#miles @friendlyfaded | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingerbreadmonsters · 3 years ago

Text

get in, loser!

or: you can brush my hair, undress me everywhere...

gn!reader, a little bit risqué but no explicit nsfw, a shameless excuse for flirty cutesy fluff. at last, it's here! a quick round of applause for our sponsors: @tiredandsleepyx for providing the wonderful prompt, @glassbearclock for being the finest fashion consultant i could wish for, @aeruh for an exceptional anecdote about silk sheets, and @haradasaya for posing the excellent question "but what if they sneezed?"! oh, and this fic would not have been possible without the incredible miles @friendlyfaded , who wrote a little something you might know called Howling at the Moon that inspired the vast bulk of Gavin's various chatter - it only felt right to include a little celebrity cameo in return hehe 💕💕 by far the longest, most dialogue-heavy thing i've ever written, and i don't apologise for it in the slightest. gavin striking a pose (there's nothing to it!) in just over 9600 words.

(the prompt in question: “The Freelancer going shopping for clothes and coming back with virtually nothing for themselves but like 20 things for Gavin because they spent the entire time thinking how good he’d look in each piece of clothing. Gavin is now sporting clothes of all types as Freelancer practically eats him up with their eyes.”)

“Love, come on, it’s hot out here!”

If he ever actually lets you in, he is for it.

You’ve been knocking - and knocking, and knocking - for the past five minutes. Why? Someone, it seems, appears to have forgotten how these sorts of jokes go, and doesn’t seem to be planning on answering the door any time soon. It would probably be a lot funnier if you hadn’t just got back from several hours of shopping, but these bags are far too heavy, and it's far too hot out here to be dealing with this right now.

(You knew this was going to happen. “Oh, don’t worry about taking a key, deviant. I can let you in.” “I’ll be back from lunch with Vincent way before then, it’ll be fine.” “I don’t mind, love, I’ll be right here.” He’s probably in the middle of a Mario Kart tournament or something and has the volume up too loud to hear you. Bastard.)

“Hello?!”

Nothing.

“Gavin?”

Still nothing.

“Oh, for the love- Gavin!”

That’s it. If he keeps you waiting any longer, you’re kicking this godforsaken door down, consequences be damned. Where did you put your phone again? He’s always got his somewhere nearby, and he normally has the ringer right up, so he should be able to hear you if you call.

It’s ringing, so presumably it’s gone through. The breeze has died down a bit while you’ve been out here, and the humidity’s just stifling. Come on, pick up…

“Surprise, it’s Gavin. I’m a little… preoccupied right now - why don’t you leave me something nice to come back to?”

Yep, you’re kicking the door down. And he’s doing the washing up later. By hand. You’re just trying to figure out which bit of the door you’re going to aim at when-

“Ah, you’re back already!” Familiar footsteps get louder, as do the occasional curses when he trips over a stray shoe. He doesn’t wear shoes inside the house (thoroughly shamed out of him by Damien), and you can hear the clattering as last night’s heels - or possibly this morning’s heels, depending on where he and Vincent went for lunch earlier - go skidding across the floor. “Why didn’t you knock?”

(Dishes. By hand. And if it was Mario Kart, then he’s sleeping on the sofa tonight.)

“Welcome home, devia- oh, my. Someone’s been busy.”

One unimpressed eyebrow lifts. “What gave it away?”

“Well…” He gives you a shamelessly over-the-top once-over, lips curling into his signature smirk, eyes lingering appreciatively over where your shirt clings to your waist. “The bags, probably.”

“Really? Clever boy.” The good-natured sarcasm isn’t lost on him, but it doesn’t stop Gavin from preening just a little bit, ducking his head slightly and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt - even though you tease him about it sometimes, it’s too cute for you to ever want him to stop. Honestly, he makes a lovely sight draped across the doorframe, but it would be really nice if he could budge just a bit to the left so you could actually get inside. “Yeah, th-”

“Under your eyes, I mean. Did you sleep okay? Mmm, don’t tell me I kept you up too late last n- ghh!”

“Menace.” You say it fondly, although not without cause. He retreats, whining loudly, out of the doorway and towards the living room, hand clasped protectively over his side where you’d elbowed him out of the way. “If anyone was going to know about my sleeping habits, it would be you, wouldn’t it? Considering how heavily you feature in all of them.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, throwing himself emphatically onto the sofa and pouting up at the ceiling.

“Gavin?”

His necklace clinks as he twists away from you, throwing a lazy arm over his face that almost - almost! - hides his grin. He’s such an idiot.

“Hmmm… no.”

“‘No’?” You dump your various shopping bags over by the TV and walk up to where he’s flopped face-down over the arm of the sofa, arms dangling down off the side, reaching down to scritch your nails over his scalp. “Silver tongue’s run out of things to say?”

“Wounded…” he moans into the cushions, “By my own lover’s hands, no less!” Somehow, that still doesn’t stop him from relaxing into your touch, nudging his head up against said hands when you slow down like he thinks you'll pull away. "Alas, I fear I may never recover, unless…"

Yep, here it comes. "Unless…?"

His head snaps up (wow, that can't be a comfortable angle) as he gives you a big, dazzling smile, resting his chin on your hand as it traces down from his hair to his jaw. He's almost blinding, eyes bright and mischievous, soft hair ruffled and falling into his face. From here, he looks like something out of a magazine, like everything around him goes into soft focus, fades away. It happens all the time - you’ve thought about asking if he’s turning on the charm on purpose, but it’s probably just the effect he has on you.

"Unless you kiss it better.” He tilts his face into your palm, that rakish grin as irresistible as ever, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to lean down and kiss him senseless.

