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superblycaffeinated · 10 months ago

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This is from a list of prompts I had attempted to keep up with in March, let's see if August is the winner instead.

This would have spoilers for Gallagher Girls and The Listen Series by @averagejoesolomon . I like to think it takes place between when Morgan goes back to school & before a capture the flag game in "Love at First Fight".

Cameron Goode & Luke Collins

Rubber soles on cobblestone streets, arms sweat kissed and bumping anything in their way as they pump at her sides.

Sirens.

Her name.

A man with a scar, a fist to her stomach, an arm to her windpipe.

“You can quit running now, Cameron, there’s nowhere else for you to go.”

Fingers wrap around his neck, but there are more around hers.

“Mrs. Goode!”

Her neck is free from everything but a cool sweat, her fingers tense around a pulse that should be much more erratic.

It’s dark, room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through cracked blinds, but his hands are raised in surrender, his brown eyes blink calmly as they look down at her.

“Mrs. Goode, you’re okay, it’s just-“

She gasps, hands releasing his neck quickly, like a gun, hot from a fresh shot.

“I’m so-“

“It’s fine,” Luke Collins interrupts, he clears his throat that’s dotted in red, some darker splotches forming in the shape of her fingers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, you were screaming and-“

“No, you did the right thing.” Cameron Goode nods.

He takes his spot on the chair next to the balcony once more, while she settles on the edge of the bed.

She waits for him to say something, but she’s beginning to learn, on these ops they’re forced to go on together, that he doesn’t talk much, and when he does, it isn’t often he’s the first to break a silence.

“Nightmare,” she offers limply, wondering how much she can let this kid know. Wondering how much he’ll even understand.

He nods, eyes on the blinds as he asks, “Do you need to talk about it?”

The question surprises her.

Not want to to talk about.

Need.

“Not at the moment, no. Maybe someday.”

Luke Collins’ eyes slice to her, they make her feel like she’s not the most trained operative in the room, like this kid knows more than she ever could.

“Did you at least get some restful sleep?”

“A little, yeah.”

The lie is easy, and she wonders when it became so. Because an untrained person might say yes immediately, with no explanation. But this offers some vulnerability, it’s not denying her fitful sleep, but it’s not the full truth. Most people would leave it, they wouldn’t poke at the holes, they wouldn’t dig for more.

She’s beginning to learn Luke Collins isn’t most people.

He blows a breath out of his nose, his arms cross, and he says words she aches weren’t true.

“You look tired, Mrs. Goode.”

“I see they’re still teaching you Blackthorne Boys excellent bedside manner.”

“I’m not talking about the ways a lack of sleep affects your outward appearance, though, to be frank, you’re not really trying to hide that it seems.

At some point, you concede, because why lie about it when everyone already knows the truth, right?”

She frowns at Luke and looks at the electric kettle on the small counter top in the corner.

“Do you like tea? I’m making tea.”

Cammie stands, fingers precise and eyes focused at the little kitchenette and she isn’t expecting him to break the silence as water heats and her teeth rip open a packet.

“You said her name.”

She hands a mug to him, empty aside from a tea bag’s string dangling over the side that she keeps her eyes on as she asks, “Who?”

Luke sets the mug on the side table, he leans forward, elbows to his knees.

“Morgan.”

Her lips form a soft smile as she resumes her spot in front of the kettle, watching the water get warmer and warmer until it can’t help but bubble. Can’t help but wonder when this boy started to say her daughter’s name like that.

“Is it odd for a woman to say her daughter’s name in her sleep, Mr. Collins?”

“It’s odd for a woman to scream her daughter’s name in her sleep, Mrs. Goode.”

She pours hot water over her tea packet, slowly, watching the clear liquid turn darker before she goes over to his mug and does the same.

“Is it?”

She sits again, their tea steeps, and neither breaks eye contact.

Neither makes a move to end the silence that follows her question, either.

Until she’s wrapping the string of the bag around her pointer finger three times, looping then unlooping, bobbing it as she smells peppermint and earth in the steam that rises from the cup.

Somehow, the scent reminds her of Gallagher. Of the subs. Of cozy corners in libraries and cobwebbed passageways.

Reminds her of her daughter.

“Did you know,” she clears her throat, “That a female deer will leave her new fawn all day long?”

Luke doesn’t question the change of subject, he doesn’t respond. He simply waits.

She likes that about him.

