#they’d play gin rummy for hours

[catharusustulatus]

The kids poke fun at Steve for not “getting” D&D, think he’s just not built for the math and memory aspects of the game. Turns out he and Robin are playing bridge with her parents every Friday night after dinner and he’s a total card shark, taking tricks left and right. The Buckleys love him - he’s competitive but sweet, considerate and sharp. Sometimes Steve and Robin’s mom Patty team up and win, and she sneaks him an extra piece of cake after the dishes are washed. After Steve leaves, promising to pick Robin up the next morning for work, her parents wax poetic about how much they love Robin’s “boyfriend.”

[gretavanlace]

Guitar Fingers

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol, dirty talk, fingering, etc

“Bass fingers, any day.” you answer Sam’s question without hesitation while tossing your ping pong ball, missing the red solo cup you were aiming for by a mile.

“Ha!” Sammy shouts out, tossing his empty White Claw in Jake’s direction. “Hear that, guitar boy? Bass fingers, any day!”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well nobody ever said she was the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“Hey, fuck you, Jake!” you retort with a laugh.

He tosses back his whiskey and then tops off.

“I’m just sayin’, love...” he swaggers around the table, readying for his turn. “If you think I couldn’t ruin your whole life with these...” he wiggles his fingers and the light catches his rings, making them wink and glint. “...then you must be sort of dim. That’s the only explanation.”

You watch him sink his tiny white ball effortlessly, and then turn to mutter something in Josh’s ear. His twin's eyes flicker to your face, proving they’re talking about you. Not that you care, you’ve known them too long to be worried about it, they’re the kindest of souls underneath it all, and you know they’d never speak maliciously.

“Seriously though,” Sam chimes in. “I wanna know how you came to that conclusion.”

Classic Sammy, always prowling about for his next compliment. The man is a Hollywood starlet minus the feather boa. Loves to be adored, loves to hear about said adoration even more.

“Well, I’d never really thought about it until you asked.” Lie number one. “But you’re both right handed. Sammy’s dominant hand handles most of the more intricate work on his bass. Jakey’s left does the heavy lifting on his guitar.”

“I’m ambidextrous.” Jake corrects, pointing a finger at you with a wink.

“No, you aren’t!” Sam scowls, perturbed by his older brother honing in on his spotlight.

Jake stands his ground, eyes still trained on you “I am. Just not in situations you’d be privy to seeing, Samuel.”

“Oh, I’m gonna puke.” Josh groans, grabbing at his throat dramatically with a wretch.

“I’d be happy to prove it to you, love.” Jake lowers his voice and raises an eyebrow. “Wanna see what these guitar fingers can do?”

Your face heats with a blush and you silently seethe at your body’s betrayal.

“That’s enough, Jake.” Danny, being Danny, seems to think you could use a little rescuing. “Don’t make her feel uncomfortable.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he holds his hands up in surrender. “Just extending an invitation is all.”

Quite the contrary really, you’re feeling more along the lines of– skeptical, rather than uncomfortable. Jake seems so cocky and confident. However, if you’re being honest, you don’t believe his smoke and mirrors. He’s just a guy. You’ve spent more than enough time on the road with the four of them to understand that the showmanship of a rock star doesn’t fade completely when they step off stage. They have a reputation to uphold.

It wasn’t like it was a secret.

“Let’s take it in a bit, shall we?” Josh had remarked, pinning the jumpsuit tighter around his pelvis with his hand as you fitted him just last week. “Tighten it up a bit, yeah? S’all about sex, isn’t it, pussycat?”

You’d preened the slightest at the pet name, as you always do when he trots it out.

He’s a sweetheart, and you love to feel close to him. The nickname he saves just for you serves as a reminder that he cherishes your friendship as much as you do his.

The night wears on as the five of you drink, and drink, and drink some more...wiling away the night hours in yet another generic hotel suite to make it easier to sleep the day away aboard a cramped bus chugging along to the next town.

Two o’clock in the morning finds you and Jake engaged in a lazy game of gin rummy, while the others argue over drunken scrabble.

“I don’t know why you guys play with him...” you take a long pull on your beer. “He makes up words and you know it.”

“Pussycat!” Josh sounds shocked and appalled. “How could you say such a thing?” He clutches his imaginary pearls and then laughs wildly at himself while the rest of the room remains stoic.

You draw a card and look up to find Jake eyeing you with a strange expression. He leans forward and pitches his voice low enough that the others won’t hear. “I keep thinking about it now. Do something unattractive so I’ll stop.”

“What?” your hand pauses in mid-air, clutching the seven in your grip so tightly it curls.

He reaches out and drums your wrist lightly with his fingers. “I keep thinking about it. Do something to make me see you like I always see you.”

“And how is that?” you ask, speaking just as softly. The alcohol pumping through your system has you flushed and loose, or maybe it's the way his eyes are tracking your face.

“How do I normally see you?”

You nod and he goes on. “I see you as...you. Off limits.”

Remembering yourself, you cram the card into the fan of its brothers in your hand and attempt to shake off his spell. It doesn’t work. “Why am I off limits?”

“Because you work for us, and that’s always a bad idea.” He clinks his whiskey with your beer, signaling you should both drink. You follow his lead and then he continues. “Plus, you very clearly have a thing for my twin brother.”

Out of all the things that have very recently exited his pretty mouth, this surprises you the most. “Josh?”

Hearing his name, Josh looks up and somehow manages to slur the word, what.

“Nothing, nothing...” you hurry to wave him off and then rise to your feet. “Jake and I are gonna go out on the balcony to smoke.”

“Smoke right here.” Sammy takes a drag off his cigarette as if in demonstration.

“Smoking inside is disgusting.” Jake says, then follows along behind you, sliding the door shut. Neither one of you light up.

“You think I have a thing for Josh?” Now that you can continue the conversation privately, you jump right in.

He leans against the balcony ledge and smirks “Don’t you?”

“Absolutely not.” You insist rapid fire, and honestly.

“Pussycat certainly seems to do it for you.” He’s teasing you, and if physical assault wasn’t socially unacceptable, you’d likely slap his smug face.

You lean against the ledge, mimicking his stance. “It’s just a nickname that I happen to like very much because I happen to like your brother very much. Platonically. That’s as far as it goes.”

“I’m sorry.” he sounds sincere, and ashamed of his assumption. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” you force a little smile to set his conscience at ease. “You just surprised me is all. Does everyone think that? Oh my god, that’s humiliating.”

His hand bridges the gap between the two of you to squeeze your shoulder. “Nope. Apparently I was the only one reading you wrong. And here I thought I was the only one seeing you clearly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you question meekly, unsure of whether or not you want the answer.

“I dunno.” he shrugs. “I guess I just thought I had you pegged.”

“And now?”

He chuckles softly into the night air. “Now, not so much. Also, now I feel stupid.”

A comfortable silence washes over the both of you until, taking on the role of his absent twin– Jake shatters the quiet. “I’m still thinking about it, ya know...in case you were wondering.”

“Oh my god!” you burst into a fit of laughter. “Would you shut up already?”

“Ouch...” he clasps a hand over his heart. “You wound me, love. How can you spurn my advances so easily?” he’s teasing again. Except this time, you don’t feel so much like slapping him.

“Mostly because I think you’re full of shit.” you toss back and watch a competitive edge flare to life in his warm eyes.

“Are you serious?” He prods, tilting his head to the side as if he’s trying to figure you out.

“Jake, it’s only me. You don’t have to be Mr. Rock God.” you intend it to be a calming ‘get out of jail free card’, a promise that he can just be himself with you. Instead, he looks a little pissed.

“You think I’m bluffing.” he announces it as fact, not a question. “You think...” he pauses and steps forward until he is dangerously close. “...that I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?” your voice comes out softer than you intend, smaller.

The back of his hand brushes down your cheek, traveling along to your neck where it comes to rest loosely. “Couldn’t make you cum with just this.” his palm lends the slightest, most barely there pressure against your throat. “With just my hand.”

Whether it’s your intoxicated state, or whether it’s Jake and his natural magnetic pull, you’ll likely never know, but bravely, you rise to your toes and bring your mouths closer. “Why just your hand, though? Why not use this...” your tongue dips out and nudges his mouth softly. “Or this?” Your hand brushes up his thigh to cup him through his pants.

A sharp intake of breath ripples the calm surface of his placid facade, but only for a heartbeat. Then his lips are brushed up close to yours, not kissing you, just resting there.

“Because I like the dominance of it.” his tongue laps slowly over your bottom lip. “To watch you fall apart around my fingers– writhing and wet, dancing on my hand like a gorgeous, fuck-whore of a puppet while I just....watch.” He waits a beat and then you feel his lips tip up in a half smirk when he swallows a tiny moan you can’t manage to catch before it escapes you. “You wanna be my pussycat? Because I’d like to make you purr.”

“Jake.” his name sounds like the sweetest song in this moment and you want to sing it forever.

That is, until he pulls back and moves towards the door. What the hell is he doing?!

“You coming, love?” he questions, and you know right away that the double meaning was no accident.

“You’re a fucking tease.” you breathe, grappling with the balcony railing for stability, still unable to tear your eyes away from his hands.

“You have no idea.” he curls a finger, beckoning you back into the room, simply to further your torment and ducks inside.

Of course, you follow.

The slick between your legs feels obscene and uncomfortable now that you find yourself thrown back into such a mundane setting. Still, you fucking love it.

You watch as Jake deposits himself back down into his chair and grabs up his cards, preparing to finish your game.

Danny and Sam have moved on to Chutes and Ladders. This is a favorite of theirs as they have created an elaborate drinking game of it, complete with complicated house rules that Sammy is always attempting to bend to suit him.

“Come play Chugs and Lagers with us, honey pie.” Sam only ever calls you this when he’s wasted– a nod to your favorite song off the White Album. You love the ridiculousness of it all...the slight mayhem.

“Actually,” you grab your jacket off the back of your chair and shrug it on as Josh continues to drunkenly fuck with the scrabble board that’s been abandoned by everyone else. “I think I’m gonna head back to my room and crash.” Lie number two of the night, you plan to go to your room and make short work of the pounding need Jake has created between your legs.

“Would you like one of us to walk you down?”Josh offers offhandedly. “Ah! Fuck yes! QUICKLY!” He shoves lettered tiles into place on the board. “That’s 75 points!”

You smile to yourself as you watch him play scrabble solitaire, trying to ignore the fact that Jake doesn’t volunteer. “I’m good, boys. See you way too bright and early at the buses.”

The entire time you make your way over to the door, you’re expecting Jake to speak up and insist on walking you back, but, in a move that irritates you and stings to no end, he remains silent and you find yourself out in the hall alone.

Should I text him and ask him to come back to my room with me? You ponder, staring down at the horrendously busy carpeting beneath your feet. Your phone is in your hand, making itself known like an obnoxiously loud child, even though it sits silent. No, you remember his comment about you working for them, and he’s probably right...it would be a terrible idea.

You’re doing your best to convince yourself of this when halfway down the hall, you hear his voice.

“Hey...”

You turn much too enthusiastically. Cute.

“Where do you think you’re going without me?”

He advances on you rapidly, mostly because you can’t seem to move your feet.

Suddenly, he’s crowding out any personal space you might have called your own, pressing you up against the wall.

“Why are you leaving in such a rush?” His taunting question tickles your ear. “Big plans in your room?” he picks up your hands and sucks on your fingers so you’ll know that he knows exactly what you were planning on getting up to.

“Maybe.” you sound much more put together than you feel.

“So your fingers can make you cum, but you don’t think mine can?” his words warm your digits as they rest on his lips deliciously.

“I just don’t think you’re aware of how thoroughly groupies can inflate the ego, Jakey...and I don’t want to be the one to have to break your heart.” And now we’ve landed on lie number three.

“Oh, my darling girl...”He pins you closer to the wall with the weight of his body. “I could play you like a fiddle.”

“A fiddle?” you’re breathless at his proximity. “Are you the devil?”

His tongue slinks out and traces a warm, wet trail along your jaw. “Well I’m sure as fuck not Johnny.”

He catches your soft moan of his name and slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, barely teasing them inside. “When was the last time you got off?”

Your hips jut away from the wall, silently begging him to slip his touch down lower. “This morning.”

“This morning?” he sounds pleased with you, and slides his hand a little lower, as if in reward. “All by yourself? Where?”

You shudder at his wandering touch and will it to keep moving “In the shower.”

His mouth plays close to your ear. “Me too.”

Fuck. The mental image that has painted in your brain obliterates any sanity you may have had lingering about, and you imagine that was the desired outcome.

Your hands can’t seem to stay still all of the sudden, you’re grabbing and pulling at him, tugging at his hair, yanking at his clothes, desperate to feel his hand sink lower, but it just stays where it is, toying at the hem of your panties.

“Let’s go back to my room.” You shove at his shoulders, attempting to hustle him into moving.

“What for?” Finally, his hand sneaks down, but still not nearly far enough. “Gonna make you cum right here.”

A shocked gasp pops out of you “In the fucking hallway?”

