind her shoulders. she pulled my shirt off and unbuttoned my jeans. she then stood up slowly and pulled me to her bedroom. it was upstairs so i had the greatest view in LA going up those dark stairs. she pulled me in the room and shut the door.

“i really like you, i want you to know that.” she said softly as she approached me. we were face to face now, i could feel every breath.

“i really really really like you, i hope you know that.”

she smiles and pulls me into her bed under the covers and we’re both laying on our sides facing each other. she grabs the side of my neck and pulls me in for another kiss. its just as magical as the others. she’s gentle and almost sweet. we go back and forth. she moves her body closer to mine and i wrap my arms around her waist. i feel her slightly smile against my lips and i smile back. she starts laughing and I can't help but laugh too.

“what the fuck are we doing?” she giggles

“i don’t know but i’m enjoying it.” i look her up and down and raise an eyebrow. she throws her head back in a laugh.

“me too.” she finally says in a whisper still smiling leftover from her laugh.

“we can always stop. just say stop or get the fuck off me and i promise i will.” i say to her trying to reassure her.

“thank you. but i don’t wanna stop.”

“okay...” i whisper.

i lean in for another kiss and i run my hand up her back. my hand keeps going till i reach the back of her neck with my fingers tangled in her hair. i pull her into a deeper kiss and her hands go to my bare chest. then her hands trail down my stomach. then she’s at the waist band of my underwear and glides one finger across my band. she stays there a second as our mouths dance and i finally get the hint. i unattach our lips and shimmy out of my underwear. she giggles at me.

“hey! it may not be as sexy as when you did it but i’m trying here!” i laugh.

“i’m enjoying the view!” she defends. god i could look at her all day. finally my underwear is off and i kick it to the side. i climb up on top of her and look as her hair sprawled out in every direction under her head. her makeup slightly smudged from the night. i lean down to kiss her neck.

“that’s my ultimate turn on spot.” she moans

“thanks for the tip.” i put my lips all over her neck and jaw. i can smell her perfume. my head goes lower as i kiss all over her chest and then i stop at her tits. i grab one in one hand and the other i bite slightly at her nipple. i can see the chills go down her body and a slight moan escapes her lips.

“david,” she whimpers

“yeah, y/n?”

“i want you so fucking bad”

i smirk and go back to kissing just below her tits, then her rib cage, then her stomach, near her belly button, and now i’m close to the waist band of her panties.

“can i?”

“fucking hurry, dave.” she groans

i slowly pull her panties down and she lifts her butt slightly. after the panties are off i take a look at the sight in front of me. “fuck” i whisper. “what are you doing to me?” she giggles and slowly opens up her legs. i can feel myself growing harder if that was even possible. i dive my head between her legs and give it my first taste. i hear her soft whimpers as she wants me to go harder. i finally found my rhythm and used my tongue to explore her every crevice. i felt her hands come down to my hair and i can hear her getting louder. she tastes so fucking good. i think i got the hang of it when i feel her twitch under me.

“fuck dave, don’t stop.” i hear her say. i would never. she’s so vulnerable. i place my hands on her hip bones and shove her down to stop her from moving around.

“davey, i’m about to-“ she comes undone from under me. i hear her loud moans and look up and watch her reach that climax and then come back down. she’s so fucking sexy.

“damn, y/n. you’re so sexy.” she laughs slightly and then puts a finger under my chin and brings me to her face. she kisses me but it’s messy, sloppy, she moans in my lips. then she flips me over and gets on top of me.

“your turn.” she says out of breath. she lowers down and wraps her mouth around my cock she looks up at me and i just want to lose it there. i never thought i’d see her this way. hungry. hungry for me.

i grab as much hair as i can to get it out of her face. “oh fuck.” i moan as i tilt my head back. she continues to bob her head and gets me nice and wet. finally she licks my shaft from bottom to top one last time and sits up on her knees. i see her shuffle around her nightstand drawer.

“you ready?” she asks me holding a condom.

i can only nod as my face is completly red now. i grab the condom and slide it on.

she lines herself up and the tip goes in slowly.

“fuck” we both groan finally able to feel each other. she slowly sits lower and lower until my whole cock is inside of her. i will never get used to the view. her tits look perfect, her hair perfectly curled. she throws her head back as she slowly lifts up and then down again i go to grab her hips and one hand slides up her stomach and then up to her tit. she keeps lifting herself up and down only going faster with each second. she leans all the way forward and reaches her head down to kiss me. i wrap my hands around and grab her ass as she keeps the steady rhythm going. she lifts herself up from our kiss and she’s moaning loudly. i can see her tits bouncing and my heart is beating out of my chest. i need to be in control.

— Y/N POV

he flips me under him which i squeak and laugh to. but he has a mission in his eyes now. he’s on top and i see his biceps on either side of me. he enters himself again and pumps himself in and out of me. i lift my head up exposing my neck and i’m moaning. i can hear him panting and his eyes are dark looking at me. he leans down to kiss my neck again. this time probably leaving a hickey. he’s fast with his motions but each motion has purpose. he glances down my body and then reaches his hand down to my clit. he used his thumb to rub me in circles and i can feel myself losing again. he leans down once again sucking on my neck. every sensation is wrapped up in my head and i can think of nothing else when finally i feel myself getting louder with the moans

“dave, i’m-“

“shhh baby i know. cum for me y/n/n.”

his voice is deep and serious. it gets to me even more. i feel myself tightening around him which in turn makes him groan too. i know i’m being loud but i don’t care. i let myself completely go once again and he brings his thumb up and puts it in my mouth making me taste myself.

“can i cum in you?” he asks out of breath

i nod knowing we have taken tons of preventive measures.

his pace starts to fasten and i see him making eye contact. he leans in close to me and kisses me passionately. my arms are limp above my head from my sensations. i then feel him start to lose control and then just like that he cums into the condom and he bites down on my lip moaning slightly.

“wow.” i say wiping my forehead as we pull apart from the kiss. his lips are red and i’m sure mine are too.

“fuck, y/n.” he pulls himself out and then throws himself to the side of the bed. i cover myself up suddenly feeling a little self conscious.

“you’re beautiful.” he says looking at me.

i smile and lean in to give him a kiss.

“wanna shower?” i ask.

“well we need to wash our body of our sins somehow” he jokes back to me.

about 20 minutes later as david and i hop out of our... innocent shower i go back to my room to find some clothes. that’s when i realize david doesn’t have his clothes up here.

i laugh as he dries his hair with the towel “i guess you’ll have to drive home naked!”

“y/f/n, are you kicking me out?” he asks in a joking, over dramatic way.

i gasp, playing along, “never! what kind of girl do you mistake me for?!” he laughs at my silly 1940s accent. “i think your clothes are downstairs i’ll go grab them. want anything? water? a bible?” i ask poking fun at him

“yes all of the above. and also a snack to eat while i read my bible.” he points his finger to me.

“you got it!” i laugh as i walk out the door. i’m wearing only a shirt and underwear and i dry my hair with the towel as i walk down the stairs.

“y/n!” i hear from my living room which makes me jump up.

“charlie.” i state as my face goes white. he’s drunk.

“i didn’t know where you went after the song. everyone was telling me not to worry. i should go home. but then... well i got home and i was worried. i tried calling. i decided to come on over to the house you live in and i see a guys clothes on the floor. i may be drunk but i know whose clothes these are.” his words slurring in some parts.

i look at him in horror and take the last step down.

“charlie... i- i’m so sorry.”

his eyes welled up. “these are davids, right? is he up there? i need to see him” he looks past me to the stairs.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea. charlie i’m so sorry” i say as i step closer. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. fuck. i’m so sorry.” i bring him in for a hug but he pushes me slightly.

“no, y/n. i’m done. i’m fucking done loving you. i can’t believe i wanted to give you everything and then you, and then you go and fuck.. you fucked him!”

“charlie please let me call you an uber and we can talk tomorrow.”

“no. i already called it. please just.. delete my number.”

“charlie! i didn’t mean for it to happen!” i yell as he slams the front door shut. i run to the window to make sure he’s ok and i see him get in an uber. i sigh and turn around.

“hey..” i hear david say.

“hey.” i say broken. “i never wanted to lose my best friend but i never wanted him the way he wanted me. i know sleeping with his friend was the wrong way to go about it but...” i look up to david who now has his hands wrapped around me. “i really really like you. and i don’t like anyone.” i chuckle to myself. he half smiles at my words and looks down to me.

“you should always follow your heart. don’t let anyone stop you. i’m not just saying that because you slept with me. i would say the same thing if you slept with charlie instead of me. he will forgive you. just give him some time.”

i lay my head on davids chest and we sit there. finally after a while he breaks the silence.

“ok i’m cold. all i have is this towel. let’s go snuggle up?”

i giggle. “i’d love nothing more.”

[maiface23]

"Did I just turn you on?" Part Two

WARNING: Alot of smut and some fluff

Recap: "You get so excited, you couldn't believe what was happening right now, so you play along with it. You cuff Davids face with one hand and lean in even closer

Y/N- "Oh is that so? Well I'm about to give you 20/20 hearing then, baby." you both laugh."

Part Two:

You smile at each other before getting back into position to fix davids ear. You try your hardest to focous and get this right. You need to get this right. All you could think about was Davids lips on yours. You really didn't even know what was going to happen. Did he mean it? Was he joking? Were you joking? How would it play out? What would he do, how would he do it?

No matter what, you did your best to stay focous at the task at hand. Putting away any thoughts of david.. doing... things to you.

Before you could clear your thoughts, you realized you were done, and David was smiling up at you.

Y/N- "So... is it better?"

David sat for a moment to think, to listen, testing out his hearing.

David- "I don't know- oh wait..."

David sticks his palm up to his ear and pushes down.

David- "Awe FUCK. Finally!"

David sits up and fiddles with his ear some more.

David- "Thank you so much Y/N, I swear to god if I had to deal with that shit any longer...."

Your heart starts to race. What does this mean? What is suppose to happen next. What am I suppose to do, what are we suppose to do? God I hope he wasn't joking.

Y/N- "Okay good I'm really glad it's better. I have to go clean up the mess in the bathroom, I will be right back"

David smiles at you and nods.

You get up off of the bed and make your way to the bathroom, throwing away the garbage you left in there. Throwing everything into the Target back. Trying to steady your heart rate, trying to straighten out your mind, your confusion.

You are almost done cleaning when u feel an energy near you, a presence, David. You look up in the bathroom mirror and you see David smiling at you, so you smile back. David reaches out and softly grabs your hip to turn you around. You are now facing him, his warmth so close to yours, you feel like you are getting hot again in your cheeks.

David- "Did I say thank you yet?"

You smile up at him

Y/N- "Yes you did, and you are welcome."

You now know he was not joking. His eyes intensifys, darkens.

David- "So I guess it's my turn to take care of your problem?"

You nod at him

David- "Say it." He says with a whisper

David- "I wanna hear you say it."

Y/N- "Can you help me with my problem.... please..."

Once again Davids words reaching your groin, you feel your pussy pumping with excitement.

David smiles again.

David- "Well I never go back on a promise."

David wraps his hands around your waist and lifts you up so you are sitting on his bathroom counter. He pushes his way in between your legs so his face is as close to yours as he can get.

David- "Can I kiss you?"

You nod at him.

David- "Say it" he whispers

Y/N- "Kiss me... please"

David doesn't wait a second more, his warm soft lips finally touching yours. His breath smells like green mint gum like the one he was chewing on earlier. You start to follow his lips with yours, keeping a steady rythem. You wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, and in his hair. Your heart is racing with excitement, so happy this was finally happening. Wondering why it took so long for it to happen.

