#and she very cheerfully went 'i love when you ask for a shag' and like. left it

[hella1975]

right so i got my hair cut yesterday and mind you when im at uni my haircutting options are to get my one mate to do it (she's surprisingly good but can get very scissor happy) OR cut my own bangs in the sink with cuticle scissors at midnight while my automatic light turns off every five seconds. no that's not hyperspecifc what do you mean. anyway i got my hair cut yesterday and BY THE PROFESSIONAL HAIRDRESSER THAT DOES MY MUM AND SISTER'S HAIR. now this lady has been doing our hair for over a decade she's very chill she knows us very well i stress her out a lot bc every time i see her im like 'i want to [insert crazy hair idea here]' and she's like orrrr what if we didn't? BUT yesterday i was like i want my hair short again i hate that it's grown to touch my shoulders bc it curls weird. and what i was aiming for was literally just to replicate what my friend does for me back at uni where she just cuts it to my jaw and that's that nothing too complicated, BUT like i said this lady is a skilled professional AND she knows me in both a style sense and what she knows i'd like and in the sense of i really dont give a fuck about my hair so she knows she can have a lil fun with it, and basically long story short i have a wolf cut now

[heavencasteel420]

WIP Wednesday

Featuring: Jonathan and the mortifying ordeal of enjoying your Baby Boomer parents’ music!

From Tonight, Tonight, The Highway’s Bright:

“What’s on this?” the front-desk lady asked, frowning at the cassette tape. “You know we listen to these backwards, too.”

She squinted up at Jonathan, who was suddenly very aware of the hollows under his eyes and the cooking-oil smell that he felt sure still clung to his hair. He’d made an effort, washing his face and hands in the bathroom at Drummond’s and swapping his T-shirt for a navy sweater with yellow stripes, but there’d been no time to go back to the apartment and shower, let alone take a nap. Another old-house nightmare had broken up his sleep last night.

“It’s folk, mostly,” he said, attempting to sound meek instead of annoyed. He had long shifts and bad dreams; that didn’t mean that he was trying to send Satanic messages to his sick mother. “It’s nice. Soothing.”

He’d listened to the tape himself on the drive down to Pennhurst. It was full of stuff from the sixties: Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Joan Baez, Tom Paxton, Peter Sarstedt, the Everly Brothers after they’d started making weird concept albums instead of chipper malt-shop pop. It wasn’t his usual style at all. He preferred more concise lyrics, and all the acoustic strumming just made him sleepy. Yet listening to “Farewell, Angelina” and “Shady Grove” while surrounded by the ghosts of Mom’s Camels had an almost hypnotizing effect, making the worries of the day seem less sharp and pressing. Maybe the tape would do the same for her.

The front-desk lady—Dolores, according to her badge—didn’t respond, just turned the tape over in her thin, knobby hands. It occurred to him that Joan Baez might be as offensive to her as Iron Maiden or the Sex Pistols. She was the right age to have been scandalized by Elvis (or, he thought uncharitably, Scott Joplin). He wondered if she (or the mysterious “we” she’d mentioned) would deem the lyrics too disturbing for a schizophrenic person. He thought of the pirates in “Farewell, Angelina,” shooting tin cans with a sawed-off shotgun while the neighbors cheered and clapped. He loved those lyrics; they reminded him of the people of Hawkins, cheerfully turning out for the spectacle of his family’s destruction. Joan Baez—or, rather, Bob Dylan, who’d written the song—had probably had something completely different in mind, but he didn’t care. He’d take vindication where he could find it.

From Tomorrow’s a Long Way Off (warning for allusions to domestic violence, plus Lonnie saying a bunch of gross inappropriate sexist shit, including about Joyce, below the cut):

“You gotta let these girls know where things stand, right at the start,” Lonnie said, turning the key in the ignition. The stereo started playing The Rolling Stones. “You can’t let them walk all over you. Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”

Yeah, thought Jonathan, they might start thinking that you shouldn’t call them crazy bitches and throw things at them.