He nods emphatically. “In the fucking hallway.”

“No way.” you fight to sound stern. “Someone could walk out here and see.”

“So? What would they see?” he challenges. “You’re dressed and so am I. So they see my hand inside your sweet little panties. Fuck it.”

“Come on...” you complain through gritted teeth despite your better judgment.

“Come on, what, love?” he grins against your mouth.

“Touch me.”

“Where?” God, he’s fucking infuriating.

“Here,” you grab his forearm and shove it downward, forcing his hand further into your underwear. His middle finger grazes over your clit and an illicit moan flutters out of you.

“You sound so pretty and dirty.” he nuzzles your neck, and slowly, much too slowly, circles your aching bundle of nerves. “I bet you’re a fucking angel when you cum. A perfect little cum slut of an angel.”

Astounded by his obscene vernacular, your eyes widen as you fall silent.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” he catches your eye with the slyest of smiles. “You’re fucking soaked.”

A noise down the hall startles you out of the lust drunk world he has created just for you and you instantly freeze. “Did you hear that?”

“Ice machine.” he murmurs, sucking warm, wet blossoms of heat along your neck.

“Jake...” his fingers begin a campaign of tight circles just right on your clit, interrupting you. “My room...come on.”

“It’s here or nowhere, baby.” his teeth catch your earlobe. “What’s it gonna be? You wanna cum on my fingers or not?”

“Baby?” you quip with a gasping giggle.

“That’s what I said. Baby.” he nods, working your clit faster after dipping inside you to gather your slick. “You wanna be my baby, love? You wanna be my pretty little sweetheart and cum for me like a good girl?”

Oh, he is an out and out derelict. Who could say no to that? He fights dirty.

“Mhmm...” your mouth falls open with a stuttering moan as he yanks your pants down far enough to slip his other hand into your panties as well.

His opposite hand pushes two fingers inside you, curling just right as your hands fly into his hair. “I can’t stay quiet, Jake...” you pant, thrashing your head back and forth along the wall behind you. “It feels too good. Make me cum, please...fuck me with your fingers just like that...fuck.”

“Cover your mouth.” his demand shakes out of him from the effort he is exerting to give it to you as hard as you’re begging for it.

“What?” you’re unsure of what he wants, and too lost to the throes of pleasure to think it through.

“My hands, baby...” he smirks and licks at your lips. “They’re a little full at the moment, and as pretty as you sound right now, I just can’t have someone coming out here to see what all the fuss is about. So, be a good girl and shut yourself up.”

Your hand rips away from his shoulder and clamps over your mouth just in time to stifle a particularly zealous cry of his name. It feels almost as if his fingers are actually vibrating on your swollen, aching, clit, they’re fluttering so swiftly...and the twisting motion he is applying inside should be deemed illegal...nothing should feel this gluttonously sinful.

“That’s it, love...” he breathes into your ear. “Now cum for me...I know you’re close, your sweet little cunt is gushing all over my palm.” a hum of great approval coils out of him. “So fucking wet. Are you a squirter? You gonna soak me?”

If anyone else had ever had the audacity to utter something so vulgar to you, you most certainly would have laid them out with a punch to the throat. With Jake? You want him to say it again. Moreover, you want it to be true. You want to lose control and cover him in the evidence of what he’s made you feel...unfortunately, you just aren’t made that way.

“I...” you begin, but he pumps into roughly and without mercy, and your eyes pop wide open.

“Go on, baby...” he teases, fucking up into you even faster, curling into that perfect spot of heaven tucked way up inside you. “Tell me.”

“I can’t...” another curl of those perfect fingers.“Jake...” and another.

“You can’t, what?” he coaxes, sounding so entirely filthy and wrong.

“I can’t...” you’re attempting to tell him that you can’t squirt, that that just isn’t a skill you possess, but your orgasm crashes into you without warning and rather than finishing your thought, you’re a little more preoccupied with him and the bliss he has see free to roam through your system. “Fuck, Jake...fuck, keep going, don’t let it end...feels so fucking good...fuck fuck fuck...”

“I’d like to fuck that dirty mouth of yours.” he whispers against your throat, punctuating his statement with a stinging nip of his teeth. “But that wasn’t good enough, I want to feel you really let go for me first, and you’re so close. Come on, pussycat...purr for me.”

Something about his brother’s innocent term of endearment rasping from his fiendish mouth sets your entire body on fire, and before your first climax has even begun to think about fading, you’re cumming again, harder than you would have ever thought yourself capable of. Especially standing somewhat uncomfortably in a hotel hallway where you should feel absolutely ashamed of yourself. Instead you feel free, and beautiful, and fucking alive.

“That’s it, baby...” he sounds awestruck as you shower your release down around his hand. “That’s my fucking sweet little baby...such a good girl.”

If someone had asked you at the start of the night if you had a kink for praise, you probably would have said something along the lines of... “Maybe giving praise, if it’s deserved...but receiving it? No thanks, I’m secure in my own skin, thanks. I don’t need some dude telling me what a good job I’m doing or whatever.”

Right now? You would crawl through broken glass to earn Jake’s accolades over and over.

Finally, your eyes find his with a deep, centering breath. “That was fucking insane...I came so hard.”

“Open that beautiful mouth, baby.” he whispers back.

You obey and there are both of his hands, feeding his drenched fingers past your lips.

“How pretty and sweet do you taste, love? Tell me.”

In response, you pull one of his hands from your lips and press it to his own. He sucks his own digits in with a low groan. “Like fucking candy.”

After a moment, he tucks those gorgeous hands under your arms and swings you around, placing you on your feet in the middle of the hall with a soft smack on your ass through your jeans that are still unbuttoned and disheveled . “See you in the morning, babe.”

“What?” you sound more incredulous than you would’ve liked, but that can’t be helped now.

“I said I’ll see you in the morning.” he starts down the hall, blowing you a cheeky kiss.

Stunned doesn’t begin to touch upon your current state. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack, pretty girl.” There’s that cocky confidence rearing its head again. “The tour is just beginning...we have all the time in the world.”

With that, he disappears around the corner in the direction of his room.

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[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: some language and violence

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Steve and Agent 14 work together for the first time. Best laid plans go awry. 

A/N: Here’s another installment of Cap and our beloved barista agent - if you haven’t read ‘Extra Whip’ or ‘Tall Blonde’, you might want to look at those first so you’ll know what’s going on! As always, please let me know what you think! I really love these two together <3

“So…it’s a quick intel grab?”

“Yep,” Fury nods. 

“And you want me on this?” She glances up from the dossier in her hands. 

Another nod.

“Care to explain why? Considering you have perfectly good agents in-house who can handle this?” 

Fury just shrugs. “You’ve been out of the field for quite a while on your…assignment, figured you might want the chance to stretch your legs a bit.”

Her eyes narrow at him. 

“And the real reason?”

“…you were requested.”

The dossier snaps closed, dropped to his desk with a quiet thump. Agent 14 settles her hands on her hips, eyebrow lifted as she stares down her boss. 

“By whom?” 

With a whoosh, the automatic door slides open, and there he is, all long legs and purposeful strides and shoulders that overwhelm the doorframe. American jaw hidden under that scruffy layer of beard he seemingly refuses to shave. She wonders if anyone has even tried - stylists, publicists, all the staff in charge of their Avengers image - to get him to go back to his classic style, boyish bare cheeks and sweetly combed hair. The boy you’d take to meet your mother. But some time has passed now, since the rifts caused by the Accords were repaired and SHIELD’s prodigal son came home - rough around the edges and unapologetic. 

“Oh,” he sees her, breaks the rhythm of his stride for half a beat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Not at all, Captain,” Fury waves off his manners. “We were just discussing your upcoming mission.”

Half-turned to watch him, a look of understanding passes across her face and she crosses her arms. To his credit, Steve doesn’t shrink from her gaze, merely squares his shoulders, looping his thumbs in his belt. She’s not looking at the way the dark blue suit strains across his chest. He’s not looking at the tight white catsuit she’s wearing, nor the dagger strapped to her thigh. Sarah Rogers raised a damn gentleman, thank you. 

Clearing his throat, Steve nods and takes a step forward, gesturing towards the dossier spilling onto Fury’s desk. 

“May I?” 

Without a word, she scoops up the file and hands it to him. It falls open to a set of blueprints - floor plans scribbled here and there with notes on suitable entry and exit points. Licking the pad of his thumb, he continues to flip through the file, scanning the provided notes on security details, including a very thorough breakdown of the guard rotation schedule.

“Impressive recon,” he comments, still reading. “Who’d you have on this?” 

“Couple of my best agents,” Fury shrugged. His good eye slides over to Agent 14 and he nods graciously. “Present company excepted.”

“Please, my ego’s not that fragile, Nick,” 14 sighs, sarcastic smirk tilting up her mouth. “You don’t have to pat me on the head and give me a gold star.” Leaning her hip against his desk, she spares a glance at the Captain, bemused eyes bouncing between their exchange. “He always tells us that he doesn’t play favorites - we all annoy him equally.”

“Even Stark?” Steve quirks an eyebrow. 

“He’s in a class all his own - and technically not an agent of SHIELD.” The scowl around Fury’s mouth deepens by a fraction. “Not that that’s ever stopped him.”

“If Pepper Potts can’t stop him, then it’s a lost cause.” Reeling the conversation back to business, 14 tamps down her smile. “So what’s our timeline here, boss?”

“48 hours. I want a clean extraction.” He points a finger at Steve. “No theatrics, Captain. No explosions. And for God’s sake, no toppling entire organizations without calling me first.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to send in the Star Spangled Man? Not exactly the best play for subtlety.” She turns her face to Steve with a placating gesture of her hands. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the edges of the shield against his muscles. “This thing doesn’t exactly scream ‘stealth’.” The corners of her eyes wrinkle as she fights a smile, and if he seems to puff his chest a little, well, this suit is a bit tight on him now. 

“I’m trusting Captain Rogers’s discretion in this case, Agent.” How does a single eyepatch manage to look so stern? “Romanoff has taught him a thing or two over the years. Should be fine. Any further questions?” 

Their eyes meet over the dossier - no questions in that gaze; at least, none that Fury can answer. 

“Alright, then - please see yourselves out of my office.” Nick falls into his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “And don’t come back without coffee.” 

 **********                                                                                                   

It’s quiet in the cockpit. Autopilot holds the jet steady, somewhere over the Arctic Ocean. Starkpad in his lap, Steve runs back over their notes and schematics, holding the picture in his mind: two exit points on the south side, three on the east. Heavier security on the south side, near the main entrance; they’d have easier access to the server if they could get in that way, but it was too much of a risk. Too easy to be seen, and then they’d end up fighting their way out - which was the last thing they needed. He wanted in and out - efficient, quiet, clean. 

A glance over at 14, who has her headphones in, studying her own tablet. The soft blue glow of the screen lights up her features, soft shadows cast by her lashes. It’s been quiet since they loaded up the jet, each falling into their own preparations, little habits to find their headspace. She chews on her thumbnail as her other hand flicks through pages on her screen. 

Still an hour out, according to their navigation system, and Steve is certain the blueprints are tattooed on the backs of his eyelids. With a sigh, he abandons the tablet and swivels to the side to face his teammate. It takes a moment for her to notice him, pluck one of her earphones out with a sheepish little smile. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” 

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. Chews his lip. Cracks the knuckles of one hand. 

“Did you…need something?” she laughs a little, a nervous bubble and quirk of her eyebrows. 

He blows a breath past his lips and looks up. 

“Honestly? I’m bored,” Steve chuckles. “And I know you don’t want to talk about you, so I thought maybe we could play a game?”

Eyebrows arching up, she sits a little straighter in her seat. 

“A game?” 

Turning to reach behind him, Steve digs in his duffel bag for a few moments, producing a deck of cards. The cardboard is worn down, corners practically broken through, and he waves the pack in his hand, earnest offer in his soft blue eyes. 

“You like gin rummy?” 

Smile growing, she pulls out the other headphone and puts her tablet to the side. 

“I’m more of a Texas Hold’em girl, Cap.” 

  **********                                                                                                  

“Alright - you approach to the east, as planned. I’ll follow and cover you.” 

“Roger that, Captain.” 

Clock counting down, they stand in the gangway of the jet, conducting a final weapons check. 14 settles a gun on her left thigh, knife on her right and in each of her boots. Extra ammo in her belt. His own guns and knives in place, Steve spins the shield in his hands, before securing it on his back - he feels practically naked without it. Flag design be damned, he’s not going into a mission without it now. 

Two fingers tap at the comm device in her ear.

“Line 1, test.” Her voice comes through clear and soft in his ear. 

“Line secure.” 

They’re minutes away now, shuffling on their feet, prickles of adrenaline beginning to flex in their twitching fingers. It’s quiet, only the hum of the jet’s engines, the whir of the fans pressurizing the cabin. Steve’s jaw works back and forth. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” 

She tilts her head to the side and lifts a brow in invitation. 