“They find a safe place, one they can trust, and they leave their fawn all day. From before the sun rises to well after it goes down. They do this because their babies aren’t ready for the full extent of the day yet, they can’t keep up. They don’t know everything.”

Cammie sips her tea, fingers curled around both sides of the warm ceramic mug as she sits on top of the bed, crossing her legs like she used to as a kid. Like she used to do as a new mom, Maggie is in front of her and she’s braiding her curls after taming them for hours.

“But, it’s risky, because so much can go wrong that the doe can’t possibly foresee coming. She can’t predict a car, or a hunter, or a predator, all which could keep her from returning. She just has to trust her instincts, she has to do what she needs to do, to provide, and to keep her fawn safe. So she has to trust the place she left her baby, and she has to leave it.”

Luke has settled back into the chair, brown eyes cold as he says, “Did you know, that fawns left alone often remain alone, due to all those things the doe couldn’t predict but were bound to happen? Leaving the fawn even more vulnerable to hunters, predators, and so much more than if they would have just remained together? That often the fawn ends up dehydrated, starving, or injured?”

They sit in silence, similar brown eyes blinking at each other in the moonlight, the weight of his words hanging heavier and heavier without a response until she can’t take it anymore.

“Why do you know so much about deer?”

“Why do you?”

“I think,” Cammie starts, narrowing her eyes, “That that didn’t answer my question.”

Luke finally sips his tea before he admits, “I read a lot.”

She runs a thumb over the rim of her mug, “I do too. What’s a favorite?”

“I like a lot of Shakespeare…Anna Karenina is great.”

She merely hums at his responses, mind somewhere else and too preoccupied to really think about his shocking choices.

“Mrs. Goode?”

Cammie looks up at him, and he licks his lip, just once, before he says, “I think the fawn just wants to know how hard it was for the doe to leave.

She just wants to know that the doe regrets leaving her, wants her to know that she should have known her fawn wasn’t going to stay put. That of all the fawns in the world, she has the most stubborn, most impatient, most irritating one on the planet, and she should have known it was only a matter of time that someone hunted it, found it, and injured it without the doe there to protect it.”

“Maybe,” she admits, “Or maybe, the doe is right. That her choice was and is always an impossible one, and she did what she thought was best. That she had to trust her gut and that she knows her baby more than some boy who stumbled upon it by accident.”

“I think you and I both know from the fawn’s reports that, that boy didn’t stumble upon her. The fawn wobbled right up to him and punched his nose without warning.”

“She should have punched it harder.”

The phone rings, and she answers it on the second one, glaring at the boy, all too familiar aside from the eyes.

When she hangs up, she dumps her tea in the sink and doesn’t look at him as she tells him to pack up.

“Where to this time?”

She shoves her shoes on, lacing them up as she says, “To visit the fawn.”

Luke Collins stalls, his heartbeat picks up, he swallows.

“Is she…what’s going on?”

Cammie stands, watching him take deep breaths. He’s worried about Maggie.

She likes that about him.

She hastily reassures, “She’s fine. Everything is fine. Alex Hughes has just agreed to talk to us.”

“Oh,” his shoulders visibly relax.

“Uh-huh.”

He grabs his bag, already packed and begins to follow her towards the door, when she spins.

“Before we go, the doe, thinks it is in the best interest of the fawn for this conversation to remain between her and the boy, what does he think?”

Collins’ shoulders roll back as he states, confidently, “I think that we should stop referring to Morgan as a helpless fawn, or the baby, and start treating her like who she is.”

“And who’s that?”

“A girl who did an awful lot of growing up without her mom around, and should be allowed to know more than she does right now.”

“Would you like to hear what I think about that?” Cammie grounds her jaw, unsure if she likes this kid or not. Especially when he says,

“Not particularly, no.”

“Great.”

“Fine.”

“Do you have any books with you?”

Luke blinks, not expecting that, so he asks, instead of says, “Yes?”

“Good. Since you like reading so much, you can. The whole plane ride back. Since we won’t be talking, ever again, or discussing this, anymore.”

Collins shrugs before he says, “Great.”

“Fine,” Cammie growls.

Most people would drop it. Most people wouldn’t keep going, most people wouldn’t stoke a fire that’s already burning.

Luke Collins isn’t most people.

“They all compare her to him, you know.”

Cammie blinks.

Luke shakes his head.

“They’re wrong.”

He walks past her, and this kid, this guy, he holds the door open for her still, despite it all.

She likes that about him.