“Mind if I turn this up?” he asked, gesturing at the stereo. “I like this song.”

“Sure,” Lonnie said. He pulled out of the parking space and started down Main Street. “What was that one you liked when you were little? You used to kind of bob up and down to it. God, you were funny.”

“Street Fighting Man,” said Jonathan.

Despite himself, he smiled. He could remember crouching in front of the record player on the shag carpet, trying to get closer to the music and its strange, rollicking beat. Lonnie saying hey, Joyce, the kid’s got taste. His mom beaming, hugely pregnant with Will and wearing some long hippie dress with orange flowers.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Lonnie was also smiling. It made him look older, nicer. Then he sighed. “It was easier when I was a kid, you know. Even girls thought women’s lib was a joke. Course, they still wanted their own way, but…”

He trailed off and drummed on the steering wheel. But you’ll never break, never break, never break, went the stereo. Jonathan stayed quiet.

“Well, I don’t know,” Lonnie continued. “I guess we got nothing to complain about. Back then, good girls didn’t give it up. Hell, most bad girls didn’t go all the way. Hey, you wanna know which one your mom was?”

Jonathan’s mouth went dry.

“No,” he snapped. “Why would I want to know that?”

Lonnie just laughed.

“Lighten up, kid. It was just a joke.”

Jonathan didn’t reply. Joke or not, it had been a gross thing to say. He looked out the window, watching the buildings get sparser. They were almost at the edge of town.

“You don’t know how good you have it,” Lonnie continued, apparently unbothered. “None of it means anything now.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

Four Little Sips

Day 28, Post #2

Title: Four Little Sips

Author: JohnMcHacker

Pairings: Harry/Bill/Charlie (platonic), Harry/Ginny (romantic), Gryffindor Quidditch Team (platonic), Fred/George/Ron (platonic), Ron/Hermione (romantic)

Prompt: In Vino Veritas

Rating: PG

Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, Referenced death, Language

Note to admin: Thanks for organising, this is my first time submitting, sorry if I'm late or if it doesn't meet requirements. I have also posted to the AO3 collection.

* * *

You see, Harry had never really had anyone just a few years older to look up to. Alright, there was Hermione, but they were classmates and best friends and at roughly the same place in life, it wasn’t the same.

That summer of 1998, in the wake of all that pain and death and sorrow, the Weasleys pulled together and pulled him in with them. On a few occasions, this meant having a few drinks with Bill and Charlie, in various nondescript Muggle pubs in the vicinity of Ottery St Catchpole.

“Just because Kingsley cut you some slack doesn’t mean you have to take the offer,” said Charlie. “You’ve spent your whole life fighting Voldemort, one way or anoher. You deserve to take a break. Live a little. Or else, what have you been fighting for?”

Harry thought of several memorable sunlit days, and found he couldn’t really disagree.

“Or at the very least, know why you’re putting your life on the line, once again,” said Bill. “Well, alright, you were the Chosen One, you had your job to do then. But now that that’s over, you ought to think twice why you’re risking your neck on your own account.”

“Well, I think I’d be good at it,” said Harry. “And someone has to do it. The Aurors are short-handed and too many of Voldemort’s thugs are still out there.”

Bill shook his head, munching a handful of chips. “That’s not good enough. Merlin knows I’d love a crack at the bastards myself. But your neck’s not just your own now, Harry. Ginny has a say too. That’s part of what being together means.”

“Muggle birds ain’t bad,” said Charlie, nodding at a trio of pretty college-age girls gathered round a table across the pub. They caught him watching, giggled, and winked in reply. “Don’t limit yourself to witches. But if you do, don’t mess ‘em around, play fair, and come clean as soon as you can.”

“The most important part of my relationship with Fleur is trust,” said Bill. “We don’t have secrets, and she trusts that I won’t suddenly run off hunting Death Eaters or dragons or Hor... whatever. And I trust her not to do the same.”

“Family’s what it comes down to,” said Charlie, draining his glass.

“Family,” nodded Bill. “Your first responsibility.”