His lips are soft and smooth against yours, and you can taste the strawberries-and-cream chapstick he 'borrows' from you as he drags his teeth gently across your bottom lip. Your eyes are closed, but you smile against him as you feel him fumble to prop himself up against the cushions - in retaliation, he gives you a mock-offended little nip from this new angle before lightly teasing his tongue against yours. The faint flavour of orange juice, and is that grenadine? Pink lemonade? Your hands run along his jaw, slowly thumbing over the bone before tipping back and winding into his hair, and the satisfied sigh that drifts between you is enough to make you forget about the blazing heat outside, the stuffy airlessness of the shopping centre, the ache in your feet after walking all morning. Everything is him, cool and calm and good, and everything is right.

Well, almost everything.

“Mmmm-mmf!” He lurches forward in surprise, nose bumping awkwardly against yours as his eyes fly open - luckily, he has the presence of mind to avoid clacking your teeth together, but it’s a close call. “What was-”

“This?” You pull back up, withdrawing your hand from his back pocket, leaning over him as you wave the object in question in front of his face. You’re more than a little bit breathless, but if the deer-in-headlights expression he’s currently wearing is any indication, your death glare hasn’t suffered for it. “That’s a good question, actually. Gavin, what is this?”

“...My phone?”

“Mm-hmm. And what, exactly, do we do with phones?”

You can practically see the wheels turning as he tries to figure out what answer you’re looking for, and you wonder idly for a second how anyone thinks this man has any sort of poker face at all.

“Shit, did you call me?” Ooh, he knows he’s put his foot in it now. “Love, I swear-”

“What do you use it for?”

"Calling people…?"

Your eyes narrow. "And?"

“Answering my very gorgeous, vastly talented, incredibly wonderful, painfully attractive, endlessly generous, kind, sweet, caring, forgiving, merciful darling?”

You drop a quick kiss against his temple before handing the phone back to him as he pushes up to sit properly. “Glad we understand each other.”

“I’m sorry, deviant,” Hot pink nails click against the screen while you’re coming round to sit next to him, and the sheepish look he gets when he sees the umpteen missed calls from you is truly a thing of beauty. “I put it on silent while I was out because Hux was going off on one in the group chat after practice, and you know how Vincent gets when he’s interrupted in the middle of a story…”

(He’s got a point - apparently, there’s been a lot of drama about one of the second years on the team which, much to your collective delight, Hux has been doing his bit to keep the group chat informed about. You think it’s something about one of the older students going on an exchange year this year, and their replacement mouthing off about how they always deserved this spot on the team, they’re such good friends with everyone, they’re so fucking talented, whatever, whatever.)

(Lasko thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, mostly because he’s fairly sure he taught this particular problem student in his DAMN 101 class last year, and has been regaling you all with tales of this guy’s various failed attempts to impress whatever unlucky student happened to be sitting next to him. According to Lasko, he’d once said something after class about bringing someone back to his house and ordering pizza while they got to know each other, haha. Fortunately, the student he was trying to flirt with was having absolutely none of it, and had responded by pulling their phone out of their pocket with a “Hey, babe? Can you bring something back from work for dinner tonight?”, before side-eyeing the idiot next to them and loudly announcing into the microphone, “Yeah, I’m really craving pizza. With you, my boyfriend. At home, where I live with you. Yeah. Tonight, in our bed.” You’re not great at telepathy, but Damien popped into Lasko’s head while he was retelling this particular story and had to be carried over to the sofa in a fit of laughter at the look on the guy’s face as the student got up, picked up their obviously-borrowed Max’s Rustic Pizza branded jacket, and swept victoriously out of the classroom.)

“Fair enough, fair enough,” you concede. Vincent does get a bit sulky if he doesn’t get his moment. “And you didn’t hear me knocking for ten minutes because…?”

He slides his arm around your waist and presses an apologetic kiss to your neck, looking guiltily towards the Switch over by the TV. You’re not surprised at all. “Did you have the volume up again?”

"Hux says it’s more immersive when it’s louder!”

“We’re going to get another noise complaint!”

“Deviant,” he purrs into your skin, "we have those wards up for a reason. Trust me, the neighbours don't hear anything I don't want them to."

"...Such as?"

"Well, maybe I want to show off some of the lovely sounds you m- nononostop! It - haahh - deviant! It tickles!" You both know that he could easily turn the tables on you, but you let him take your tickle attack as penance for his crimes. He squirms backwards into the cushions when you dig your fingers into his sides, pained giggles spilling out as he throws his head back against the cushions, and all is forgiven.

Once the dust has settled and he's comfortably tucked back against your throat, you start to twirl your fingers through his hair again. He huffs contentedly, eyes long since closed, and you're loathe to disturb what looks like the beginnings of a very pleasant catnap. However, you know for a fact that he doesn't really like sleeping in his day clothes (it feels all weird and uncomfortable when he wakes up), and you've got some things you think he might enjoy more anyway.

"Gavin?" He cracks one eye open, mumbles something nonsensical into your shoulder and proceeds to ignore you entirely. "C'mon, you're gonna get a backache sleeping like that."

"Incubi can't g-"

"Yes, sweetheart, you can get backaches, and I know because you kept complaining about it after we fell asleep in Lasko's living room the other day. Do you want that again?"

"Hmph." He grimaces at the memory, finally giving in and letting you escape his grasp. "Fine, fine. Did you get those shoes you wanted? The red ones?"

"Didn't have my size," you grumble, picking your way knee-deep into the pile of shopping bags by the TV. Which one was it again? "You were right, the black ones were nice in the picture, but too boring when you actually put them on."

"Mm, the red is much more exciting. Can you order the right size online now that you've tried them on in a different colour?"

"Yeah, I did it on the bus coming back. They should get here at some point next week, I think." Where the hell did you put it?

"Oh, that's good. I haven't got anything planned for Thursday onwards, so I can stay and get the delivery if you like. I can even-"

"You are not going to do anything to the delivery driver!" He at least has the decency to backtrack, rasing his hands in mock surrender as he comes over to investigate your heap of purchases. "We're already on thin ice with the pizza guy, we don't need to be that house for the poor FedEx guy as well!"