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Just, uh…don’t tell Bucky about that, okay?” His smile, an embarrassed smirk aimed at the floor, is achingly sweet, his long lashes fanning against flushed cheeks. 

“Embarrassed you got cleaned out, Captain?” Oh, that grin, a cat with two paws in the cream. 

“Well, he taught me to play, back when we were kids…” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

It’s soft, the way she considers him then, taking in the hunched shoulders, the curious blue eyes, the hand sweeping hair back from his face. Softer than a moment between strangers has any right to be, longer than one between friends should. The jet beats it’s way through the air, bringing them closer to their objective. 

She licks her lips. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Captain.”

**********                                                                                                   

Not the plan, not the plan, not the goddamn plan.

Steve books it down the hallway, long legs and enhanced muscles letting him eat up the distance in seconds. Alarms blare at each end of the hall, echoing down the staircase as he throws the door open and leaps down one flight after another. On his left, a door slams open against the wall, kicked by a screaming guard who enters the stairwell with his gun, only to be on the receiving end of the red right hand of Steve Rogers. His feet barely slow as the unfortunate soldier slumps against the wall, taking the steps 3 at a time. 

Short story is that their intel was faulty; the long story is that Steve is going to throttle whoever sent him and 14 right into the lion’s den with no backup, no heavy firepower, and no goddamn plan. 

“14? 14 do you copy?” He pants into the comm, tapping the button repeatedly when he’s met with taught seconds of silence. 

With a growl, he bursts through a door to his left, marked ‘G’ for what he hopes is the ground floor. The planned rendezvous point with Agent 14. But the relentless static buzzing in his ear doesn’t fill him with much confidence, and he turns about, looking for her along the corners of the room. 

“14, what’s your location?” He can hear the harsh scrape in his voice, the tightness in his throat that threatens to close in his words, his commands. “Tell me where you are and I’ll find you.” 

A heartbeat, two. A breath between.

“Incoming, Captain -” His shoulders sag at the sound. “Bringing a few friends with me.”

He swivels his head back and forth, scanning the room - she was late, she was without backup, she was-

- Falling from the ceiling, a cable attached to her belt barely controlling the descent as she plummets downward headfirst, her knees curling up as she aims her gun directly upward. A limp arm dangles from the hole she dropped through, masked faces appearing in the space above; panicked shouts mingle with the shrill sirens, the clipped staccato of gunfire punctuating their frantic cries. 

About 10 feet above the floor, Agent 14 cuts her cable and backflips neatly to the ground, bouncing up on her toes and tensed to spring as her quick fingers change the clip in her gun. Her head whips around to find him striding over, boots stomping and tight-lipped authority. 

“Where’ve you been?” Concealed by his beard, the muscle in his jaw jumps. “We were supposed to meet back at the rendezvous point the minute something went wrong.”

Her eyes narrow and he could choke on the overbearing tone in his own voice. 

“The plan went south. I improvised.” The arch in her brow is imperious, immune, invulnerable. “And now I’m here.” The shouts above them grow louder, accompanied by pounding footsteps approaching from the stairwell. She runs a quick hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty loose strands away from her face. 

“Would you like to save this discussion for the jet ride home?” she quips, no longer looking at him as she eyes the stairwell door. 

Before he can answer, the door bursts open - guns pointed their way, a spatter of bullets erupting on sight. Twisting behind him, 14 crouches down, shoulder pressed against his back as he swings his shield in front of them just in time. In moments, there’s a phalanx of guards standing between them and their exit point, the jet, home.

“Stay back!” he yells over his shoulder, one arm reaching behind to tuck her against his back as he turns and shuffles them closer to the wall, finding marginal cover against a column rising up from the floor. 

“Yeah, no shit,” she mutters back, his enhanced ears catching the sass under the chaos of their failed escape. 

Pressed against the column, he edges back an inch, layering the shield and his own body against the hail of bullets volleying their way. With quickened breaths, he calculates their odds - each passing second, the number of goons standing between them and the quinjet grows. No reason to call in for support or evac; it would take too long for a SHIELD strike team to be deployed to their location, and the Avengers were otherwise occupied. 14’s fist curls against his shoulder blades, and he scans the room, maybe they could skirt the perimeter somehow…?

Her voice appears in his ear.

“I’ve got an idea.” The grip on the back of his uniform tightens by a fraction. “When I say, throw the shield on an angle, against that far wall, got it?” 

With little time to debate, he nods and adjusts his feet, turning his hips in a better stance to aim for the spot she’d pointed out. He slows his breaths, counting between each beat of his heart, each pounding bullet. 

“Now!”

A swing of his arm sends a bright red arc spinning across the room, the ricochet bouncing off one wall to the next at the corner, then arcs back to sweep out the legs of the front guards in the formation. On impact, it bounces away and clangs against the floor, rolling towards…Agent 14, who has already scooped up the rolling disc and is running back towards their enemies, drawing fire as she raises the shield in front of her face. 

Mid-run, she dives for the floor, holding the shield overhead to catch her in a somersault and then springing up to crash the shield against the nearest guards head. She spins and whirls, using the shield to block bullets as she pistol whips another thug, then kicks out the knees of a third and knocks him out with a shield blow to the head. Over her shoulder, she sees Steve approaching; she twists, kicking her leg around high and throwing his keepsake back to him, taking out the nearest guard with her boot. 

Running up on the last remaining soldier, Steve deals him a quick right cross - just like Bucky taught him - and turns to survey the damage…and his partner. 

She’s wondering if she’ll have to scrape his jaw off the floor. If he’ll say something. And for that matter, she’s unsure whether to be offended or flattered by his reaction.

“Don’t tell me you thought I was a full-time barista, Rogers?” Hands on her hips, chin raised, the perfect arch of her brow daring him to open his mouth and answer at all. The corners of his mouth twitch as he raises his hands in surrender. 

“In my defense, your resume is classified above top secret.” 

Rolling her eyes, 14 turns away and starts jogging towards the exit. Steve watches her ponytail swing for a moment, before shaking his head and following behind. 

 **********                                                                                                   

Fury doesn’t look up from his desk when the door glides open. 

“You know, I’m starting to doubt you learned anything from Agent Romanoff.”

“Well you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.” Steve tucks his thumbs in his belt, planting himself in front of the director’s desk. Fury’s good eye rolls. 

“Sure, and when they get too old, we take them out of the field.” The folder in his hand snaps closed, punctuating his sentence. It slides across the table towards Steve. “Luckily for you, I trust 14’s judgment. Her report indicates there was a problem with the intel - the two of you ran into some unexpected company.”

Lips pursed, Steve nods, a stark crease forming between his dark brows. 

“We were caught off guard. They backed us into a corner, too, but we made it out. No injuries, but I wouldn’t exactly call the mission a success.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury makes a noise of protest. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he shrugs, producing a shiny flash drive from his pocket. “14 always delivers.”

Steve blinks. Bullets and broken bones for this, such a little thing - the drive slides back into Fury’s pocket. 

“In short, Captain, I won’t be needing a report from you, unless you have an issue with Agent 14’s.” He taps the file with a pointed finger. “Feel free to look it over, leave your John Hancock if you’ve got nothing to add.” 

Mutely, Steve takes the file, his thumb flipping it open and scanning down the page with quick eyes. Speed reading was an underrated super-soldier skill, one that didn’t really make the history books, but he made use of it getting through the daily set of security briefings and news headlines and mission reports that came across his desk. A long-suffering sigh passes his lips. 

“You got a pen?” He glances up at Fury, who’s sipping at a familiar paper cup, green logo bright against the cardboard sleeve. Wordlessly, he extends a black fountain pen to Steve with his unoccupied hand, the only sound in the room the quiet slurp of his mouth against the cup. 

Placing the pen on top of the file, Steve returns it back to the desk and nods at the drink in Fury’s hand. 

“Americano? Dark roast?” A wry quirk of his eyebrow. “Pumpkin spice latte?” 

With a flat stare, Fury shakes his head. 

“Black coffee with a shot of espresso.” He takes a long drink. “14 knows just how I like it.”

On his way down, Steve takes the stairs at a jog, wondering how fast he can squeeze in a coffee run before his next meeting. Through the windows, the sun is strong and high, a spring morning with summer at its heels. He’s got 20 minutes to change, grab his notes, and be back down to the 10th floor for a weekly update from the team. 

Ah, what the hell. They can wait. 

[redsector-a]

Fanfiction - Marvel (Winterhawk - Bucky/Clint)

For the Winterhawk Week prompt - Why did you spare me?; and for the fictober prompt - Scared, me?

~~

“Why did you spare me?” Clint asked the man towering over him as he rubbed his wrists to get the feeling back into them.

"You were not part of my mission directive," the Winter fucking Soldier replied matter of factly as he glanced down at Clint while he finished picking the lock on the cuffs holding his ankles together.

"Okay, makes sense I guess," Clint replied as he sat back up in the chair and titled his head to get a better look at the Soldier. It wasn't every day you encountered a cryptid after all. And Clint was a little surprised at what he found, namely that the Soldier was good looking under that fringe of serial killer hair and raccoon eye makeup. Go figure.

"You're not scared of me?" the Soldier asked and Clint had all he could do not to laugh. It would probably be a bad idea to laugh at the Winter Solider if he was honest with himself.

“Scared, me?” Clint gave a cocky grin. "I've got a good track record with befriending scary assassins that could kill me with their pinky." Nat would quite possible kill him for this, but, he hadn't expected to be caught by the tracksuit mafia - they'd managed to take him by surprise. Nor had he expected the Winter Soldier to show up out of the blue just as he was about to break out of the handcuffs holding him to the chair - and take out all five of his captors before any of them could even pull their sidearms. It was hot and that right there is what Nat would kill him over because he was really, really, not supposed to find the most dangerous assassin in the world hot for killing five men in less than six seconds.

"I spared your life, that doesn't mean we're friends," the Soldier said, brows knitting in a confused manner when Clint just continued to grin at him.

"Sure it does," Clint replied. "Maybe not Christmas card friends, but we're definitely more than acquaintances."

"I don't have friends." The Soldier insisted.

"Would you like one?" Clint asked carefully, fully serious now, no hint of a smile on his face, just open curiosity.

"I don't..." the Soldier looked confused again - it was kind of adorable though Clint would never admit that out loud - "No one asks me what I want."

"Well then I think you really should take me up on my offer," Clint said. "Everyone should have a friend, even people like us."

"People like us..." the Soldier echoed, thoughtful look taking over his features.

"Yup! I wasn't always an Avenger or even a straight up good guy you know."

"You were a mercenary at one time, I am aware of who you are and your history."

"My reputation precedes me!" Clint grinned, delighted. "I've always wanted to say that."

"Nothing in the reports on you said you talked this much or were this weird," the Soldier responded.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Clint said, though he questioned how thorough any report was that didn't note his ability to snark and sass. The Soldier hadn't said he didn't want to be friends yet, nor was he making a break for it. Could bringing him in from the cold really be this easy? "So what do you say man, wanna be friends?" Clint carefully stood from the chair he'd been held captive on, moving slowly so as not to startle the Soldier. He held out his hand.

"Sure?" the Soldier responded, still looking confused but eventually lowering his rifle then cradling it in his left arm so he could reach out with his right hand to shake Clint's.

"Do you want to maybe make a few more friends?" Clint asked as they walked over to the table where his phone, wallet, and a deck of cards had been placed after the tracksuits had removed them from his pockets. They hadn't found the lock picks in his boot heel however - amateurs. He slid his wallet back into his pocket and picked up his phone then glanced over at the soldier who still hadn't said yes or no to whether or not he wanted to make a few more friends. The soldier's expression was still confused, but held a hint of something else - yearning perhaps? Eh, maybe Clint was projecting. Still... "You know how to play Gin Rummy?"

And that's how Natasha found them half an hour later - playing Gin Rummy and surrounded by dead bodies.

"Can I keep him?" Clint asked her with his very best puppy dog eyes.

[catchester]

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Ten Lords a Leaping

Authors: @evieplease​​ and @catchester​​

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Chapter 13 - 10 Lords a Leaping

Knowing that the Ten Lords a Leaping was looming, I’d spent ages wracking my brain to come up with something for Tom’s Tenth Day of Christmas present. Why did I ever agree to this mad scheme? But after his Nine Ladies Dancing I needed to raise the bar. Wait. Oh dear. If I couldn’t get Lords to Leap, maybe Tom and I could do the Leaping? From barre to bar? There are loads of pubs with Lords and Royalty in their names in the greater London metropolitan area! 

An hour with google maps and Bob’s yer uncle! I had a list of pubs and a walking map. There were some really terrible pub names out there! I mean, The Royal Flush? Really? They’d better have excellent plumbing! 

However, I found the best, most wonderful name of all. The Queen’s Scepter!! I can’t even think of it without laughing out loud! Though it sounds like it ought to be the name of a sex shoppe where one can buy really quality dildoes. 

I arranged our pub ‘leaping’ so that all our stops were within walking distance. We’ll take a cab to the first one, because it’s The Queen’s Scepter, (snicker!) which was farthest away, walk from pub to pub, and take a cab back from the last one, as we’ll probably be legless by then.