“My shout,” said Harry, because that was something else they had taught him was right, to stand his round, and he went to the bar to get the drinks. When he returned, they had moved on to other important matters.

“Free advice, Potter, take it or leave it,” said Charlie, tapping the side of his nose, “women; you’ll never go wrong if you please ‘em first, know what I mean?”

“Oi! That’s our sister you’re talking about!” snapped Bill, trying not to laugh.

“So what? She’s got fi... four of you looking out for her. Maybe I just want to see fair play.” Charlie winked at Harry. “Let me tell you about what I call ‘wandless magic’, and trust me, it is magic.”

“That’s it, you’re done, Perce is my new number two, it’s you that Mum and Dad should disown...”

“There’s more where that came from, Harry. You want to know how to beat Ron at chess? He can’t play gambits worth a damn. Stick with me, I’ll show you something called a Smith-Morra, aye?”

Advice, experience, honour, laughter. Maybe this was what it was like to have older brothers, thought Harry. It filled a hole in him he never even knew he had.

* * *

Oliver would never have allowed it, but Angelina Johnson was a more fun-loving kind of Quidditch Captain. She passed the word around quietly, and so the five Gryffindor players above the age of sixteen met in the changing rooms fifteen minutes before Potter and the younger Weasley were due to arrive. Of course it was the Twins who’d acquired the goods, however they managed it. Fred produced the bottle of Ogden’s from somewhere under his robes with a flourish, and George grinned toothily as he conjured shot glasses from thin air.

“Alright, I know it was my idea, but just the one, got it?” warned Angelina, pouring the drinks herself.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Fred. George sketched a sloppy salute her way.

Katie Bell was practically trembling with excitement and nerves. “Oooh, this’ll be my first drink ever,” she said, holding up the glass of amber liquid to catch the light. “Are you sure we won’t get caught?” she asked, looking around as if expecting McGonagall to burst out of a locker at any time.

“Course we can’t be sure,” said Alicia Spinnet. “That’s part of the fun!”

Angelina looked round at each of them, and shouted “For the Cup!”

“FOR THE CUP!” they chorused, and knocked back the Firewhiskey.

Two years later, the three Chasers were standing at the bar of the Hog’s Head, but they had Oliver back now, and Angelina knew somehow that that was important, they were going to go to Hogwarts and find Fred and George and Harry and reunite the whole Team, and it meant she had to do this. She leaned over the counter, rummaged through the grimy bottles and found what she was looking for.

“You’re mad!” said Oliver incredulously.

“Probably,” said Alicia cheerfully, “but we did this every match and still won the Cup, didn’t we? Sixth-years and above only, of course, we had standards,” she said, catching Oliver’s outraged look.

“Don’t tell me you’re going into a real battle and don’t want a drink, Oliver,” said Angelina calmly as she poured, and that was that.

Alicia and Katie and Oliver looked at her expectantly. Angelina searched for the words, and found there was really only one thing suited to the occasion. “Fuck Voldemort.”

“FUCK VOLDEMORT!”

And they did.

But oh God, the price they paid.

  * * *

The Leaky was too well-known so they usually frequented a tiny hole-in-the-wall further down the street. The clientele was younger and the enchanted jukebox played muggle hits as well as the Weird Sisters, Mega Maggots, and the Bent Banshees, and that was perfect for the Twins. Perhaps half the entire current range of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes had first been dreamed up in this pub.

“Alright, alright, what about this, George? Prank greeting cards.”

“You’re crazy, Fred.”

“Cards that won’t stop singing. Howler cards. Exploding confetti cards. Exploding firework cards!”

George finished his beer and signalled to the barman for another. The barman hesitated, then poured as George slapped a handful of Sickles on the counter. “Confetti yes, fireworks, I dunno,” said George. “Cheers, Fred.”

“It’s brilliant I tell you. Mud in your eye,” said his twin brother, and they drank. Then, quietly, Fred asked: “How’s the family?”