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fanfiction #the listen series #cammie morgan #luke collins #oooo I love this one #cammie and luke may be my fav two to write #like they have this mother son thing #but also this you love my daughter thing #and also this partners thing #and it's all delicious

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superblycaffeinated · 10 months ago

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Run Away With My Heart:

summary: The one where Zach & Cammie slip away at Rachel and Joe's Wedding | NSFW - this is 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI please | CW: alcohol mention/ "underage" alcohol consumption

A/N: thank you so much for your patience, I hope you love this 💙 it's a smidge on the poetic illusions to sex and not like, full on descriptions, but def still NSFW. The characters in this are over 18.

Also, like, this song is not "sexy" but it is ABSOLUTELY my Zammie song, my OTP forever and ever - for your listening pleasure (seriously, listen to it): Wherever You Will Go by The Calling

Cammie Morgan / Zach Goode

I’ve seen Zach Goode in almost every way a person can see another person.

In casual clothes with deep enough pockets for contraband m&m’s to offer to a subject he’s tailing without her knowledge. In starched and unfamiliar uniforms, pressed and ironed and the perfect cover, allowing him to be aloof, sarcastic, curious, and though he’d never admit it, a little jealous of a normal boy in a normal town. Or with taped knuckles and sweat slick skin, telling me I’m pretty good, Gallagher Girl. I’ve seen him even further dressed down, in nothing but a towel, or barefoot in blue jeans - cooking bacon, shirtless.

Even in ways you don’t see with your eyes, I’ve seen Zach. I see him in the same way he sees me. Like I’m being seen, really seen, for the first time every time he looks at me. Every time we know what the other is thinking and we don’t have to say it. The understanding in our gazes on one another, whether we’re feeling pain, heartbreak, loneliness, joy - it doesn’t matter.

I’ve seen the way he looks at me, right before he’s going to kiss me. The way his green eyes always look at my lips, then my eyes when he’s thinking about it. I’ve seen the way his tongue swipes over his top lip, like he’s thinking, like he’s analyzing his next move, and I’m it.

And no one can blame me for seeing these things, or noticing these things, because, well, I’m a spy.

Which, coincidentally, is the way I’m used to seeing Zach when he’s dressed like this. And while Zach Goode is always a spy, he seems to especially be one when he’s wearing a tuxedo.

Zach stands next to Joe Solomon, both men looking at the room with the eyes of operatives and seeing more than most, probably. Joe leans down and says something to him imperceptible due to his minimal lip movements and the bodies gliding across the floor between me and them.

I frown when Zach smirks.

When you see Zach Goode smirking, you’re probably already in trouble.

“I hate it when they do this,” a thick British accent floats and glides like music notes next to my left, accompanied with a sigh.

Bex’s dark skin glows in the light of a pink and tangerine July sunset spilling in through the open tents. Only even more complimented by the hue of the dress Macey carefully selected that hugs and falls over her curves in a way it simply never could on me. She smiles, apples of her cheeks dewy and eyes sparkly as she sips out of a crystal glass that costs more than I can fathom, bubbles bouncing and shimmering in the flute as she sips.

“Do what?” I steal the glass from her and take a sip myself, rolling my eyes at the eyebrow raise it grants me.

She nods her head towards the two I’d just been staring at. “Look like that. Handsome,” she starts pointing around the bustling room, suited and tuxed man after man, “Every last one of them more attractive in their bloody dress clothes than the last. It’s foul, and unholy, and should be ille-“

“How many glasses of this have you had?”

She waves a dismissive hand and takes it back, mumbling into the lip of the glass, “A few.”

Which is when the champagne is plucked from her fingers, held up to ruby lips that smack together, satisfied, after drinking down the rest in three gulps.

“Thank you for the drink, Rebecca.”

My Aunt Abby smiles at Bex’s frown.

“I am allowed to drink, you know. I’m nineteen.”

“In London,” my Aunt clarifies.

“Pretty sure I’m nineteen everywhere…” Bex muses.

“Don’t be cute.” Abby waggles her finger.

Bex takes a big breath, and Aunt Abby has that look in her eyes and I know that they will literally go all night, so I interrupt.

“Speaking of cute,” I smile at Aunt Abby, “You and Agent Townsend seem pretty smitten tonight.”

Aunt Abby sighs dramatically, but it’s much more wistful and dreamy than the one Bex gave earlier. Her waves curled hours before still shiny and bouncing as she smiles at the man now standing with Zach instead of Joe.

