ddejavvu - Tumblr blog

ddejavvu · 2 days ago

Text

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Nine) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 13k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: the longest chapter yet!! i can't believe i ever finished this behemoth. i wrote most of this in a dazed frenzy which i think is exactly how i should have written it because that's exactly how they're feeling in the story. this one's juicyyyy >:))) i can't wait to hear what you think! and the next chapter is the one you've alllll been waiting for ;)

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You’re really starting to wish you’d packed for functionality and not attractiveness on this cruise. The bikini you’re sporting today had become irrevocably tangled in your beach bag, and now presents you with a challenge: untangle it here, in the grimy public restroom just off the beach, or snorkel in your lingerie.

“Are you alright in there?” Jake shouts through the door, and you envy the way he’d worn his swim trunks as shorts. This bathing suit is nice for catching eyes, but really wouldn’t offer you any support to wear as an outfit.

“My suit’s tangled,” You call back, the ocean air nipping at your chest and perking your nipples as you struggle with the ties. You quickly realize that you’re going to lose this fight, and eye your lacy lingerie where it hangs on the door. You could redress yourself, struggle through a push-up bra and a romper, give up the bathroom, and beg Jake for help. Or…

“Jake?” You shout, undoing the lock and quickly clasping your hands over your bare breasts, “Come in here?”

He does, and most definitely doesn’t expect you to be standing there nearly naked. Your bikini bottoms are on, but nothing else is, and he has violent deja vu to just yesterday when he’d had to either puzzle out your bikini’s straps or flash your tits to the world.

“It’s tangled,” Your eyes jerk towards the suit on the counter, and Jake is quick to shut himself into the bathroom with you, locking the two of you inside. It doesn’t feel predatory at all- it feels safe. He knows you’ve trusted him to see you like this, and he’ll make sure no one else does.

“I’ll get it,” He hums, tearing his eyes away from your frame as you stand there, clutching at your chest, “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d let me see you anywhere close to naked.”

“I needed help,” You admit reluctantly, but you notice the way he keeps his gaze strictly on the bathing suit, miles away from the way he’d have eyed you up mere days ago. There’s something about the expression you find in his eyes that makes you think. You watch him, and you see the way his eyelashes flutter slightly, his attention solely on the mess in his hands and not your naked flesh mere inches away from him. You’ve asked him for help and he’s giving it to you, even if there’s other things he could be doing. Other things that he would be doing, if he were his old self.

You’ve been really, truly struggling to maintain your conviction that nothing has changed within him. Repeating it over and over again has only gotten you a headache. It only makes you seem childish and stubborn. But now, in this light, you understand, and really believe this time, that you’ve been right all along. You’ve just been looking at it wrong. The Jake you know is the Jake he wants you to know, and this one is what he keeps locked away for when it matters most. But this is the real one, and this- you… matter to him. The most.

Maybe this is who he’s always been, and yesterday in the pool wasn’t an outlier, maybe he hadn’t been replaced by an imposter at all. Maybe this is just Jake. This is him- he’s sweet, determined, and caring, but only if he wants you to see him like that. Only if you won’t use it against him, and even if he’d started your feud all those years ago on the tarmac, you’d fired back at him, and he’d closed himself off for fear of being wounded.

You realize all at once that you and Jake are the same. You’re both trying to win, you’re both trying to survive. You’re trying to stay wary about this, trying to keep your armor on but it’s damn near impossible now that Jake is letting you strip his down. He’s letting you peel back the layers of his own defenses, you’ve stripped him of his cocky persona and now you’ve got him behaving even if you’re near-naked.

It’s now that you can really see him as a person, not the machine he pretends to be. He does everything in his power to take his own humanity away, and even if he’d proved himself caring once, long ago, he’d fallen right back into old habits. And you’d let him- you’d known somewhere in the back of your mind that he was capable of being a good man but you’d let him disguise himself again, and you’d let him goad you into taking more stabs at him. He’d drawn you back into your war, and you’d let him fight you because he’d let you fight him back. He does a good job at convincing people that nothing touches him, but standing here with him, seeing the humanity in the way he shifts on his feet, noticing his tongue peeking out from between his lips you remember that he pushes himself to appear so untouchable because he doesn’t trust anyone to see him otherwise.

You understand that, and even if your fear manifests itself in different ways, you can’t deny that you and Jake are one and the same. You’re both flowers, tightly coiled centers surrounded by layers and layers of petals that you’re plucking off one by one. Each dig, each glance, each silence takes one away, he loves me, she loves me not, and you wonder who will peel away each petal first. And once you do, once someone reaches the vulnerable little bundle protected at the center, will you wilt? Or will you bloom again together?

“Jesus, could they make these things any more confusing?” Jake asks, breaking your epiphanic silence by unwittingly untangling the final straps, “How are you supposed to get this on?”

It’s said in his old voice, with his old cynicism, but you see him the way he really is. You see his frustration, you see his vulnerability, you see Jake.

“Wait-” You stop him as you see the top take shape, your fingers still pressed into your chest, “That’s how it goes! Leave it, you got it.”

“This?” Jake’s face scrunches into a grimace, looking at the fabric in his fingers, “This is how it goes?”

“Hold it like you’d put it on a hanger,” You instruct, your own hands occupied, “The straps are supposed to cross each other in the back, so just let them hang over one another like- that.”

The suit falls perfectly into place, and he quickly realizes you’ll have to let go of your breasts to slip it over your head.

“Okay. Uh- where do you want it?”

“If you let go it’ll get tangled again,” You frown, looking at his thick fingers holding up the suit, “Just- close your eyes?”

They flutter shut without any further prompting on your end. Jake’s fingers are still extended, your suit hanging off of them, and you wait a mere two seconds to make sure he doesn’t open his eyes again before releasing your grip. That’s all you need- you know he won’t look.

It’s cold, briefly, but to Jake’s credit, he doesn’t bat an eyelash while you’re changing. It’s a test, even if he doesn’t know it is, but he passes because you knew he’d pass from the second you’d offered it. He feels you pluck the suit out of his hands but he doesn’t budge, and when you’ve got the top situated correctly on your shoulders you heave a sigh of relief. He looks nice like this, not cocky, not brash, just nice, his brown lashes resting delicately over his cheeks and his mouth pinched slightly where he’s biting the inside of his cheek. You run your eyes over his tranquil face, his caramel-tanned skin and his square facial structure that looks sturdy and handsome. You study his nose, his eyebrows, his ears, all under the guise of adjusting your bathing suit. You study him, for clues, for answers, for red flags but you find nothing, only crow’s feet and laugh lines. He looks like a man you could very much fall in love with, and that realization makes you step back, something nervous and afraid simmering in your gut. If you keep thinking of Jake as a person instead of the dick you’ve been arguing with for years, you’re going to fall in love with him.

“Open.” You demand anxiously, and when his lashes part, his irises meet your eyes, not your chest.

“You really need to get some clothes that aren’t just dental floss tied together.” Jake informs you, and your trance shatters, prompting you to lunge forwards to shove at his gut. It’s familiar, but it’s not mean, it’s the push of friends teasing friends, not an attack launched on enemy forces. It’s something that draws upon your constant bantering but doesn’t sting like it, something old made new by the way you duck your chin to your chest to cover your grin. He covers himself between the legs on instinct, but because you’ve shoved Jake and not Hangman, for once you’ve chosen to attack his vulnerable belly instead of what comes beneath it.

“Ah! I mean it,” He almost wheezes, his breath caught short in his chest from your brutality, “This is the second time I’ve had to untangle your outfits for you. Not to mention the way your bathing suit decided to float away yesterday because there’s only one string tying the thing together.”