The kiss lasted for about 3 minute's before David travels his way to your neck, you feel your underwear becoming wet... so wet. You expect him to travel back up to your lips, but he doesnt. You feel him get lower down to your collar bone, then to your chest. David stops and takes your tank top off, leaving you in your bra and sweat pants. He let's go of your waist and sneaks his hand into your bra, your tits peaking through for his touch. He then leans down and takes your nipples in his mouth

Y/N- "Awe fuck David" you moan

David looks up at you and smiles, without releasing your nipple from his mouth. He continues to play your tits for a little while longer untill he stops and sits up.

David- "Do you want more?"

Y/N- "Give me more, baby" you moan

You surpised yourself by calling him by that name, you've never called your ex boyfriends by that name, but David was making you feel something inside you, you have never felt before. David smiles at the cute nickname you called him, and rewards you by taking off your sweat pants for you. You re adjust yourself afterwards hoping he would kiss you once more, but David wasnt done. He then takes off your underwear.

David- "Oh wow you really do want more, don't you?" He says as he nodices the wetness in your underwear.

You really are out of words at this point, so you just smile back at him. You were so turned on and ready, it felt like time was standing still. After David takes off your underwear, you re adjust yourself on the bathroom sink, David pushes his way back in between your legs untill your faces were so close once again. He then gives you another warm kiss.

David- "Do you want me to eat you out... Baby" he whispers, using your nickname against you.

You nod at him unable to comprehend words

David- "Say it."

Y/N- "Please.... eat m-me, please."

David gives you another small kiss before he starts to kiss you down your neck again, kisses your chest, your stomach. Then he gets on his knees and opens your legs, he looks up at you and smiles, before biting down on your inner thigh, his hands wrapped around your legs keeping you steady. You moan out. He then bites your other thigh without breaking eye contact, and you moan again. You take a moment to brace yourself for pleasure by tilting your head back, leaning it against the mirror behind you, closing your eyes.

Moments later you feel Davids tounge reach your clit ever so gently. It's so soft and inviting, so warm and sweet, it feels like butter against your pussy.

Y/N- "Ahw my god, David." you moan out softly.

David starts to make circles around your parts, his tounge going every direction it needed to go, where he knew it needed to go. You grab his hair with one of your hands to help steady yourself, his long soft hair tickling in between your fingers.

David continues to do his magic in your pussy untill u feel a pressure building in your stomach, in your groin.

Y/N- "Daaavid..." You cry out

He knows that's his queue to go faster, he starts flicking his tounge so perfectly against your clit, untill you feel a jolt run down your spine and into your wet heat. You grab Davids hair tighter as you orgasm around his mouth.

Y/N- "Fuuuuuck.." you moan

David gives u a second to come down your high, then he stands back up and picks you up off of the bathroom sink, and carrys you to his bed. Your legs on both sides of his waist, your arms wrapped around his neck.

He drops you on the bed and watches you for a moment smiling. You realize you are completely naked besides your bra, and David is still completely clothed. He reaches behind his head, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

David- "Do you want more?" He says seductively

Y/N- "Yes, please" you moan out

David starts to take his pants off, not releasing eye contact with your naked body, his eyes so dark, yet soft and beautiful. You can tell Hes loving what he has done to you. Your legs bent up and open on the bed, and your arms above your head, watching him.

His pants are finally off and you see his hard dick trying to break free from his boxers, you sit up and help him take them off. You pull them down and his dick springs out, and greets you. David goes to lean over for a condom as you reach out and start to stroke him slowly.

David- "that feels so good, Y/N." He moans quietly

David starts to unwrap the condom when you realize how good his dick feels in your hand, and you start to wonder how it would taste. You've never given a blowjob before, so you weren't confident enough to try, but you though, how does it taste?

You then lean down and lick all the way up from his nuts to the tip of his dick, ever so slowly, not breaking eye contact with him. You feel his dick get harder. You didn't think that was possible. It's like a rock at this point, and it taste so good. His lips break open into an 'o' figure.

David- "Fuuuuuck." He moans out

David then proceeded to grab your jaw with his finger tips and press your lips to his. Giving you a very passionate kiss.

Mid kiss, David grabs your waist and picks you up, throwing you further onto the bed, to where you were now in the middle of it. He puts on his condom fast, egar to be inside you. He climbs up on the bed and lays on top of you. You wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you once more, you wrap your fingers in his hair. his soft fluffy hair. He breaks away from the kiss and looks down at you

David- "Are you ready." He whispers.

You don't answer him but instead grip his hair and pull his face to yours to make him kiss you, hoping he understood your desires.

He waits a moment untill you feel him shifting, and adjust himself to slide inside you. You were so wet, you didnt need time to adjust to his size. He slid into so quickly and perfectly, you gasp.

Y/N- "oh my god.... holy shit" you moan loudly

David also let's out a moan before he starts to move inside you, slowly.

He leans down and bites your neck, sending shivers to your spine you didn't even think was possible at this point.

Davids moving slowly inside you, untill you feel him pick up his pace. He eventually starts slamming into you, hard, aggressively.

Y/N- "oh Fuck David, YES, yes..." you cry out

It feels so intense in your groin, you can't count the amount of orgasms you keep having, David is pounding your G spot so much, it's like he knew exactly where it was, and how to find it.

After a while of David fucking you, you feel his body shift over to your side, he grabs your waist as he shifts himself on his back, putting you on top. All this time you realize you still had your bra on, so you take the moment to take it off. You watch David as he's locked eyes with your chest, waiting to see your tits bounce free, his face is if he hasn't seen tits before. You throw your bra to the side and put your hands on his chest, steadying yourself before you start to bounce on top of him. David grabs your hips and helps you maintain a rythem on his dick. You keep bouncing up and down, your breast following your patterns, he keeps switching eye contact with you, and them. He watches you as if you were an amazing art piece, admiring your beauty, the beauty that's on top of him.

Suddenly you feel his grip around your waist tightened, he lifts you up slightly, just enough so you are still attacked to his throbbing dick. He adjusts his legs so they are slightly bent, and starts to fuck you while you are on top. Pounding into you again.

Y/N- "DAVID!" You scream out loud

David- "UGHHHH, Fuuuck" he cries out

Finally he's cuming underneath you, his rythem stops and he lays there, trying to catch his breath. You fall over to the right side of him and try to catch yours as well. You both pull the blanket over naked bodies so you aren't exposed anymore.

You both lay there for a moment silently, trying to relax and come down from your highs. You starting thinking to yourself, you've never felt anything like that before. Your body so hot and your pussy throbbing from excitement. You feel like you can feel the throbbing in your legs all the way down to the bottom of your feet. You feel so amazing, hoping that there will be more in the future.

David- "that.... was incredible."

Y/N- "I can't believe that just happened."

David chuckles softly. He turns his head to face yours

David- "I think we should do this more often." he smiles

Y/N- "Atleast Natalie won't have to put up with you as much then." You joke to him

David- "That means you'll have to up with with me." He says as he smiles at you.

You reach over stroking his face and smile back.

Y/N- "I think I will be okay with that."

David then leans in and gives you another kiss.

[babbushka]

Two Doves (6/6)

Drafted into a war he didn’t want to fight, Flip Zimmerman comes home to a country that doesn’t want him. With your help, he works through it all.

Word Count: 7.8k ; Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, angst, with a healthy helping of comfort.

                                                      --------------------

The sky splits into nothing but white bright heat, lightning which cracks through the air, a downpour crashing onto his helmet. It’s really not the best time for conversation, Flip thinks as he’s hiding behind trees, the machine gun in his hands racketing and rumbling and rattling around, spraying too many bullets too many rounds a minute.

It’s pouring rain, they’re waist deep in mud, they’re losing.

Fuck, they’re losing.

So when Eric wades over to him, when he presses his back against Flip’s own, he can’t help but be a little short, can’t help but be frustrated as he blinks the milky brown water of the jungle out of his eyes.  

“What’s that?” Eric asks, shouts, has to shout over the sound of the fray.

They can’t go anywhere, nowhere to hide. It’s daytime, at least it’s supposed to be daytime, but it’s too dark from the clouds, the green of the trees deepened to an almost-black, as it pours and pours and pours on their heads.

“What’s what?” Flip snaps back, trying his best to concentrate, trying his best to stay alive. He’s got the kid to his back to give him cover, and he’s thankful, even if he’s not in a chatty mood.

“Your necklace, what’s it mean?” Eric asks, and Flip couldn’t be frowning any deeper if he tried, but he tries anyway.

“Does everything have to fucking mean something?” Flip doesn’t have time for this, not right now.

Not when he can’t even fucking see where he’s shooting, an expert shot meaning nothing in the dark. A crack of lightning illuminates the world for just a minute, and in front of his eyes soldiers dance and bend and crack their spines in half as they trip and slip and choke on mud.

“It does!” Eric won’t let this go, and Flip wants to scream at him, but he knows that doesn’t help, that won’t solve anything. It’s not like they’re hiding anymore anyway, not like they need to keep stealthy anyway. They’ve been found yet again.

“Magen David, it’s like our symbol.” Flip’s hand doesn’t shake anymore, when he reloads the gun. He wants to be sick, wants to heave up his stomach except for the fact that there’s nothing in it yet, there’d be nothing to get out. He wants to claw everything, all of his insides out. Instead he reloads his gun and tries not to let the kick-back smack Eric in the back of the head as he shouts, “Jewish people, I mean.”

“You’re Jewish?” That catches Eric off-guard for whatever reason, and even though his friend never lets his finger off the trigger, Flip can feel the curiosity pressing through his shoulders.

“What, never met one before?” Flip grits his teeth and does let out a long shout of rage and adrenaline and pure blind terror, because an enemy got too close, too close to killing him, too close.

He shoots him down and when his blood sprays up onto Flip’s face, he prays the rain washes it away.

He knows it never will.

“I don’t know, I don’t pay too much attention.” Eric shrugs as best he can while he tries to give Flip the same courtesy of minding the kickback. It’s not easy, with his hand blown off, not easy to do anything.

Flip gets hit with the butt of Eric’s gun, but he feels like somehow he deserves it.

“Fair enough.” He says when the shooting has stopped for now, only for the moment.

He grabs Eric by the scruff of his neck, drags him through the mud to hide hide hide, to hide until they can run.

Eric ducks down, presses himself as deep into the mud as he can, still fucking talking because that’s all he knows what to do. If he doesn’t talk, he’ll scream.

“Is your wife Jewish too?” Eric whispers, asks so softly that the pouring rain nearly drowns him out.

“Ohh fuck yeah she is.” Flip breathes harshly, tries to catch his breath, his heart beating in his ears. But above the noise of the rain and the gunfire and the pulse slamming against his brain, he hears Eric chuckling, somehow despite it all. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, you just sound different when you talk about her, that’s all.” Eric says, and Flip doesn’t have the time to really sit and digest that, because he notices someone’s boot’s sloshing through the water.

“On your left – ” He warns, rolling the kid underneath his body, hoping and praying that he can play possum long enough for them to pass.

                                                       --------------------

Flip reads the letter over and over again.

He can’t stop rubbing his thumb over the text, smearing the ink beyond any real recognition. He knows they’re words, he knows they say something, but the cold numb of fear has blinded him to their meaning. He feels like this can’t be English, because he can’t read it anymore. He feels like his eyes are full of mud.