“He does look so handsome in a tux.” She tilts her head, freckled cheeks blushing when he looks up and smiles at her. When he looks away, Abby murmurs, so quietly I don’t think she even realizes she said it, “I’m gonna marry that man.”

Bex grabs two new champagne flutes as a tray passes, and hands one to me as Abby walks towards Townsend.

“Good lord, did she mean tonight?” Bex chokes on her sip.

“I…”

Aunt Abby glides across the dance floor, her sights set on her target, but she’s intercepted by a woman in a white gown spinning.

My mom’s laugh is louder than the music, smile brighter than the dress as she catches her sister’s hand and let’s go of her groom’s. She presses her forehead to Abby’s, giggling like girls far younger than they are while whispering.

It feels natural, to watch sisters interact and feel the need to knock my temple against my own. To clink our glasses together and be a little sappy.

“So,” Bex clears her throat, “CIA next month. Georgetown too.”

She isn’t asking a question, but I nod anyways, answering.

“I know loverboy over there is a great spy and all-“

“Loverboy?”

“You heard me.” Bex stands up straight and faces me, a soft smile on her lips as she shrugs. “If I can’t be the one backing you up, I’m glad it’s him, for what it’s worth.”

“Bex,” I start, unsure how to speak around whatever’s stuck in my throat. It’s not like this is goodbye. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.

So that’s what I tell her. “We’re going to see each other all the time. And talk on the phone and-“

“Oh I know,” she smiles, raising her eyebrows, “You’ll be calling me tomorrow to tell me all about tonight.”

“Tonight?”

She rolls her eyes in dramatic Bex fashion, “Cammie, my love, yes tonight is the night. Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking he looks delicious and you’re starving or that he hasn’t been looking right back like he’s going to eat you.”

My cheeks are literally on fire as I hiss her name and she holds up her hand and interrupts.

“Chameleon, you know you shouldn’t lie when you’ve already been caught. Oh, speaking of yummy things, there is a snack over at the cake table that requires my attention, excuse me.”

She steals my drink and spins on her way to the table, the hiss of her name again lost as I take a step towards her and Agent Townsend approaches me.

Bex winks from her spot next to Macey at the cake table and I shake my head, plastering on a smile when I spin to face him.

“Ah, Miss Morgan, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Agent Townsend introduces me to yet another handsome man in a suit who has stories of my parents and high hopes for me and well wishes for my future at the CIA. I nod politely and listen as intently as I can until a hand is sweeping over my lower back, thumb brushing up and down along my spine.

“So sorry for the interruption,” his voice confidently comes from over my shoulder, deeper than normal, “But may I steal Cameron?”

I turn to see Zach holding a whiskey glass that I am ninety-eight percent sure is just coke. His eyes sparkle, no doubt from the chance to sound official using my full name as the man in the suit nods, sipping his actual whiskey.

“Of course, I’ve monopolized her for far too long, I’m sorry…” the man extends his hand to Zach as he trails off.

“Goode,” Zach’s voice gets even deeper, extending his hand and firmly shaking, “Zach Goode.”

Hard to contain my eyeroll on that one.

“Oh yes, Townsend was just raving about you as well. Excited what you two will get up to in August.”

The man points to both of us with a sly smile and heads off.

Zach’s arms wrap around my waist, spinning me unwillingly onto the dance floor.

“No!” I laugh, swatting at his chest, “Put me down, Zach! And where’d your coke go?”

He tilts his head and hooks a thumb at his chest, “Spy. And it was a Dr. Pepper, you’re slipping Miss Morgan.”

The last bit said in a perfect British accent.

Also, dang. I am slipping - but it’s Summer break, and…

Zach spins me slowly, it’s more of a sway in the middle of the dance floor as he whispers, “Where’d you go, Gallagher Girl?”

I smile, hands flat against his chest, “Just thinking that it’s Summer break, except it’s not a break. It’s just Summer. And the rest of our lives start next month and everything’s changing and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

The last part comes out quiet, barely a whisper, but I know he hears it, because his arm around my waist tightens.

He pulls at one of my hands, kissing my wrist before lacing his fingers with mine and holding it aloft, starting to move us around the dance floor.

My head falls against his chest, right in the perfect spot below his chin, so it’s easy for his voice to slip lower, so only I can hear it.

“It is Summer, that’s a fact, so you got me there. Personally, I’ve always been more of a winter guy myself, so I get it. It sucks.”