“I thought I was gonna get fucked on this cruise,” You remind him, “I was supposed to look incredibly sexy.”

“Well, you do.” Jake admits, and that’s what it is- an admission. Not a tease, not a jab, just an observation. One that isn’t accompanied with a grating smirk but a softness in his eyes and a neutral expression. You wet your own lips cautiously, the change in his tone striking your chest like an axe and giving another hefty cleave to the walls surrounding that chasm in your chest, the one you’ve been ignoring since nearly kissing Jake last night. The space full of ‘what-ifs’ and romantic violin music that blinds you to the danger of letting Jake in- The danger of falling in love with him.

Everything, every difference you notice, every comment from Danica presses the wedge further and further into your psyche and you’re certain it’ll split soon if you’re not careful.

Will it be worth it to let Jake tear the two halves apart? Will you have to piece the splintered fragments back together later?

“You have to promise me you won’t go braindead like this in the water.” Jake frowns at your distant expression, your eyes lingering on one of his feet as you chew against the inside of your cheek, “It’s gonna be really hard for me to cover this whole fiasco up if you drown out here, and I’m the one investigated for it.”

Right, fiasco. That’s what this is, it’s one big mess with no way out. It’s almost-kisses, it’s dragging Jake away from a vendor’s booth where he’d been acting as your guard dog, it’s dreaming about a man with Jake’s face who was meant to be someone else, it’s knowing that you’re on the precipice of something you can’t crawl back out of if you fall. You shake off your cryptic thoughts and start towards the door of the bathroom, murmuring a near-silent apology to the person waiting for their turn just outside.

You don’t wait around to see if they send you a look of distaste for having been in there together.

You’d envisioned something a little more opulent for a snorkeling excursion, but what you’re led to is a short expanse of beach with a ‘no diving’ sign planted in the sand. You cast Jake a wary glance as he wades into the water, feet, ankles, and thighs quickly being submerged as he shuffles through the sand so as not to startle any possible sealife lingering in the shallows.

“Water’s nice,” He hums, and once he’s standing where the gentle waves lap across his broad chest he offers you a hand, “Come on in, darlin’, I’ll make sure you don’t step on anything.”

True to his word, your feet sink into sand, and you don’t feel any fins trapped beneath them.

“They probably stay away from the shore,” You muse, almost nervous as you wait to see something darting around in the crystal-clear water beneath you. You hike your snorkel mask onto your nose and Jake very kindly doesn’t mention how silly it must look, grappling with his own as he tries getting it to cover his nose without squishing it.

Logically, you’re sure a killer turtle isn’t going to spring from the depths of the sea and nibble at your achilles heel. But you’re expecting to see animals, and the stillness of the water beyond the gently lapping waves is unnerving. You realize with a start that you’re still clutching the hand Jake had helped you in with, and when you drop it the water rushes against your skin with a chill the rest of your body has already adapted to.

Your phones hang awkwardly against your chest, wrapped in a water-tight bag that the company had lent to you. You hope they work, because you’re intent on getting pictures of some of the sealife without ruining your phone.

“Let’s swim out that way,” Jake suggests, towards a deeper portion of the sea, opposite from the boat you’d sailed in on, “Maybe we’ll find something worth looking at.”

“Lead the way,” You sink lower into the water so that you’re up to your neck, fitting the mouthpiece in front of your teeth.

Tilting yourself forwards and planting your face in the water offers you a view like no other. Even if the waters are free from critters, the sand shimmers beneath the sunlight that filters through the waves, and the water is so delectably blue that it looks dyed that way. It’s all things tropical, and you find yourself staring wide-eyed at nothing but sand and buried shells.

You almost forget Jake is there too, but then one of his abnormally large feet drifts into your field of vision and you shove it away. He falters where he’d been trying to float on his belly, nearly dunking the end of his mouthpiece into the water and rendering it useless.

He’s wise enough not to start an all-out splash war in what’s meant to be a tranquil zone, but you’re sure he’ll chuck you into rowdier waters later.

For now, he drifts to the left, and lets you gain speed on him, your head now aligned with his own.

Your first animal sighting comes in the form of a tiny fish- you hadn’t read through the brochure on the local wildlife, but you’d say it’s about the size of a minnow. It darts beneath you, shadowed by your body until it swims beneath Jake instead. He points at it, like perhaps you’ve missed the only moving thing you’ve seen so far besides him, and turning your face to look at him gets you a glimpse of his grin around the mouthpiece.

You find out quickly that the little fish travel in schools, because another one flits by, then another, and soon the ocean floor is nearly obscured as what you’re certain is the entire population of that fish in the sea blanket the sand.

This, you’ll test out your waterproof phone pouch for. You’re able to pull up your camera with only minor difficulties, the thick-walled plastic pouch keeping your phone dry even if you can touch the screen through it. You snap at least a dozen photos of the tiny fish, even getting a shot of one that grows curious and darts upwards to see what your phone is. You’re sure all you’d managed to capture is his eye, but it makes you laugh and you wonder if it’s an odd sound above water where you’re sure it’s coming from your snorkel’s mouthpiece.

Jake hears it, though you’re sure it’s muffled for him, and he takes your phone where it’s hanging around your neck, angling it towards you as the small fish investigates your hand and fingers. You draw it up towards your face, the glee on your face restrained only by the fit of the mouthpiece in front of your teeth. You let the little fish flit between your fingers and brush the end of his tailfin against your palm once, then watch as he darts away to rejoin his friends.

Your grin must be infectious, because there’s a matching one on Jake’s face as he films you. You’re not sure whether he’s been taking pictures or videos, but you’re careful not to get his face in frame as you take your phone back.

The more you drift away from the dock, the more sea life you encounter. It’s admittedly funny to watch Jake nearly scream when a turtle drifts beneath you out of nowhere, but you manage to get a shot of it that isn’t blurry from your shoulders shaking.

You also manage to get a shot of the bird that Jake flips you beneath the water as a direct response to your laughter, and you decide to keep it even if it’s of him. His face isn’t really in it, and it’s funny, and it’s something you can save as your own personal memento of the trip even if you don’t show it off to anyone. You let your phone drift back down towards your chest on the lanyard, the camera still open for easy access.

This makes it all-too-easy to snap a picture of an angelfish that glides through the water, and you point ecstatically at it while Jake slows himself before he startles the poor creature. You watch as it flits through the water, inspecting the terrain this way and that, failing to realize or care that there’s two gargantuan people floating above it. It drapes itself in your shadows, and you must take at least a million photos of it before it eventually darts away.

You brace a foot on the sand after it's out of sight, finally coming up for air that isn’t through a plastic tube.

You spit the mouthpiece out and breathe like you’ve been deprived of it, but your grin gives away that you’re merely excited.

“That was so cool!” You gush, and Jake smears his wet hair up and off of his forehead, similarly out of breath.

“That was a pretty one.” He agrees, his voice slightly nasally from the way the snorkel mask fits him, “‘Really thought that turtle was gonna kill us, or something.”

“Turtles aren’t murderous,” You scoff, bracing your hands on your hips in the shallow water, barely fifty feet from the shore, “I got a few good pictures of him, but I think you were in some of them.”

“I should be taking some too,” He glances down at his own phone hanging from his neck, “But you beat me to the good ones every time.”

“I can send you mine,” You offer, “It’s not like I don’t have your number.”

“You act like you don’t. You barely ever use it,” Jake grumbles, “Unless you forgot something in my car.”