 Mr. Zimmerman,

Eric spoke so highly of you in all his letters. I wanted to thank you for being there for him, for looking out for him. I know how war goes, I know not everyone has the time to look out for their friends. But you did. You cared for him when other men would have left him, and I am eternally grateful for that. He mentioned something about your wife’s tapes, about the comfort they brought him. I can’t imagine the compassion it must have taken for you to share them with him, but even up to the very end, they helped him, and I thank your wife for that too.

I hope you can understand and will come to this address for his funeral, for his memorial. It would mean a great deal to him, I know it would. It would mean a great deal to me, anyway. I’d like to meet you, to thank you both in person for making his time in that hell a little more bearable.

Philip, he loved you very much.

-Mrs. Costell.

He wants to rip it into a thousand pieces, wants to scream.

Maybe he does, maybe that’s it, the last straw. Maybe that’s it.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob, having fallen to your knees in front of him, having fallen to the floor, wrapping your arms around his legs, desperately clinging to him so he can’t go out and burn the world down to the ground.

He sinks down too, lays down on the floor. The room spins as he breathes too fast, too hard. There’s a ringing in his ear, and he digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, lets out a stuttering shout of agony that he doesn’t even feel, he just hears in his own head.

“I don’t – I won’t – I can’t believe it.” He can’t even speak, incoherent, blind sobbing. “He was supposed to go home, he was so fucking close to going home!”

Flip rolls over onto you, buries his face in your stomach, shoves his head up under your shirt. The world is too much right now, too painful. He can’t bare to look at it, to look at anything but you. He paws at your sides, collecting you in his arms as he hides away from the world, hides in your embrace.

“Was it his hand? Is that what did it?” You ask, trying trying trying to process it, trying and failing.

You didn’t even know the poor kid, not really, and you’re failing.

“I don’t know, I don’t – fuck, (Y/N), fuck!” He shouts into your stomach, nose fitting right into the divot of your belly-button as he curls around you.

You only clutch him to you, you wrap your arms around him and let him shake shake shake, sobs wracking through him.

“It should have been me,” He wails, an angry outburst that has him pushing his face up through the collar of your shirt, has him shoving his forehead against your neck, your throat. “It should have been me instead.”

He tries counting your pulse, tries to stop himself from wanting to throw up, tries to stop himself from wanting to break something. There’s that beast in his throat again, clawing angry tearing up his windpipe as he gasps, trying to gulp down air.

11…12…13…14…what comes after 14?

“Don’t say that.” You immediately stiffen up, carefully try to extract him from how he’s entangled himself in your shirt.

“No, no please.” He fights you on it, doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go of you, he’s desperate for your touch, you’re the only thing that’s worth any of this, you’re the only one he wants. He refuses to slide out from under your shirt, refuses.

“He was nineteen, ketsl!” He looks up at you, blurry and warped through the tears in his eyes as he bemoans and pleads to let him stay this close to you just for a while longer, feeling broken, shattered, “He was nineteen and had never even had a drink before. He was nineteen and they killed him.”

“Phil.” You say gently as you card your fingers through his hair, a steady stream of tears from your own shock and terror cascading down your cheeks. Your breathing is stuttered, and Flip shuffles down enough to press his lips to your sternum, tries to leech some of your pain away.

“I should have – ” He starts, but you shake your head.

“There was nothing you could have done honey.” You’re heartbroken, for the both of them yes, but mostly for Flip.

“There should have been!” He slams his fist down on the wood floor near you, the dull pain throbbing through his hand. “There should have been. I tried – kestl I tried so fucking hard to keep him safe, I tried so hard, and he died. He died anyway. They all die!”

He cries loudly for a while, consumes you entirely underneath his body. He’s just rubbing his face, smearing his tears against your skin. You let him, don’t make him try to leave, don’t make him try to move. You just let him cry, you let him press himself as close as possible, try to climb inside your ribs.

You’re terrified for him, you’ve never seen him like this – not even when his Zayde died, not even then. You hold him too tight, because it’s all you know what to do, all you know how to help.

 Eventually, the sobs subside.

 It’s light outside when they do, a whole evening spent choking and gasping.

The birds chirp outside when they do, the rest of the world waking up and going about its business.

You’re exhausted when they do, your knuckles are stiff and sore from fisting the soft flannel of his shirt so tightly for hours on end.

“What the fuck, what – what the fuck is the point? What’s the point of all this?” Flip whispers, too afraid to speak too loudly, in case he starts screaming again, in case he scares you again. He wants to pull out all his teeth and cut out his tongue, for scaring you the way he had. “We never should have gone, we never should have started this. How much longer – how many more kids are going to die for the selfish greed of politicians who don’t give a shit about us?”

He sighs, lets himself sigh, lets his shoulders sag. He’s exhausted too, crying taking too much out of him. His voice is rough and raw, and yours is no better when you say,

“I know.”

“He’s just a kid, it’s not fair.” Flip slides out from underneath your shirt finally.

He needs to comfort you now, needs to have you in his arms, needs to hold you close. He feels guilty, so fucking guilty, about everything, about losing it the way he had. You eagerly bury your face into his neck, kiss every square inch of him that you can with small reassuring smooches.

How the fuck were you not running for the hills, he wonders. How were you not packing up a bag to leave him right this very instant?

He’s so emotionally fried that he just starts to cry all over again at the mere thought of that, of you leaving him.

“I know.” You say, and it’s like you’re answering everything, all of it, all at once. He doesn’t know how you do it, he doesn’t know, how you’re so able to just be so understanding.

“It’s all my fucking fault I should have – ” he shakes his head, desperate for a cigarette, reaches around in his pockets for one, for something.

He’ll settle for a stubbed out butt in an ashtray at this point.

“No.” You sit up then, you cup his cheeks firmly in your hands, your perfect hands with your wedding ring and your polished nails, untouched by war even if touched by time. “No, it isn’t. None of this is your fault. None of it. I need you to know that Phil, I need you know it’s not your fault.”

You’re insistent when you look at him with reddened eyes.

“He was going to go home soon, to his ma. He was almost out of it, almost clear.” Flip’s voice is just barely above a whisper but it cracks anyway, “And now he’s gone. Fuck I can’t think – I don’t want to think about him dying like that, dying alone.”

“Maybe he didn’t.” You say, so so so soft, voice like a cooling balm on his raw wounded mind.

“Huh?” He frowns, wondering what you’re talking about.

“Maybe he didn’t die alone, maybe…” You shrug, tuck his hair behind his ears, a nervous habit of your own that you can’t stop doing, not now, not ever. “I don’t know. Maybe he was in the hospital in Aurora, maybe he made it back. Maybe he got to see his ma before he passed. We don’t know, Phil you don’t know.”

“It should have been me.” Flip says again, but you shake your head, your eyes grow sad and soft in a way that makes Flip want to kill something.

“It would have been the end of me, if it were you.” You admit, steadily and evenly and with so much conviction that Flip sits up, leans up against the wall.

“Ketsl.” He warns, not wanting to even – unable to even think about that, about a world where you don’t exist.

“I’m serious.” You stand your ground, you get it out, even though Flip can’t listen to it, doesn’t want to. “It would have been the end of me, that would have been it.”

“Don’t talk like that – ” He says, growing panicked.

“How am I supposed to talk? Am I supposed to say, yes I wish you were dead? Am I supposed to say I wish the letter was addressed me to instead? I can’t, Philip, and I won’t.” You’re angry, and shame burns through him almost as strongly as the pain does.

“(Y/N)…” He chokes out, but you have to say it, you have to.

“You know that that was my biggest fear? That was my nightmare every single night when I could manage a wink of sleep? A call on the phone, a knock at the door, a letter in the mail. Someone handing me a folded flag, with I’m so sorry and he’s gone. I woke up screaming, picturing your body and face so mangled that the only way they could identify you was through the dog tags – screamed myself hoarse.” You’re crying hard again now, and he scrambles to hold you tight, wonders if he’ll ever really be able to let you go again.

“I would wrap myself up in your clothes and wander the house and burn your cigarettes and stare at pictures of you and hope and fucking pray to a god I’m not so sure even exists, that you were okay. I’m selfish – I know I’m selfish. But I would go to temple and sit and pray and beg and plead that you’d come home to me because the thought of that folded flag kept me up at night.” You shouted, not at him, never at him.

You shout at the world, you thrust a pointed finger to the window, voice loud and raw and rough as you shout into his neck, as he crushes you to him, as he shakes all over at your outburst.

“And the worst part? People shunned me. People spit on the sidewalk where I walked, people keyed my car and threw rocks into the window because they thought I was happy with you leaving, they thought I wanted you to go and fight. But no one listens to the wives and mothers who kicked and screamed and burned the draft cards, no one listens to us when you all leave. I sat on my own in a corner of the room and I begged the heavens above to return you to me – I offered everything, would give anything to the stars if it meant you’d be home.”

You wriggle back enough, just barely enough, to wipe away your tears with your hands, and you shake your head, steely gazed, angry angry angry at the world.

“So I will not sit by and listen to you saying it should have been you. I will not sit by and let you take the blame for something that you had no control over.” You say, finish off your speech by saying that, before letting out such a deep and long breath that Flip gets anxious, wanting you to breathe in now. And you do, and when you do you’re calm again, calmer now that you’ve said all of that.

“Phil, you kept that boy alive so much longer than he ever would have, had he not met you.” You say now, a shuddering sigh sinking through your chest as you rest your head on his shoulder there on the floor, the sun rising up over the mountain. “You protected him when no one else did. You did more than enough.”

“I thought…” Flip tries, tries to keep his voice soft, quiet, tries not to have an outburst again. “I thought if I could do that, if I could just….”

“Breathe.” You encourage, the two of you taking in breaths together, heartbeats and lungs in sync.

And this is the hardest part, he thinks.

This is the part where he has to admit how fucked up he is, how evil he is. This is the part where you’ll realize he’s broken beaten and splintered to the bone.  

“I thought if I could keep him alive, if I could keep him safe, then it would at least make it all worth it.” He admits, finally has the courage to admit his selfishness. “Being there, doing all the awful shit I did. If I could just save one person, keep one innocent person from harm…then maybe I wasn’t such a monster.”

But then you do the miraculous. You don’t scold him, you don’t blame him, you don’t shame him.

You hug him.

“You’re not a monster.” You say, as the birds chirp outside and the sun rises and the mountains wake and the mail man makes his rounds and the breeze blows leaves all around. You hug him and you speak to him and there’s not an ounce of anger anymore in your voice, “You’re a kind man, who did the best he could in dark times.”

“I don’t feel very kind.” He says, tears clinging to his lashes.

“Kind men never do.” You pull back enough to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.

He doesn’t have the words to express how heavy the weight of that admission had been on his shoulders, how free he feels to have said it out loud. How lucky he is that despite it all, you’re still holding him in your arms on the floor.

                                                       --------------------

They’ve got to catch up, to the rest of their squadron. They’re behind, Flip knows, that’s why they were in this shitshow to begin with. Flip wonders how many of them are left in the squadron to even meet up with.

They wade through the roads which had become rivers, water thick and murky, ominous. Flip can’t wait for the mountains, can’t wait for the dry air, can’t wait for the paved streets of home as he slings his gun over his shoulders, walking side by side with Eric through the jungle, towards a destination he doesn’t even know exists.

The rain has subsided to a light drizzle, no longer the tempest which raged only hours ago. Still, the world seems water-logged and he just knows that the minute he takes off his boots, his socks, he’ll see prunes in the place where his feet should be.

Eric smokes, and Flip smokes with him, a shared pack of Camels that the kid won in a game of poker, the red tips glowing in the grey-green filtered air.