"Okay, okay, I'll suppress my evil ways…" He dodges the bag in your hand with grace and a smile as you swing it half-heartedly at his shins. "The FedEx driver is safe. For now."

It's definitely here somewhere, but… Ah, there it is! You pluck the little square-shaped bag from its hiding spot, tissue paper inside crinkling, just as you notice-

"Don't!" His hand freezes, fingertips just brushing the top of the closest bag. "Hold on a minute while I just..."

"I'm holding, I'm holding!"

You've clearly piqued his curiosity - he cranes his neck to try and see what's inside, but he's slightly too far away to make any of it out. "I have to say, I'm intrigued, love. You're feeling a little bit flustered - ooh, did you get something you don't want me to see?"

"It's not that…" You grab as much as you can carry and beckon him after you, watching his eyebrows raise as you usher him into the bedroom. "I don't think there's any of it that I don't want you to see, to be honest."

"Oh, is that so? Going to give me a little show, deviant? You know how much I like to watch. And it looks like you've got all sorts of things to show me." He's already stretched out expectantly across the bed, relaxed against the headboard, which makes his little oof when you dump your armful of shopping on his stomach that much more satisfying.

"I beg to differ, actually. I think it's you who's got a show to put on, love."

"Huh?" God, has anyone ever told him how cute he looks when he's confused? He always tilts his head to the right, eyes narrowing and lips parting slightly as he tries to figure out what he's missed. "I… I thought you were out clothes shopping today?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Didn't you, y'know, get anything to wear?"

"Yeah."

"So…?"

"Most of it's, um…" It shouldn't be embarrassing to admit, but it kind of is, you know? Especially with how he's looking at you, all confused. "Most of it's for you?"

He doesn't seem to really know what to do with himself, mouth opening but no words coming out. To be honest, he looks as embarrassed as you feel, although you're not sure why - it's not as if it's unusual for you to get him a little something, if you're out and you see something he might like. It's just what you do, right? You see a pretty top, or a pair of socks, or a cool hoodie, and you think 'oh, Gavin would love that' or 'oh, that would really suit him' - what are you supposed to do, not spoil him? Impossible.

(Sam, one of Vincent's friends, had joked last time you’d met that you spoil Gavin too much. You'd looked pointedly towards his mate, leaning on his shoulder, dressed head to toe in his clothes, and he'd promptly taken it back. Touché.)

"Deviant," he starts, a little bit weakly, "how much of this is mine and how much is yours, exactly?"

You fish that little square bag back out from where it's resting on his hip, and gesture to the rest with your other hand. "There you go."

He bluescreens for a second, before-

"I- you- what? All of this? Darling, you can't, it's too much, you really didn't need - mmf!" If Lasko were here, you think he'd be proud of you for using Gavin's signature shut-up technique against him. It really is very effective.

Once he's given up trying to protest into your mouth, you pull away slightly to rest your forehead against his. "I know, I know. You're right, I didn't need to. But I like to, and I want to, and I can afford it. So I did."

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the starstruck look on his face still not completely gone away. It’s almost like he’s… surprised, that you wanted to give him things, like he’s surprised that you thought of him while you were out. Why? Doesn't he know? Doesn't he know, how you think of him all the time? Doesn't he know, how your heart melts at the sight of him? Doesn't he know, when he says your happiness is the feeling he loves the most, that you know exactly what he means? You don’t need to be a demon to tell. When his eyes scrunch up into happy crescents as he smiles, when he gives you that smirk and you just know that he's about to say something to give Damien a conniption, the way he grabs your hand and laughs, full and deep and free - you could live forever on that sound alone.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want to spoil my pretty boyfriend?”

He shrugs, half-laughing under his breath, “I don’t deserve you, little voyeur.” Now, that won't do.

“You’re wrong,” you quietly declare. “You deserve everything I want to give you. Clothes, kisses, time, love, the whole fucking world if you’d let me. I just happen to be included in that.” He looks up at you, beautiful creature that he is, heart eyes and all, and it's too difficult to resist another kiss.

This one is shorter, impossibly softer, your tongue skimming just once over his lip before pulling away. "I love you. More than anything."

"As I love you, my deviant." He gives you that smile again, charming and wicked in equal measure, and it sounds like beloved, devoted, all I am is yours. "Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, I'd say I have some things to try on…"

You match his grin with your own as he gets to work, rifling through the mess of shopping on the bed with all the unfiltered excitement of a little boy on Christmas morning, and today is shaping up to be fantastic.

"Ooh, let's start with this!"

You've been watching Gavin scurry around the bedroom for the last twenty minutes, unpacking bags, shuffling through drawers, laying potential outfits out on the bed - it's always a production, when there's stuff to try on. He's having an absolute field day of it, too, if the happy little noises he makes every so often are any indication.

(To be totally honest, you're not sure if other demons do the same thing, or if it's just incubi, or if it's literally just Gavin - you're not even sure if he does it on purpose or involuntarily. You'd first noticed it not long after you met him, in that weird state where you were sort-of friends and sort-of roommates and sort-of hooking up. You might fall asleep against his chest, nestled together on the sofa in front of the TV, and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of quiet, satisfied purrs from underneath your head. The longer you've known him, the more you've noticed it - those contented little chirps he buries in your hair when you come home after a long day at DAMN, the playful hisses he levels at Hux in the middle of a round of Smash, the frustrated snarling from the kitchen as he forgets how to work the oven again. It's incredibly charming, somehow, and you feel very privileged to hear it.)

"Okay, I'm thinking this, then these shorts, maybe with the tights, maybe with the black sunhat?

Yeah, they all sound like good options. "I reckon start without the tights, and then add them if it's not enough." Early prediction: he's going to ditch the hat. He loves a good accessory as much as the next incubus, but he'll say something about how it's 'too busy' and 'cutting off the line' and axe it completely. You know how it goes.