“I don’t always have much to say to you.” You blurt without thinking, and the way it tangibly brings down the mood surprises you- it’s a stark difference, something that makes Jake’s shoulders deflate slightly as he stands dripping water from his fingertips.

“-that isn’t- y’know, mean.” You finish, though it doesn’t heal the wounds you’ve reopened. The ones that are just starting to heal, the ones that had barely clotted and now bleed again.

It does, though, make Jake’s lips twist thoughtfully, one corner lifting as he bites the other, “Right. Well, now you have turtle pictures.” He shifts his feet in the sand, glancing sharply towards his ankle when a bold fish brushes against it, “Back in?”

“Back in,” You agree, easing onto your belly in the water so as not to startle any timid critters.

You spot fish of all sizes, shapes, and colors, some pretty and some that you don’t take photos of. You’d only booked an hour of snorkeling but you’re fairly certain you’re over that limit now, and you’re half expecting to be wrenched out of the water by your mouthpieces. You are grabbed by the hand, but after you startle you realize it’s only Jake. You turn away from the seashells you’re peering at, beautiful dusty pinks and peaches half-obscured by the sand, and glance at where he’s pointing.

It’s a stingray.

Jake drags you closer by your hand, keeping away from the business end of the animal while admiring its fluid movements. Every twitch of its body is graceful, and you try to emulate it as you stay perfectly still, your hand interlocked with Jake’s.

The stingray isn’t in a hurry to leave. It’s drifting along the seafloor, but so slowly that you and Jake manage to follow it without creating ripples that chase it off. You manage to gain the lead over Jake, and you carefully reach for your phone to take photos of the ray before it decides it has better things to do.

You don’t realize you’ve done it, but you’re using your free hand to hold your phone, and your opposite stays snugly nestled against Jake’s own. He notices, though, and that’s what he takes a photo of. He hasn’t felt the need to capture the sea life swimming around you, not when you’ll send him your own photos. He’ll let you be the trip’s photographer, but this- this he has to have. The way your hair drifts through the water, each strand separated and swaying with the gently lapping waves. You’d had it in a ponytail earlier but you’d wrenched it out the second the water had weighed it down, and now the rubber band rests on your wrist. The way your interest and curiosity shines through the clunky snorkel mask, your eyes wide and inquisitive, your teeth pinching against the mouthpiece in a grin. The way you’re floating there, suspended in time, clutching his hand- that’s the photo he deems worthy of capturing.

You don’t notice that he’s snapped a picture of you, which Jake thinks is best, for now. You’re coming around- he knows you are, he knows it simply in the way you’re still holding his hand, your fingers curled around the back of his own. Three days ago you’d have drowned rather than take his hand, and now you’re floating together, fingers interlocked.

But still, it might be better for now if you don’t know you’re the only thing Jake’s cared enough to photograph on this entire trip.

You make the mistake of resurfacing after the ray swims into deeper waters, and you’re waved back to shore by the employees who had fitted you with your masks. Perhaps you’d have been able to evade suspicion for longer, and gotten a few more free minutes of snorkeling, but you give in, and you and Jake traipse slowly through the sludgy sand back to dry land.

Your belongings had stayed safe and dry in lockers you’d rented from the facility, but you realize as you’re tucked away in the bathroom again that you hadn’t accounted for what you’d do with your hair. The ponytail was supposed to be your failsafe, but your hairbrush is back on the ship, and now that it’s been flowing freely through the water you know it’ll be impossible to wrangle your hair into something that looks nice without a brush. It’s grown longer in recent months because you’ve been too lazy to cut it, and admittedly it does make the regulation bun easier now that you’ve got more to work with. But more length means more hassle now that it’s wet and stringy, perpetually wetting the back of your neck and seeping through your shirt.

You’d swapped out your bathing suit for your lingerie, letting the wet fabric sit in the bottom of your beach bag. You resolve to just let your hair air-dry, but you attempt to detangle it with your fingers so that it doesn’t mat. It’s what Jake catches you doing when he finds you outside the men’s bathroom waiting for him, and he winces in time with you as you hit a particularly tight knot in one of the strands.

“You need a hairbrush?” He asks, and you know he doesn’t have one, so you shake your head.

“I’ve got it.” You grumble, “I forgot to pack one.”

You manage to separate the knot, but it has a twin on the opposite side of your head. You’ve no sooner freed one strand than caught another, and you groan as your arms begin to ache from holding them to your head for so long.

“Easy, Hercules,” Jake grabs your hands, tugging them out of your hair, “You tryin’ to rip it out?”

“Jake, I know how to brush my own hair.” You stare exasperatedly at him from beneath your lashes, pulling your hands from his grip, “Just- grab my hairtie from my bag?”

You let him wrestle one of the straps down your arm, and he fishes around inside for the ponytail. Once he’s grabbed it you try to take it from him, but he rears backwards, holding it over his head.

“No, I want to do it.”

“Jake,” You huff, but he won’t even let you finish.

“No. You’re being too rough with it.” He insists, pointing to a bench beside a cluster of palm trees, “Sit down there, and let me braid your hair.”

“Braid? You know how to braid?” You ask, and he nods firmly.

“Remember, I got about a thousand tiny little nieces,” Jake explains, “The longest hair you’ve ever seen. In the summers it gets real hard to handle, so they always wanted me to braid it for ‘em before they went swimming or riding horses.”

“That’s- cute.” You have to admit, and you realize you’ve been disarmed, drifting over towards the bench that Jake directed you towards, “Fine. Just- be quick, please? I don’t want to waste our time here.”

Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.

“I’ll be fast.” He promises, and his fingers get to work right away on your tangled tresses.

His hands are exceptionally gentle. And skilled, too, as he undoes knots in your hair with precise tugs that don’t rip any strands out of your scalp. You’re surprised, really, that you’d let him have free reign of your head because you’d never trust him not to break out a pair of scissors and butcher your hairdo. But that’s because three days ago he was your enemy, and now you’re realizing he’s just as vulnerable as you are. That was old Jake, and new Jake separates your hair into three sections and gets to plaiting before you even realize he’s managed to undo the tangles.

“M'kay,” He pinches the bottom of the braid, tucking a strand tighter behind your ear, “Give me back the ponytail.”

You offer your wrist without thinking, and your other hand hastily reaches to meet it mid-air, but Jake’s gets there first. You feel his rough-tipped fingers scrape delicately at your skin, pinpricks of contact that make your free hand freeze where it hovers uselessly. It’s like each spot he touches fashions a pressure point, and all five combine to short-circuit your brain.

It’s why you’re silent as Jake slips the rubber band off of your wrist, circles it four times around the end of your braid, and then places- not drops, places it against your back.

With care. With intention. With thought.

“There,” He hums, and you’re discovering now that there’s a third type of silence you find yourself caught in with Jake. First had been tense- the prayer that his grating voice wouldn’t be heard, the hope that you could flee before he figured out his next jab. Then there was comfortable, when you’d finally calmed down enough to remember that you’d make it out alive. But now you’re not so sure about that for entirely different reasons- you’d nearly kissed- on purpose ! - and Danica seems to be haunting your every waking moment with how frequently you think about her convictions.

Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.

You’re not sure what to call this kind. Awkward, maybe, but the tense ones had been awkward, too. These are softer, not comfortable, but something… hopeful. Tentatively so, like keeping an ear out for the mailman but waiting until he’s gone to venture outside. You’re nervous, intensely so. Your stomach pulses with energy like it’s being lit up, and your limbs feel like they’re submerged in thick, sticky molasses when you try to speak or move forwards from the silence. But you’re excited, too, maybe just a little bit, even if you’re never going to tell Jake.

