#I hope you have a wonderful Gaslit Sunday ☕️🔥

[plainlo-inthemorning]

*No warnings apply*

Hamish Linklater AU: Jeb Magruder (Gaslit) v John Tyler (Tell Me Your Secrets).

That kind of morning

Jeb secretly LOVES The Beach Boys.

He hums their songs when he waters the rose bushes. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel of his Oldsmobile.

Of course he can’t let anyone know.

They’d all laugh at him at work, and since he has, most embarrassingly, already exposed himself as a crier, he’s afraid to give them any more ammunition.

JT makes a show of hating that kind of music, when in reality he’s drawn to the breeziness of it all. It’s weirdly soothing.

And when it comes down to it, JT has no particular taste in music himself. He tries to select records that appear, in his mind, subtly “cool”. Tunes for the suave intellectual.

None of it gets his heart rate going.

Then one morning when he gets up, the enticing smell of freshly ground coffee having reached him from the other end of the small house, Jeb is already in the kitchen, making breakfast with the radio on.

I may not always love you

He’s quietly, happily singing along to God Only Knows, and while JT’s first impulse is to mock him for being such a softie, a proper little housewife, instead he just leans against the doorframe, wearing nothing but his white boxers and a smirk, and watches Jeb from the back, feeling something stir in his chest at the sight of his lover looking so at ease.

But as long as there are stars above you

Until, inevitably, something else starts stirring as well, and he creeps up on Jeb to snake his arms around his waist and worry his sharp canines over the sensitive spot under Jeb’s ear, making the other man jump, and then sigh a little nervously.

You never need to doubt it

He has eggs and sausages frying on the pan, and you never know what mood JT might be in - he could just as well twist Jeb’s arm, forcefully, and steer him back to the bedroom without a word, as he could content himself with planting light butterfly kisses down Jeb’s neck, squeezing his ass, and then sitting down with the paper and coffee.

I’ll make you so sure about it

JT is nothing if not completely, infuriatingly, seductively unpredictable. But when his strong hands slowly start roaming Jeb’s front, finding the belt of his robe and untying the knot, Jeb closes his eyes and puts the spatula down on the counter next to the stove.

Fuck the eggs.

The plush fabric of the robe parts, fingernails playfully tracing a pattern over Jeb’s taut, naked abdomen. Claiming him.

The former campaign manager lets his head loll back onto JT’s shoulder with a moan.

It’s that kind of morning.

God only knows what I’d be without you