"Right!" And just like that, it begins - his current shirt is discarded unceremoniously into the far corner of the room, and the pair of you get to work.

A few minutes later, he's examining his reflection as you do up the final few necklaces - for some reason, the clasps on some of these are unreasonably fiddly. He looks effortlessly gorgeous as usual, decked out in a high-necked, sleeveless burgundy crop top and black denim cutoff shorts. The jewellery is all gold (he can't stand burgundy and silver together, he says it's so blasé, darling) and a stack of necklaces sits atop the mesh panel across his collarbone.

"Mm, I like this! It's better without sleeves, don't you think? It makes the whole thing a lot more fun." True to form, he's benched the hat for now, although you're sure it'll be back before long. "Not the most groundbreaking thing you've ever seen, but I think it could be very versatile."

You agree, nodding as he compares handbags. "Definitely a useful one. Keep or return?"

"Oh, keep, absolutely," he throws over his shoulder, kicking off his shoes as he skips back to the bed, clearly ready for the next thing. "Love the mesh, plus the material is nice and soft - and so breathable! Now, what have we here…"

He holds up another pair of shorts, even shorter than before, light pink this time. "My goodness, love. There's hardly anything of these!" Cue the pearl-clutching. "What sort of demon do you think I am?"

"Oh, my favourite kind." You blink innocently, biting back a smirk, absolutely no idea what he's implying, no ulterior motives, not at all.

He leans forward for another kiss, smile to smile, and of course you give it to him, breaking only to pull the top over his head. What is that flavour on his tongue? "Is that… grenadine? What on earth did Vincent have you drinking?"

"Oh, it was lovely! Milo's mate recommended it when we went over a few weeks ago, do you remember? They didn't say what it was called, but it's vodka, strawberry liqueur, grenadine, lemonade, and a few other bits and pieces - you know, I'd never had it before but it goes down easy as anything. And it's pink! It's very pretty. There's still some in the kitchen if you want some…?"

"Wait, you made it at home?" God, how much has he had to drink today? "Thank goodness you can't get alcohol poisoning."

He pretends to lick his thumb and smooth his hair back - truly, a paragon of modesty. "One of my many natural advantages."

"And are those natural advantages going to get dressed any time soon?"

A plaintive sigh. "If they must, I suppose. Throw me the shirt?" It's a shame to see him cover up, but your thinking was absolutely right when you were out shopping - this shirt looks absolutely amazing on him. "See, I'm thinking that this colour needs silver jewellery instead…"

The colours are fantastic - a thin teal cotton with big white leaves all over, and the baby pink shorts are a perfect contrast. The cut is just right on him too, a sort of Hawaiian-ish style with short sleeves and a collar. This time, he's broken out the wedge sandals (the straw-coloured ones that you have no idea how he walks in) and a matching bag, and he's now testing out various pairs of oversized sunglasses.

(His jewellery collection is flipping enormous, and you're sorting through about five of six shallow drawers crammed full of rings and necklaces at once, not to mention all of the other boxes and drawers over by the vanity. Everything's a process, when it comes to accessorising, and it's lucky that both of you have got very good at knowing what the other likes and doesn't like to wear, otherwise this sort of thing would take hours.)

"So what were you drinking with Vincent, then? Blood, I assume."

He gives you a look - it's surprisingly effective, despite the fact that he's currently got about five pairs of sunglasses perched on his nose.

"Very funny, love. No, we were solidly on the Buck's fizz, thank you very much, although he did have a glass or two of blood every now and then."

It's not a surprise - Gavin can drink blood, from a purely nutritional perspective it's the same as any other kind of physical food for him, but he says he's not a particular fan of the taste. At least, not in significant quantities. "Wine glass not your style?"

"Oh, I was more than satisfied with the couple sitting across the lounge from us. They were having a wonderful conversation, I assure you, and they kept me very well fed. Unfortunately for them, Vincent and I have some rather unique skillsets, which may have led to some mostly-accidental eavesdropping - yes, it was an accident! He's got vampire hearing, he can't help it!"

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you hand him your selection of rings. "You're incorrigible, the pair of you."

"Oh, I know," he replies, "Isn't it wonderful? We're keeping the shorts and the top by the way, they're brilliant."

"Aren't they?" They'd looked okay on the mannequin, but you'd had a feeling he'd be stunning in them. "I'm absolutely wearing the shirt to the beach next weekend, by the way."

"What if I wanted to wear it?" he complains, but there's no heat behind it. "Nah, it'll look better on you."

You copy his thumb-lick-hair-smooth gesture, haughty as you like. "I know. Anyway, how was your eavesdropping, then?"

"Well, I couldn't quite hear the actual words, but Vincent said the gentleman closest to us had just been given a promotion at work, and I got the distinct impression that he and his partner are having a lovely time rewarding him, so to speak." His eyebrows aren't visible behind the sunglasses, but you know for a fact that he's doing the eyebrow thing that he thinks is roguish but is actually just kind of cute. "They had some excellent plans, too. On an unrelated note, do you remember where I left that silk tie from Monday?"

"Hanging up by the door, I think," you reply. It's always nice when he wears a tie - it makes kissing much more exciting. "Should I ask?"

"Mm, you can. I fear we might not finish this little fashion show for some time if you do, though." Don't look, don't look, if you look then you definitely won't be getting anything done for the rest of the day…

"Better get a move on then, handsome," you say, pointedly addressing the wardrobe on your right. "Wouldn't want you to get too distracted, would we?"

The (when did he get undressed? Because he's very much undressed) incubus behind you clearly disagrees, pressing his chest against your back as his hands drift gently up and down your arms, light pressure against the skin. "Oh, I don't know about that. I like to think I can be a very enjoyable distraction…" The words melt against you, sliding down your back, warm and slow, pooling in the bowl of your pelvis, and it would be so easy to give in. To turn around and let him walk you backwards towards the bed, clothes long forgotten, until the backs of your legs hit the mattress and you can pull him down to meet you there. It's tempting, incredibly so, and you nearly, nearly give in.