You’re excited- maybe, because you’d thought changing meant you and Jake up until now. You thought change meant Jake was going to transform into a gentleman, and you were going to have to become his prize. But what’s changing is your bad habits, the way you both shield yourselves from being known. Now it clicks: you’re not becoming new people, you’re finally letting the people you really are see the light of day. That makes you more confident, in both yourself and Jake, because you hadn’t wanted to change to love him, and you hadn’t wanted him to change to love you. But that’s not what has to happen- you’re not losing the parts of yourselves that you like, you’re losing the ones that keep those hidden away, the walls you throw up to hide the glittering city behind them. It’s your behavior that’s changing, not your essence, and maybe if you’re having trouble drifting with this tide, Jake will take your hand and pull you along with him to look at wayward stingrays.

“Braided your hair so good I put you to sleep,” Jake teases, but it’s not a malicious tone he uses. You’re far too accustomed to that one, you’d know it from a mile away. No, this one’s sweeter, almost endeared- and that’s nudging you further and further towards that leap of faith you’ve finally come to terms with but aren’t quite ready to take yet, so you stand and nearly tip forwards in your hurry.

“Let’s go-” You urge, heading down the street without looking back at him, “Let’s- we can find a snack or I can finally get a hat or we can get-”

“Massages.” Jake interrupts, his voice stopped dead a few feet back, “We can get massages.”

You turn on your heel, finding yourself faced off with him in front of an open massage parlor. Your stances read like a wild west shootout, and you wonder what’s engraved on the pistols Jake’s come holstered with.

Wit and deviancy, of course, as he turns towards the signage outside, the grin that blooms on his face something akin to the enemy of whoville.

Mud Spa 20 Minutes - $25

Massage 1 Hour - $75

Massage + Mud Spa - $90

Couple’s Massage + Mud Spa - $150

He strides in before you can stop him, and you’ve barely stepped through the doors before he’s slapping his card onto the reception desk, “One couple’s massage and mud spa, please. How long do we get?”

“Twenty minutes in the spa,” The woman at the counter is already swiping his card, giving you no time to protest, “And couples get an extra thirty minutes of massage treatments.”

Jake reholsters his smoking guns with a devilish grin towards you.

You’d been so focused on Jake and his antics that you’d missed the employees behind you, standing on either side of the entryway and moving to action the second your payment is processed. They each grab bathrobes and come up behind you, one heading towards Jake and the other slinging the robe around your shoulders.

“Go change,” They point you both towards a room with nothing but the number three on it, and you wonder if there are two other actual couples in here that you’ll have to put up with. You’ll have a hard enough time wrangling Jake in here, and you’re not even together. You can’t imagine staying civil with someone you really wanted to go wild with.

“Speedy service,” Jake notes as the door clicks shut behind you, leaving you stranded in a large space, decorated as opulently as possible while leaving the open floor space occupied only by two massage chairs.

There’s dried flowers on the walls, numerous babbling fountains lining the walls and brown wooden accents that make the space feel relaxing like a deep breath. It’s calming to be there, as is the floral scent that floats through the air, taking up so much of your airways that there’s little room for pure oxygen.

Calming, of course, until you remember you’re meant to be stripping.

To Jake’s credit, he hadn’t looked earlier. But you’d asked him not to, and now he’s shimmying out of his wet swim trunks, the soaked fabric clinging to his skin. You don’t get to finish your thought because he perks up, ears nearly straightening like a dog’s, as he cranes his neck to look at you despite being bent in half.

“Sorry, I forgot about our agreement earlier.”

At first, you think he’s going to turn around, and let you have your peace. But perhaps New Jake isn’t fully formed yet, because he blinks at you, faux-innocent, “Do you want to see my penis?”

There’s a million things you want to say to him. And you’re formulating all of them, your hands fumbling with the straps of your romper, trying to separate them from your bra. But evidently your brain is taking too long, because your mouth decides it’s got this one, and your own traitorous voice comes from your own traitorous lips, “Do you want to see my tits?”

Out of the million things you wanted to say to him, that wasn’t even one of them. That wasn’t anywhere near one of them, and hearing it come from your mouth makes your spine straighten like a rigid lightning bolt had pricked at each disc. But you think about taking it back, about griping at him for being so pushy and you realize that perhaps you’re starting to… enjoy this. Maybe you’re offering now because he’d listened earlier when you’d told him to shut his eyes. You’re not giving in, you’re not letting him have you, you’re not tarnishing your reputation but since you’ve both been fighting to kill for your entire lives, maybe you’re going to torment him the same way he keeps trying to torment you. And maybe it’s not torment at all, maybe this is the way Jake is, and this is how you meet him in the middle. You’re giving him a chance, being open to changing your own behavior if he’s going to break his back trying to fit himself against your edge.

If he’s going to play your game, you’ll play his.

His brows raise, intrigued, “Not two hours ago I closed my eyes so you could take ‘em out.”

“And that was kind of you.” You hum, slipping the straps of your romper off of your shoulders, “And I like kind, Jake. Kind is why Daniel got to kiss me.”

His eyes flash with something dangerous, a glint you assume you’d see in a bull staring down a red cape. He finishes stuffing his swim trunks down his thighs, standing up straight and unabashedly showing off his cock that you’re still too proud to openly stare at, “Yeah? That’s how he won you over?”

“Yeah.” You nod, teasing him with merely the tips of each bra cup as you shimmy out of your romper, “Well- that and the beard. You notice it’s lighter around the mouth?”

Jake rolls his eyes, cocking his weight onto one hip. You don’t dare look, but you know it makes his cock swing slightly where it’s hanging between his legs.

“Yeah, I saw that.” Jake notes, “I eat too, y’know.”

Daniel, at this point, feels like a distant memory. But he’s fresh enough in Jake’s mind to do some damage, and you can tell his name riled Jake up like a coiled spring.

You wind it tighter, finally shucking your romper off of your torso and letting it fall in a heap at your feet.

Apparently, Jake thinks you’re as stunning in your lingerie as you’d thought just this morning. His eyes flicker downwards, but before they can go too far they glance up at your face, his jaw tightening.

“You really want this?” He asks, something sobering in his tone despite the hormones you’d both ridden up to this moment.

“No touching,” You scoff, “Just- you can look. This time, you can look. Because you were nice enough not to last time. Because you’re nice, Jake.”

That’s all you want, really. All you want is to know you’ll be safe with Jake. You know that on a basic level, you wouldn’t be injured or belittled around him. For all he belittles you himself, if anyone else tried, he’d end it quicker than it could begin. And there was the night you were blackout drunk- you knew you’d be safe then. He wouldn’t have taken advantage of you, and he never will. You’ve known for a while that somewhere, on some deep, basic level, Jake is a good man. But now that he’s acting the part, you can make sure he stays that way.

As soon as you let him, his eyes drop. He rakes them down your body, and you watch them pick up every detail on your lacy underthings. They flicker like flames, licking up the curves and contours of your near-naked frame until he remembers he doesn’t have anything on himself.

“Get after it,” He grunts, his voice an octave huskier than the last time he’d spoken, “Take your own look.”

It’s- big.

It’s really, truly big, which you won’t tell him, because it might flip whatever switch had been disabled somewhere along your voyage and bring back egomaniac Jake. He’s tan all over, but there’s a slightly paler portion where a different pair of shorts have cut his bare skin from the golden-brown patches. You note that the tan lines look a lot like briefs, and you wonder if Jake lays out in the sun in his tighty-whities. Before you can laugh at the image your eyes catch back on his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs. He’s got hair above it, a trimmed patch that isn’t unruly but isn’t clean either. It’s somewhere in between, something musky you can bury your nose in- you won’t be doing that, but hypothetically, though, you could. This is just looking, this is just gratuitous staring, but seeing the length, the thickness and the tapered, rounded head and imagining what it might do to you- it brings heat to your core that you squirm at, shifting your weight to just one leg.