“Same old. They’re doing well. You should see the sprogs, it’s a hoot,” snickered George. “Ron and Gin and Harry and good ol’ Hermione, sneaking around trying not to get caught shagging like rabbits. God, the sights I’ve walked in on...”

Fred chortled along with George, and he finished the pint. The bell over the door jingled and new customers came in, but the twins barely glanced that way.

“Speaking of which. About her... you should do something about it, George,” said Fred kindly. “I see all the signs and I know you do too. She’s waiting on you. Go be a gentleman, Georgey-boy, go on.”

George sighed. “Not you too. Look, I get enough of this crap from Bill and Charlie, alright?”

“You two need each other. Besides, it’s too quiet around the flat.”

All at once, George’s face crumpled. “You don’t get to say that. Not you. Not you! YOU don’t say that!”

Fred said nothing, he only smiled, and walked away. George turned his head quickly to follow him, but as always, Fred slid out the corner of his eye and was g...

And then it was another Weasley brother standing in front of him.

This time, it was Ron they’d sent. Good old Ron, lanky and solid and biting his lip in sympathy as he came to find his older brother sitting alone at the bar hunched over a half-empty glass. On the counter beside him was one untouched full pint, the frothy head long since evaporated.

“Come on, George,” said Ron gently. “There, I’ve got you. Let’s get you home.”

* * *

She was a girl made of facts and reason.

That was just the way she was wired.

“Dutch courage,” she said to herself, eyeing the glass of probably cheap plonk as if it was poison. Which technically it was.

“What’s that?” asked Ginny.

“Dutch courage,” she repeated. “It’s a muggle term, meaning the confidence gained from drinking alcohol, according to the Cambridge English Dictionary. Although,” she amended, “it’s derogatory to Dutch people and we probably shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I meet anyone from Orange Tulip Land,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “You certainly don’t need that sort of thing, Hermione, you’re one of the bravest people I know!”

Probably just hyperbole, thought Hermione, as that would be quite something, given that Ginny hung around with Aurors and Quidditch players and her boyfriend Harry Potter, or ‘His Excellency Most Spiffing Chosen Boy Who Lived To Kick Voldemort’s Arse’ as George called him. She picked up the glass, sipped it carefully, decided she quite liked the taste of Chateau Diagon Alley or whatever this was, and had a bigger swig.

Here’s a fun fact: it takes 6 minutes for the brain to react to alcohol.

Six minutes later, she didn’t think she felt any different. Warmer perhaps, but the New Year party was in full swing and Hermione thought maybe it was just the ambient temperature rising from all the people circulating, moving, dancing, talking, laughing.

Fun fact: drinking is ‘fun’ because alcohol lessens tension, eases social interaction, and reduces inhibitions.

Hermione sat in her corner and nursed her glass and knew she wasn’t really a social drinker, or any kind of drinker, or even at all ‘sociable’ to begin with. She envied how effortlessly Ginny and Bill and Parvati and everyone else were visibly enjoying themselves; Hermione would honestly prefer a nice book, a pot of peppermint tea, and perhaps with the company of...

Breathless from joking with Aurors and Obliviators and Patrolwizards and friends, Ron flung himself down beside her and threw an arm around her, and Hermione’s stomach fluttered pleasantly. “Alright there, Hermione?” He followed her gaze towards the wineglass. “Not poisoned, is it? Cause that’s no fun, believe me.”

Fact: I want to say I...

“That’s not funny, Ron, you could’ve died,” chided Hermione, although she couldn’t help giggling. “No, I just... it’s Dutch courage.”

“What’s that?” Hermione told him about English soldiers and gin and bravery, and the way he looked at her as he listened made her feel warm all over. “Nice. You know everything, Hermione,” Ron said admiringly.

“Not everything,” said Hermione wistfully. “I don’t know how to have fun at parties. Well, maybe that’s one more thing I do know now,” she joked lamely.

Fact: I...