I checked I had all my ‘leaping’ gear. I needed to be comfortable and warm for a long day in and out of doors. I wore the red wool peacoat that Tom had given me for Christmas of course, a rather deep cut v-neck black jumper, and my good jeans, the ones that cup my arse just right. I bounced on the toes of my old comfy black trainers, eager to get to our adventures.

A beaming Tom met me on the stoop, pulling me indoors, wrapping his arms around me and bending me back to kiss me as if he hadn’t kissed me in months, instead of just this morning.

Naturally, I gave as good as I got, my tongue dancing with his, my hands in his hair and my leg winding around his thigh. Finally he let me up for air and grinned down at me.

“Now will you tell me what you have planned for today?”

I grinned slyly back. The only clue I’d given him was to wear comfortable shoes. He’d taken it a little far, if you ask me, he looked more like he was going hiking, but that wax jacket with a hoodie underneath did suit him, and he was in those lovely old, soft, black jeans so I wasn't about to ask him to change! I kind of liked the tan Caterpillar boots, they gave his posh image a working man’s edge, which oddly suited him. I realised I’d been staring at him for longer than was perhaps appropriate. 

“Um, right.” I surreptitiously checked for drool in the guise of fixing my lipstick. That might have been more suave if it hadn’t been lip balm. 

“This was a tricky one! I mean, short of setting Parliament on fire, where the hell am I going to get Ten Lords a Leaping?! And anyway the lazy sods aren’t even in session!” I waved my arms about in exasperation.

Tom looked faintly alarmed. “Well, not to mention that it is Christmas,  and you’re not Guy Fawkes, after all!”

“And aren’t you glad I’m not!” I wriggled my bum and batted my eyelashes at him, just to remind him how lucky he is. “So, while I wouldn’t mind doing something that would shift that lot off their arses, I can hardly wait to see what you’ve laid on for Eleven Pipers Piping, and I don’t want to be languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for it! Plus, your Nine Ladies Dancing was so brilliant! I needed to raise the barre, so to speak… And anyway, they say that ten out of Ten Lords proof-er drinking in the daytime!”

Tom glanced out the window at the chilly, grey day. “So we’re going to a pub...?” He frowned. “What does that have to do with Lords a Leaping?” 

I crossed my arms and shook my head in mock disapproval at his slowness.

“Well, I figured that if the lazy bastards won’t leap to it, it’ll have to be our job! And there are loads of pubs named after Lords and other Royalty, so we’re going on a Ten Lords Pub Leaping!”

Tom choked “Good Lord! That’s…so bad, it’s actually good!”

“Why thank you,” I curtsied. “So you approve, then?”

“Certainly! It sounds marvelous fun!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to gin up any excitement, because I’ve been tankering with the list of pubs and maps all morning!”

“And will we have to order particular drinks at each of these noble establishments?”

“Nah. Let’s just play it by beer.”

“ Well, you’ve done an excellent job, as far as I can see.”

“It’s ale in a days work!”

Pulling up to the Queen’s Sceptre, Tom stepped from the cab onto the kerb and gallantly offered me a hand out. I stifled a snicker. If my Posh Idiot wants to treat me like a grand lady, am I going to object?

Besides, his hand was warm when I slid my cold fingers into his palm, and when he tugged me onto my feet he met me with a kiss. I shivered in the cool damp air and he bundled me into the pub.

The Queen’s Sceptre was a traditional olde worlde pub with dark beams overhead and a quiet fire in the fireplace, immediately warming us.

Tom helped me off with my coat. “Thank you again for my pretty wool coat, Tom.” I stroked the sleeve. Tom smiled, pleased. “It’s totally baa-aa-d-ass!”

Now he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know, when I was shopping for your gift, I had a conversation with myself…” he trailed off expectantly. Ok, I’ll play.

“Oh yes? Do tell!” I raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s a coat, I said to myself. What could possibly go wrong with a coat, I asked myself. I totally forgot to check for puns!”

I stood on my toes and kissed the end of his nose. “Now you know! It’s good to learn something new each day, right? You should write it up as a life-hack!”

“What, and give some runny nosed kid online the opportunity to say ‘Ok, boomer’ to me? I think snot.” Tom raised an offended eyebrow and I snickered. I’d like to see some kid try to get away with calling Tom old!

After we ordered our drinks at the bar, I plopped down on the bench and looked around the scarred old place. There were cracks in the plaster, probably left over from the London bombings during the war. The rough wood floor had probably never been polished, the tabletops were gouged and scratched, and the mullioned windows were filled with wavy, bubbled old glass. There were only a couple of other drinkers there. But the place was perfect. It carried the rich, warm, smell of good ale, and the scent of the logs burning on the fire.

“Your sheep impersonation needs some work, by the way,” he told me. “That ‘baa’ sound needs to come from the throat,” he rubbed his hand suggestively along his throat, tracing a finger around his adam’s apple. “You need to practice until you can literally feel the vibration and-”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Was he seriously trying to give me an acting lesson here to improve my sheep bleating?? I’m supposed to be the weird one in this relationship, not him!

“Then with a little-” he stopped and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry... your face!” he said between guffaws. 

I could feel my blush rising but hopefully he’d think it was still from the cold outside. He’d got me, but there was no way I was going to admit that!

Fortunately the barman interrupted for our drinks order. I went for a lager, and Tom asked for a glass of wine, whee aren’t we adventurous?

Soon we were sitting at a table in the window of the nearly empty pub, looking out at the grey day.

“I have to say, I’m impressed by your choice of a pub crawl,” Tom grinned at me over his wine, his eyes twinkling merrily. “This ought to be interesting, since you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Can too!” I drew myself up indignantly.

“Darling,” he drawled, “you were three sheets to the wind the first time you met my mother! Your first words to her were, if I remember correctly, to stumble over calling her ‘Mum’, ‘Hiddleston’ and ‘Mrs. Posh Idiot’! You were squiffy!

“How long are you going to bludgeon me with that one for?” I teased. “But, that’s fair,” I nodded judiciously. “Of course I’d had nearly half a bottle of scotch on my own, and it was all your fault!”

“My fault?! How was you turning up trolleyed my fault?”

“She was your mother!”

Tom blinked, confused. “Well yes, she was. I mean, she still is.” He shook his head.  “What’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, I’d never have got drunk in front of your mother if you hadn’t insisted on introducing me! It stands to riesling.” 

“You’re treading a vine line, there.” He snorted and looked skeptical, but he had to concede my logic. Reluctantly.

“Now let’s have a look at this list of Lordly pubs of yours.”

I pulled the list and map from my bag and set them in front of Tom with a flourish: 

The Queens Sceptre

Sir Vesa’s

The Lord Lucan

The Royal Flush

The Barons Bollocks

The Duchess and Tipple

Down for the Count

The Bloody Queen Mary

The Earls Whiskers

The Laird of Scotch

The Princes Licker

The Rummy Lord

The Fresh Prince

The Dukes Drunk Ducks

The Kings Cocktail

Tom ran a finger down the list and laughed. “You’ve got fifteen pubs listed here, love, not ten!

“Hey, it’s not my fault that London publicans have an over fondness for kissing Royal arse!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, some of them are too far away for our walking programme. I only included the ten in walking distance of each other. Check the map. See?”

Tom flipped the list over and looked at our proposed ‘leaping’ route.

Tom laughed, pointing at The Prince’s Licker. 

“Is that really what it’s called? The Prince’s Licker??”

I grinned. “Well no, it’s spelled Liquor. But I like my spelling better, as in ‘Candy is dandy, but lick-her is quicker to her heart’!”

Tom pulled me closer and nuzzled behind my ear. “It certainly is with you.”

I nuzzled back. “And you have a very good licker…” I trailed off suggestively.

Tom promptly licked a broad, very wet stripe up my cheek as I squealed and ducked away. “Guess I deserved that,” I said ruefully, scrubbing at my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Tom innocently drank from his glass, returning his attention to the list.

“The Lord Lucan.” he mused. “Isn't he the one who murdered his nanny, tried to murder his wife, and then disappeared, never to be seen again?” 

“Yes,” I said with a grin. The macabre nature of the pub’s namesake had played a little into my choice. “You order your drinks at the bar, then they hide them and you have to find them before you can drink.”

“Are you serious?” 

“No,” I laughed. “But it is said that only 50% of customers are ever seen again.”

He wasn't falling for it this time, no matter how deadpan my delivery. 

“And the staff all carry pokers to bludgeon rude customers?” he suggested. 

“Not far off,” I grinned and explained. “They stage murder mystery nights once a month, so if we like it here, we could try one sometime.” 

“That sounds perfectly gruesome. We should go some evening.”

“I’ll check their schedule.” I promised. “You can’t get near it at Halloween, but it should be ok at any other time of the year.”

Tom looked back at our list. He grimaced at the next one.

“The Royal Flush? What is that?”

“I know, right? I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pub, a gambling hell, or a shop that sells gold toilets!“

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t have high hops for a pub that has the word Flush right in its name.”

“Yeah, I think urine trouble if they can’t come up with a better name for a pub! It’s out of our walking zone, so we’re spared that one, anyway. What about the next one?”

“The Barons Bollocks?” Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you spell that one wrong as well?”

I laughed. “Maybe? It used to be called the Barons Bullock, but some wag went and painted over the original letters on the sign. Every time the landlord fixed it, someone would come round and change it back. Eventually the landlord just gave up and left it that way. I hear their drinks are strong enough to put hair on your chest, and further south!” 

“But darling, I like your chest just the way it is!” Tom traced a finger along the neckline of my jumper.

I glanced down. Oops. There was a bit too much of the girls on display for the public. I gave my jumper a tug and Tom sat back looking disappointed. 

“Too bad.” I consoled him in mock sorrow. “But I wouldn’t want to get a chest cold.”

“Or a cold chest, I suppose.” Tom brightened and nuzzled my ear. “But I’d be happy to warm them up for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said dryly. I shook the pub list at him to get his attention off my boobs.

“The Duchess and Tipple is supposed to have quite a good wine cellar. And they have 2 for 1 House wine at happy hour!”

“Well, that’s an offer we decant refuse!

We finished our drinks at the Queen’s Sceptre and pulled on our coats. I grabbed Tom’s hand, tugging him out  the door. 

“Come on, Sir Vesa’s is only hops, skip and a jump from here!” I did my best to hop, skip and jump, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Come on!” I urged Tom, who was laughing as he watched me. “Live a little!”

“How far is this pub?” he asked. 

“According to the map, we’re only a quarter of a mile away.” I gave him my best side eye. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to skip for that long.”

His eyes narrowed. I was going to pay for that quip later. I couldn't wait!

“Fine.”

And so we ended up going this weird sort of flailing hop scotch dance down the pavement. Do you know how hard it is to hop, skip, and jump while laughing and dodging other, more sedate walkers? For a miracle nobody grumbled at our cavorting like ninnies, some even laughed and joined us for a hop or two! It must be the season.

Laughing and breathless from leaping about playing silly buggers down the pavement, I saw my chance. A narrow space between buildings was dark, a street light shining faintly through at the end of the gap, showing that the space was deserted. It was just the thing!

I tugged his hand and pulled him into the dark, turning and slinging my arm around his neck, reaching up on my toes to lick my way into his mouth.

Fingers ran over my cheek and down my neck, moving around my nape to dig into my hair and return the favour.

Tom braced himself with a hand on the bricks beside my head, brushing his lips teasingly across mine, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted his body against mine, and wrapped my hands in his jacket, pulling to grind against him. Tom chuckled into my mouth.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

The warm wool of my coat cushioned me against the frigid brick wall at my back, but I could still feel the chill seeping through. It was bloody cold out there! Tom, however, was warming my front nicely, his body pressing into mine as he took over the kiss, heating me up from the inside. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, but my damned gloves…

Tom lifted his head, searching my face for something. I was about to pull him down for another kiss just to see if he really could make me burst into flames, when he startled and his head whipped toward the entrance of our dark little niche.

I’d been so lost in his kisses that I hadn’t even noticed the chattering and noise of passersby until that moment. A loud burst of laughter echoed around us as a group of men walked past, joking and pushing each other as they passed only a couple of meters from us.

Tom took a step back with a shake of his head and a regretful sigh. Yeah, that place was too public, and I didn’t fancy getting caught doing Tom Hiddleston in a dark alley! I’m not into exhibitionism anyway, and the reminder that we were nearly in public cooled me right off. 

I shrugged and grinned ruefully at Tom, standing on my toes for a quick brushing kiss over his lips.

“Baby, it’s cold outside…”  I sang. Tom chuckled.

“Then let us repair to somewhere warmer. Perhaps to yon public house?” Tom made a grand sweeping gesture and offered me his arm with a bow.

“Delighted, good Sir!” I laughingly tucked my hand in his elbow and he drew me back onto the busy pavement, nonchalantly merging us into the bustling foot traffic without a ripple. We were only a couple of doors from our destination.