“You gonna take ‘em off, darlin’?” He asks, nodding at your lingerie. You see where his eyes are pointed, straight between your legs where the pad of your underwear gets swallowed by the pillowy flesh of your thighs.

“No,” You smirk, “Not for you.”

“What- why the hell am I naked?” He asks, reaching for the robe. You try to ignore the way his cock swings, thick and hefty.

“You just stripped,” You shrug, fastening your robe around your lingerie, “I didn’t ask to see your penis, if you recall.”

“I was promised tits,” He counters, eyes rolling skywards, “Does your word mean nothing?”

Actually, he’s right. You had offered, even if the words that had come from your mouth were from some other part of you you’d never set free before. So you sigh, unfastening the robe’s tie just as soon as you’ve cinched it, “Fine, I’ll take it off.”

“Really?” Jake asks, too enthusiastic, his head snapping in your direction, but he calms himself, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” You nod, reaching behind your back for the clip of your bra, “That’s why I’m going to.”

The pressure around your chest relaxes, and the fabric falls to your feet. You have to dip your arms forwards, but the movement doesn’t cheapen the experience for Jake, not with the way his eyes dart towards your now-bare chest, widening and dancing with the flames you’d seen earlier.

It’s a maddening experience, teasing someone.

Especially teasing someone like Jake, someone who makes himself seem untouchable, someone who’s teased you for your entire career. Here, now, as your lacy bra hits the floor, he’s completely at your mercy.

He stares blatantly at the swell of your breasts, and doesn’t seem to mind at all that they’re not pushed together anymore. They sit lower on your torso now without the bra holding them together and boosting them up but he seems just as entranced as when he’d seen them pinched together beneath your chin. He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he clears saliva that had pooled beneath his tongue. You watch him watch you, and he inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw squared and shifting.

He lets out a low whistle, taking a half-step forwards that makes you tense where you stand. He notices, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture, “I know, I know. No touching. Are you gonna take the bottoms off too, darlin’?”

“I only said tits,” You remind him, a note of devilish glee in your voice, “Turn around, Hangman.”

He does, and you allow yourself one moment of ogling his ass before you drop your panties and fit yourself into your robe. He’s- firm, the skin a shade lighter than his back and thighs, and you wonder if he’s always been this nice to look at from behind, or if you’ve just never noticed through his uniform.

When you’re robed, you call him to turn again, and he takes his sweet time putting his robe on, leaving his dick on display for as long as possible. Maybe you look, and maybe he notices. Maybe.

You make good time, because as soon as he’s cinching his robe shut the attendants walk back in. They knock, but don’t wait long before barging inside the room, and you’re grateful you’d managed to tuck your clothes into a neat pile instead of leaving them strewn about the floor.

“We’ll be showing you to our mud spa first,” The attendant nearest you explains, “It’ll loosen and relax your muscles for the massage later. We’ll go down the hall, come with me.”

You follow single-file after the woman, glancing around at the neatly-decorated massage parlor. It’s elegant and cozy all at once, and the warmly-lit room they lead you into hosts a large tub of mud that you presume you’ll be stripping before entering.

The attendants confirm your hypothesis, “Please derobe, and you’ll soak in the mud for about twenty minutes. After you’re out, you’ll shower over there,” She points to a row of shower stalls, “And we’ll head back over for your massages.”

“Thank you,” You hum gratefully, and Jake echoes your sentiment, eyeing the mud bath with wary intrigue.

“First mud bath?” You ask, untying the robe easier this time, more confidently. It catches Jake’s eye, and he reaches for his own tie.

“First spa-grade one. I used to get covered in mud all the time as a kid, but I bet it didn’t have the same healing properties.”

You laugh at the image of little Jake coming inside from a long day of play, covered in mud with bugs in his pockets and hair. It’s such a distracting thought that you don’t realize you’ve now exposed your bare lower half to Jake, but when you cast a semi-panicked glance his way, his eyes are drawn towards the floor.

He knows, and he’s not looking.

The next breath of air that you take seems to fill your lungs deeper, fuller.

Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.

The mud is warm, almost hot when you dip your toes in, but lowering yourself carefully into the bath does nothing but heat you to your core. It doesn’t burn, and Jake watches carefully, respectfully as you sink into the thick, earthy substance.

“Is there a step?” He asks, and you point him towards it, watching as he submerges himself across from you. You settle on the shelf that runs the perimeter of the spa, the back of your neck hitting the edge and prompting your head to tilt backwards against the floor.

“I think there’s mud in my asscrack.”

Your lips part in a toothy grin before you can stop them, but your eyes stay firmly shut, bliss curling peacefully in your belly like a cat tucking in for a nap. You breathe a sigh, long and deep as Jake settles in opposite you.

“Is it supposed to go on my face?”

Your eyes drift open, and you peer at Jake, close to irritated, “Remember the hot tub yesterday? Quiet zone.”

“Right,” He scoffs, his foot brushing against yours beneath the mud’s surface, leg following as he crosses his feet beside your lap. You wonder if you’d be able to stretch your legs across the entire length of the hot tub yourself, or if Jake’s legs are just impossibly long.

You let him melt, you let his muscles loosen and slump into the wall of the tub for almost a full minute before you sneak up before him and smear a muddy hand over his cheek.

“It can go on your face,” You grin, as his eyes snap open and he jolts forwards in his spot. His incredulous laugh is breathy and the huff hits your face, and it’s only then when you realize you’ve spread your legs to fit his between them, and you’re standing naked before Jake, inches away from his face.

“Alright, missy.” He gripes, a splotch of mud sticking to his cheek, “Where should I put yours, huh? Up your nose? In your ear?”

“Don’t!” You plead, but it’s too late, and he’s already latched his hands around your wrists like cuffs. He bends you to his will, ignoring your shrieked laughter and tucking you sideways into his lap with thick layers of sticky mud between your bare skin and his. He keeps you pointedly away from his groin, but you can feel both his torso and his thighs touching your hips as he lets you float bridal style in his arms.

It pushes your chest out of the water, and you’re nervous for a moment before you remember there’s a sludgy layer of mud covering any sensitive material. Besides- you suppose it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, something you wouldn’t have been able to say before merely an hour ago.

“You’re a menace.” He decides, his eyes on your own, mud caked up to his neck, nearly painting his chin, “I finally shut up and let you have some peace and quiet, and this is what you do to me?”

“That’s why I did it,” You nod, your head nearly submerged in the mud with the way he’s holding you sideways against him, his muddy hands against your bare skin, “You did what I asked, so I let you have it.”

“I don’t understand you,” He chuckles, but the sincere, slightly dim look in his eyes speaks volumes to you.

“I understand you, I think.” You admit, your voice lowering as he keeps you suspended just above the mud’s surface. You’re turned sideways to face him, and your sobering tone reminds him that he’s still got you held captive in his grip. He rights you, his movements slow and his eyes piercing as he stares at your own. You’re set on your feet, now standing between his spread legs, staring down at him with your muddy chest exposed. The substance begins air-drying on your skin almost instantly, covering you even if Jake’s attention is still trained on your face.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, and the question makes your heart skip a beat. When it resumes it’s pumping wildly, fast and furious and flighty.