“Where do you think we go?” Eric asks, shielding the cigarette so a droplet of rain doesn’t put it out, “When it’s all over.”

Flip’s hand is in his pocket, fiddling with the watch. He does this sometimes, runs his finger over the cool silver of it, clicks it open and closed, a nervous habit. Maybe he doesn’t feel nervous right now, he thinks, but his body still is, hands still are.

“You mean like, death?” He asks back, takes in a deep drag of the cigarette.

They’ve talked about a lot of things, over the past year and a half. They’ve talked about life and love, goals and dreams, history and future plans. But they’ve never once talked about death. Flip doesn’t like it, doesn’t really want to. He’s too afraid to jinx it all.

Like speaking the word out loud would catch the attention of the cosmos.

Flip doesn’t need any more attention.

“Yeah.” Eric says anyway, genuinely curious, curious in that way young eager kids are, “What’s the Jewish take on the afterlife?”

And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Flip thinks as he flicks his ash into the river of silt.

“I don’t know.” He admits honestly, feeling bad for not having more of a concrete answer to give this boy, this boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and a cross on his chest, who wants to know about the world before he goes. “We’re notorious for being vague about it.”

Eric chuckles then, a chuckle which turns into a cough that has Flip worried, nervous. He clicks the watch open and closed in his pocket, not wanting it to get wet from the rain.

“Well then, what’s the Zimmerman take on the afterlife?” Eric says through his hacking, giving Flip a smile with the camel stuck in that gap in between his teeth.

“You really gotta get your mind on something else.” Flip says, trying to be light-hearted, trying to steer him in a different direction, a more positive direction. He’s the least positive person in the world, he’s a hypocrite, Flip knows. But this kid still has too much optimism, he wants him to hold on to it as long as he can. “It’s no good, thinking about shit like that.”

“Aw I can’t help it, you know?” Eric shrugs, jostles the weapon he’s got over his shoulders with his good hand, “Every time I fire this gun I think about it.”

And Flip sighs, stops walking for a minute.

He turns his face up to the skies and closes his eyes against the cool clear rain. It’s not cold, not really. He doesn’t think anything here could ever get cold, not the way it does back home. But his eyes are sore from the gunpowder and smoke, are sore from being so exhausted.

So he turns his face up and sighs again, lets the rain fizz out the rest of his cigarette, and for a moment, just for a moment, pictures your face.

“I know.” He says, when he’s calm again, when the thought of you smiling at him has settled the churning in his stomach at this reality, “Me too.”

“So?” Eric asks softly, watching him with careful eyes.

“I don’t know.” Flip responds with a sheepish shrug.

He doesn’t have room in his head to think of anything other than surviving long enough to get back to you, and staying with you once he has.

“Guess the Zimmermans are notoriously vague about it too.” Eric cracks a grin, kicks up a small splash of the thick water that has Flip shaking his head fondly despite it all.

“I just…” He shrugs, cracks his neck, his wrists, his back, tries to find the words that he doesn’t have, “I don’t think there’s anything out there, after all this. We have what we have and then when it’s done, it’s over. It’s not optimistic, so I don’t like thinking about it.”

Eric’s quiet about that for a while, and Flip tries not to feel guilty.

He does, he still does.

He thinks he always will.

He’s not so sure what he thinks anymore.

“Do you think there’s a God?” Eric tries with this one, and at least Flip can give a definitive answer.

“No. But my wife would always say, if there’s a God, and if there is something after all of this,” He sighs, turns to the skies once again, “He’ll have to beg for our forgiveness.”

                                                       --------------------

You’re dressed in black, from head to toe. The sight makes him nervous, makes his brain trip up about all the ways this could have gone, how it could have been his funeral you’re so pretty for.

You’ve got your star around your neck, hair combed back and neat, and you’re fiddling with the band of your wedding ring as Flip drives the truck an hour away from the safe warm home you’ve built, out into Aurora. He doesn’t ask for directions, says he knows where he’s going, but he doesn’t.

When he pulls into a gas station and goes inside with you to pay for a stick of gum and a coke, he tries not to make a scene of it when you ask.

You don’t let go of his hand, not once the entire drive over, not once. He’s grateful it’s an automatic, the truck, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to let you let him go to shift the gears if he had to.

He doesn’t know when the last time was that he was in a church. He feels almost like an outsider, with the statues and paintings and glass stained faces all staring down at him, like they know, they know he’s not one of them. You hold his hand and stand beside him as he squares his shoulders and does his best, tries to pick out who might be Eric’s ma.

She finds you before you find her, if the tap of her finger on his shoulder is anything to go by.

“Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman?” She asks, voice hushed in the pews.

Flip is silent, stunned, because he looked so much like his ma that he could almost cry again, looking at the face of his fallen friend. Thankfully, you don’t push him, don’t do anything other than offer this tiny woman a hug, somehow reassuring everyone, setting everyone at ease wherever you went.

“Mrs. Costell, I’m so sorry for your loss.” You offer your condolences, eyes wet and sad, brows pinched in.

“He’s…” She steels herself, takes in a deep breath as she gestures to a casket that’s open near the front of the room. “He’s over there, if you’d like to see him. Say goodbye.”

This shocks Flip, makes his heart beat faster.

“He made it home?” You ask, clutching Flip’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Yes, they emergency rushed his departure in the middle of the night, they knew he was dying.” Mrs. Costell doesn’t seem so sad, she must have known he was dying too.

“From his hand?” Flip asks, has to ask, throat still sore from all his shouting the night before.

“No, the cancer.” She shakes her head, making you both freeze.

“What?” Flip asks, blinking, thinking, trying to see, trying to…he doesn’t know.

“Did Eric not tell you?” Mrs. Costell asks, eyes gone wide with how such a secret could have been kept, kept for a year and a half, no less. “They only gave him a year, he decided to spend it fighting for something he believed in. I think he regretted his decision as soon as he made it, but. Kids do stupid things when they’re young.”

She smiles sadly in the direction of the casket, and Flip…Flip can only stare in disbelief.

“He was very brave, from what Phil tells me. Very brave. You should be proud of him.” He can hear your voice in the back of his head, as the world fades away.

The three of you walk up to it, and there he is, sleeping peacefully. He looks too thin, gaunt, and Flip wonders why he never asked, wonders why he never pressed the issue, made him eat more when he saw him getting thin. Bile burns in the back of his throat, but somehow, somehow seeing his face, knowing he’s here with his family instead of in a bank of soot and mud, there isn’t that gnawing clawing terror anymore.

“I am.” Mrs. Costell whispers, daring to place a gentle hand on Flip’s shoulder, a reassuring squeeze as if it’s not her son who lays before him when she says, “Mr. Zimmerman, he spoke very highly of you.”

“He was a good friend to have, ma’am.” Flip takes her hand, gives yours and hers a squeeze as he looks at Eric’s face, wonders if he’s somewhere among the stars. “I only wish I knew, I would have done more for him.”

“There wasn’t anything any of us could have done, once Eric sets his mind to something, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Costell says with a smile, before turning her head to the priest who gives her nod. “I believe they’re about to start.”

                                                       --------------------

By the time they make it back to the meet-up point, the rain has stopped. They’re met with a thousand questions, the usual who what when why and how of battle. Flip and Eric answer the best they can, and then they follow their orders to clean up and get better dressed.

It’s almost time for Flip to leave, to go back home. For real this time, he’ll be getting on a helicopter which will take him to a plane which will take him to a bus which will take him to you.

For the first time in a long time, Flip looks in the mirror. He hadn’t been able to really see anything for a good couple weeks, not since Eric got his hand blown off.

He’s standing in a small building in a pretty well populated base, and the sun is out and he has no idea who the fuck is looking back at him when he glances into the mirror. His hair is long but all one length, not the usual layers he wears. His face tired and his skin is a frustrating combination of too dry and too oily, like all the moisture leeched out of his skin and sat on top of his face. His facial hair is unruly, wiry and patchy and all over the place.

Thankfully in this bathroom in this building in this base, there’s a standard issue razor completely unlike the one you use on him at home, and within the first two minutes he’s nicked his face, bright red drops plopping onto hard white porcelain.

“Fucking – ” He hisses, reaching for a piece of tissue or something to press into the cut on his cheek, “Shit.”

The door opens then, and in comes Eric, freshly buzzed hair down to his scalp. His ears stick out, not anything crazy like Flip’s did, but enough that Flip thought he was brave for doing it. It’s worrisome, just a little bit though, the way his skull seems to be so present, his bone structure too prominent. He’s been losing weight, too much weight, Flip’s noticed, even though he’s been eating just as much as Flip has.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, cupping some water in his good hand from the sink and dousing it over his head, washing away the little bits and clippings of hair that inevitably cling to the back of one’s neck.

“Cut myself shaving.” Flip mutters, willing himself to just get this over with.

It���s harder with Eric here, he doesn’t want the kid to think he’s incapable, an imbecile.

“You look like you’ve never picked up a razor before.” Eric laughs anyway, making Flip roll his eyes.

“My wife does it for me.” He says, unashamed. He’s embarrassed only by his own inability to get a fucking grip, and the longer he stares at himself in the mirror the longer he feels like he’s going to lose it.

He’s so so so fucking close to going home to you, he can’t lose it now.

“She does?” Eric asks, but there’s no trace of humor in his voice when he does, instead he hops up onto the small counter near the sink and watches him as he shaves.

Flip wonders if Eric ever learned how, or if he just never needed to. He’s only nineteen, only covered in a light dusting of peach fuzz as it is.

“Yeah,” Flip nods, picks up the razor and tries again, gets the hang of it this time as he faces the reality of his time in ‘Nam in the face, “She sits up on the counter just like that and cleans me up when I get too scraggly. She says it makes me look like the lumberjack I used to be. I just, I wanted to look nice for her, since I’m going home soon.”

He’s shy for some reason now, talking about you. He feels bad, feels so guilty, that he gets to go home and that Eric has to stay. He shouldn’t, not with his hand, he should be whisked away and taken care of, but they’re all too full, all the hospitals around, full up with men who won’t live to see another day.

“Hey, when you’re home and when I’m home, do you think we could meet up?” Eric pipes up, so brightly that Flip almost drops the razor down the sink. “Since we live so close I mean.”

“Sure kid,” He stops halfway, one side clean and looking more like the Flip he used to know, used the be, the other still a work in progress. He reaches for a tissue, rummages through his pocket for a pen and scrawls his address down onto it. “Come find me when you’re out, okay?”

And he smiles with shaving cream all over his face, which makes Eric laugh, which makes him laugh, and he takes Eric’s hand in his own when he says,

“It’s a deal.”

                                                       --------------------

The ceremony is beautiful, if devastating. There’s not a dry eye in the room by the time the priest has finished, by the time he closes his book. He looks out to the small crowd who has gathered to mourn the loss of this boy, this teenager, tucks the book under his arm and clasps his hands in front of his chest.

“I’d like to now open the floor for anyone who might like to say a few words.” The priest steps away from the podium.

One by one his family goes to the front, has kind words and memories to share.

One by one they tell of his spirit, his spunk, his curiosity, his fearlessness.

One by one they return to their seats with polite smiles until they can curl themselves into their chair and hide their face behind white linen handkerchiefs.

One by one the room narrows down to you and Flip, and the small couple notecards burn a hole in his pocket when he realizes it’s his turn.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right here.” You whisper, leaning in to press a comforting kiss to his cheeks with a quiet, “Love you.”

Everyone looks at him when he stands up, no doubt confused as to who he even is, no doubt suspicious of what he has to say. He’s not in his uniform, never wants to wear it again, never wants to be seen in it. Instead he’s in the only nice shirt he has, a beige button-down with white and cream stripes, the one you always tease him for.