I laugh, forgetting I’m dancing until he spins me again, smiling at my eye roll before he’s bringing me back into his chest.

It deflates beneath my cheek from the long exhale, “Everything is changing, but change can be a good thing. Now, tell 16 year old Zach and he’d be arguing on your side, but I don’t know…this guy, dancing with you…he’s a pretty big fan of change.”

My nose presses to his chest, his hand squeezes my hip.

“And Cam, you’re more ready than anyone I know. And I’ll be with you, so that’s not changing.”

We stop dancing, and I look up at him, swallowing.

“And the rest of our lives starting next month?”

Zach smiles and shrugs. “I say, bring it on.”

His smile falls slightly, fingers catching a piece of my up-do and twirling it before he adds on, “Decided on if you’re dorming it up at Georgetown yet?”

I shake my head, “I haven’t, but I’m leaning towards no. With the hours and work I’ll need to do for Townsend, I don’t think I can swing it. Unless they find me someone with the same clearance…”

I tilt my head just as he did earlier, when he nods, his breath changing in a way that someone else might not notice, but I do.

Zach’s breath sucks in, his question after a rush of air out.

“Well, what if we lived together?”

We aren’t dancing anymore, just standing in the middle of the dance floor, bodies twirling and swaying around us.

“Wh-what?”

Zach smiles, my shock and surprise the confidence boost he needed. He grabs my hands and pulls me closer, “Come on Cam, this isn’t a surprise. You’re a spy.”

He twirls me and he keeps talking, his thumbs swiping over the back of my knuckles he’s staring at. “A spy who needs a roommate who gets her. One that’s excited for the rest of their lives to start. Together.”

A faster song starts then, so my heartbeat is masked slightly by the drum beat, but not completely as we stand still and I ask, “What are you excited about?”

Zach pulls me off of the dance floor, tugging me close to his side as he lists, “Excited to find shitty furniture we never sleep on cause we’re in Argentina, or Russia, or, I dunno, Egypt. Excited for when we do get to sit or sleep on that furniture we could show each other our favorite movies and music. Who knows, hand out Halloween candy to neighbors! On Sundays, we can have coffee and read books. We’ll have waffles for dinner every night because we can. So yeah,” Zach sighs, his nose and forehead against mine as we come to a stop. “When I hear the rest of our lives start next month, I say: Bring it on.”

I’ve kissed Zach Goode in a lot of public places, in front of all sorts of people.

But never after he said something like that.

Our lips slot together like magnets that can’t help what’s in their nature, and the only reason they’re separated is because of some outside force pulling them apart, like needing to breathe.

There’s a couple whistles when we break apart and Zach smirks and I frown and I tug on his neck, keeping his forehead pressed to mine as I beg,

“Can we please get out of here?”

“God,” he laughs, kissing my cheek, “Thought you’d never ask.”

We slip outside, my heels and his fancy shoes sinking into soft grass until I’m laughing and telling him to stop, that my heel is stuck.

So he’s picking me up and leaving my shoes there and placing me in the passenger seat of a car I don’t recognize.

Breathless, but not because he’s out of shape, as he holds up an old hotel key with a smile when he gets into the driver’s side.

“Well that was presumptuous of you.”

Zach is not calm, cool, or collected at my statement. His cheeks flush and so does his neck and he shakes his head, waving his hands. “Wait, no, we don’t have to-“

My lips easily interrupt him and he eagerly matches their movement, kissing him like I haven’t before. Kissing him like I’m ready for next month, for all the change, because he’s going to be at my side. I kiss him until I can’t possibly not breathe anymore and he tries to follow my lips as they leave his.

“Zach.” I smile at his blinking eyes, his dazed expression.

“Yeah?”

“Bring it on.”

***

It’s a hasty drive into Roseville, and an even hastier check in. Full of clammy hands and movements anyone who trained us would be yelling about nerves and getting sloppy. All giggles and stolen kisses on elevators that he whispers into my mouth about how cute I was the first time we met.

How he wishes he could go back and tell that Zach to press the emergency stop button so he had more time with me before I hated him.

And then we’re in the room.

The door closes slowly behind me with a soft click, there’s nothing in our way. Just us and a dimly lit space and tension so thick I get why they say it can be cut with a knife.

Zach swallows as he takes a step towards me, then another, until his hand is cupping my jaw and he’s looking at my mouth then my eyes.

His tongue swipes over his lip and I can’t help but smile, which makes him pause his leaning.