“I mean,” You start, blinking rapidly to shield your eyes from his own, though you don’t cast them elsewhere, “I- I mean that,” You think, long and hard about the past three days, about the way Jake had drifted to your side while Daniel had stormed ahead, the way he’d carried you home on the first night and hadn’t left you alone to prowl for a quick fuck around the ship afterwards, the way he’s begun looking at you like you mean something more to him than just a number of training exercises to best.

And you know the way you’re looking at him is shifting, too. You’re seeing him as a person, you’re seeing his humanity, you’re seeing the man he is beneath his cocky, untouchable armor. You’re both laid bare now, not just physically, and there’s only one layer of mud left to scrape away until you see each other in your rawest forms.

Your lips try forming words, whichever ones would wash clean your souls and send the last, viscous layer of protection flowing down the drain.

But it’s too much, the dry mud chafes against your skin as you heave in a breath, and it rattles in your chest as you shut your mouth.

“I don’t know.” You conclude, attempting to back away with hasty, rushed steps that will put you as far away from Jake as possible. But he doesn’t let you, and his hands close again around your wrists, muscling them to your sides and holding you in place.

“Jake-”

“No, don’t- don’t do that. Don’t say things like that and try to walk away.” He pleads, “We’re stuck in this hot tub for fifteen more minutes, say what you wanna say.”

“I don’t wanna say anything,” You breathe, nearly crumpling under his gaze as you try squirming out of his grip, “Please? I shouldn’t have started the thought, I- I can’t finish it. Not yet.”

“When?” He asks, his eyes tired. You wonder how he can look like that when he’s only been trying for three days, when he’s spent every day up until this cruise needling his way under your skin. You wonder how he can act like this is taxing to him, like you’re exhausting him by being cautious. Before you can grow angry about it he strokes his muddy thumbs over your wrists, his grip tight but not bruising.

“I don’t know.” You admit, and he sighs through his nose as his shoulders slump.

“Fine. Alright.” He makes a good effort of keeping his voice void of any ire, but you wonder if he’s already grown tired of this back-and-forth.

You’re trapped in a whirlwind. You’re spinning this way and that, convinced one moment that he’s a playboy and the next that he’s your boy. You wonder if you’ll ever find steady ground, if your world will ever stop shifting, or if you’ll give in and he’ll continue to bounce back and forth between new and old Jake. That’s been your fear from the start, and when he releases your wrists you back up until your calves hit the shelf of the tub and you fall to your ass on the seat.

“Sorry.” He mumbles over the gentle humming of the spa’s motors, churning the mud constantly so it doesn’t harden, “You said no touching.”

It’s not inflammatory, it’s not meant to poke or to prod, and you let him lead you down a safer path.

“I smeared mud on your face first,” You shrug, your eyes roving over the bubbling muck beneath you instead of across his mud-streaked face, “No harm done.”

“Good.” He hums, perhaps more meaningfully than he’d meant to. But the outer side of his foot finds your own beneath the surface of the mud, and he leans his head back against the side of the tub before closing his eyes, letting his skin rest against yours.

It’s silent for the rest of your time in the spa. Jake keeps his eyes closed, but every time you do you see his face, inches away from yours, and muted music from the lounge you’d been outside of the night before begins playing in your mind. The memory taunts you, and opening your eyes only grants you a real view of Jake’s face. It’s set in a serene mask, but you can tell he’s tense beneath it. Now that you’ve taken one facade off of Jake you seem to be an expert at them, and you can see a protruding lump in his jaw that means his teeth are clenched. You feel guilty for ruining his relaxation, and you grab your phone from the pocket of your robe to distract yourself.

You ignore Natasha’s earlier messages, prying questions you can’t answer without giving something away. Instead, you swipe your finger over the screen, selecting all of your snorkeling photos and sending the batch to her. It’s something to do with your hands, and you stare at the cover photo while the message processes.

Your restless fingers barely have to wait a minute after sending the photos to receive a response from her. Your thumbs twitch against the screen, ready to type, but her message reads ‘I’m not looking at the damn fish, whose thigh is that?’

You realize all too late that you’ve sent her photos with Jake in them. Not his face, not his swim trunks that she’d recognize from your many team beach days, but his foot, his arm, his leg, his back, his fingers reaching for yours. Your stomach threatens to liquify and drip into your feet but you steel yourself, typing back, ‘That’s my roommate.’

‘He looks like he goes to the gym.’

You don’t have the guts to tell her he’s gone to the gym with her before.

‘He’s pretty muscular, yeah.’

‘And you HAVEN’T had sex yet?’

‘Remember? Complicated.’

‘Girl, if you don’t hit it…’

That’s the last message you dare to read. You’re sure she’s got a thousand colorful threats for you, but you shut your phone off when you hear the door to the spa open again.

“How was the mud bath?” The attendant asks, and Jake’s eyes open, avoiding your figure.

“It’s great.” He nods at the woman, “Are we being evicted?”

“Shower off in the corner,” She chuckles warmly, “Then meet me outside!”

You and Jake traipse towards the showers leaving muddy footprints in your wake. It’s silent as you each approach a different faucet, but when Jake’s turns on and you can’t get your muddy fingers to grip the handle of yours, he steps out of the warm stream of water he’s stationed himself beneath.

“Here. Take mine,” He offers, “I’ll get this one.”

“Thank you,” You hum quietly, letting him nudge you out of the way. You shuffle over to the already-running showerhead, taking a clean washcloth and soaking it in water and the soap they’ve set out for you. You get to scrubbing, chancing a glance at where Jake’s showering beside you and getting another view of his ass. This time it makes you blush- it’s a stolen thing, something he hadn’t offered you, and you turn to face the opposite wall while thinking about the way stripping for him had made you feel.

Powerful, for sure. Like for once, you were in control, you were leading, you were holding the reins. And he’d stayed respectful, never once trying to touch you.

At least, until you’d incited a wrestling match in the spa and been held captive against his chest. And then you’d opened your mouth, and promptly closed it before you could let yourself say too much, and Jake had reacted like ‘too much’ was all he’d ever wanted you to say. Even though he’s only started acting that way for a couple of days. Even though this is all the most unprecedented, complicated situation you’ve ever been in, and it makes you want to tear your hair out and scream, letting it echo along the tiles.

“Are you mad at me?” Jake’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you turn like it might help you hear the words better, even if they’ve already evaporated with the steam rising from the tiles.

“What?”

“You heard me. Are you mad at me?” Jake asks again, throwing a glance over his shoulder where he’s still turned away from you. When he notices that you’re facing him he pivots, standing unabashedly naked before you the way you do before him.

“I’m not mad.” You promise, “I’m- confused. And afraid, a little. No- a lot.”

“Why are you afraid of me?” He asks, his eyes vulnerable and sweet. Like he’s hurt by it, like he really doesn’t know.

“I’m not afraid of you,” You sigh, running a hand over your belly to wash away the mud still sticking to it, “It’s- not like that. I’m afraid of… everything changing. Because I can’t control how it’s going to end, and I don’t like that.”

“How do you think it’s gonna end? Who says it has to end at all?” Jake’s eyes narrow towards you, and you rear backwards slightly, a scoff escaping your mouth.

“Don’t talk like you’re gonna marry me.” Your voice hardens slightly, sharpened to a steel edge, “This is a sex cruise, and you’re trying to get into my pants.”

“I’ve already done that,” Jake reaches for the towels set beside the showers, rolling one up and whipping it towards your thighs, “You gave me a whole strip tease just a few minutes ago.”

“But no touching,” You remind him, falling back into old habits as your voice takes on a teasing lilt, “You’re not there yet, Hangman.”