There’s no teasing now.

Flip leans into the microphone on the podium, fishes out his cards and stares at them for a moment.

For a moment, they feel like the letter had, and he makes the probably unwise decision to just speak from his heart.

“Um, hello. My name is Philip Zimmerman. Eric and I were friends, overseas.” It’s hard to talk about him, to think about him in the past-tense. And Flip has to take a moment before he can continue. But when he does, he finds that the words you helped him write coax the words in his brain out even more, and he finds he can’t shut up.

“The first day we met, he came over to me and asked if he could walk with me. I hadn’t ever had someone ask me anything, until then, and I thought to myself that this was a kid who was too good for war, too good to be in a place like that, doing the things we were doing. But he did them, and he held his chin high, even when he was sure things were going to go south.”

“We talked a lot about life, me and Eric. There’s not much else to do when the fighting has stopped. He was a lot smarter and wiser than just about the entire squadron put together, but he never once acted cocky or too brash or anything like that.”

“It’s hell, over there, right now. It’s been hell and it was hell when we were there, and it’ll be hell long after we leave. But Eric’s smile made the chaos a little less chaotic, made us all feel like if we could just get through the night, then anything would be possible.”

“He liked poetry. My wife used to send us these tapes, and she’d always read aloud something on them, to help us sleep at night. Eric loved the ones she sent that had her reading aloud the poems. I thought, in a way to honor him, I might read aloud his favorite poem that she sent. She uh, she wrote this one herself.”

And then everyone is looking at you, back at Flip, as he shuffles for the cards then, tries to find the poem you scratched out just for him, the one that was the only thing that could soothe the beasts in all their chests. It’s not the same as your voice, he knows, but he hopes it’ll be good enough for Eric, wherever he is up there, if anywhere at all.

                                                       --------------------

It’s his last night, in the war. His last night in this uniform, his last night in this bunk. In any bunk, ever again. He can’t sleep, eyes refusing to shut and stay shut, mind refusing to quiet down. Next to him, Eric lays in the bed one over, and Flip can see the shine of his irises too.

The lights are off and the world is asleep, but they aren’t. Flip doesn’t want to think about how sad he’ll be to leave him, how scared he is for him. Who will watch out for Eric now, now that he’s going home?

He wishes he could bring him home, smuggle him into his bag and stow him away on the plane, but he knows that he can’t.

“Could you play the tape?” Eric whispers in the dark, quiet enough to not disturb anyone, not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

“Which one?” Flip asks, already reaching into his stash of them, dozens and dozens of small cassettes that have your pretty handwriting all smudged and faded, from the sun from the rain from the mud. Some have blood caked onto them, others have dirt. Some are scratched and some skip and some are so broken that there’s no way to hear your sweet words again.

“You know which one.” Eric says with a hopeful smile, hopeful that the tape he wants isn’t so damaged, isn’t so beyond repair.

He knows, he remembers, the one with the poem you wrote. A poem and some music, soft instrumentals from a big band a decade or two ago, the kind that plays on the TV when there’s nothing else on the air.

“Here – ” Flip says, plugs two sets of headphones into the player, hands the kid the player so he can hold it close, can rewind it as many times as he wants, as he needs. “We can share.”

Eric nods, grateful. He doesn’t show how grateful he is in anything other than his eyes, but Flip knows. He doesn’t have to say it.

Flip is going to let him keep it, he thinks. The cassette the player, the headphones. He doen’t need any of it, not when he’ll be coming home to you.

In the quiet, it’s enough to have the volume barely turned on in his headphones, and despite not being able to sleep, he is at least able to let go of that breath he’s been holding this entire time, lets it out low and long and steady, as your voice washes over his ears.

 “You say you found two rocks, dull and cloudy and scuffed.

I say you found two diamonds, diamonds in the rough.

You say you picked two weeds, spindly winding undone.

I say you picked two roses, roses desperate for the sun.”

 He spares a glance to Eric, but the boy has his eyes closed, has the blanket tucked up practically to his ear. It isn’t long before his breathing evens out, and Flip knows he’s fallen asleep, cradling the cassette tape to his chest, clinging to the sweet words of your voice. Flip can’t wait to feel them, to hear them, to let them wrap around him in person.

Tomorrow he gets on the plane, the plane which will bring him tens of thousands of miles away, and at the end of it, at the end of all of this, he’ll be back to you.

You, with your wide smiles and bright eyes, soft hair and skin and well-kept nails. You with your frozen grapes you slice in half, you sweaty palms, your sticky kisses. You with your pain and your sorrow and all your fears, all of the bad as beautiful as the good because they’re yours.

He tries, tries so hard to calm himself for you, tries to let himself fall asleep to the sound of your voice.

 “You say you hear two sirens, shouting in the night.

I say you hear a mother, holding onto her child tight.

You say you feel two sunsets, orange heat blazing in the air.

I say you feel napalm, sticking to innocent’s hair.”

 When Flip wakes up, when the time has come, Eric is nowhere to be seen. His bed is empty and made with tight-tucked corners, no trace of him.

Instead there’s the cassette player and his headphones, stacked neatly on the pillow. Inside it is a pack of camels where the tape should be, and Flip smiles.

                                                       --------------------

They leave the funeral home after an hour or so. He doesn’t have any answers for their questions, doesn’t want to talk any more.

You hold his hand as he drives you home, and when you’re home you open your arms and pull him against your chest in your big warm bed. He counts the heartbeats there, looking out the window.

“You’re a brave man, Philip Zimmerman.” You say, no real purpose for it other than it’s on your mind. “You’re a brave man and a good man, and I’m glad that you’re mine.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know. So he doesn’t, instead he just kisses you, kisses you, kisses you some more.

He kisses you until the sun begins to dip low in the sky, until he’s exhausted and eager for a shower, eager to scrub the day away.

“Do you think we’ll ever get back to normal again?” He asks, rubs his nose against your cheek, his freshly trimmed facial hair tickling you, making you smile.

“I don’t know what normal ever was.” You point out, and he huffs out a small laugh, because you’re right – you’re always right.

“Do you think they’ll hate me?” Flip asks, scared, but needing to talk, wanting to talk to you.

“Who, honey?” You answer with a question of your own.

He only places his hand on your stomach, small circles there from the space where he hopes hopes hopes will one day house his child, will one day hold his baby. He doesn’t know, but that day is coming soon, so soon.

“What would they hate you for?” You ask, you whisper, voice hushed. You give him a small smile, snuggle up close to him in your bed underneath the covers, underneath the weight of all of the world. For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel so suffocating. “For being strong? For being compassionate? For having courage?”

He doesn't know if you're doing that on purpose, being sweet to him. He doesn't know if you're doing it because you know how frayed his edges are, how shot his nerves have been. He reasons it doesn't matter too much, because in the years and years and years he's known you, you've never once lied to him -- and why would you start now?

“You’re too good to me.” He shakes his head, counts your heartbeats underneath his ear. 

“I’m not nearly good enough.” You say, voice real soft, “They’re going to love you, all the parts of you. You want to know how I know?”

“How?” He bites, asks even though he knows the answer. 

“Because I do.” You reply. 

And for the very first time in nearly two years, for the very first time in what feels like a lifetime, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a breath deep in his chest that burns through his veins. He will wake up to see another day, and you will be there with him through it all, through the good and the bad and the ugly, with a smile and a kiss and a hug too tight.

And for the very last time, for the very last time hopefully for the rest of his lide, he reaches across the bed to click on the cassette player, presses play on the worn button that’s been pressed so many times that the paint has rubbed away, as your voice fills the air.

And for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time, he is grateful to be in your arms, in your home, with you.

 “You say you taste the ocean, salty fresh and clear.

I say you taste the residue, proof of civilian tears.

You say you smell fireworks, festivities and culture.

I say you smell gunpowder, smoke charcoal and sulfur.

 You say you see two soldiers, mangled and twisted and torn.

I say I see two souls, souls which we’ll forever mourn.

You say you see two pigeons, branches in their beak.

I say I see two doves.”

                                                     --------------------

                                                          The End. 

                                                     --------------------

Tagging some flip loving friends <3  @dreamboatdriver​​ @kylo-renne​​ ​ @kyloxfem​​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @thepilotanon​​ @solotriplets​​   @fullofbees​​ ​ @bourbonboredom​​ @driverficarchive​​ @rosalynbair​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​ @glitzescape​ @adamsnacc-kler​​  @ladygrey03​​ @venusianmaiden​​ marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes​​ @softcrybabykid​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @riseofkylo​ @mandowhoreian​

[dirtydobrik]

skinny dipping - d.d.

plot: you and david go skinny dipping in the middle of the night after a party

requested: yes! this is a combination of two requests that i got: 1. Can you please write an imagine where David does a prank involving the pool (like they record pushing people in or something) and he thinks you look really hot when you get out of the pool? So later you guys go skinny dipping together in the pool? Idk I had a dream where something similar happened 😂 and 2. I would love an imagine where David and Y/N get hot and heavy in his pool after a party with the vs, but it’s also got a bit of fluff. ☺️☺️

author’s note: hi! this was requested anonymously so hopefully it was something similar to what you wanted. if you want to send in a request for an imagine, send me a message! i am super behind on requests right now but i have a few pieces in progress that i am working on. i am hopefully back to posting daily because i am trying to get caught up.

word count: 1430

warnings: smut

masterlist

It was a hot night and everyone was over Jason and Todd's for the final party in their house before they had to move out. The music was loud, drinks were flowing, and everyone was having a good time, well except David. He was stressed about having to get footage for his next vlog, so he told a very drunk Zane decided to throw people into the pool, thinking it was only a matter of time before Zane stumbled and fell into the pool himself, which was what David was anticipating.

You were Zane's first victim. "Zane," you shrieked, before hitting the water with a loud smack. You weren't wearing a bathing suit because you weren't planning on swimming, but now your white t-shirt was see through and clinging tightly to you. David's camera should've been pointed towards Carly, Zane's next victim, but instead it was aimed at you as you pulled yourself out of the water. He sucked in a breath when you tilted your head back and shook some of the water out of your hair.

"Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?" you asked Todd, not wanting all of your friends to see your bra through your shirt.

You followed him up to his room, David getting slightly jealous that you two were alone even though he knew nothing would happen. Todd tossed you an old t-shirt of his, turning his back as you pulled your wet shirt over your head and slipped on Todd's. You undid your bra and left it in the bathroom to dry along with your shirt before heading back downstairs to rejoin the party.

David was still recording, only now Jeff was throwing dodgeballs at most of your guy friends as they stood on the edge of the pool, trying to knock them into the pool. You rolled your eyes at how stupid the idea was, but couldn’t contain your laughter when Jeff nailed Scott in the head and knocked him into the pool.

"This doesn't seem like the best idea," you warned David, your maternal instinct worried that one of them would slip on the concrete or get injured in some other way.

"Just because it's not a safe idea doesn't mean it's not a good one," David chuckled, zooming on and focusing the camera in time to get Jeff knocking Jason into the pool. "Okay guys, I think I have enough footage!" David called to them, turning his camera off after a few more of the guys were knocked into the pool.

As the night went on, people drifted inside to find a place to crash. David was sitting on the couch editing his vlog and you were curled up next to him, chatting with Carly and Mariah for a while before they both decided to head home.

It was late and you were tired. But David was in the zone and he didn’t want to take a break from editing to drive home, so you were staying over. You wanted to sleep but you also knew David liked having help on his vlogs, so you were trying to stay up.