“What?”

I shake my head, fingers playing with the lapels of his jacket.

“Nothing.”

He raises his eyebrows at me as if to say “Really?”

His thumb swipes over my cheek, tilting my head so I have to look at his unrelenting stare until I’m too hot under it.

“You just…do something every time you’re about to kiss me,” I admit quietly.

Zach blinks, lips twitching up on one side.

“Yeah?” He asks it quietly, smugly, like I’m the one with the tell and not him.

“Mhm,” I sigh as his hand travels to the back of my head, cradling it and gently directing me.

Zach kisses the corner of my lips softly, then my jaw. Hot open mouthed things that have me curling my fingers into his collar, have my breath coming a little sharper.

When he reaches my neck, he drags his mouth down my throat, pulling out a noise I didn’t know I could make through my parting lips as his fingers tighten on the back of my neck.

He speaks into my skin as he backs me up towards the door, “You have a tell too, Cam.”

“Wh-what?” My hands fall, pressing to the wood behind me.

Zach hums into my shoulder, placing a kiss next to my strap before murmuring, “You bite your lip when you want me to kiss you.”

And if my bottom lip was between my teeth as he said it, at least he didn’t see it.

“Like right now.”

His thumb catches the lip when I try to release it quickly, his eyes glinting as he faces me again. The pad of it drags down my lip, and he watches it as it pops back into place. He swallows, and blows out his breath through his nose.

“Nice try,” he rasps, one hand on the back of my neck and other still holding my jaw. His body presses closer to mine and I reach for his waist on instinct. The tip of his nose bumps mine, lips brushing together in light passes as he whispers, “And just in case I don’t do my tell, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

I’ve had a lot of kisses with Zach.

Dramatic, cinematic, dip-in-the-foyer-and-deliver-a-cheesy-line kind of kissing. Angry kissing, where we’re both mad, and hurt, and let’s be honest just scared, so it’s fast and passionate and a little mean. Reassuring kisses, that have just as much passion behind them, but softer, sweeter. We’ve shared the I love you, overjoyed kind of kissing where it’s not so much a kiss as it’s two smiles pushed up against each other, teeth bumping and not sexy at all. And then there’s the sort of lazy, effortless, we don’t have to be anywhere and hey we’re alone for what could be minutes or hours and just-

Well, we’ve made out.

A lot.

Which I’m not going to explain myself for because I feel like it is every couple’s right to make out in general, and it’s not like Zach is the first guy I’ve done so with.

He’s the second.

But, despite minimal…experience… we’ve gotten pretty good at it, I like to think. It’s been fun to learn I like him pulling my lip and he likes me tugging on his hair just a little bit. It’s been interesting to find out when either of us is becoming one with couch cushions with the other draped across them, we both tend to pull out a spontaneous move from P&E and get the upper hand once more. And to put it bluntly, it’s been hot, to kiss and kiss and kiss some more and be in various states of half undress and have matching heaving breaths as we say we should slow down, because well, I didn’t want to have sex in a hay bale on a farm and he didn’t want to in a car and we haven’t exactly been alone long enough to speed it up if you catch my drift. So that lead to understanding kisses. Kisses that captured sighs and conveyed promises.

There’s been a lot of that kind of kissing lately.

But never kissing like this.

Never with Zach in a tux and me in a dress like this. Never pressed up against a door that no one else has the key to. Never in a room, alone, with the promise of no interruptions until we say so.

My lips follow his lead, like that dance all those years ago. Like the one tonight.

Slow, and patient, but eager. Tongue slipping over mine until I’m sighing and tugging at his waist, needing him closer.

His hands slip down my neck, my shoulders, following the curve of my chest and resting at my ribs while mine climb higher, bumping over buttons of the white button down on their way up. Zach breathes harshly against my mouth, my name quiet and full of gravel as it’s whispered into my lips like a secret, before he’s tugging on my bottom lip, dragging his teeth over it.

My hands are in his hair now, a whine bubbling out my chest when he lifts me just so and with too much ease against the door, so his knee can rest between my spread thighs. His breath hitches when I roll my hips, tugging him closer as I do.

Zach breaks the kissing that turned frantic, both of us taking large gulps of air. His nose traces down mine, green eyes almost black under fluttering lids as he asks, “You sure about this Gallagher Girl?”

I nod and press my lips to his softly, tenderly, making sure he knows all those promises weren’t just words. His fingers curl into the fabric at my waist, his sigh warm against my cheek when he exhales from his nose.