That is, until he sneezes directly past your face.

"Wh- Gavin!" You jerk out of his hold, watching as he collapses into a laughing heap against the bed. "What the fuck?" Going through all of his jewellery drawers must have upset all the dust in here or something, because it's probably not the alcohol. He holds his liquor better than most, and it tends to make him clingy, not make him sneeze.

"Sorry, deviant," he chokes out, one hand blindly fumbling for a tissue from the bedside table as he pushes himself back up to half-standing. "Not - ha - not really sure what happened there."

Idiot. Your idiot. "Just get dressed, loverboy," you quip, holding up two handfuls of dark fabric from the bed. "You can distract me later. Dress or blazer?"

"Dress!" Speaking of distractions - almost before you can blink, he's right back to trying on clothes as if he'd never even mentioned ties, silk or otherwise. From the flatlay, it looks like this outfit's going to have a lot of layers, which is an… interesting choice for the middle of summer. A white dress shirt, too. Maybe he's planning ahead for the winter or something? Luckily, it seems like silver or gold is fine for this one, so you're spared another five minutes of rifling through jewellery boxes. Small mercies.

"Do you want the leggings under the dress as well?"

"Hmm… it's a bit hot for the leggings, I think. I do want to try with the boots though, the black ones - the ones on the left. Other left, other left - with the laces down the front? Yeah, those ones." They're heavy, all chunky soles and gold eyelets, but surprisingly comfortable - you like wearing them whenever you go and pick Gavin up from his Thursday lectures, mostly because they make a nice sound on whatever floor they've got in the Corsair building.

"Ready?"

"Yep!" He steps into the dress as you crouch down and hold it in front of him, hot pink nails adjusting the fabric at the front as you stand to do up the zip on the side. It's unexpectedly weighty, thick black cotton right down to mid-shin, but the drape is lovely and the sleeveless v-neck exposes the crisp lines of the stark white shirt.

"Sleeves rolled up or down? I'm thinking down… Cufflinks?" He fiddles with the buttons at the wrist until you wave his hand away, doing them up for him while he watches.

"Not sure, I think you're fine with or without, really. It could have sunglasses, though."

"Yes!" he gasps, a pulse of psychokinesis flying across the room as a pair of massive, round sunglasses rocket past you and into his other hand. "Oh, you're a genius - I love it!"

He steps quickly into the boots and does them up with another dose of psychokinesis, doing a little spin in front of the mirror and giggling as the skirt flares out around his calves, twirling himself under your arm as you reach out to hold his hand. Sweetheart.

"Keep?"

He nods enthusiastically, all bubbly and bright. "Keep!" And with that, it's onto the next one.

He's in the middle of exchanging the dress for a short, blue crop top when you remember. "I forgot to actually ask, earlier. How was lunch with Vincent? Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's good, he's good," he says through a mouthful of fabric. "I thought for sure he'd want to do something in the evening, but he insisted that we go to the Rosewood - I think he's been keeping traditional vampire hours for a while, so he's not had the chance to do this sort of daytime thing? Obviously, he had to come in via the underground entrance, so I met him in the lobby. It's not changed a bit since we were there last, and the pianist in the lounge was marvellous as usual. Do you remember her - the Illusory who the poor bartender has a crush on?"

"The one who played that lovely Shostakovich? I remember her, but I don't know about the bartender." You hold up two necklaces as you speak - as expected, he nods towards the gold locket. He doesn't really have a preference between silver and gold as such, but this particular locket is definitely a favourite.

"Oh, I say she makes the best peach daiquiri you'll ever have, but Vincent prefers the ones at that empowered hole-in-the-wall place downtown, the one that Hux likes? In any case, the petits fours were absolutely wonderful, especially the little strawberry tarts, although I thought the tea menu could do with a revamp - you must come with us next time, they've got the most delightful silvertip blend that-"

"Darling."

"Huh?"

"Vincent." It doesn't happen often, but he does like to ramble when he's a bit sloshed. Bless.

"Yes, yes, of course… Oh, it was marvellous, seeing him again - I couldn't believe how long it's been! At least two months, maybe three. It only felt five minutes since we'd seen each other - he's just the same as ever, I'm telling you. He seems to be settling into things with his new progeny, which I can see is a relief for all involved. Apparently they've been talking to Sam a lot about it - do you remember Sam? The one who couldn't keep his hands off his mate the whole time we were at Milo's. Pass me the trousers?"

"Mm, I know." You do remember Sam, although you're not sure he was the only one having trouble with that when you went over. There's definitely a joke to be made here about glass houses and stone-throwing, because to be honest, you and Gavin were decidedly not much better.

(Lasko had met Milo at the Games, apparently, although you're not exactly sure how. In any case, they seem to have become firm friends, and your little crowd has been invited over by Milo and his mate several times to hang out. They seem like really lovely people, although it was a bit of a shock that first time when a handful of Milo's pack turned up and a not-insignificant number of them seemed to recognise Gavin very well.)

(Of course, Gavin doesn't kiss and tell, but the look you'd shared had told you everything you needed to know. At the very least, it was nice to know that most of them had some idea of what Gavin can be like - the 7/11 story wouldn't surprise them too much. Speaking of the 7/11 story, you didn't miss the look in Milo's mate's eye when you told it - something tells you that next time you go in there, you should probably tip the cashier. A lot. You have it on good authority that Milo and his mate can be quite the handful. Or maybe just handsy. Either works.)

Milo's friend Asher had taken it with remarkable grace, only blinking in surprise for a few seconds before resuming his enthusiastic hello to the pair of you - as did Sam's mate, who made a fantastic joke about jacks and masters of all trades that you're definitely going to have to steal. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for their Alpha, David, who took one look at Gavin before immediately deciding he needed to make a beeline for the kitchen and get something a lot stronger to drink.