“Yet,” He takes your bait, his grin sharpening wolfishly. It feels good to banter, even if you’re both trying to be someone kinder, someone less jagged and sharp, “Does that mean I’ve really got a chance? It’ll happen later?”

“If you’re lucky,” You huff, “And I mean- really lucky.”

“I like those odds,” He follows you in shutting off his shower, and you walk side-by-side with him towards the robes you’d left abandoned by the spa. It’s strange, parading around a spa with Hangman, completely naked, but he seems to know just what to say, just what to do to keep you from getting lost in your head, even if it means taking a few steps backwards and teasing you again.

But now you’ve discovered you can tease him, too, and you pull your robe on slowly, cinching it around your waist and covering up the last bit of bare skin his eyes had been glued to earlier.

He doesn’t say anything about it, but his footsteps behind you are heavy when the attendant leads you back towards the massage tables, and he takes his cues from you, reaching around your waist to untie your robe for you before you can do it yourself.

You turn your head to the side, nearly running into his own that’s slotted over your shoulder. He meets your gaze head-on, and you feel tension growing like thick vines over you and him as you stand together, nearly flush. He drags the robe off of your shoulders, but walks away with it instead of ogling what’s beneath. You rush for the massage table, letting the attendant fit your bare body into its contours with a knowing smile.

“Lots of couples have a hard time keeping their hands off of each other,” She murmurs conspiratorially into your ear, “If you don’t mind me saying this, you’re a lucky woman, and he’s a lucky man.”

Jake’s grin as he settles down on the massage table, face turned towards your own, tells you that he’s betting on that luck.

You have a million things to think about while your eyes slip shut on the massage chair, but the second your attendant digs her hands into your stiff back they all float away into static. Your brain goes numb, and you let out a startled gasp at the shooting pain that travels up your spine. It’s quickly replaced by bliss as your muscles loosen where they’d been tensed, but it’s going to take her a minute to warm you up.

“Just relax,” She hums, and Jake’s masseuse gets to work on his back, spreading lotion over his palms before digging into the aviator’s own stiff back, “We’ll have you turn over later, but for now, just close your eyes and let all of your tension go.”

Tension. You wonder if she’d seen what was really going on, that your ‘tension’ isn’t born of a couple forbidden to touch each other for a few measly minutes, but of two springs coiled so tight they’ll snap if they’re not released soon. You let out a shaky moan as the masseuse wrestles out a particularly large knot in your lower back, and Jake clears his throat from across the room.

You refuse to be embarrassed about enjoying yourself. You’ve been so tense lately- sure, because of work, but just the past three days alone have put you closer to a heart attack than you’ve ever been before, you’re sure of it. All of your worries, all of your struggles, all of the times you’ve wanted to pitch yourself overboard melt away in the wake of this woman’s hands kneading through your back, and when she dips down to your thighs and pinches at the seldom-stretched muscles there, you let out an even louder grunt.

“That’s a pressure point,” You can hear the smile in her words, “It feels good, doesn’t it?’

“It feels amazing.” You mumble, your face squished against the massage chair, “Can I pay for a second hour-and-a-half?”

“It might melt you beyond repair,” She laughs, throwing a glance at Jake who’s similarly blissed out, “I want you two to be able to walk back to your ship tonight.”

“She won’t be walkin’ right tomorrow morning,” Jake grunts, a sleazy drawl in his voice that reminds you you’ve both elected to take a step safely back from each other, for fear of repeating the mud bath incident, because it’s easy, and you’re just not brave enough to change things yet, “Just do whatever she wants and I’ll drag her back to the ship by her braid.”

“Dick.” You accuse, flipping him the bird though you’re not sure if his eyes are open to see it or not. He responds only with his own elaborate, drawn-out moan, and you resign yourself to an hour of hearing him grunt and groan, not that you’ll be quiet yourself.

You don’t fall asleep, but you drift somewhere close to it. Perhaps another plane of existence, where you feel the woman’s hands digging into your flesh and you hear Jake’s guttural moans but you don’t have to think about them. It’s such a wonderful thing, not having to think, and you silently thank the employee nearly elbow-deep into your back muscles for her service.

When your blessed hour and thirty minutes is up- far too soon, you sigh one last time into the massage chair, and look at the masseuse like she’s heaven-sent.

“I love you,” You hum at her, eyes ten times more adoring than they’ve ever looked at Jake, and she grins at you as she passes you your robe.

“Everyone says that to me,” She laughs, her voice clear and melodic, “But no one ever comes back for a second session.”

“I’m getting at least two more,” You promise, “And I’m bringing you some wine off of the ship.”

“I’ll be expecting you tomorrow,” She grins, and Jake’s masseuse smirks in your direction, though he makes it clear it’s at your dialogue and not your bare body by keeping his eyes strictly on your face. You admire their respect, meekly covering your figure with the robe without putting it on.

“Go ahead and leave the robes on the floor,” Jake’s masseuse gestures lazily towards your discarded clothing, “If your payment’s already been processed, you’re free to go. If not, just stop by the desk on your way out. Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” He tilts his head towards you and Jake, a knowing glint in his eyes, “And enjoy not being able to walk tomorrow.”

“This is all your fault.” You glare at Jake when the door shuts behind the man, and once again Jake is standing proudly naked before you. You’ve got your robe in your lap, and Jake’s kind enough to hand you your underwear when he reaches for his swim trunks.

“They know we’re on a sex cruise,” He scoffs, “And they thought we were a couple anyways! I bet everybody in here thinks we’ve been banging for three days straight.”

“It probably didn’t help that you kept trying to moan louder than me,” You slide your panties on carefully, hoisting them up around your hips while holding the robe in front of your bare lap. Once you’re clothed on bottom you gesture towards your bra, but when Jake takes it in his hands he doesn’t offer it to you.

“You want this?” He asks, and the challenge in his voice makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“Jake…” You warn, “Give it.”

“Take it.” He sets his jaw squarely in a smirk, reaching his hand over his head and letting it dangle from his fingers, “You were teasin’ me like crazy earlier, doin’ that little strip tease. Now it’s my turn. If you want it, come and take it from me, darlin’.”

You wish you could say it’s not fair. But he’d given you your panties, let you cover the one part of yourself you hadn’t yet been bold enough to share with him, and you suppose you had shucked your bra off only to stir something between his legs. Once again you’re powerless against him, but this time it doesn’t feel so horrible.

You stand from the massage table, topless and covered only by your panties. He watches, his eyes hungry as you approach carefully, then you spring to your tiptoes and test the reach of your arm against his.

He darts backwards, keeping the garment out of your reach.

“Weak,” He criticizes your attempt, “You’ve gotta try harder than that.”

“You’re horrid,” You laugh, a sound you wouldn’t have expected to come out of your mouth in this moment, your bra being held hostage by Hangman, but it is, and it’s a freeing sound as you dash after him.

Your chest bounces as you dart around the room, chasing the strap of your pretty, lacy bra as he dangles it just out of your reach. You jump against his side and nearly manage to grab hold of it, but he swaps hands and it’s out of range again. You lunge for it without jumping around again, your feet clumsily stepping on his own and stunning him just enough to where he stays still, your fingers finally closing around the strap.

“Got it.” You breathe, panting slightly as you stand on Jake’s toes, your bare chest against his.

It’s cold with almost no clothing on, and your nipples have stiffened in the chilly air. They brush against his toned chest, sending pinpricks of stimulation through your body straight down to your core. It’s a thrilling position, your tits slammed against his pecs, his eyes alight with something dangerous as he stares down at you. You’re both still holding onto your bra, his predatory gaze never dropping from your face even if you know it wants to.