"Babe," David said quietly, nudging your shoulder. You hummed in reply, opening your eyes to watch the clip he was editing. It was the clip he filmed of you getting out of the pool. "God, you are so hot," he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, and you let out a quiet laugh before getting an idea.

The house was silent, and you assumed everyone was asleep by now. And you needed a distraction, something to keep you awake for the rest of the night.

"I have an idea. Come with me," you whispered, grabbing David's hand and pulling him on to his feet.

He was hesitant, but he left his laptop on the coffee table in the living room and followed you outside to the pool. The water was illuminated by the bright white pool light and the full moon above you. He watched you undo your belt and slide out of your ripped jean shorts. You sat on the edge of the pool, dipping your toes in the warm water, and gave David a sly smile before pulling your shirt over your head. You pushed yourself into the pool, trying not to make a lot of noise, watching David stare at you with wide eyes, and before you knew it, David was kicking his shoes on to the grass and pulling his clothes off.

"About time you joined me," you grinned, letting out a shriek when he jumped it.

He swam up behind to you, his hands grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. You turned to face him, combing your fingers through his wet hair before resting your hands on the back of his neck. It was rare to get a moment alone with him, he was always so busy with work and with life in general. Even now, he should be editing his vlog, not skinny dipping with you.

You stood on your tiptoes, your arms draped over David's shoulders while his hands held your waist. Your bodies were pressed together and your eyes were locked on each other. After what felt like hours, David finally leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his.

“God. I love you,” David muttered as he pulled his lips off yours to catch his breath. You didn’t say anything back, just gave him a small smile before grabbing the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss once again.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair as his hands moved from your waist to below your butt. You gasped as he lifted you up, but you wrapped your legs around his torso. David moved his lips from yours and left sloppy kisses on your jaw and down your neck, causing you to yelp when he applied just a little too much pressure on your neck.

"Baby, be quiet," David hissed, not wanting to wake up anyone who was sleeping inside the house.

"Sorry," you giggled, running your fingers through his wet hair and pushing it out of his face. David's lips moved to your collarbone and you let out a low whine.

He pushed you up against the edge of the pool to hold you steady as his lips moved down your chest. You had to hold in a moan as David wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, his thumb flicking and pinching the other. You bit down on your lip when David lifted you up and on to the cold concrete, his hands separating your thighs as he placed you down.

"Fucking hell, baby. How did I get so lucky?" David muttered, completely captivated by you, before slipping two fingers into you and causing you to gasp. His lips met yours in an attempt to keep your moans quiet as he sped up the movements of his fingers.

You were gripping the edge of the pool so hard that your knuckles were turning white and you tossed your head back in pleasure as David's lips quickly moved down your neck and stomach, biting and sucking on the exposed skin.

Without warning, David removed his fingers, replacing them with his tongue and you bit down on one of your fingers to avoid screaming. His tongue circled your clit before darting into you, his lips sucking on you. You arched your back trying to push yourself further into him. Your thighs tightened around his head and you could feel him moaning into you.

“Fuck, David” you whimpered as he dipped his tongue into you ever so slightly and swirled it around your clit. He pulled his head away and began working with his fingers again. He rubbed his finger on your sensitive clit, adding a second one and increasing his speed. You could feel the pleasure coursing through your veins and the pressure building inside you, you were close. And David knew. You locked eyes and he watched as your eyes roll back and your jaw drop when he moved his finger faster.

He worked his way up to your lips, sucking on the already bruised skin and making your whine in pleasure. Pretty soon, his lips were on yours and his tongue entered your mouth. His fingers were moving fast and with a string of profanities and shaking legs, you reached your high.

"Holy shit," you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

"Skinny dipping was a great idea, babe," David chuckled, leaning in and giving you another kiss.

[banesapothecary]

we found love (right where we are)

read on ao3

David is staring at him when Patrick finally steps out of the tiny bathroom, like he’d been staring at the closed door in anticipation. Patrick expects him to say something, to bring up New York again, but he’s frozen on the bed. Like he’s afraid, Patrick realizes. At least the feeling is mutual.

Patrick didn’t want to do this tonight, didn’t want to unearth everything that hadn’t been said in the store that morning or at the motel when Johnny, Stevie, and Roland had returned with the good news. And it is good news, Patrick knows. Even he, even now, can’t argue that. Even if he’s terrified of what it could mean.

Patrick doesn’t move from the bathroom door, leaning against the frame. He always wants to be near David, to touch him, but right now he thinks touching David might break him.

He lets out a long, excruciating breath and looks at David. He doesn’t meet his eyes, not sure he’ll be able to have this conversation if he does. “We should talk.”

David nods mechanically, mouth hanging open like he wants to say something but his brain hasn’t quite caught up yet. Patrick almost smiles, usually pleased with himself whenever he manages to render David Rose speechless. But not today. Not now. Not with this.

“I don’t want to move to New York,” Patrick says. The words come out loud and quickly, more so than he meant them to, but he needs to get it out.

David closes his eyes, face screwing up in the way that means he’s upset but thinks he should’ve expected it. Patrick knows that look all too well. It’s a look that says David is expecting the worst case scenario; a look that expects an end.

It’s the look Patrick’s been dreading the most, the reason he’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror far longer than he’d needed to.

He’ll leave you behind, a voice in the back of his head says, and he hates himself for believing it. “Is our life here not good enough?” Patrick asks, voice as small as he feels. “Am I—”

“What?” David’s eyes are wide open now, staring at him in shock and something else. Anger, Patrick thinks. “Patrick Brewer, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

It’s not what he expected. But then, when has he ever gotten what he expected from David Rose?

“Our life here, our store, you,” David says, “you’re everything to me.” He blinks up at Patrick. “Why—why would you think that?”

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, hugging himself with a grip that’s probably too tight, but he feels like it’s the only thing holding him together. “Because,” he says, swallowing. “Because you wanted to leave as soon as you saw a way out.” The words stick in his too dry mouth and he has to force them out. He’d rather swallow them, bury them down and hide like he’s always done when things get too hard or scary. But he’d run before, from Rachel, and look how that had turned out. Patrick is tired of running.

David’s eyes screw shut again, but it’s a different look from before. It’s his This is a mess and it’s all my fault look. Patrick doesn’t have it in him to disagree. “That’s not—that’s not what it was. I wasn’t trying to—” He cuts himself off, frustrated. He stares at the bed’s comforter, a dejected set to his brow. Patrick knows that look, too. For all that David’s learned how to communicate his feelings with him and his family, the words still get stuck sometimes, like a faucet that won’t run.

“You weren’t trying to what?” Patrick asks softly, prompting.

David takes a deep breath, meeting Patrick’s eyes with something fierce and piercing in his own. “I wasn’t trying to escape,” he says. “I don’t want to. Not you, not the store, not even this town—at least, not like I used to.”

Suddenly, Patrick feels like he can breathe again, and he wonders when he turned into such a cliché but really he doesn’t care. The relief isn’t enough to stop the exasperation in his voice when he asks, “Then what was it?”

David stares down at his hands, twisting one of his gold rings. “I—I don’t want to be left behind.”

The words are enough to jolt Patrick, electrifying him. We’re afraid of the same thing. He pulls away from the doorframe and walks the few short steps to the bed. David stares up at him as he approaches with wide, timid eyes. David’s expression reminds Patrick of a dog that had been rescued from abuse that he’d seen at the shelter once, when he was kid:  hopeful but still afraid of being kicked.

Patrick hesitates at the edge of the bed. “Me neither,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” David says. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first, and I’m sorry I just assumed you would want to go, and I’m sorry if—” He stops, swallowing. “I’m sorry I made you feel left out or like I was gonna leave you behind.”

“Were you?”

Patrick hates himself for asking, the words slipping out before he even knew he was thinking them. The hurt on David’s face rivals the hurt in his own voice.

“No,” David says vehemently. “Never, Patrick, I swear. I wasn’t—I don’t want to go anywhere without you. I just, I got caught up in what Alexis was saying, and I was scared.”

Patrick sits carefully on the bed, back against the headboard and his arms hugging his knees against his chest. David stares at him, not moving into his space, and there’s too much of it between them. He sighs, stretching his legs out on the bed and setting a hand face up between them in invitation. From one painful heartbeat to the next, David’s hand is on his, and Patrick’s heart hurts a little bit less.

“Talk to me,” Patrick says quietly. “Please.”

“I, um,” David starts. “It was different after the bachelor party, when Alexis said she wanted to leave.”

“How?” Patrick asks.

David shakes his head, a swoop of his hair flopping out of place. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t real. It was abstract, her leaving. Now it might be real—it is real—and it would be my parents, too.” He pauses, emotions battling on his expressive face.

Patrick reaches out a surprisingly steady hand to tuck the escaped bit of hair back into place. David’s eyes meet his with a renewed look of resolve.

“I don’t want them to leave,” David admits. “I don’t want them to forget me.”

“David,” Patrick says, his name falling from his lips in a breath. “That isn’t going to happen.”

David only shrugs. “It has before.”

“David,” Patrick says again in his best look at me tone. David looks up in surprise and the corner of Patrick’s mouth almost curves into a small smile. “I didn’t know your family before, but I do know none of you are the same people you were before. You’ve all changed, you’ve grown. They love you.”

David nods, biting his lip. Patrick wants to reach out and sooth it, but he waits, letting David think. “I know that,” he says finally, slowly. “It’s just...All of that happened here. They were—we were different people in New York.” He looks small, curled into himself except for the hand outstretched in Patrick’s. “What if everything goes back to how it was?” he asks in a small, quiet voice.

“It won’t,” Patrick says. “I promise you, David. It won’t.”

“How can you promise that?”

Patrick smiles at him. “Because while I might not have known the Roses pre-Schitt’s Creek, I know them now, and they are not the kind of people who back down from a challenge. I’m not saying the distance will be easy or that everything will be exactly the same as it is now, but I’ve seen how much you all care about each other, and what you’ll do for each other. No one is forgetting anyone, David.”

“We,” David says automatically.

Patrick frowns. “What?”

David smiles, inching forward and closing some of the distance still between them. “You said ‘they.’ You’re a Rose, too, now. Not officially, yet, but...you’re my family, too. You know that, right?”

“Oh,” Patrick breathes. “I do now.”

They grin at each other for a moment, the day’s stress and hurt behind them finally. David moves first, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and hiding his face in his neck. Patrick’s arms slide around his waist, hugging him tight. They stay like that for a while until Patrick nudges David.

“C’mon, lie down,” he says, adjusting and pulling David down on top of him.

“I love you,” David whispers.

Patrick kisses the top of David’s head, running a hand up and down David’s back. “I love you, too,” he says. “It’ll be okay, David. Stevie will still be here, and Alexis will visit, and Johnny will come to check on the motels, and as much as she’d deny it, you know your mom would miss this place, too.”

“I think you’re right,” David says. “What about you?” he whispers extra quietly, like he’s hoping Patrick won’t even hear.

But he does, and the question breaks his heart all over again. He pulls David closer to his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, David. I always want to be by your side, but you have to talk to me first, okay?”

“I will,” David says. “I promise.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick says. He exhales, the tiny last bit of tension leaving him. “Okay.”

[language-of-love]

For the intimacy prompts: 3. Touching foreheads and/or 51. Slow dancing

For some reason, this sparked a little high school AU idea, so I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3.

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

Spreading his fingers wide inside his mittens, he tries to soak up as much heat as possible from the roaring bonfire as wisps of snowflakes mix with the embers shooting up towards the stars. It’s too cold to be out here and there’s a million reasons why he should have gone home hours ago, but the one reason he’s stayed is inching ever closer. 