(This had immediately backfired, because this just left Gavin and David's mate - is their name actually 'Angel', or does he just call them that a lot? You couldn't tell - to introduce themselves, and they'd hit it off right away. In fact, they've somehow sweet-talked David into joining you and Gavin on a double date next weekend - you're very excited to see what that mischievous grin of theirs has got in store.)

In short: yes, you do know Sam.

"Well, anyway, Vincent's been telling me all about what's been happening with the clan - did you know that the masquerade is coming up again? He said the tickets should come in the mail as per usual, but apparently William hasn't said anything about the theme yet, so we have to keep an eye on that… Oh, and do you remember that professor who covered your Pre-Intermediate Elemental Command class a few months ago? Miles, I think his name was - we'll have to ask Lasko about him, I had no idea that he and Vincent knew each other! He didn't say how, but I'm told he and Lasko get on very well, so you mustn't let me forget to mention it at dinner tomorrow, alright?"

"I'll remind you. Shoes?"

"Ooh, I don't know… Not the blue ones. Are the white trainers too boring?"

"I mean, they are a bit, but the trousers are the important thing. I don't think anyone's really looking at the shoes. You could borrow Damien's, the shiny silver ones?"

"Yes! They would be perfect - ah, but would they clash with the gold necklace? Actually, I don't really care, it's busy enough with the orange and blue, plus the mirrored aviators as well. What's a few mixed metals on top of that, you know?"

The orange and blue combination is certainly a statement - a ribbed, navy blue crop top and a pair of orange cargo pants, with just a neat slice of waist peeking out in between. The trousers are a little too long on him, but it's nothing that can't be fixed.

"Comfy?" He certainly looks it, all soft cotton and elastic. You loop your arm around his waist, settling against that exposed strip of skin around his middle, and pull him towards you until his arms slip around you in return, and his head tips to rest against your shoulder.

"Oh, very. A definite keep, I think." A quick squeeze around your waist and a kiss to the top of your shoulder. "And the outfit's not bad, either."

"Yeah? Mine or yours?"

"What's mine is yours, love. Didn't you know?"

"I know." You lean over to kiss the top of his head, just once. Maybe twice. And maybe a few more times after that. "I also know that that's why I keep having to buy so much strawberry chapstick."

"I, uh-" He splutters for a second, before conceding. "Okay, yeah. Maybe. But you can't say you don't enjoy the taste."

"Do I? Well, I don't know. I think I'd better try some more."

Eagerly, you nudge him backwards until he's properly cradled in your arms, dipping down to kiss him as he clings to your waist and your shoulder. He doesn't say it, but you know how much he loves these sorts of classically romantic, fairytale moments - bathing in your affection, sweet and pure and true. It doesn't matter where you are. For him, the feelings are always the same. For him, your feelings are always the same.

He melts into your hold, letting you take the lead, whimpering softly as your tongue slips past his lips. In the end, you don't end up tasting much of the chapstick at all - the kiss gets deeper, hungrier, until you're both gasping for air, spit-slick and needy, burning heat in the still air of your bedroom.

"My offer from before still stands, you know," he murmurs against your lips. "Just say the word, love, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Well…" It's always difficult to tell him no. "Just a little longer," you say softly, glancing at the bed that's still heaped with clothes. "We can make a mess once we're done."

One perfect eyebrow arches. "Planning on making a mess, are we?"

"Oh, only if you're good." His breath hitches for a moment, eyelids fluttering as you drag him back in for just one more before pulling away. "There's still a few more things I want to see you in, first."

He makes some sort of garbled noise that you take to mean 'such as?', although it doesn't get very far as he's immediately smacked in the face with the bundle of multicoloured fabric you've chucked across the room. "Same sandals as earlier?"

Once he's free of his fabric prison, he nods, clearly feeling the need for a little more efficiency now that there's a prize at stake. "If you wouldn't mind. And the hat, too - with the ribbon!"

He's had that hat for ages, one of those light-coloured floppy beach hat things with the big round brim that falls elegantly over one eye, the same sunglasses as before peeking out from underneath. The dress fits him even better than you'd thought - a long, flowy maxi dress silhouette in thin cotton, shirred across the bodice and finishing just above his ankle with a hidden slit up to mid-thigh.

"Oh, the print looks amazing! Very beachy." It's a familiar colour combination - big blue and orange flowers printed across the white fabric, in a sort of watercolour-esque style. He's not normally a fan of smaller prints (something about them being 'too basic', like he's never walked into Lasko's DAMN 101 class in a white crop top and jeans, sunglasses perched atop his head, Starbucks in one hand and obnoxiously oversized handbag in the other - because he has, you've seen the photos, he looks annoyingly fantastic), so this one is right up his alley.

(Fun fact: you're not allowed to say that particular expression out loud anymore, on pain of death, courtesy of Damien. The one time Hux had made the mistake of saying it to Lasko when Gavin was in the room, you'd seen that smirk on Gavin's face from across the room that you know guarantees trouble as he leant over to Lasko, and frantically signalled to Damien - he'd been forced to basically rugby-tackle Gavin over the side of the sofa to get him to shut up, but alas, it was too late. The phrase 'We can talk about what might be up your alley a little later, don't you think?' has never been uttered since, and likely never will be again for fear of divine - well, Damien's - retribution.)

"Right?" He does a little twirl in the mirror as you speak, laughing as he has to grab the hat to stop it flying off his head. He's so adorable. "It moves nicely too, so it'll photograph well and it shouldn't be too hot to wear."

"What do you mean, too hot?" Ever the gentleman, Gavin pouts at you over his shoulder, although it's partially hidden by the frill over the strap. "Aren't I always?"

You sigh, not unkindly. He loves this joke. "Yes, my love, you're always very hot, I promise."