“Need to hear-“ Zach’s breath is shaky, eyes squeezed closed as I roll my hips against his thigh again, needing more. “Need to hear you say what you want.”

My fingers fiddle with the curls behind his ears, heart thundering and make it hard to hear myself in my own.

“You, Zach. I want you. All of you,” his eyes open at my rush of admittance, and the way they shine makes that much more spill out of some deep vault I’ve been keeping it all locked up in, “All of you and all of it. The waffles and the movies and the reading and books and I want this. Now, Zach, please.”

“Shit,” it slips out as a whine, some sort of desperate, raw sound that I’m not sure I heard and I’m not sure he knows he made. It matches his actions though, lips crashing into mine, filthy and eager - greedy. Kissing that feels like it’s sole purpose is to swallow me whole and leave not even a crumb of who I used to be without him.

It’s kissing that I’ve only seen in movies, his hands on my hips and rucking my dress up as his mouth moves against mine hungry, searching. Parted and pushing and pulling precisely, spit slicked lips panting his name in protest when he gasps for a breath he can’t help but need to take.

“Wait.” Kissing stopped abruptly as he squeezes at my waist. Slippery fabric of my dress dragging with his hands as they roam higher again, his head tilted up as he gasps.

I kiss over his jaw, down his throat as I whine, “We’ve waited so long.”

He lowers me slowly, dress falling back around my thighs as his palms press flat to the door on either side of me. He closes his eyes, forehead knocking against mine as he takes deep, even breaths.

“Zach?” I whisper, my fingers tugging on each other, scared of how quiet he is. “We don’t have to-“

His lips interrupt me easily, though slowly. Much slower than how we were just kissing, much more patient and purposeful. His hand cups my jaw again, tenderly brushing over my cheek as his lips hold my top one between his until I’m sighing and pliant against the door.

Zach’s breath out is mine in as we part and he steals another kiss, chaste and delicate.

“I want you too, and this, for the record,” he speaks slowly, eyes tracking over all of my features like he’s memorizing them. My cheeks warm and getting warmer under his thumb that’s still brushing it as he smirks, “And yeah, we’ve waited a long time. Which is why, we can wait a little longer.”

“Oh,” I nod, eyes on the floor and trying to remember every single thing I’ve ever learned about keeping a straight face. “Right, well, um-“

“No, shit,” Zach laughs, knocking his forehead to mine again, nose gentle against the bridge of mine, “I just meant I’m gonna take my time is all. Wanna take my time, that okay?”

Zach’s staring at me, his cheeks just as pink as mine, lips a little redder and swollen and he’s clearing his throat like something’s stuck in it when I nod.

“Yeah,” I murmur, “Yeah, that’s okay. More than okay.”

It’s so okay and the word okay feels like not an okay one at all to describe what it feels like to hear Zach Goode wants to take his time with me. With this. So completely okay that an operative who’s used to split second decisions and trusting his gut and never knowing when he’ll get to stop running, wants to slow down for this.

“Cool.” Zach smiles.

“Cool…” it trails off in a laugh when he groans at my repetition.

“God, I thought I’d be so much smoother than this…stupid tux making me think I’m James Bond…”

“Well,” my fingers play with the top button of his shirt, “Why don’t we start there?”

Zach nods, slow, his adams apple bobbing with a swallow as my fingers push at his jacket.

It drops to the ground as he kicks off his shoes and I do the same to mine.

Zach’s lips are on mine again, zinging and zapping and making something inside my stomach flutter to life as I fumble with the buttons down his shirt. It’s not gasps for air between frantic kissing anymore, but deep sighs, content, longing, as hands linger on skin revealed until he’s standing in front of me in just his boxers and I’m still in my dress.

Somewhere along the way, Zach stopped being that boy in an elevator and became a man. His jaw more angled and his hair darker. The muscles of his arms, chest and stomach all highlighted in gold lamp light and shadows as he steps towards me again. His lips lift, lopsided, and in a signature smirk.

“See something you like?”

The smug phrase isn’t so cocky, with the softened eyes and the quiet tone and the hands gently turning me to face the bed and away from him.

Zach’s breath is warm on my neck, then his lips soft against my shoulder and making me jump and pebbling my skin with goosebumps. A shiver rattles my ribcage as his fingers slip my dress straps down my shoulders.

His lips skim across skin, trailing to my spine as his hands squeeze my hips.