And he just can’t help but wonder. 

The music coming from the open windows of Twyla’s hatchback changes to a soft guitar intro that’s familiar, but his memory of it is too far out of reach as his mind is so focused on the proximity of Patrick Brewer as he hums along beside him under his breath.

David doesn’t usually come to these high school parties, but Patrick had asked him if he’d be here as they’d put a final coat of black paint on the chairs for Cabaret and David had found himself so tongue tied that he’d somehow mumbled that he'd “maybe make an appearance”. Patrick’s smile had been immediate, wide and welcoming before he’d quickly tucked it back away with reddened cheeks and David knew he had to show up. To see. To put himself in the path of a possibility. 

“What song is this?” he asks, needing to break the silence with something.

“The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty. That’s the best he can come up with? Patrick’s the best musician at their school and…

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Oh. Okay.

“Where did everybody go?” Patrick asks.

When David lifts his arms to tug his beanie down over his ears, his elbow rustles Patrick’s coat and swirls of anxious anticipation erupt in his belly at the unescapable knowledge that Patrick is choosing to stand very, very close to him right now. Ten minutes ago, he was standing on the other side of the bonfire. He’s not now.

“I heard something about a beer run and I think some of the couples have retreated to their cars. I’d steer clear of Jake’s truck by the barn unless you’re into that sort of party.”

Patrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly and the breath he expels creates a cloud that mixes with David’s before disappearing up into the smoke. 

“Nah, I’m good here…” Patrick’s words trail off into the cold air and David conjures some courage to look over at him, finding him staring back with a look so full of questions David feels a bit uneasy at the multitude of possible answers. “...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Is that…? Is that okay?”

David’s face gives away his answer as his mouth curls up into a half smile that he can’t seem to stop, even as he chews at the inside of his cheek. God, he just likes Patrick so much and he’s wondered, for a while, if he was picking up hints. But Patrick’s always been with Rachel. Until a few months ago. So...David just wasn’t sure of his preferences. 

Stevie had chastised him just last week about that though, spread out on her bedspread as she puffed smoke from her joint towards the ceiling. “David, you’re not going to learn his preferences hanging out every night with me.”

Fuck, she’s going to be unbearable if she learns she was right all along.

The music gets louder suddenly and David shifts his attention to Twyla’s car, spying her through the window holding up her thumb in a silent show of encouragement and oh god, does everybody know? How mortifying. Looking back over at Patrick, he has to catch his breath at the smile he sees there, waiting, patiently for whatever is supposed to happen next. 

“Do you want to dance?” he hears himself ask.

When Patrick’s eyes go wide, David regrets that impulse immediately and tries to conjure up something to say so he can take it back.

“Um, I’ve never,” Patrick says, his voice quiet as he speaks towards the frozen leaves at his feet. “With a guy, I mean.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrick’s fingertips from where they are poking out of his fingerless gloves are bright pink as he tentatively reaches out for David’s arm, and David lets his body move in the direction he’s being lightly tugged until he finds himself face to face with a very flushed, very nervous, Patrick Brewer.

“But I’d like to.”

“The song’s almost over though,” David hedges, suddenly overcome with a wave of insecurity.

“David.”

“What?”

Patrick’s hands are on his waist now, pulling him forward and David, well, he takes a deep breath in and lets the cold air shock his system into action.

“Come here.”

He does. 

His arms anchor into the thick padded shoulders of Patrick’s brown corduroy jacket and his eyes dance everywhere except Patrick’s face for a good ten seconds as he lets himself acclimate to this new, dreamlike reality he’s found himself in. When he does force himself to meet Patrick’s gaze, he almost stumbles in surprise at the warmth reflecting from the fire in Patrick’s whiskey colored eyes and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Too strange?”

Why did he ask that? God, he needs to stop self sabotaging himself all the time.

“What?”

“Dancing with a guy.”

Patrick’s hand at the waist of his entirely weather inappropriate leather jacket clenches a little and David’s afraid he’s about to let go, but instead, he slides that hand inside the open jacket and spreads his fingers wide along David’s back and David’s unsure of what to do next. But something he’s heard his mother say many times as she’s prepared for another role pops into his head and maybe for the first time in his life, he heeds her advice. 

He leans in. 

And so does Patrick.

Their foreheads are thankfully warm from the fire as they meet and David waits with bated breath for Patrick to answer the question he probably shouldn’t have asked. But now that he has, the answer has somehow taken on monumental importance.

“It feels right.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Before he can respond, the song ends and there’s a jarring shift to a driving beat, but things go silent and David chuckles softly as he pictures Twyla in her car, frantically searching for another slow song on her drugstore brand MP3 player. He could let go of Patrick’s shoulders while they wait, but he doesn’t, and neither does Patrick. They just keep shuffling their feet and smiling down at their shoes crunching the dead leaves and the thin layer of snow.

When the first few notes of Christina Perri’s “Arms” comes on though, he huffs and can’t stop himself from turning towards Twyla’s car and shouting “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“But David, it’s so romantic!” 

She gives her horn a little honk and David gives her the finger, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as Patrick’s arm winds its way into his jacket to join the other one to draw him in closer. 

“David,” Patrick says, so soft, practically a whisper, drawing David’s attention back where it belongs, back to where Patrick’s eyes are darting new questions straight at his mouth.

Okay. 

So, this is happening.

His cashmere mitten gets snagged a little in the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck as he tips his chin and draws him in and their lips are a little chapped from the cold, but the tiny pant of breath Patrick expels the second their mouths touch spreads like fire all over David’s skin. Patrick leans into it, just lets himself be kissed, smiling sweetly into the firelight when David pulls back too soon to let him, both of them, take stock of what’s just transpired. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his fingers are pushing tenderly into David’s plush sweater and he’s keeping the tip of his nose close so it’s brushing David’s as he takes a few uneven breaths, so David just waits. He wants Patrick to make the next move.

Thankfully, he does.

“Wanna go warm up in my car?”

“Did you fix the heater?”

He can’t help it. The last time he was in Patrick’s car it was an icebox.

“Yeah. I watched a YouTube tutorial.”

“That does not dispel confidence, Patrick.”

“Fine, you wanna stay here and makeout in front of Twyla and whoever else is watching us from their cars right now?”

David’s jaw drops open at the return of the overly confident Patrick Brewer he’s been crushing on for weeks and he just shakes his head and lets himself be led through the parked cars, many with windows scandalously fogged, to the passenger side door of Patrick’s little silver sedan. Away from the prying eyes of their classmates and past the unknown of their first, Patrick doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, from initiating their second kiss. He presses David up against the car and with fingers so cold David can’t help but flinch, he holds David’s face steady as he kisses all the breath from David’s lungs. His stocky frame is warm and pulled tight as he settles his weight between David’s legs and it’s not long before the back door is opened and they scramble into the back seat in an uncoordinated tangle. 

Through laughs and demands, he manages to wrestle the car keys from Patrick’s pocket and climbs over his lap so he can reach up into the front and turn the car on and get the heat going. The radio station is set to some sports talk show and he’s about to start turning the dial to find something more appropriate for the mood, but Patrick’s hands are on his hips dragging him back and he abandons that task for the prospect of more kissing. 

Patrick’s thighs are thick and wide and a perfect perch as he settles himself onto his lap and smiles down at flush pinked cheeks and lips wet from his kisses and he honestly can’t believe that all of this is real. Pulling off his mittens, he finally gets his hands on Patrick’s skin as he wraps his hands around his neck and lowers himself down to his waiting mouth, shivering at the eagerness of Patrick’s lips and hands welcoming him back. Patrick’s ineffective tune-up of his heater is no match for the stamina of teenage hormones and it eventually sputters out, but they’ve done a pretty good job of warming themselves all on their own at that point anyway. 

Their drive back home is spent with fingers clasped, shivering, and smiling from ear to ear as Patrick’s death trap of a car trudges slowly along the back country roads with fogged up windows and young love blooming warm in their hearts. 

He hears it from his mother the next day at dress rehearsal when Patrick’s neck is covered with hickeys and the makeup team can’t seem to cover them up. He can’t help it if Patrick was already wearing the lightest shade.

From the look on Patrick’s face as he smiles over at him from center stage, he can honestly say that neither of them have any regrets. Not a single one.

[karofsky]

[Oneshot] It Starts To Show | Kurtofsky

Rated G/T, just a quick little slice of life ficlet. Post OMW (3x14) drabble in which Dave transferred back to McKinley. Slow building of feelings being noticed (yet not really addressed) by the pair, as well as Finn. Written for Alex in the Dave Discord who wanted Kurtofsky playing in the rain, but definitely just turned into Kurtofsky playing with my emotions while it happens to be raining LOL

Read on AO3

Kurt flipped lazily through his phone, his back against his locker as the hallways emptied out around him. Spring had fallen, and as the impending holiday break approached, Kurt's peers found themselves dipping faster and faster after the last school bell would ring for the day. Senioritus had hit especially hard in the New Directions, leaving Kurt to always end up alone as he waited for Finn to finish up from his athletics period, friends like Mercedes and even Rachel already long gone for the day.

More recently, however, he would find himself hanging out with Dave as he waited, who had transferred back to McKinley just a few weeks prior. He was growing to enjoy his new friend's company more and more as time passed, and in the days he found himself not getting much more than passing conversation in the halls, a pre-glee meeting chat, or a couple of texts, he was finding himself disappointed. The pair certainly made an effort to not let a day go without them talking or hanging out, but as graduation drew near, it was understandably harder for them to find the time in their busying schedules. That certainly didn't stop them from being attached at the hip when they could, though.

Opening his texts, Kurt went to Dave's contact, ready to type a message when footsteps rounded the corner, and he looked up to catch his friend's eyes already darting in his direction. Dave shot him a big smile, which, as always, left Kurt's heart aflutter as he returned the grim right back.

"Waiting on Finn still?" Dave asked, his arm outstretched as Kurt slipped into a quick hug-- something he had also gotten used to as of late.

"Always," Kurt laughed, rolling his eyes. "One day he's going to forget I'm here and head out with Puck. I'll just die waiting, maybe haunt the halls."

"You've already got the look," Dave teased, pinching Kurt"s arm lightly. Kurt slapped his hand away playfully, and glanced around the other's shoulder as another approached from down the hall.

"Oh no, is it--"

"Yeah", Finn said, walking up to the others. His letterman was draped over his shoulders, covering a damp tee. His step-brother's hair was plastered to his face, the obvious downpour he had been caught in leaving his entire head dripping. Even still, his eyes sparkled with a smile, and he gave Dave a quick nod in greeting, which Dave returned.

Kurt groaned, shifting his bag to look for what he already knew was non-existent. "I knew I should have grabbed my umbrella from the car. What a bad time to be parked across the lot." The group turned towards the front doors, starting a rather sluggish walk to the inevitable drenching they were about to receive.

"Same here,” Dave said, shoving his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. Kurt adjusted his pace, slipping his arm through Dave’s, which Dave lightly hugged a bit closer to his body. The pair missed Finn’s side-eye, not sending more than a quick glance to the others before rolling his eyes to himself. The three reached the front doors, and Finn stepped forward to pull them open, keeping his back on it as Dave and Kurt both shuffled through, still attached at the elbows.

Kurt’s small smile faded as he looked out into the near empty lot, which in the last twenty minutes had all but completely flooded-- and judging by the dark clouds as far as he could see, Kurt presumed it wasn’t about to change. He looked off at his car, parked in one of the farthest rows from the building. It didn’t take long to find Dave’s truck, which was one row in front of Kurt’s, but still equally as much of a trek.