A big, cheesy grin gleams at you from under the brim of the (really, it's almost ridiculously big) hat. "That's what I thought. Anyway, keep! Now I can wear this to the beach next weekend. We can wear matching shoes!"

You sigh, again. "Only if you hold my hand the whole time. Those things are a death trap!" They're, like, four or five inches (not counting the platform!) of solid cork and you don't dare attempt stairs in them - if he wants you downstairs, he can carry you or he can damn well wait.

"Fine, fine," he says, pulling the dress up and over his head, folding it back up into a neat little square. "But I always hold your hand anyway, so really what's the difference?"

(He's right - any time there's an opportunity for him to be arm in arm or holding your hand, he probably will be. He especially likes to swing your arm while he holds your hand, and if Caelum's with you, he gets to swing your arm and Caelum's too.)

(If there's nobody around, Caelum gets to walk in between you and Gavin, but that's not very often. It tends to get a few strange looks seeing as he's, well, invisible.)

"Last one!" He reaches over to the final flatlay and smiles giddily, all aflutter as he tries to decide which bit to put on first. The trousers, the bandeau, the shoes… Oh, it's all just too much, isn't it? "I like the look of this…"

"Actually…" you add sheepishly, "I have one last thing to give you."

Gavin freezes - well, as much as he can with one foot caught halfway in a trouser leg. "Deviant," he gently chastises, although the effect is lost slightly as he's hopping awkwardly on one leg trying to balance. "You know you really don't have to."

"Of course I don't. Didn't we just have this conversation?" You offer your elbow to help him balance, and he takes it gratefully. "But I said I want to spoil you, and I will. And anyway, maybe I want to wear them too. You telling me not to buy myself pretty clothes?"

You can practically hear his brain ticking as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. "Well, no, but-"

"Good. Now, jacket?" He nods, threading his arms through the sleeves as you hold it, although he's got that look in his eye that generally means he's plotting something. "I'm glad the bandeau fits - I was worried I'd picked the wrong size."

"No, no, not at all! It's just right, and with the velvet? This blue? It's deliciously soft, as well - couldn't have chosen better myself, darling. And it works with or without the top!"

You have to agree - he looks incredible. The blazer is a rich, dark blue velvet to match the trousers, and skims over his shoulders and waist just the way you like. Two lines of gold buttons follow the straight sides of the pockets over his hips, a high waist and wide leg, and it's all offset by the neat line of the floral bandeau across his chest in white, orange, and pink.

"Gold, I take it?" You pass him a handful of rings and necklaces, and after some deliberation, a bracelet or two. "That reminds me - did you remember to give Vincent that necklace he wanted to borrow? The flower one?"

"Nearly forgot, but I rifted back to get it," he admits as he covers his fingers in rings. "He said it's for somewhere he's taking his lovely, but I don't think he ever said where, exactly. Speaking of outings, I did tell him all about the, well, 'diplomatic incident', as Lasko puts it, which went down a treat. Ooh, he countered with a magnificent story about a new set of silk sheets and a rather unfortunate lack of friction - or were they satin? If I'm honest, the fizz might have been getting to us by that point so I can't really remember, you must get him to tell you when we see him at the masquerade - but I think I outdid him with the story about the pool party from a few weeks ago, the one about the telepath and…. did we ever decide if the boyfriend was a stealth, or just unempowered?" He strikes a few poses in the mirror as he chatters away happily, making faces in the mirror like the world's dorkiest supermodel. "Mm, he was delicious, though - so expressive! I told you we should have gone over and said hello!"

Reaching over to grab it from the shelf, you smack his arm lightly with the sunhat from earlier, gently admonishing. "We should not have said hello! The poor thing was already having enough trouble - he'd probably have keeled over!"

"Spoilsport. It wouldn't have mattered, I'm very good at mouth-to-mouth… Alright, alright - ow! I'm stopping!" He playfully bats away the hat, laughing at your faux-scowl. "He did make for a much-appreciated pick-me-up, you must admit."

"Fair enough, fair enough. I'm just glad the telepath didn't notice you snacking on the pair of them."

"Mm, it's why I tend to avoid telepaths if I can - it can get messy, and not in the fun way. Luckily, they were both a little preoccupied, so I don't think they noticed at all." He blows one last exaggerated kiss to his reflection before meeting your eyes in the mirror. "Sure I can't offer you my services, love? You do seem to enjoy m-mm?"

"Not yet."

Your finger pressing against his lips shuts him right up, eyes crossing slightly as he tries to focus on it, and you even manage to pull your hand away before he can either lick it (it's happened before, not always in a good way) or bite it (the chance is low, but never zero). Before he can say anything, you hold up the little square-shaped bag from its hiding spot next to the wardrobe and thrust it at his chest, ushering him out of the door and into the bathroom.

"Come out when you're ready!" you shout through the door (hopefully he was telling the truth about those soundproof wards from earlier), heading back down the corridor to sit on the bed and wait for him.

(About thirty seconds pass before you remember that you didn't give him any shoes - hurriedly, you grab them off the shelf and run back to the bathroom door, opening the door and chucking them inside without looking so you don't accidentally spoil the surprise. The muffled squawking from behind the door indicates that he probably wasn't expecting to be attacked by a flying pair of heels, but the lack of indignant whining confirms that you didn't hit him.)

(Probably.)

Five or ten minutes go by and you make yourself comfortable on the bed, moving a few stray bits of clothing and jewellery onto the vanity to deal with later. There's no discernible sound from the bathroom, so you can only assume that he's alright in there. Does he like it? Is it a bit much? The top is one he already owns that you'd had to chuck in the top of the bag while he wasn't looking (you didn't trust yourself to buy a new one), and obviously the shoes aren't from today, but the rest is all new.

He definitely knows what he's getting into, although you'd bet he was a little surprised at how much was in the bag when you'd handed it to him. You see, he's bought you a thing or two from that particular… establishment before, and (despite the rather steep price tag) there doesn't tend to be very much fabric at all. In order to conceal as much as possible, you'd had to stick the other parts of the outfit in the top of the bag while he'd been distracted getting changed - thankfully, none of it takes up too much room.