His free hand clasps onto your side. Not your hip, not low enough to touch your panties, but beneath where your breasts hang freely. It makes you gasp, a sharp inhale into lungs that suddenly seem too small. You freeze instead of fleeing, your weight still digging into his feet where you stand on them.

His head inches a fraction towards yours, and yours towards his. It’s lustful, it’s not like when you’d breathed each other’s air last night, it’s not sweet or sincere or gentlemanly. It’s his bare hand against your bare side, it’s your bare chest against his, it’s his lips parting, aiming to press against your own.

It’s frenzied, even if it’s slow, one of you a lit match and the other a pool of gasoline. You’ll burst the second your lips come into contact, you know it, and muffled voices behind the door act like a gust of wind that extinguishes the flame and blows the gasoline towards the gutter.

You barely get to fasten your bra before the door opens again, another pair of employees coming to clean up after you, you presume. Jake shields your near-naked form with his broad body, letting you struggle with your romper behind his impressive build.

“We’re not quite done yet,” His voice is kind, but stern, “Give us one more minute?”

“I’m sorry!” The closest employee yelps, and you feel bad for him- you won’t cause any problems, you won’t get him fired, “Let me- let us leave, We're so sorry. We didn’t know there was anyone in here!”

“That’s okay!” You call after them, your voice rough from the haze you’d fallen into during your massage, but the panicked employees are gone before they can hear you. The door shuts again behind him, but you’re already dressed, and the moment is well and truly over.

“You ready?” Jake asks, and you nod, your bag on your shoulder and your phone in your pocket. Neither of you speaks about the explosion you’d narrowly avoided, the way your blood had simmered beneath your skin at being so close to each other. The way your perked nipples had raked over his chest, the way his head had ducked towards yours, the way you’d wanted to fuck him-

The daylight outside of the spa nearly blinds you. You curse yet again that you don’t have a hat, but the sun is making its way towards the horizon again, and it promises a more orange hue than a bright white one as you make your way quietly back down towards the beach, towards your ship, towards your bed where you can roll over and go to sleep without inciting another incident with Jake.

He walks beside you without comment, and another one of those silences grows between you. The ones that are almost hopeful, the ones that make you think maybe you could throw your doubts to the wind and take your leap of faith, even if it petrifies you.

Jake’s hand tugs briefly on your elbow, and you slow your steps towards the shore.

“Look.” He motions to a booth beside you, and you notice a string of airborne gondolas stretching over your heads, loading just to your left, “Do you want an aerial view of the village?”

It looks sturdy, not like a tourist trap, though you’re sure that’s how they make all of their money. You nod, traipsing across the sandy stone beneath your feet, and grab cash for the both of your rides before Jake can even touch his wallet.

“Enjoy,” The operator nudges you both hastily towards an open gondola that descends mere seconds after you step up, and Jake helps hoist you into the tram before it can take off again without you.

You’re rocked a bit by the abrupt boarding, and you fall against your seat with wide eyes. You suppose you understand why they can’t stop the system for every passenger boarding, or it’d never run smoothly, but you’re lucky to have made it inside without falling back to the earth.

“Damn,” Jake notes, and you nod your agreement. You turn your head towards the window of the gondola, peering out over the ocean as you slowly and steadily rise above it.

The view is breathtaking.

Your eyes rove over the sea, sunlight glinting across its waters and shining with the reflections of palm trees. The water is so crystal clear that you wonder if you’ll spot any of the sea creatures you’d seen while snorkeling earlier, but you’re momentarily distracted by the overhead view of your ship as you begin circling the village you’re docked at.

The only sound is the whirring of the sky trams’ motors, and it’s nothing but a quiet hum, leaving the inside of your gondola a vacuum for sound. Jake shuffles in his seat, and it sounds louder than it should because of the silence you’re suffocating in.

“Pretty view,” He notes, and your eyes drift to where he’s watching you with a soft gaze.

“It’s gorgeous.” You back off from where you’d been unwittingly pressing yourself up against the side of the gondola, your feet stretched out and tangled with Jake’s on the floor of the small tram, “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“Are you still having a good time?”

Your voice is nervous, self-conscious, and it makes Jake’s brows furrow. Not entirely, but you can see the concern written on his face as he leans towards you in the gondola.

“I am. When you’re not running away from me, that is.”

You remember the mud bath, and your cheeks flare.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” You hum regretfully, “I’m sorry. I’m- not trying to make this complicated.”

“It’s already complicated.” Jake laments, biting the inside of his cheek.

“It is,” You nod slowly, your hands clasped together, “But- I’m glad you’re not… miserable. I don’t want you to be.”

“Are you?” He asks, tilting his chin towards you, his voice just as worried as yours is.

“No. I’m not miserable,” Your gaze falls towards the floor, “Not- not because of you. I’m making myself miserable, I think. I’m thinking too much.”

“You know what Mav says.” Jake smiles, and even the soft curve of his lips is enough to send your stomach twisting, even if its not his usual shit-eating grin, “Don’t think, just do.”

No. Don’t. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.

“If I did that,” Your voice is raw, wry, “I’d spiral out of control.”

There’s a beat of that thick silence in the air before Jake speaks again, “I asked earlier if you were mad at me.”

“I said no,” You remind him, glancing up guiltily at him through your lashes, “I’m sorry if I’m acting like I am.”

“Do you hate me?” He asks, and the way he says it makes you wonder how long he’s wanted to ask you that for.

You hesitate before answering, but not because you have to think about it.

“No.” You state, meeting his eyes so he knows you mean it, “I don’t hate you, Jake.”

“Do you love me?”

That’s the harder question to answer.

Sitting there, in the tiny, windowed gondola, bathed in the orange hue of the setting sun, you ask yourself: do you love Jake?

You’d have reluctantly agreed before now, that yes, even if he’s a dick, he’s your friend in some capacity, so yes, you suppose you love him.

But you know that’s not how he means it, not as a friend, not as a teammate, not as a drinking buddy, but as something far more. And the worst part is that you can’t say no with the same conviction as you had earlier, even if you desperately want to.

It’s no use telling yourself not to fall in love with Jake Seresin over and over and over again, because you have a horrible, sinking feeling that you already have.

“I don’t know.” You manage to scrounge up, and it’s the most damning thing you’ve said all week. Your eyes drop from his, and you try to forget the expression you’d seen in them, scarily akin to hope. Your answer weighs heavy on the gondola, and it dips downwards for your slow descent back to the beach. You shift your eyes back towards the sunset for the remainder of your trip, watching it disappear behind the palm trees that line the shore as you finally touch down.

“Get ready.” Jake reminds you, and he takes your hand in his only to tug you out of the tram before it rises again. You stumble a few steps away from it, and keep your head ducked towards the ground as you mumble a thank you towards the operator. You start a slow, silent trek towards the shoreline, feeling frighteningly devoid of any control you thought you’d gained over the situation earlier. You’re spinning out again, lost in your own head, and you feel your knees threatening to buckle beneath your weight as you cross the cobblestone streets.

A brush of Jake’s pinky finger against your own stops your spiral, and your eyes dart to where your hands bump gently together as you walk side-by-side towards the beach.

Another step, another brush, another step, another brush, until Jake’s hand drifts through the air towards yours, his palm finally catching your own and his fingers curling to seal the deal.

You take a deep breath, close your own fingers into the embrace, and lift your head so that you can see the sunset as you walk hand-in-hand with Jake.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

137 notes · View notes