Ron laughed at her probably atrocious attempt at humour, and said “Rubbish party anyway. Too many plonkers just wanting to be seen with heroes like Harry and Neville” (characteristically, Ron excluded himself from that category, Hermione observed) “and they’re only here because Kingsley said they absolutely had to be. I’d much rather have a quiet night in at home with you, Crookshanks, a nice fire, maybe a...”

No, I don’t know everything, thought Hermione. But I know this fact. “I love you, Ron Weasley.” And she grabbed him and snogged the hell out of him, ignoring the catcalls and cheers that rose all around.

Was it really the Dutch stuff, or was it all her own self, after all?

To be continued...

[watermelonsugar2612]

THE TRIP 'ALONE'

i got this random idea for a drabble and thought it was so hinny. so there we go:

“Ginny Potter. Be safe! Call me as soon as you get there! Face-time me twice a day, I love you,” Harry said standing at the airport, his hands on my shoulders, shaking me after every sentence. Fuck. He looked so hot. He stepped closer, and murmured in my ear, “If I see a single scratch anywhere on your body when you are back, I swear the person who gave it to you should be ready to die,” he growled and pulled away. Shit, I was shivering. Oh, by the way, I was going to my cousin’s house for her wedding. I was going for 4 days and this goodbye speech was getting me (extremely) riled up. He wasn’t coming because he had some important Auror stuff to do. This place was only a few hours away on the road and 45 minutes away by flight. This was my first trip alone after marriage. It has been 4 months of our marriage. All 4 of these months we had driven everyone around us crazy with our PDA. According to mum the newlywedly love was supposed to reduce after two months, but everyday, we were going at it like it was our honeymoon. “Boarding starts in 5 minutes…” he said looking at the board, “You’re staying at your cousin's place right?” He was just saying normal sentences, how could a man have this impact on me. “Y-Yeah, I’m staying at my c-cousin’s,” I cleared my throat and replied. He looked back and smirked. He said with genuinity in his eyes, “I’ll miss you, unimaginably, for everything,” his smirk softened and an announcement was made that my flight was ready to be boarded. “I’ll miss you too Harry. I love you!” I said with a cracking voice (not because I was crying; because I was extremely ‘wet’ somewhere else). I kissed him full on the lips. Pulled away (after idk how long; probably too long; the people were giving us the eyes when we stopped), took my suitcase from his hand and started walking. “CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU LAND! I LOVE YOU GINNY POTTER!” he almost screamed when I walked a few steps away.