Sir Vesa’s turned out to be surprisingly posh, with menus at the tables and waitstaff to take your order. My tummy rumbled. I immediately determined that I hadn’t had enough chips in my life.

“Oh look! I pointed at the drinks menu. They have Budweiser on tap! I’ve never had any, have you?

Tom made an adorable moue of disgust. “I have. Listen to me well when I tell you, Bud you’d be wieser to choose something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”  

 “Like watered down goat piss!”  Tom muttered quietly.

I choked. Eugh! I flipped the menu over, glancing down the list. “Oh, do they have that here?” i feigned innocence.

Tom looked at the menu over my shoulder, pretending to be serious. “Doesn’t look like it. Nope, no goat’s piss. Only the Budweiser.”

“You mean they don’t have real goat’s piss on offer, they only have the artificial stuff in a Budweiser can?? Well, all I can say is that’s a bitter pils to swallow!” I made my most outraged face and looked ‘round for the barman. 

Tom slid an arm over my shoulders, holding me firmly in my seat, obviously not trusting me not to leap up and give the barman a piece of my mind on his lack of authentic goat’s piss. Wise man, our Tom.

“Now darling, you mustn’t harass the barman over his stock. You wouldn’t want to booze his ego, would you?”

“Who said anything about egos?” I eyed the man behind the bar. “He looks a stout young man, but I bet I could take ‘im…”

“Darling, I forbid you to take the poor man anywhere!! I’ll nip this in the bud!” And then Tom used his patented distraction technique, snogging me until I forgot what I was saying.

“Mmmm.” I blinked my eyes open and tried to stop my knees wobbling. Well, that was… refreshing. “Um. What was I saying?” 

“We were perusing the menu,” Tom said with a sly smile, and I turned my attention back to the menu in my hand. Luckily while page one was the tried and not-so-true international brands, page two made this beer bar worth the visit. Of course the cervesa pun didn’t hurt, either! I don’t think you could have kept us out once we heard that name.

The various beers were described like a posh wine menu that had been turned into beer porn. 

For example, Vienna Pale was described as “Based on the classic Vienna Lager style (though technically an ale), and annoyer of a certain type of beer geek, Vienna Pale is a sweet, malty drinking pint, with plenty of Saaz, Citra and Cascade dry-hopping to keep things interesting”. 

I giggled over the menu. It might have been a little pretentious, if someone hadn’t come along and dirtied up the prose, but what the hell.

 In the end, I chose a Pilot Bucks Peach, of which the menu said ‘Pilot is a Leith microbrewery that specialises in kick-arse brews. Lovingly handcrafted by braw men in kilts, it’ll lay you out with a smile on your face!’

Apparently it came in flavours! I didn’t fancy the mochachino flavoured one, which seemed more like a breakfast beer, if there is such a thing, but the Buck’s Peach sounded good.

Tom opted for one called, with devastating originality, An IPA. 

I knew that meant an India Pale Ale. It was described as “An interpretation of the challenge ‘Create a New Scotland IPA’. A mix of malted oats and barley, then dry hopped both during active fermentation, then once fermentation is complete. A juicy, orgasmic starburst of a beer.”

“Tom, you know that it’s just beer, right? I mean it’s a bit much to expect the earth to move from a beer..” I cautioned him, shaking my head at the over-the-top description.

Tom’s lips twitched.. “But I have such high hops for it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I hope it moves you to cheers!” I patted his hand. “If the earth doesn’t move, I’ll move it for you when we get home, dear.”

The beer turned out to be pretty good, but nowhere good enough to move anyone’s earth. Eh, the chips were much better, golden crisp on the outside, lovely, hot, and mealy in the center. With lashings of salt and malt vinegar they were the orgasmic item on the menu!

Tom took the last chip on my plate as I was swallowing the last of my Bucks Peach, which was a good lager, but not peachy at all. My other hand came down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. I carefully set my glass down and narrowed my eyes at him.

The fucker gave me those big puppy dog eyes and I lost all desire to fight him for it. I let go his wrist and gently took the chip from him, brushing his lips tantalizingly with it.

Tom delicately took it between his teeth and nibbled it down to my fingertips, licking the last of the salt away. 

I sighed. “The sacrifries I make for you…” and shook my head. Tom chuckled.

“Darling, I always pay my debts.” His hand slid around to the nape of my neck and he leaned in to take my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

“That’s only the down payment, you’ll get the balance when we get home,” he murmured against my lips. I tried not to whimper too loudly when he sat up.

“Right. Get off your heineken, it’s time to go. What’s next?” Suddenly Tom is all business. I blinked, and after a moment to gather myself, got the list from my bag.

“It says here The Lairds Scotch. And it’s only three doors down.”

A quick dash into the cold and we were there.

Tom took my coat, and when he came back I nodded at the bar, turning innocent eyes up at him.

“If you ask the barman to help you find the good scotch does that make him your spirit-guide?”

“Dear god, I hope so,” he groaned. “I’m going to need all the spiritual help I can get after that clanker!” 

“Oh look,” I pointed to an upright piano next to the opposite wall to change the subject. I could just imagine people having a sing-song around it in the old days. “You should give us a tune,” I cajoled as we stepped up to the bar. 

Tom ordered a Laphroig, but I couldn’t face any more scotch after my last go round. I asked for a G&T. 

“It doesn't look like it’s been tuned since the war,” Tom deflected. 

“They play it every Sat’de,” an elderly gentleman at the next table interrupted. “Owner’s son is studying music and he or one o’ ‘is friends play for us every weekend.” He nodded judiciously. “They’re not bad.”

Tom did not look thrilled by this news, but I’d seen his eyes linger longingly on the old piano. 

“There you go,” I smiled smugly as I sipped my G and T. 

“If I’m playing, you’re singing,” he challenged. 

Ooh! Things just got interesting. Well, whatever my reluctance to be caught singing in public, if he wanted this, then I would give it to him. But I’d make him work for it!

“Is that right?”

“Of course, the only song I know is Little Drummer Boy,” he said as if that settled it. Bloody hell, I hate that song!

“No,” I shook my head. “There will be no pa-rum-pa-pums! Besides,” I sassed, “Drummers are the twelfth day of Christmas! And I definitely remember your Mum saying something about how you’d regale them with Christmas carols every year until you left for Uni!” 

“My darling,” He affected a world weary air. “Do you have any idea how long ago university was for me?” 

“Sure, grandpa,” I teased. “But you don’t play something for that many years and just forget it.” 

I polished off my G&T, and went to order another from the barman. I’d need more booze to get me up to the piano. Either I sing better when I’ve had a good belt, or I only think I do. But it’s all in the mind, right? Let’s hear is for Dutch Courage!

I brought another scotch for Tom as well, even though he doesn’t actually need any Dutch Courage to perform. He’s in his element. But fair is fair, right? If I need to get tipsy to sing in public, well, he’s just going to have to keep up!

“I’ll tell you one I do remember.” The twinkle in his eye had an evil slant. 

“Hmm?” I was cautious. God knows what he’d come up with

“I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

I smiled smugly. He thought he’d stump me? Ha! I know that song. By heart, even. I love that old tune. Dad had a bunch of old LP’s, and an honest-to-god turntable, and he loved to play the old songs at Christmas time. His favourites, and mine as well, were Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby. 

But I decided to be difficult. Anyway, if he thinks I don’t know the tune, he’s in for a surprise! And there’s nothing I like better than surprising Tom.

 “Sorry, I don’t know the lyrics.”

“And you say I’m the old one,” He laughed. “Google them on your phone, you numpty!” Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly.

Yeah, I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t think of that. What the hell, I’d made him work hard enough for it. I relented. Besides, he has to pay for that ‘numpty’ crack!

“Bring it.”  I tossed my hair behind my back and straightened my jumper, giving it a little tug downward to distract him.

It’s a song written from the perspective of a soldier in World War II, to his girl back home.”

His eyes closed and I could see him relax, his shoulders went down and his head fell forward, drawing a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His long fingers carefully picked out the tune as if reminding himself how it went. 

His fingers danced over the keys as he launched into the slow, romantic song. It did have a world war two vibe to it. I swear he could have been one of those old fashioned crooners as he began to sing in his smooth baritone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, he’s an amazing mimic, and I saw I Saw the Light.

“I'll be home for Christmas...You can plan on me… Please have snow, and mistletoe...and presents by the tree…”

 Tom lifted his chin at me, commanding me to sing with him. I smiled and purposely set my mobile down on the piano, joining in with my alto voice.

 “Christmas Eve will find you...Where the love light gleams...I'll be home for Christmas...If only in my dreams…”

The old gent and his friends, as well as the barman joined in and sang the rest with us. They clapped when we’d finished, encouraging Tom to play more.

One of the old gents waved his pint glass at us. “Can you give us Oh Holy Night, lad?

Tom nodded. “If you don’t mind the odd stumble, I might just manage it, “ Tom said modestly. Then he launched into the old church music, the old men singing along with us. Dad had always dragged us to Christmas services, so I was able to keep up.

Where I didn’t remember the verse, I sipped at my G&T and enjoyed the men’s voices winding together. They weren’t half bad! Everybody clapped happily at the end, egging Tom on to play another.

Tom laughingly agreed, sliding me a sly challenging look. He was a picture, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness. It’s a good look on him. And it melts my knickers!

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”  There went that challenging eyebrow. I wrinkled my nose at him and joined in.

“Jack Frost nipping at your toes...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...And folks dressed up like Eskimos…”

The old gents were silent, not knowing the lyrics, I suppose. So we gave them a duet. Dad would have been proud.

When we’d finished and the last lingering note faded the gents applauded and called compliments, offering us another round, which we both declined. But we gave them Auld Lang Syne for an encore, and they all joined in. Tom laughingly refused requests for more.

“I’d better get back to my date, or there won’t be any kisses for me tonight!” he kidded. “And she’s ever so much better looking than you lot! Thanks for letting me play your piano!”

I tend to forget that Tom is such a born performer until moments like that. Watching him perform for an audience is like watching a rose bloom on fast forward; all that is hidden quietly away burst into full colour, and everyone nearby just basks in it.

When we went to finish our drinks back at our table, I slid into his lap, nuzzling his hair and wrapping my arms around him wordlessly. He is so precious to me, and I’m not making a Lord of the Rings joke.

At the Duchess and Tipple Tom made me drink a big glass of water after I called it the Duchess and Nipple, and couldn’t stop giggling. We agreed it was time for dinner.

“How about the Dukes Drunk Ducks? That’s not too far from here.”

“The what?”  

“Dukes Drunk Ducks. It’s an old legend. It used to be called The Dukes Duck. One day the landlady came down to find all her ducks dead. Being a practical sort, she shrugged and put duck on the menu for that night. But as she was preparing them to cook, they woke up! Apparently they were only drunk and passed out after drinking from a leaking barrel of ale, not dead, and the name kind of stuck.” 

“Yeah, okay, they sound like ducks I’d want to know.” 

“I haven't been there for a few years but they used to do good food too.”

I checked my watch. “We do need something to soak up the alcohol,” I agreed. That and the mile long walk there should help sober us up enough to finish the crawl, I mean ‘Leap’,  without being totally blotto. A good night out is no fun if you can’t remember it the next day! 

“We’d best have a pee before we leave,” Tom cautioned. 

“Good idea.” Yeah, a mile long walk with crossed legs didn't sound like much fun.

***

The Drunk Duck took its name and theme very seriously. Every wall was adorned with pictures of ducks, including duck portraits of ducks in Victorian clothing, some in military uniforms with high ranking titles. 

Mr Firequacker, Sir Quacks a Lot, and Admiral Moby Duck were among my favorite names, although the fanged duck in a black cape titled Count Quackula topped my fav list. 

“I’m surprised they don’t have duck a l'orange,” I said. 

“You don’t kill your namesake,” Tom said with mock shock, clutching his chest. 

“I don’t care how much I like this place, I am not giving up crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce. Not even if I can never look another duck in the eye again.”

Tom Laughed as the waiter set our plates in front of us, wished us bon appetit, and bustled off. I smiled at Tom over my Shepherds Pie and he smiled fondly back, and we both took a bite.

“It’s pretty good stuff, this.” I scooped a bit more onto the back of my fork.

“Not as good as yours, though.”

“Well, cheers!” I lifted my glass of wine and tilted my glass to him.

“Mm. Pudding was even better, as I recall.” Tom purred, sending shivers down my spine. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember any pudding.

“What pudding ? We drank beer and watched Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen destroy some poor sod’s house!”

Tom wiped his mouth with his serviette and grinned wickedly.

“Oh yes! I distinctly remember I had a couple of lovely frozen bombes with cherries on top.” Tom’s eyes fell to the v-neck of my jumper, and I felt my face warm.

“Uh huh. Icy what you did there.” 

We each nursed only one glass of wine during the meal, but we ordered water too and stayed for desert. I was feeling almost sober as we left, but I could do with the walk to the next bar to help the food digest. 

“Where to?” Tom asked as we stepped out the door. 

“Oh, um…” I felt my pockets but couldn’t find the list. “The Bloody Bits of Barons or something?” 