“Do you want to borrow my letterman?” Finn offered, already slipping it off of his shoulders to hand to Kurt. “Then you can pick me and Dave up.”

Kurt looked at the letterman, then back at Finn with a glare. “You want me to get the car?”

“I mean, it’s yours. You have the keys.”

“I’m not about to put these boots through the Swamp Foot I’d get from that,” Kurt replied, already fishing his keys from his bag. Pulling them out, he placed them on the jacket on top of Finn’s outstretched arm. “You’re already wet.”

“I’m wearing my gym shoes,” Finn whined, lifting his foot up to show Kurt the thin mesh that surrounded his sneakers. Kurt rolled his eyes, gesturing again to the keys.

“Well, I’m not going, so I guess we’ll stand here.”

“What about you Dave?” Finn offered, his eyes pleading.

Dave opened his mouth to respond, but Kurt cut him off before he could speak.

“Dave’s standing with me.”

Finn squinted. “He could not do that, and go get his truck, since it would make more sense for him to just drop us both off at your car.”

“Kurt’s right, I’m standing with him,” Dave said, the corner of his lips quirking into a smile he was clearly doing his best to try and fight back. “Also, you’re already wet.”

Finn threw his hands up, Kurt’s keys slipping off the jacket and hitting the concrete steps with a sharp clang. Grumbling something under his breath, he bent down to pick them up, then stood up, grabbing Kurt’s free hand. He pulled it open with a huff, shoving the keys in them before closing his step-brother’s fingers around them. “Then you guys can walk together. My mom’ll be pissed if I ruin these shoes.”

Kurt groaned again, about to continue the argument before Dave dropped his arm, and leaned in front of Kurt to swipe Finn’s letterman from his arms, then handing it to Kurt. Kurt held it, confused, and looked back at Dave for clarification, who pulled his own set of keys from the front pocket of his jeans.

“Fine,” the boy said, and stepped in front of Kurt, bending slightly at the waist. His arms stretched behind him, and his hands flicked up, motioning for Kurt to hop onto his back. Kurt grinned, quickly dropping his keys back into his bag as Finn watched, confused. After slipping his brother’s jacket over his head, Kurt steadied himself, then slipped his palms onto Dave’s shoulder and kicked up from the ground, into Dave’s waiting arms. Finn rolled his eyes again, this time pointedly at Kurt, who ignored the tease and instead wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, his other pulling the letterman to cover them both.

“Good?” Dave asked, and Kurt gave a small noise of approval as Dave headed down the steps, into the pouring rain. As they stepped away from the overhang, the rain hitting the thick wool of the jacket enveloped the two of them in a roaring bubble. Kurt could feel the back of his pants getting wet from being left uncovered, and he did his best to adjust himself to cover as much as possible. He tucked his feet closer to Dave’s sides as Dave quickly paced his way through the lot, doing his best to avoid puddles.

As they reached a raised stretch, Dave’s grip around Kurt’s legs tightened. “Should I run?”

“What?” Kurt asked, leaning forward so his face was pressed against the side of Dave’s head.

“I’m going to run,” Dave said, and Kurt looked down at him to catch a wide smile on his face.

“You can jog, ” he said, his eyes wide as he stared at the slick pavement in front of them. “You will absolutely eat shit if you run.”

“I won’t.”

“David, I’m on your-- Dave!” Kurt yelped as the boy took off, nearly in a full sprint. His grip around both the jacket and Dave’s shoulder’s tightened as he clung on for dear life. He wasn’t sure if he should look ahead to face his demise head on, or simply close his eyes and brace for impact. He trusted Dave enough, and couldn’t help but giggle as he felt Dave’s own chest shake with laughter, but he could practically picture the pair slipping and rolling right into a greasy puddle.

Pressing his face into Dave’s neck, his smile stretched against the boy’s skin as he slowed, approaching his truck. Dave carefully stopped at the driver’s side, shifting his own weight to hold Kurt to one side as he slipped his hand away to fumble his keys in the lock. Eventually, he clicked the door open, and turned around, bending just enough for Kurt to slide himself off of his back. Kurt carefully sat down, and scooted himself back towards the passenger side, holding his bag and Finn’s jacket to his chest.

As Dave ducked inside, his hair was mussed, speckled lightning with raindrops from the mere moments he was exposed to the rain. His cheeks were tinted pink, his smile from the run still lingering as he met Kurt’s eyes for just a moment. Kurt felt his entire face heat, suddenly finding himself melting into the soft leather of the seat as Dave pulled himself into the seat beside him, unable to tear his eyes away from his friend as he slammed the door closed behind him.

Kurt tore his gaze away, instead turning to look through the back window, catching an impatient looking Finn back at the school’s entrance.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Dave said, running a hand through his short curls before turning the ignition. The truck came to life with a rumble, and Kurt was thankful as the cool air from the vents started to warm.

“You weren’t the one strapped to a daredevil,” Kurt replied, chuckling softly. Dave gave a small laugh of his own, reaching for the handbrake. However, Kurt reached out, stopping Dave’s hand before it could grab the handle, which caused Dave to turn to look at him inquisitively.

Kurt pulled his friend’s arms down slightly, their  hands instinctively slipping together in a light hold-- the small act of affection having become a bit of a norm for them lately, and Kurt had grown to appreciate how natural it had all felt.

“Thank you,” Kurt said softly. Dave gave him a sweet smile, which caused Kurt’s heart to flutter yet again.

“Yeah, of course. Finn was kind of being a baby.”

“Well, yes,” Kurt said, letting out another small chuckle. “But I meant more generally.” Dave’s brow twitched upwards, and Kurt swallowed, gathering himself.

“I really care about you, David,” he continued, his thumb grazing along the other’s knuckles. Dave reciprocated the movement, both his smile and eyes softening as he watched Kurt speak. “And I really appreciate our time together.”

Suddenly, Dave’s expression changed, and Kurt caught himself. “That’s it,” he clarified, careful as he watched Dave’s emotions settle after the clear ‘but’ he had been expecting. The boy’s shoulders dropped, letting out a soft sigh. Kurt knew that behind his own words, he meant so much more than just a few quick statements. And as time passed, more and more thoughts and feelings continued to build into a big emotional novel, whether or not he was ready to address why. But he could at least understand that even in small moments like these, he knew he would hold them close.

Moving forward, Kurt laced his arms under Dave’s, pulling his friend into a hug. Dave hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his own arms around Kurt’s back. They stayed like that for a few seconds, Kurt pressing his nose against the back of Dave's head and taking a deep breath, the smell of the other's morning shampoo still lingering alongside his cologne. He'd been meaning to casually borrow a hoodie sometime. As the parted, their faces hung close, their noses no more than a few inches apart, Dave's hazel eyes bright as Kurt let his arms fall from around the other. Kurt's mouth parted, almost in awe of how Dave was looking at him, and gave a small smile and a sigh. He reached down to give Dave's hand one last squeeze before looking back over his shoulder, a gaze which Dave followed. Finn continued to look restless, bouncing between his feet as he looked around the lot, and Kurt was unable to stifle the giggle. "Finn's about to have an aneurysm," Kurt joked, hitting the side of Dave's arm lightly. "Come on." "Don't you have your keys?"

Kurt turned to look at Dave, who had a playful grin on his face, before looking down at his lap, where his keys sat tucked away in his bag.

"You sure you don't just want to come hang out for a bit?" Dave continued, his tone lilted. "We can grab food..."

Kurt let out a hearty laugh, and moved to sit forward, gesturing for Dave to turn back around. "You're so mean. Go get him."

Dave smirked and turned around, pulling the car into drive to slip out from the space as Kurt scooted beside him, the sides of their thighs flush together well before Finn needed the space in the seat beside him.

[shhhhyoursister]

“There’s people here.” “I know.”

okay so i dont  remember what prompt list this is from but ive gone through my inbox and only kept the asks that actually have the lines so im gonna!!! write this!!!!! i got a random idea!!!

“There’s people here.” “I know.”

***

Matteo isn’t the biggest fan of parties that are taking place in his own flat, so when David invites him to go to one of the uni parties he’s been getting invited to more and more, Matteo hesitates. He isn’t going to know the people, David isn’t even going to know most of them, but David promises to stay with him the whole night. David slides his hands under Matteo’s shirt with the promise that the party is just a way to get drunk and dance with his hot boyfriend in front of a bunch of people, and Matteo rolls his eyes but agrees to go.

And David keeps his promise. He stands by Matteo’s side, leaning against the wall, either holding one of Matteo’s hands or with an arm around his waist. The music playing isn’t really the dancing type, and David smiles fondly at the jokes Matteo makes about the “art students who don’t even know how to party right”. David just leans in and kisses his cheek, and points out someone else he knows from his classes.

Matteo knows that David is much more social than him, and lacks the anxiety that causes Matteo’s preference for standing off to the side. Occasionally people will come over to greet him, and it's really nice for Matteo to see just how many friends David has made at school. He smiles when David introduces him as, “My boyfriend, Matteo,” and he blushes when the other person always responds, “Oh, yeah, David talks about you all the time!”

But it’s also easy to see when David starts getting a little restless at his side. He’d gone off to get himself another beer a couple more times than Matteo thought was necessary, and is definitely swaying a little more with each trip, and once Matteo finally cuts him off, David starts offering to get Matteo a new drink. After the fifth time David asks him in ten minutes, Matteo sighs.

“I know you promised to stay with me, but you really don’t have to. Go hang with all of your new friends.” Matteo smiles, and gestures out at the party.

“No, baby, I want to stay with you,” David replies quickly, simultaneously sliding his arm around Matteo’s waist and looking off into a crowd of people who David had introduced as his friends, and when Matteo shoots him a look, he bites his lip before asking, “are you sure it’s okay?”

Matteo rolls his eyes before leaning in to kiss David on the cheek, and then shoves him away with a, “Go, have fun.”

David shoots a grateful smile at him before grabbing his cheeks and tugging him in for an unintentionally messy kiss, and then darts off and squeezes himself into the circle. Matteo grins when the group cheers upon David joining them, and he leans back against the wall, and takes his phone out to pass the time.

A little while later someone collides into him, and Matteo is glad that he has a tight grip on both his phone and the bottle as David grab at Matteo’s hips to try and steady both of them, and Matteo has to tug them back over so he they don’t fall to the ground.

“Welcome back,” Matteo says with a laugh as David pulls him in close, and when he feels lips on his neck he rolls his eyes and says, “fuck, who gave you more alcohol?”

David doesn’t answer, just pushes Matteo a little more into the wall, and Matteo is glad that they’re off in a relatively private corner of the room. Not completely private, though, and he starts noticing some looks being sent their way, so when David starts trying to slide his hand under the waistband of Matteo’s pants, he grabs his wrist and says, “David, there are people here!”

David looks up at him with a toothy grin, forcing his leg between Matteo’s thighs, and says, “I know.”

Matteo has to stop himself from swooning back against the wall when David’s thigh rubs against him, and he only lets David bite at his neck for another minute before he shoves him away, and holds him there with a hand firm on his chest.

“Let’s leave.” David says, and Matteo can actually feel him straining to get closer, and he snorts.

“You were the one who invited me in the first place.”

“And now,” David says, and the way his eyes get dark and his smile turns into something a little sweet and a little something else makes Matteo drop his hand, and David crowds into his space to breath into his ear, “I want to leave.”

Matteo can’t even blame himself for not arguing, and for following David out of the flat after only spending about an hour there.