My flight landed right on time. I met Bill (who was there to pick me up) at the airport and I ran to hug him. On our way out, we got ice-cream and burgers and we took the long way to her house. It was pretty large and had a lot of rooms. We went inside and I congratulated my cousin. Met everyone around and settled into my room. Tonight we were going out for dinner. I took a bath and freshened up. It had been about 2 hours since I had been here. I opened my phone to check my messages and realised it was dead. I didn’t pay much mind and plugged it in. I went out all ready to party and remembered I had to call Harry. I thought it wasn’t a big deal and just went on with my ministrations. We were all caught up at home and it was time to leave for dinner. By this time I had forgotten all about calling Harry, assuming I had already done so. Almost everyone was already out and in the cars. I went upstairs and grabbed my phone. I opened the main door, “WHAT?!” I screamed. There he was, standing there looking angry and tired. I had butterflies in my stomach but it was erupting with anger too. I stopped a little blush from coming to my cheeks. “You’re okay,” he sighed and hugged me. I literally threw him away. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU HARRY JAMES POTTER!?” I said, extremely loudly. They heard me shout and Bill, George, Angelina and Aunt Muriel ran downstairs. “You didn’t call me, or take any of my calls. You didn’t call for an entire hour, I was scared and I drove here,” he said with equal anger. “ARE YOU CRAZY? You drove here because I didn’t call you! That is so rhetorical Harry Potter!” I shouted back. “Gin, I was worried! It was impulsive, sorry, I know it's not okay, I was worried okay?!” he said, and tried to grab my hand but I stepped away. “You could’ve called one of my brothers, but you didn’t have the decency to do that, did you? You could’ve waited another hour!” I said back as he tried to hold my arm again, I didn’t let him and took another step back. “Gin, don’t make a scene let’s talk about it, somewhere else, hmm?” he said, somehow sounding angry and calm at the same time. “Yeah let's ‘talk about it,” I said, making air quotes and walking away to my room. He followed behind. I was so irritated by this man right now. This was honestly so embarrassing and the fact that Bill, Angelina, Aunt Muriel and all, saw it happen! I opened the door to my room and walked inside. He took a step inside being a few steps away from me. He closed the door and cast a silencing charm. “That was so fucking embarrassing Harry! Didn’t a single rational thought cross your mind before you drove all the way here, to check if I was okay nonetheless?! I’m not a bloody child, I can take care of myself. Didn’t it occur to you that I was caught up so I couldn’t call? You have got to stop being so overprotective!” I screamed. “You know what, forgive me that I’m so in love with you I don’t have a single rational thought when it comes to you. Forgive me that I can’t stand the thought of being without you for 4 days. Forgive me for showing up today. Forgive me for being so fucking impulsive. Forgive me that I care about you so much and would never forgive myself if anything happened to you!” he growled and pinned me to the wall. Not gonna lie, I was extremely turned on by this. His speech, and the fact that he left work and drove all the way here to only check if I was okay. He looked so genuine, so hot, while he had me pinned. One of his hands above my head, our bodies stuck together and our mouth inches apart. God, was this sexy. Fights were like foreplay to us, we got mad, we screamed, something (much like the thing going on right now; the whole pinned to the wall thing) happened and we ended up naked. Don’t get me wrong, we’d just shagged once today, in the morning. It was pretty miraculous that we were able to stop after round 1, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to shag for another 4 days. I lightly brushed my lips against his and said into his mouth, “I’m sorry to scream at you, I understand Potter. It was a big step that you took, driving all

the way here, so macho of you. Even though I fail to admit it, it was extremely hot when you came back. Looked so genuine and sexy, just perfect,” I said and bit his bottom lip. His phone rang, suddenly. Way to spoil the moment, stupid muggle device. He picked up and stayed on the line listening for a moment. “DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND! MY WIFE WAS NOT ALRIGHT-” he shouted, waited a minute, “Thanks for understanding, I’ll see you Monday,” he put the phone down. “What happened to your wife?” I said leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Oh! She’s very sick! Very far away from me too!” he replied, taking a step forward and pinning my back again. “Is she now?” I grinned and he bit my lip hard. “Not anymore,” he grinned. “Well, sorry for showing up unannounced. I just can’t deny myself a chance to see your beautiful face and do this,” he said, kissing me passionately on the lips. I thought I would melt. Even though it hadn't been too long we’d gone without kissing and we could go longer, I was craving this feeling so much. God. This man would be the end of me, he had so much impact on me for the tiniest things, I don’t know how we would go without this for 4 days. We would probably be at it for an entire day afterward. I switched positions wanting to take control but he had other plans. He threw me onto the bed and climbed on top of me.

We were going at it, hard and fast when we heard the door open with a creak. Fuck. Not one of my brothers please. “I did not just see my sister’s arse.” Bill whined and shut his eyes. Oh my god. Harry quickly pulled out and I ran into the bathroom. He covered his lower body with the bedsheet which was still folded and on the foot of the bed. “Bill, uh- I- you- a-are you okay?” I heard Harry stutter. “Are you decent yet?” Bill said with his back faced toward Harry. “Y-Yeah,” Harry hesitated and Bill turned forward. “I thought you were fighting?” he asked with widened eyes. “Uh, y-yeah we solved that,” Harry said, shoving his glasses up, “We’ll be down i-in a few minutes.” He finished and Bill made a disgusted face and left. “Gin! He’s gone,” Harry said and I walked out in a towel, “This is so not good. I’m going back to London, your brothers are going to kill me.” I looked down at him. “No, you’re staying, I’ll handle them,” I replied. “Gin, they’re going to-” I cut him off with a kiss and pulled away after a few seconds, “Is it such a surprise that we shag? We’re married, Harry. For god’s sake. We’ve been caught shagging by almost everyone, even when we were not married. It’s not our fault we can’t keep our hands off each other.” I said and kissed him again. He grinned into the kiss and bit my lip.