“Do you mean The Barron’s Bollocks?”

“That’s the one. But I think my name is better.” 

“Definitely more memorable, darling,” Tom piped up. “And rather bloodthirsty. If I ever become a publican I shall definitely call my establishment The Baron’s Bollocks.” He discretely hid a belch behind his hand.

God, I adored that cut glass accent of his. He could say absolutely ridiculous things like that and still sound like a sexy toff. It wasn't fair! I was about 50% sure I was drooling by now, and I’m absolutely certain that my mascara has migrated south since I put it on before we left. Tom meanwhile just had that sexy, tousled look about him. All he needs is some lipstick. Which I was happy to provide! I grabbed his chin and snogged him hard. Leaning back, I surveyed him. Damn, that shade looks as good on him as it does on me.

I eventually found my list in a pocket I was sure I’d checked three times already. 

I slipped my arm through Tom’s and leaned my  head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as we strolled along.

“You seem happy.” Tom noted. 

“Mmm,” I wrapped my other arm around his too. 

“If I’d known feeding you was all it took to tame the beast, I’d have tried it months ago,” he laughed. 

The idea of having been tamed made me giggle. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I felt, but I was feeling very happy right now, even if I was freezing my metaphorical bollocks off.

“Feeding’s not the only thing that tames me,” I purred, but the effect was rather ruined when I slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily Tom was there to catch me up. I might have hammed it up a bit.

“We still have three more pubs to get to!” Tom groaned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up

“No, two more!” I corrected.

“Three!” 

“Look, mister, this is my day and if you keep arguing, it’ll be four.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. We’d been arguing about whether it was Ten or Eleven Lords a Leaping all evening. Tom liked the alliteration, the drunk posh idiot. Alliteration! I ask you!

“But, that’s brewtal! I’m sure-”

“Five.”

“Alright! Okay, you win! Please don't make me go to five more pubs! We’ll be drunk as Lords until Easter!”

“Now see how much easier it is when you agree with me?” I smiled my victory and batted my eyelashes.

“Well the alliteration is still better with Eleven Lords a Leaping,” he grumbled,  “but if you make us go to 13 pubs neither of us will be having much fun after! So, what’s it going to be?

“Fine, we can skip the Duke of Marlborough. Never liked his ciggies anyway.” I drew a rather drunken line through the name, and Tom took it from me, stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom grinned, pleased to have won. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yes you will!! What’s next?” I patted my pockets again. Wait. Now Tom had my list as well! But he had an excellent memory. Well, he did when he wasn't drunk. I reached for his pocket to retrieve the list of pubs, but he wasn’t having it. After tussling with him for a minute I gave up and tried for a stern expression.

“Hang on, this is my game! I make the rules.” I tilted my head, thinking hard. “It is my game, right?” 

Tom snickered into his pint of cider. “You, my darling, are drunk.”

“You wouldn't exactly pass a breathalyser either, buddy! Better still, I’d like to see you do those American tests, where you walk heel to toe and touch your finger to your nose!” I swayed as I made my point. What was it again?

“I’d rather touch your nose,” Tom smouldered as he leaned in close, his nose inches from mine. 

I shook my head as if shaking off a stupor. “Hey, no fair using The Smoulder to distract me!” I paused, trying to puzzle out where I was going with this. “Um, what were you distracting me from, anyway?” 

“Hell if I know.”

“My good sir, you are snockered!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“That’s the way to do it,” the barman said with a chuckle as he wiped down the neighbouring table.

“Sorry?” Tom asked. 

“Am not, are too?” he imitated them. “I thought you were doing pantomime. ‘Tis the season, right?” 

“‘That’s the way to do it’ is Punch and Judy,” I corrected him.

“Oh no it isn’t,” the barman teased.

“Oh yes it is!”

“This could go on for a while and I need to pee.” Tom drained the rest of his cider before he stood up and headed for the toilets. “Behave yourself!” he shot over his shoulder as he ambled away.

“Right, onward to the next bacchanalia! The Bloody Queen Mary was it?” 

I pulled the list from my pocket and unfolded it. “Yes.”

We staggered out into the cold night air. I breathed deeply, letting it sober me up a little. 

Not that I was roaring drunk. Not quite. Not yet. This next one was our second to last pub of the night though, and we were only having one each. Two more couldn't hurt too much, right? 

Down for the Count was our final pub of the night and I held up my glass of sherry and giggled. I was definitely getting tiddly. And naughty. “Here’s to every Tom’s Dick and Sherry!”

“That, my dear, was a toastament to bad puns! And who’s this Sherry bird, anyway?” Tom squinted at me. “You aren’t setting up a threesome are you?”

“No fear,” I snickered, “I don’t think Tom’s dick would be up to the job after all this!” I waved my glass around, spilling it over the rim. 

Tom grinned. “Apparently Sherry is sloshed as well!”

I snickered and made a small noise of annoyance at the sherry trailing down my wrist, glancing around for something to wipe it off, but there were only glasses and coasters on the small table.

Tom tisked, taking my glass from me and lifting my hand to his mouth. “May I?” The fucking smoulder was back.

“Be my guest.” My voice had gone all breathy, and I swallowed hard as his tongue came out and delicately licked the trickle of sherry from my wrist to my fingers.

Hot blue eyes stared into mine as he sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one to clean the sticky sherry from my fingers.

I breathed out hard, squirming in my seat to ease the need building below as he left a kiss in my palm.

“Mmm. Sherry tastes sweet, but you taste sweeter…” 

“I’ll call us a cab,”

It started to snow on our way home in the cab, just light flurries at first, and then big, fat flakes drifting down out of the sky just as we were climbing out of the cab in front of Tom’s.

The cab left, and Tom wrapped his arms around me, turning my back to his front, and setting his cheek next to mine. We stood on his top step, tranquilly watching the snow fall , peacefully muffling the city noises all around us, listening to each other’s breathing as it fogged in the cold air.

Tom was warm at my back and I leaned against him, wrapping my own arms over his, and just simply enjoying the quiet moments.

Eventually I realised that I needed to pee. With that came the awareness that my feet were freezing in their trainers, and a headache was beginning to bloom behind my eyes.

I turned my head back and up, kissing Tom’s cool lips for a long luxurious moment.

I whispered in his ear, “I really need to pee.”

He didn’t laugh, he simply nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket and let us in. Tom took my coat as I kicked my trainers off and padded through the dark house to the loo.

I gasped when I flipped the switch, light stabbing through my eyes and waking my incipient headache. I quickly flipped the light off, deciding that there were some things that I was perfectly capable of doing in the dark.

I did what I needed to do and had a quick wash before I opened the door and found Tom leaning on the wall opposite, with two bottles of water and a bottle of paracetamol crooked in his elbow against his chest.

He took my hand and quietly drew me up the stairs, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. Setting down his burden, he twisted the cap off a bottle of cold water and handed it to me, quickly doing the same for himself.

“One more drink, darling. What shall we drink to?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care!”

“That’s good enough!”

He tapped his water bottle against mine and we both drank thirstily. I moaned at the cool liquid sliding down my throat, it felt so good.

“Nothing like copious amounts of alcohol to dry you out.” Tom set his half empty bottle down and opened the paracetamol, tapping two out on his palm and offering them to me.

I’m nobody’s fool, I took the damn pills even though I detest swallowing them. If I didn’t  I knew I’d be sorry in the morning.

I fell back on the bed with a groan. Tom settled me under the blankets, chuckling and ignoring my uncoordinated attempt to do it. I gave up and let him man handle me because I really was tired.

Stripping off as he made his way a little carefully into the ensuite, I listened drowsily to the homey sound of Tom humming to himself as he did whatever. I think it might have been a bit of the Nutcracker. My eyes were drifting shut on the slightly swaying bed, feeling warm and sleepy.

Tom lifted the blankets and slid in next to me, wrapping around me and dropping a kiss below my ear.

I woke some time before dawn with Tom’s warm body spooned around me from behind, and my bloody phone ringing far too loudly.

[nothingeverlost]

Fic: Things Half in Shadow (13/14)

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairings: Gold/Belle (eventually) with side pairings that probably include Graham/Bay, Archie/Emma and others.

Summary: The first thing you learn, back in Psych 101, is that you never get emotionally involved with a patient.  For 25 years Dr. Gold hasn’t had a problem walking that fine line.  Something changes, though, when he meets Belle French. AU

Author’s Note: I don’t even know how it’s possible that the last update was so long ago.  I’m sorry.  It’s funny but this fic was started so long ago that we didn’t have a name yet for Gold’s ex.  Apparently the one time I mentioned her I named her Nora, so I’ll stay with that.

TRIGGER WARNING: Indirect mentions of abuse and sexual assult

<Prologue><Chapter 1><Chapter 2> <Chapter 3> <Chapter 4> <Chapter 5> <Chapter 6> <Chapter 7> <Chapter 8> <Chapter 9> <Chapter 10> <Chapter 11> <Chalpter 12>

Chapter 13 - Self Care

II

“You’re not seriously thinking about going to work today.  You look like crap, pops.”  Bailey was at the kitchen table when Nick made it down the stairs, a frustratingly slow journey considering how much his knee ached.  Fortunately his early bird son being awake meant there were hot coffee and muffins still warm from the oven waiting for him.

“I took yesterday off,” he said with a shrug.  It had been against his wishes, worried that his absence would damage the progress he’d made so far with Belle, as well as the added strain he’d been forced to put on Archie’s schedule.  There hadn’t been any way around it, though.  He’d spent most of the day with his leg elevated and ice on his knee, trying not to move his face too much.  He’d refused his son’s offer to stay home all day, but in the afternoon after the bakery had closed they’d spent a few hours playing gin rummy and alternately watching the Food Network and a documentary on King James.

“The world isn’t going to end if you take two days off in a row.  Your leg…”

“Is something I’ve been dealing with since you were a babe in arms.  It’s fine.”  It was a complete lie, of course.  His knee was inflamed, his calf bruised from Moe’s kick, and he’d taken the pain pills he usually ignored just to deal with walking.  As for worlds ending, he hoped nothing so dramatic had happened in his absence but didn’t dare leave Belle alone any longer.  He’d spoken with Archie twice during the day, and Graham once, but needed to judge her state of mind for himself.  She’d been through enough without taking on the responsibility of his own absence.  He was afraid what progress they’d made might already be lost.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?” Bay said with a sigh as he stood up.  “Sit.  I’ll start breakfast.”

“The muffins…”

“Are not enough on their own, especially considering the pain pills you’re probably taking in order to push yourself harder than you should.  Let me at least make sure you have something decent in your stomach, okay?”  Bay was frowning as he stood with a carton of eggs in one hand.  His son was a good man.  Sometimes Nick questioned what he’d ever done to deserve such a kid, but he was grateful.

“I’ll eat whatever you cook, and take the muffins to work to share,” he agreed, hoping to appease his boy.  He’d planned to be earlier than usual, but could sacrifice a little time.  Without further argument he took his coffee to the dining room table, doing his best to sit without wincing when his knee was forced to bend.

“Will you eat something real for lunch or do I need to pack you something in a brown paper bag?”  Bailey’s hands flew as he chopped onion and minced garlic.  He was much slower in picking through a wilted bit of broccoli with a wrinkled nose.

“I’ll pick something up from the cafeteria,” he promised.  Someday, he hoped, his son would have kids of his own.  He’d be a good parent.  The kind of parent children deserved to have.

II

“Aren’t you a little too old for barroom brawls, Nick?  You look like shit.”  Mal Carbaosse was the first person Nick ran into, which was better than Regina but less desirable than making it to his office unobserved.  He had a half hour before his morning appointment with Belle and needed to catch up on what he’d missed the day before.

“Tactful as always, Mal.”  He changed his route to head for the closet they generously referred to as a  staff room.  At least if Mal was going to distract him he could get another cup of coffee.  Tea was not going to cut it for the day.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?  You could easily scare small children.  And nervous patients.  You should do something about that.”  She gestured at her own face.  “I have some concealer in my bag.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”  It hadn’t occurred to him, that he could do anything about his cheek.  While he didn’t care what most people would think, he had woken up at least twice in the middle of the night worrying about how to explain it to Belle so she wouldn’t worry.

“Of course it is.  How necessary was your little caveman display?”  Mal, as usual, didn’t listen to him and dig through her purse, pulling out what looked like a tube of lipstick in shape, though the color was more beige.

“Important enough.”  He winced when Mal touched his face, the pain shooting up to his temple.  As she worked on his skin he focused on his breathing, hand tightening around his cane.  

“Well you won’t be winning any beauty pageants but at least you pass for somewhat normal now.”  She held up a small round mirror.  Nick could still see hints of purple, but it didn’t look much worse than a night without sleep, rather than vivid bruising.  “If you’re not careful Regina might give you a matching one, though.  She was extremely not pleased to have the sheriff show up again yesterday.”

“Regina can throw as many tantrums as she likes, the welfare of my patients will always come first.”  At the best of times Nick had no patience for playing politics and pushing pencils.  He had far less patience for Regina and her schemes.