In any case, it shouldn't be anything too out of the ordinary for him, right? What's that sound? He wears all black sometimes, doesn't he? He's definitely worn this sort o-

"Mm, deviant. You know me far too well."

Oh.

(Seems like he does like it…?)

You'd known what was coming, but it doesn't stop Gavin from absolutely taking your breath away, standing silhouetted in the doorway. The top looks as good as you remember - a plain overbust corset in soft, buttery leather, the sweetheart shape leaving plenty on display. The miniskirt is perfect as well, high waist sitting just right, two rows of big gold eyelets running down from the waist over the front of his left thigh, laced together with a thick black ribbon. Your gaze drops lower, lower, over long, lean legs and a vicious pair of heels, jet black patent leather all glossy and smooth.

Oh, and a pair of long, mesh opera gloves, ruched above the elbow, flashes of hot pink just peeking through at his fingertips. Can't forget those.

"Enjoying the view, little voyeur?"

He smirks, gloved fingers drumming against the doorframe before he shifts his weight, drifting forwards to stand just in front of you. In the mirror behind him, you can see all of the laces down his back, disappearing into the skirt, perfectly done as usual. Thank goodness for psychokinesis. "There's certainly a lot to admire."

"I, um…" you stutter eloquently. "You - wow."

"Oh, compliments to the chef, I say - my lovely stylist deserves all the credit." He reaches out to take your hand in his, guiding your fingers over the curves and edges of the leather across his torso. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting a lovely present like this today. Is it my birthday already?"

See, now he's just teasing you for the sake of it. "Do I need a reason to dress you up?" You slide your hand up and over his shoulder as you speak, and he takes that as permission to perch himself sideways on your lap, stiletto heels clicking against each other as he makes himself comfortable. "You look incredible, love. What do you think?"

"Me? I love it!" he trills, flirtation momentarily abandoned as he eyes your combined reflection gleefully in the mirror. "Where did you even find the skirt? It's amazing. The laces are fantastic, and the - ooh, that reminds me, I have to wear the gloves to lunch with Lasko on Monday."

"You'll have to bring a defibrillator," you say, deadpan, as he snickers. "Can you imagine? He has enough trouble as it is when you turn up in a crop top - you'll kill him with those!"

"Eh, he'll live. He survived a whole day at the beach with us - he can handle a little pair of gloves, no problem." He leans in, whispering conspiratorially in your ear. "We do have company for lunch next week, though - Damien might be surprised…"

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his wicked smile. "Just don't set anything on fire. Or don't leave any evidence, if you do."

Speaking of evidence… "You know, I'm starting to think this outfit needs something more."

He blinks, surprised. "Hmm?"

"Yeah. Something extra, something to just- I don't know, finish it off, I guess." Your hand slips down his back to settle teasingly at his waist, and he seems to realise what's going on.

"You say it needs a bit more, but I disagree." he purrs into your neck, toying with the hem of the skirt. "I think it needs a little less…" He shifts on top of you, pressing himself insistently against your chest. "Don't you want to see what's underneath?"

His lips, soft and slow against your neck. "After all, you bought it."

The room spins for a second, still and close and hot, and you almost, almost fold. You are looking forward to seeing that.

"Tell me then, my deviant. What, exactly, do you have in mind?"

A second or two of fumbling behind you, before your fingers close around your prize - a familiar little cylinder, slim and short and smooth. Thank goodness he keeps his kit by the vanity and not in the bathroom. You hold it up in front of his face with a flick of your wrist, watching his eyes blow wide when he realises what it is.

"Close your eyes for me?"

He acquiesces, tilting his head back, lips barely parted as you twist the cap off with a click. Poor, precious thing - he seems to think it's for him.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, until-

"Deviant? I- mmm!" His eyes fly open as you kiss him hungrily, bright red lipstick smearing across his lips and chin. "So - nng! - so that's, ah, what that was fo-or…" You tug at his hips as you trail needy kisses along his jaw until he gets the picture, clumsily rearranging himself until he's straddling your lap.

Your lips find that soft spot just under his jawbone, a trail of lightly pink-tinted saliva dripping down his neck, and it's like his whole body goes slack - you watch in the mirror as he shudders and writhes against you, arching into your kisses, chest heaving as he moans and gasps into the quiet air of your bedroom. The line of lipstick kisses dips lower and lower, stickier and sloppier as you go. His gloved hands clutch at your shoulders, nails threatening to tear right through the delicate mesh, and it's only a matter of time before he takes them off, or gets too impatient and just magics all of your clothes off.

(He'd better not. You paid good money for what he's wearing underneath that skirt - you'll be damned if you don't get to see it.)

"More?" you ask hoarsely, when you feel the lipstick drying out on your lips. He nods frantically, looking as much of a trainwreck as you feel, and before you have a chance to search for the little tube, desperate fingers find your chin and draw you back in for another messy kiss. The taste of grenadine, orange juice, strawberries-and-cream - all of it fades away until all that's left is the taste of him. Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Gavin - the man who plays Mario Kart at full volume, and blows kisses to the mirror as he twirls around under your arm in his new dresses, and regales you with story after story of the time he and Vincent didn't mean to cause a low-speed traffic incident, we promise, deviant!

That man really is something else, you know. How on earth did you get so lucky?

He pulls away with a brilliant smile, lipstick all over his teeth, the world's most stunning supermodel, and the rest of the world disappears.

(Including most of your clothes.)

"Now then, my deviant…"

(Unfortunately, the lipstick stains all over the sheets the next morning do not magically disappear - you have to wash them twice before they're back to normal.)

"Shall we see what else you bought me?"

(Never mind. It was worth it.)

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #gavin x freelancer #redacted fluff #redacted asmr fluff #redacted damn #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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