We finished our shenanigans in a matter of minutes, got dressed and went downstairs, hand in hand with Harry. “Dinner?” I asked my brothers cheerfully. “Sure sis,” George said and grinned. After a very awkward dinner, me and Harry departed to our room. This trip ‘alone’ sure was worth it.

[lilacyennefer]

Red

Anon said:  Hi! I’m so happy that your requests are open again!! Can I request “don’t make me take you home and punish you” and “try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.” with Ray? thank you ❤️ 

A/N: Thank you so much!! I'm actually really happy to be back and writing. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy it. 

WARNING: SMUT

(I am once again using a picture from my instagram)

Mickey Pearson always had an eye for beautiful, elegant things. 

That’s your first thought as you step into his new house, it’s not even a house, it's a huge manor, that he shares with Rosalind. 

He also liked to throw elegant parties at least once a year, and it’s not different now, with Christmas approaching, he decided to throw a party for the people he knew, and that included You and Raymond too. 

Mickey’s parties were always tasteful, charming, and a lot of fun. 

You loved them, and you loved that you had a reason to buy beautiful dresses, and dress like an actual queen. 

And Raymond? 

Raymond lived to see you in those dresses. 

He swore you were a goddess on earth every time you put on an elegant, but sexy dress, with matching high heels.

It’s not like he didn’t adore you every minute and every day since you were together, but there was something in seeing you in a dress that drove him crazy. 

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that after parties like this, you always had steamy hot sex when you got home. 

So, when Ray saw you coming out of the bedroom in a long, red dress, with matching high heels, he felt his cock twitch in his pants and he knew damn well that it’s going to be a long, long night. 

The first time you saw the dress, you fell in love with it, and you didn’t have to go and look around some more. 

The colour was hot, fiery red, and it was long with a slit on the left side, exposing your legs to the world, driving Raymond absolutely crazy, and it had an elegant, heart shaped cleavage. 

You loved it, so did Ray. 

After you arrived at the party, both You and Ray grabbed a glass of champagne as you walked around, saying hi to the guests, friends, and familiar faces. 

Raymond’s hand was on you the whole time, firmly fixed on your lower back, and when he thought that it was safe, he slowly sneaked his hand lower, very gently touching your cheeks.

You always sent him a look, signaling him that you’re in public, with lots of people. 

After dinner, and a few glasses of champagne, Ray’s hands were braver as you were sitting at the dinner table, sneaking his way up on your bare legs, dangerously close to your core. 

You clench your legs together, trapping Ray’s hand between them, and you look at him sharply, but you can’t see anything on his face as his focus is on Mickey as he’s chatting with him casually. 

You let out a frustrated puff, and drank the rest of your champagne. 

Raymond really has the nerve. 

Once he stopped talking with Mickey, you can feel his eyes on you, so you turn and look at him, only to see him watching you with a smirk on his lips, and a playful twinkle in his eyes. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, darlin’?” Ray asks you cheerfully, and you send him a look that could kill. 

“Don’t make me take you home and punish you.” You reply, and you can see Ray’s eyes darken from your response. 

He leans closer to you, until his lips are touching your ears, but barely, his breath ghosts over your skin as he speaks “And how would you do that?”

You’re so distracted by his hot breath and how it made you break out in goosebumps in your whole body, that you first don’t even know what he means by this, but then you realised. 

Really, how would you do it?

Because, usually, it was Ray who teased you, punished you, tied you up and fucked you so good and so long that you were a sweaty, begging mess under him. 

But it never was your turn, so how, and what would you do?

You lick your lips before you answer Ray’s burning question, then say “I’d tie you up first. Then I’d tease you so long and so much, that even after I let you cum, you still will be hard with want.” 