“Fortunately for Regina she’s not bogged down with little things like ethics or the hippocratic oath.  Her welfare concerns involve the health of the bank statements.  I think it galls her that your reputation makes you too valuable to force out, but it wouldn’t hurt you to learn to play her game a little.  Make life easier on yourself.”  Mal glanced down at her cell phone.  Nick could see the screen well enough to know he needed to head for his office if he was going to be there before Belle.

“I never have been very good at playing games.”  And he’d be damned if he would play Regina’s.  He could, if necessary, make her dance to his own tune, though it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them.  “If you’ll pardon me I have a morning appointment.”

“You know where to find me if you need a touch up.  In a couple of days your face is going to be a very flattering shade of green.”  Mal settled herself  at the table after picking a carton of  yogurt out of the fridge.  Nick nodded before leaving the staff room, headed for his office.  He had just enough time to brew a pot of tea to go with the muffins he’d brought from home.

“Doctor Gold, would you like to explain…”  Regina, predictable, was hovering near his office door.

“Don’t you have any real work to be doing, Regina?  I’m busy.”  He slipped his office key from his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t follow him into the room.

“My job is to keep this place running which requires, among other things, keeping a spotless reputation.  We’ve had the sheriff here twice this week disrupting everyone’s schedule and now this.”  She waved a newspaper in his face.  He was glad to see there was no photo accompanying the brief article about ‘assault and arrest.’

“I will have no problems explaining my actions to the board, should it become necessary.  Until then it is a private matter that involves patient confidentiality and you should be glad not to know the details.”  He had been informed that French, so far, had decided not to press charges.  While he had no desire to be on the wrong side of bars again his concern was for Belle if the details of the case had to be released.

“There are many that would love to have the position you are in.  It wouldn’t be hard to replace you.”  Regina folded the paper in half, holding it down at her side, her grip tight as if he would try to take it from her.

“Try it, Regina, and we’ll see who is left standing.  You might not like the answer.”  He would not go quietly.  His patients needed him, and he liked where he was.

“We’ll see,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.  When she turned to walk away she was not quite as confident as she’s been when she’d cornered him.

“That we will,” Gold muttered under his breath as he pushed his office door open.  He filled up his electric kettle to heat water, and set out the muffins while he waited for his pot of tea to brew.  Chamomile, since he would be sharing with Belle, though he would have prefered something black.  He finished with a minute to spare and no time to wonder if Mal’s makeup had remained in place.  Belle stood in his doorway, silent and timid.  He wondered if her expression gave away more than it once had, or if he was merely better at reading it.  She was nervous.

“Good morning, Belle.” He stayed in his chair, trying to look as relaxed as possible.  He didn’t dare stand, afraid he might not be able to smother any signs of pain.  As much as possible he hoped to sound as if this was any other morning.  “Would you care for a muffin?”

“Yes, thank you.”  Belle stepped into the office, closing the door behind her.  She took the muffin, but it remained on the plate while she held her teacup between her hands, staring at the steam rising from the pale liquid as if it would tell her something.  He let her have a few minutes, hoping it would help her to relax, but she didn’t seem to be in a place where she could begin the conversation.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about Belle?” he prompted gently.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”  She looked at him for just a moment before returning her gaze to her cup.  Not enough time to read her expression.  “Dr. Hopper said you hurt your knee.”

“I did.  It’s an old wound, and it’s more vulnerable because it’s been injured before.  I’ve learned that when I hurt it I need some time to take care of it.   It was a hard lesson, one I’ve fought more than a few times, to stop and take care of myself, but it takes longer to heal if I ignore it.”  He was less concerned with his own healing, though, than he was with hers.

“You hurt it a long time ago.  How did you…”  Belle shook her head, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.  It’s not my business.  Papa says…”

Gold didn’t give a damn what her father said or thought.  “There’s nothing wrong with asking questions.  And it’s only fair that you get to ask a few, don’t you think, considering how many you answer for me?”

“You’re the doctor.  You’re supposed to ask questions.”  When he nudged the plate closer to her she took the hint, tearing off a small bite of the muffin and eating it.  She followed it with a sip of the tea.

“We’ve spent a lot of time together since you’ve been here.  It’s normal for you to be curious, and it’s okay to ask questions.  I won’t always be able to answer them, but you can ask me anything.  I was in a car accident when my son was a few months old, and had to have a couple of surgeries.  I had to learn how to walk again when he was learning for the first time.”  He’d come home from lunch to see Bay only to find another man in his bed.  He’d run from the house, driving too fast and too recklessly.  He and Nora had patched their marriage up about as well as his knee had been repaired.  The man she’d left with five years later was the same one he’d caught in his bed.  

“You still have to use a cane.”  She probably didn’t even notice that her hand settled on her stomach, covering the scars that were criss crossed on her skin.  Scars that might fade with time, but wouldn’t go away.  He had his own scars on his knee, and those less visible.

“I do.  It’s one of the ways I take care of myself, just like taking yesterday off was a way to take care of myself.  We’ve been talking about behaviors you can use to take care of yourself, can you tell me if there’s any that helped you yesterday?”  She’d taken three bites of muffin and almost finished a cup of tea.  Now that he had her talking he could hopefully learn a little better how she was coping with the events of the last few days.

II

He stayed in his office for the rest of the morning.  He might have stayed for most of the day, rather than put weight on his leg, but he’d made a promise to his boy.  He couldn’t lie about eating lunch, not when Bay was so perceptive about such things and already worried.  He waited until the end of the lunch service, though, in hopes that the cafeteria would be mostly empty.  

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you had a good reason for missing yesterday.”  There were only a few stragglers in the cafeteria; Belle was not among them.  Ruby, however, was sitting on one of the tables closest to the doors.  She looked like she had been waiting for him; the lack of any food next to her seemed to confirm his suspicion.  “Granny would say you look like something the cat dragged in, Doc.”

“The cafeteria is for people who are eating, Ms. Lucas.  Perhaps you have someplace more constructive to be?”  Archie had told him what Belle had said about trust, and he was grateful to the woman.  He was also hungry and not in the mood to talk, or to explain himself when he wasn’t about to tell the truth.

“Something is going on with Belle,” Ruby stated bluntly.  

“I’m not at liberty…”

“I know what you’re not allowed to say.  I’m not asking.”  She crossed her arms, looking for a moment very much like her grandmother.  “Her story is hers to tell; she knows I’ll listen if she ever wants to share.  I’m not asking about her, I’m asking about him.”

“Him?”  None of the patients had been in the lobby two days ago, they couldn’t know what had happened.  Belle didn’t need the place to be filled with rumors and people whispering about her.

“She’s scared of someone, Doc.  That’s not new, but two days ago something happened to make it worse.  We’ve seen the guards.”  She leaned forward, just a little.  In the back of his mind Gold thought he should ask her later if she was interested in law.  She would make a hell of a lawyer in a courtroom.

“It’s a precaution.”  He hadn’t seen the guards yet, but was relieved they were there.  The fact that their presence annoyed Regina was a silver lining.  “Everyone here is safe.”

“We’re never safe from ourselves.”  The words she spoke made him forget how to breathe for a moment.  It was a truth he’d learned all too well; sometimes the only person he couldn’t save someone from was themself.  He wouldn’t let it be true with Belle.   “The world isn’t this place, though.  We all have to leave sometime.”

“She’d not leaving, not until she’s ready.  And when that time comes she’ll still be safe.”  He would do everything in his power to make sure it’s true.  She would be free of Moe French.

“Okay.”  In a flash the almost feral look in her eyes was gone.  She was just a patient again, not much older than a kid.  Ruby slid from the table and headed for the door, but she stopped next to him for a moment.  “Might be time for a little more foundation, Doc.  Or some boxing lessons”

He stood where he was until she was gone, shaking his head as he thought over the conversation.  There was more to Ruby Lucas than he’d ever seen before.  He would have to let Archie know about their exchange, but that could happen later.  For the moment he needed food.  The ministron didn’t look too bad, and his cheek felt well enough that he decided on a roast beef sandwich, carrying the tray carefully in one hand to the table in the farthest corner of the room.  His solitude lasted five minutes before Graham slid into the chair across from him.  He hadn’t heard the orderly coming.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here today.”  The younger man carried a cup of coffee and a brown bag with a well known label.  Gold was very familiar with the double chocolate cheesecake brownie he removed from the bag; Bay had gone through dozens of variations before he was happy enough to start selling them.  Gold had been more than happy to offer his opinion of every batch.

“I would have been here yesterday if it had been possible.”  The soup, it turned out, was barely warm.  He pushed it away and took a bite of the sandwich.  “At least I knew my patients were looked after.”

“She was.”  Graham wasn’t known for mincing his words.  It had been months of working together before Gold had a conversation with him that was more than a dozen words long.  They both knew that there was one patient in particular of whom he spoke.  

“Archie mentioned the sheriff was here again yesterday.”  He planned to stop by her office on the way home.  Even from a hospital room French could make trouble.

“She’s in Belle’s corner.  The restraining order is what Belle wants and Emma will make sure it’s what she gets.  She doesn’t back down in a fight, not when it’s important.  She knows this is important.”  Graham spoke with a familiarity that Gold hadn’t expected.  

“You know her?”  The sheriff having Graham’s approval put him mind slightly more at rest.

“When she was seventeen she tried to steal my truck.  We’ve been friends ever since.”  Graham smiled for a moment before his eyes narrowed.  “She visited French last night.  She wouldn’t tell me what he said but she was very explicit about what she’d do if he ever came back here.”

“I’m sorry she had to speak with him.”  He hoped her help wouldn’t be needed once the restraining order was in place, but it was good to know where she stood.  It made him angry that anyone else had to be tainted by the filth that was Moe French.

“Some people let pain twist them.  Some people learn to be stronger.  Emma’s strong enough to deal with it.  Belle’s learning to be strong too.  Whatever he did, he’s alone now.  She’s not.”  Graham tore off a piece of his brownie, sliding it across the table next to his now empty plate.  

“No, she’s not.”  He accepted the brownie; unsure if it was the sugar or the fact that his boy made it that made it taste especially sweet.

II

The afternoon was spent in session with his usual patients and two that he’d missed the day before.  It took three cups of coffee and pain pills taken religiously to make it through the sessions with the amount of focus they deserved.  It was a relief that Jefferson wasn’t one of the patients he had scheduled; he didn���t have the attention for that level of wordplay.

He might have stayed late to make up for lost time, but he had to admit to himself that he’d already pushed himself harder than was wise.  The last thing he needed was to push his leg so far that he couldn’t walk on it and needed to take days off.  

“Belle.”  He couldn’t leave without checking on Belle one more time.  He found her in the art room, a pile of yarn ball in front of her.  Her attention, however, was on the window.  The sun would be going down soon.

“Mary Margaret is going to teach me how to knit.  Tomorrow we’re going to start on squares.  First I have to decide what colors I like.”  She fingered the ball of yarn closest to her hand, a strange shade of greenish gold.

“May I?”  he pointed to the chair across the table from her, and when she nodded he sat down.  “Perhaps it’s more about the one you like to touch the most?  It’s a rather tactile art.”

“This one is the softest.”  The skin she pulled out of the pile was a bright blue; it reminded him of the color of her eyes.  “If I make enough squares Mary Margaret says they can be turned into a blanket.  It would be alright for my bed, wouldn’t it?”

“I think it would be just right.”  The yarn was soft, the antithesis of sharp bits of metal.  It would be gentle against her skin, covering a bed that she nervously wanted to claim as her own.  “I would imagine it will take some time to complete.”

“Winter might even be over before I’m done.”  She held the yarn tight in her hand.  

He sat with her for ten minutes, speaking of nothing important.  She spoke easily of colors and of how she’d asked Mary Margaret about the sweater she was knitting.  About the offer that had been extended, and accepted.  When the urge came to ask if her mother had knitted he’d bitten his tongue; she needed time to just talk.  Ruby showed up a minute after the dinner gong sounded, a handful of people just behind her, and he urged Belle to join them.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Belle.”

“In the morning.”  She took the blue yarn with her.

[smallblueandloud]

Prompt: “I can hear your heartbeat in the dark and see your eyes shine with stardust.” Eleven x Rose. I hope the prompt isn’t too complicated; I just came up with it on the spot. You don’t have to do the prompt, really anything with Eleven x Rose and your writing I’ll love. You have such a great writing style, and I enjoy reading your works very much. I hope you have a beautiful day you sweet summer flower.

okay first of all, i appreciate this so much. thank you for liking my writing, i’m so happy that you do! secondly, i got this out before friday! hooray for me.

the song that i listened to to write this was say something by a great big world. it’s my go-to song for things that take place when people are sleepy, and it really helped me get into the zone. (sidenote: should i put this on ao3? it feels too short to post there, but on the other hand, i’m pretty happy with how it turned out. it depends on general opinion, i guess.)

prompts are open! | more of my doctor who fic | more of my fic

Rose takes a deep breath and tries to relax.