Everything is amplified - the sound of our breath, the ticking of the clock on the nightstand, both of our heartbeats. Each pop of a button on the back of my dress quiet, yet a thunderous step closer to a ledge we’re about to leap off of.

Together.

The back of Zach’s fingers graze my spine with each undone button, his breath hitches in an unfamiliar pattern when he reaches the last one and hits lace.

The pads of his fingers glide back up the center of my back, all the way to my hair, where they pull pins and clips till my hair is falling around my shoulders and face.

At one point, I began to hold my dress up, close to my chest, and I don’t realize it till he’s stepping up behind me closer. Bare back to bare chest, his arm wrapping around mine, fingers laced together against the fabric.

Zach kisses my shoulder, brushing the newly undone hair to the side so he can continue up my neck, to just beneath my ear where he speaks into my skin.

“Ready Gallagher Girl?”

I spin to face him, to find blinking surprised eyes and hands raised in mid-action. I push down my underwear behind the dress, stepping out of them and then glance up at him.

“Ready, Blackthorne Boy.”

And then my dress is falling in a puddle at my feet, shimmering and cold compared to heated skin on full display for the first time.

I’ve seen Zach Goode in almost every way a person can see another person.

Never like this.

Never with an unwavering gaze. One that’s studying and memorizing, but cherishing - like I can see the wheels turning in his head trying to remember every detail because he’s worried he won’t get a chance to be here again. With a face that looks close to how someone looks when they worship, adore, love undeniably. A mouth that’s parted, but truly rendered speechless.

I’ve never seen him whisper, “You’re so beautiful Cam,” before stepping closer to me, with gentle hands that caress and trace over my skin in a way that feels an awful lot like the promises of our kissing. Never seen him swallow and trace my collarbones as I pushed at black elastic on his hips. Or pressed up against me, with nothing separating us anymore.

Before now, I’d never seen how he looks hovering over me, pressing me into soft sheets. Now, I know he gets a wrinkle between his brows when he’s asking if I’m okay, or that his jaw pulses when I arch my back and say his name like I’ve never said it before.

There’s too many new views of Zach to count now, too many that compete for my favorite. How he looks when my hands are in his hair and my legs are around his waist and I can’t really remember how to breathe as our bodies work together like they know how to more than we do. Or how his thumb catches my bottom lip from between my teeth, his other hand pressed to the mattress as he rolls his hips and leans down to capture my moan with his mouth. Or how he looks when I’m saying his name in an almost silent scream and his hands are pushing mine into the mattress and our hips are slowing at the same time. Maybe it’s when he’s holding me, fingers loop de looping on my bare shoulder and arm that’s draped over him, our legs tangled together with the sheets as both of our breathing becomes slower and slower.

But I think my favorite is how he looks right now, at the hotel breakfast.

His hair is a mess, his eyes are sleepy, but bright green as they look up at me.

He looks different.

I wonder if I look different too.

He smiles, waffle shoved in his cheek and I lean forward and swipe syrup from the corner of his lips with my thumb.

“Yeah, you owe me forty bucks.”

Zach and I blink as Bex slides next to me, Liz next to Zach, and Macey at the end of the table.

Liz blushes and whispers, “Guys I thought we weren’t-“

“I do not owe you anything, Baxter.” Macey stabs a strawberry.

“She me owes me forty bucks, I know it happened. Open your eyes and look at them.” Bex gestures to the two of us, the two who had just been minding their own business and enjoying their morning.

I sip my coffee unphased, Zach chokes on his.

Macey groans and Liz lets out a little squeal and Bex looks far too Bexish.

“Well, that’s my cue, so,” Zach stands and turns to leave, but then turns back around.

He leans over the table, looking down at me. He looks at my mouth, then my eyes.

I bite my lip.

He smiles.

He licks his lip.

I smile.

He kisses me gently, nose tapping mine as he backs away.

Zach clears his throat, “Ladies.”

And I thought maybe the wink he shot me over his shoulder was actually my favorite Zach, but it turns out, it’s the Zach that’s spilling coffee on himself as he turns around and runs straight into my mother and Joe.

I’ve seen sarcastic Zach, sad Zach, sexy Zach, sweaty Zach, swoon level off the charts Zach.

I’ve never seen a Zach so flustered by a simple question.

“And where’d you run off to last night?”

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fanfiction #cammie morgan #zachary goode #zammie #cw alcohol mention

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