She’s been trying this for a while, now. She’s not sure how long it’s been, exactly - their bedroom is dark and she doesn’t have time senses like her husband. But it’s probably been at least an hour. An hour of her lying there with the Doctor snoring next to her and the TARDIS humming in the background.

She doesn’t know why she’s having trouble sleeping. It’s been a relatively uneventful week, by their standards: yesterday was a revolution that was barely dangerous, and today she and the Doctor had taken Amy and Rory to the galaxy’s biggest race of sentients to make up for it. After the winner had been announced (the Trill competitor, in an upset over the favored Saxenan), they’d gone back to the TARDIS and played cards until Amy was falling asleep on Rory’s shoulder.

It was a wonderful day, really. Rose can’t stop her smile when she thinks of the huge arena, the bright colors of the spectators, the adrenaline when the race had started-

“Rose?”

Shit.

The Doctor’s voice is gravelly as he turns his head to meet her eye. She’d been trying to avoid thinking of anything exciting, primarily because it wouldn’t help in her struggle to make her mind quiet down, but also because strong emotions over the bond could wake her husband, who hadn’t slept in two weeks now.

He looks surprised as he rubs his eyes. They’re heavy with sleep, and before she can stop it, a flash of guilt goes through her.

“None of that,” he says, and reaches out a hand to brush her hair back. She takes a deep breath and watches his eyes flutter closed before he opens them again, with force that tells her how much he was enjoying his rest. “You weren’t asleep?”

“Couldn’t,” she admits, trying not to lean into his touch. If he decides that she needs company, there’s nothing she can do to get him to back off. And he may not be human, but he still needs more than an hour every two weeks.

“Why not?” he asks, his voice soft, like he’s pitying her. She can’t stand it, can’t stand not being enough for him. “I don’t know!”

Her voice was at normal volume, breaking the cocoon of silence that had surrounded them. She sighs. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d be asleep by now?”

“Well,” he says. “Um. Yes?”

“I would,” she says. “I would be asleep. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Rose, I want you to wake me up when you can’t sleep. That’s the whole point of marriage, isn’t it?”

Rose swallows her smile. “I thought we got married so that you could announce that you were Rose Tyler’s husband at every party we go to.”

The Doctor frowns, taking back his hand to tap his chin. “Of course. How could I have forgotten that?” She finds herself smiling beside herself.

“That’s why you need me,” she teases. “To remember things for you.”

“Yes,” he agrees, “among other things.” He moves forward to kiss her, short and sweet. When he pulls back, he taps her nose. “You know, I’m liking this point of marriage more and more. Why don’t we do this every night?”

“Do what?”

“Have a sleepover!” he says, rolling onto his back and flinging his hands out. “We should be- we can- what?”

By this point, Rose is doubled over laughing.

“What? What did I say?” he says, glancing over at her. His hands are still outstretched, midair.

“Oh, you daft man,” says Rose, wiping her eyes. “We sleep in the same bed. We have sleepovers every night.”

“It defeats the purpose if we sleep,” he says, dropping his hands and rolling back towards her. His face is very serious. “You should know that, Rose Marion Tyler.”

“Yes, of course. How could I forget?” she asks. “Sleepovers without sleeping. I’ll pencil them in for every night, for what? Ten years?”

Instead of responding, though, he stays quiet, staring at her face.

“Doctor?”

“You’re alright, Rose?”

She blinks. She wasn’t expecting him to go back to the subject of her sleeping. He seems to take her silence as hesitation, though, because he keeps talking.

“Did something happen today? Is there someone the TARDIS and I need to have a stern talking to? Are you upset about Amy cheating at Gin Rummy too? Were my dreams-”

“No, love,” says Rose, smiling. He seems like he’s going to start talking again, so she covers his mouth with her hand. “First of all, Amy didn’t cheat at Gin Rummy. It’s just that you’re terrible at Gin Rummy.”

He starts to complain through her hand, so she keeps speaking. “I don’t know why I couldn’t sleep. Maybe my mind was just too busy.”

She removes her hand, and he immediately opens his mouth. Then he seems to reconsider and shuts it again. He studies her for a long minute, and then smiles, seeming to be satisfied with what he sees in her eyes. “So you’re alright?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she says, and feels the last of the tension leave her system. “I’m alright.”

“Fantastic!” he says, and she feels a pang in her heart, for the bowtie wearing maniac she married, but also for the crazy haired adventurer and the big eared explorer who she loved. “I think that since it’s been such a busy few days, we should postpone tonight’s sleepover. What do you think, wife?”

“Good idea, husband,�� she says. He kisses her forehead and then brings her close to him, close enough that she’s able to rest her head on his chest and hear his heartsbeat.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” she whispers, quiet enough that no human would hear her.

He hears her, though. He always does.

“Goodnight, love,” he says, and she closes her eyes and lets sleep take her.

[scaredofrobots]

The Oath Part 8

OOPS THERE IS SMUT on A03 AND FFN

Sirius drags James out of the apartment Monday around noon. “I can't stand the sight of you pacing anymore, let's go do something,” he orders and James obliges.

He’s got at least 8 hours until his family is here. Lily promised to try and leave midday but wasn’t sure how quickly they would be able to make their excuses and leave.

They go to the mall. Which is weird, still. James doesn’t understand why exactly he and Sirius enjoy walking around the mall so much. Maybe it is just to be somewhere so muggle, so normal and removed from the war. It’s another world- all of America is but this in particular just seems to sooth them both.

They decide to see a movie. Edward Scissorhands. Again. Sirius can’t stop talking about it and James enjoyed it the first two times so he figures he can manage. He hopes it will get his mind off of the countdown he has going and will help push the anxiety away.

James falls asleep in the movie. He always does. Maybe Sirius only drags him there to make him sleep. Something about the sound of the scissors lets him relax. He’s jolted awake by Sirius flicking his ear. “Lets go”

They spend a few more hours walking around the mall. Sirius spends an obscene amount of money on more presents for Harry and James just rolls his eyes as he always does.

They discuss dinner and James is stuck by another set of nerves. He doesn’t have a clue what Harry likes to eat. What if they became vegan or something? Do vegans eat cheese? Sirius is insistent on pizza but James begs him to wait until Lily and Harry are there and Sirius relents.

They return to the flat and Sirius convinces James that he should play cards to keep from pacing. They do. For two hours, James tries and tries to not stare at the clock as they play rounds of gin rummy. Sirius is kicking his ass.

At 7pm, James is in the kitchen when they hear it. A loud squealing engine pulling into their complex. James ignores it, knowing their neighbors have loud noises and goes back to mixing his drink. He’s run to the window too many times on false alarms tonight.

Sirius has gotten wound tighter and tighter with waiting and he rushed to the window. James is expecting disappointment when he hears Sirius yell, “DAMN EVANS- that car is a piece of shit.”

He doesn’t think before rushing out of the flat. He runs out the door, not minding to close or lock it or even tell Sirius where he is going.

He is down the steps in a flash. He rushes past Ms. Berry (who normally he would spend several moments speaking to) and opens the door that leads outside.

He gets to the sidewalk and stops. There she is. She’s scolding Sirius on “language” but she’s smiling through her tears and James can’t breathe. His chest is tight and he can’t even-

WHAM! Something slams into him. On instinct he goes for his wand, which he left upstairs.

He looks down and- it’s Harry. His son. Harry is clinging to him and he is standing there like an idiot. James remembers himself and embraces him.

“Dad!” Harry exclaims when they seperate and James can’t stop the tears, “Hi Harry!”

“Mom is almost out of gas. The light came on and EVERYTHING but she said we could make it- that she didn’t want to stop again.”

James smiles and tells him, “I’m glad you didn’t stop...I couldn’t wait much longer”

And with this he looks to Lily again and she is watching them with such fondness and love his heart clenches again. Maybe they will be alright.

With a shaky breath, Lily scolds Harry as she crosses to them, “You weren’t supposed to tell about the gas, Harry...that was our secret. Now let me get in there.”

She is inches from him. And he feels like sixth year when he was afraid to reach for her hand. He does now though. He wants to touch every inch of her. Embrace her and convince himself that she is real. They survived and she is real and they will be alright.

He reaches for her right hand and then her left. She gives him a squeeze and he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. They close the distance between them and Lily settles her head on his shoulder. He forgot how it felt when they stood like this.

Sirius would always tease them for “Doing that weird horse thing” but it was his favorite way to be with Lily. Now though…. he drops her hands and pulls her close to him. Her arms twine around his neck and he breathes in her scent. Her hands are in his hair and he can’t help the smile that comes through the tears. “Happy to see me, Potter?” she asks and her voice is thick. “You have no idea, Lily?” And then they are kissing. He has kissed Lily thousands of time. But this kiss, familiar and unfamiliar and full of everything he’s missed for ten years- will be hard to beat. They stare at each other for a moment and they’re kissing again and James is ready to take Lily on the sidewalk when they’re interrupted.

“Are they always this gross?” Harry is asking and the response comes from Sirius, “Lots of the time, mate, but I think we can cut them a little bit of slack. This time.”

Harry and Sirius are standing in identical poses with faces of disgust and arms folded over their chests. Lily flushes red, just like the time they were caught after the final quidditch match sixth year. She pulls away but doesn’t stop touching James, she is holding on to his hand firmly and gives Sirius and awkward one armed hug but James doesn’t want to let her go either.

Harry takes his other hand and asks, “I’m hungry. What's for dinner?”

They unpack Lily and Harry’s essentials for their stay and get them settled in. The discussion then turns to their plans for the evening. Pizza, it seems is a good choice. Sirius offers to take Harry to pick up the pizza and to go by Blockbuster to pick a movie. Harry asks if they’re calling the pizza in before they leave and Sirius tells him, “Nah- let's see what looks good when we get there.”

As they’re planning the evening, James cant stop touching Lily, her hands, the small of her back and he hopes it isn’t noticeable. Lily’s hands wander in a similar way. They’re telling Sirius and Harry goodbye and she only lets go of James to kiss the top of Harry’s cheek and to tell both of them to be good.

“You be good too,” Sirius tells them with a very knowing wink and closes the door behind them. As soon as the door clicks shut, Lily locks it behind them and then her lips are on James’.

They are frantic, hands everywhere. James can’t get enough of her. He needs to see her, needs to feel her. Lily, it seems feels the same. Lily is unbuttoning his shirt when they slam into the counter. Breathless, she pulls away . She takes a few steps back and takes her own shirt off. She is grinning at him as she unhooks her bra from behind and lets it fall to the floor. James has always loved Lily’s breasts. He admires the view for a few moments before he is touching them. His hands, his lips, his tongue and his teeth all admire the beauty that are Lily’s breasts. He has her pressed against the refrigerator now and her hands are everywhere. He is kissing his way up her neck when her hands reach his trousers and unbuckle his belt. His trousers fall to the ground and James presses against her, Lily’s hands are against his back and she is pressing him closer as she hooks her leg around his waist. He kisses her fiercely and slides his hand up her thigh. His fingers drift across her knickers, he finds her wet and wanting and he almost cums into his pants right then. But he clears his mind and moves the knickers to the side he teases her with his index finger and presses his thumb against her clit. Lily breaks the kiss and gives a shaky breath. James kisses her neck and plunges another finger into her and asks, “Happy to see me Potter?”

Her voice is low when she answers, “If you don’t fuck me soon James I’m going to-”

He doesn’t let her finish the sentence. He silences her with a kiss and spins them so they’re back against the counter. They break apart and shed their remaining clothing. James kisses Lily as she settles onto the counter. She wraps her legs tightly around him and James slowly enters her. It takes them a few moments to find and remember their rhythm but once they do James is reminded why they spent so many days doing exactly this. She is biting his earlobe and gasping his name when he finally comes undone.

They manage two more rounds before Sirius and Harry return two hours later. They’d been talking on the couch when Lily gave James a look and then he just had to taste her. And then Lily had to ride him on the floor.

They’d been behaving in the shower until Lily asked about a particular scar and after James told her the story she had to kiss it better. And then the rest of it. The sex is frantic and quick and real and James feels like a teenager again.

Sirius and Harry return with two pizzas and several movie selections. He apologizes for how long it took but tells Lily and James that traffic was terrible. This is accompanied with a wink and several thinly veiled innuendos throughout the evening that James prays Harry can’t pick up on.

They stay up late through the night watching movies and talking. It feels like a family. James realizes that the feeling he can’t quite put his finger on is contentment. He hasn’t felt that in a long time. At some point, Harry falls asleep and they carry him to his room. James tucks his son in and kisses his forehead for the first time in ten years. And he’ll be damned if anyone tries to seperate them again.

Once Harry is in bed, they retreat to their bedroom. This time they take their time. James worships every inch of Lily and she worships every inch of him. Their kisses are slow and tentative. James feels like he is in confession and Lily is purging him of all his sins. His only goal is her pleasure and she is of a similar mind. Everything is delicate. Her hands and fingers brush lightly and James thinks her might burst from the love of this woman. Each thrust is a promise “I won’t lose you again”. They both peak at the same moment and James muffles her cries with a kiss.