You made sure that with your last words, your hand landed on Raymond’s pants, exactly where his member is, hoping that you’ll feel him at least a little bit hard for you. 

And gosh, you weren't disappointed. 

When you placed your hand on him, you could feel his hardening erection under your hand, under the soft material of his elegant trousers that had matched his suit. 

You smirked satisfyingly when you heard Ray gasp a little, never expecting you to join his game of public teasing.

“Excuse yourself and go to the bathroom, I’ll follow you in a few minutes.” Raymond whispers into your ear once again, making you clench with want. 

You did as he told you, you excused yourself from the table, saying you don’t feel well, and you went to the bathroom, locking the door behind yourself. 

You took a minute to look at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, and your chest was rising and falling a bit more rapidly than the usual, and you almost could see your heart beating so fast under your skin, threatening to rip your chest open and jump out of you. 

This, is the effect Raymond Smith has on you.

You jumped a little when you heard a knock on the door, and when Ray told you it’s him you let him in. 

He barely gave you any time to close the door, he immediately was all over you, kissing and grabbing everything he could. 

You moaned loudly in his mouth, and Ray quickly broke the kiss to whisper “Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.” 

You don’t answer anything as Ray lifts you up against the door of the fancy bathroom, pinning you against it with your legs spread wilde as Ray is standing between them, his hands are pinning yours against the door by your wrists, and his face is buried in the exposed skin of your chest, licking and nipping the parts he can reach. 

“You’re so fucking hot in this dress.” Ray mutters against your neck before he licks that spot behind your ears what makes your knees absolutely weak. 

You’re so distracted by Ray’s lips on your skin, the way how his hot, velvet tongue licks every part he can reach, and how his beard scratches your skin as he wanders all over your body, and when he’s close to you, you can smell the product he uses on his beard, it’s sandalwood, you think, but you’re not sure, and honestly, in this moment, you don’t even care. 

You’re so turned on by the whole situation that all you can feel is Ray.

Raymond’s big hands on yours, Raymond’s lips on you, Raymond’s rock hard cock pressing against the soft lace material of your panties what you soaked through. 

All you can feel is Ray, Ray, and Ray. 

“Do you want me?” Raymond asks you when he breaks away from you, and you look at him with heavy eyes as you try to catch your breath, unsuccessfully. 

“I never wanted you more.” You whisper, making Ray groan loudly before he smashed his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss. 

“Please, please, please.” Is all you can say, but Ray doesn’t need more. 

He slips your panties to the side, the completely soaked lace panty, and so easily, he slips two fingers inside you. 

“I don’t think I ever felt you this wet.” Ray mutters “If I knew that public sex turns you on this much we could have done it earlier.” 

Honestly, you didn’t know it either. 

You never expected to get this turned on by sneaking into Mickey’s bathroom for a quickie, this was all new to you too. 

“Oh my god.” You moan when Ray curled his fingers inside of you, directly hitting your g-spot with his fingers, making your legs shake around Ray’s hips. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, please.” You beg as you feel yourself tighten around Ray’s agile fingers, the white heat is getting stronger and stronger until you’re ready to explode around him...

...but you can’t.

Seconds away from your orgasm, you heard two loud bangs on the door, resonating through your body. 

“Ray, what the hell is going on in there?” You hear Mickey’s voice coming through the bathroom door. 

You look each other in the eyes with Ray, his fingers are still buried deep inside your pussy.

“Nothing.” Ray says after he collected himself a little.

“Really? Because from the sounds that are coming from inside, it sounds like Y/N is not okay.” 

You know that Mickey knows exactly what you and Ray are doing inside, he just won’t say it. 

Your previously flushed cheeks turn into crimson red, and you hide your face in Ray’s chest from the embarrassment. 

“We will be out in a minute.” Is all what Ray says, pulling his fingers out of you, and gently placing you back on the floor. 

You watch Ray quickly wash his hands as you’re still standing in front of the closed door, trying to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” He asks you when he steps in front of you.

“Splendid.” You reply “But we need to go home, right now. And not just because I’m still on the edge of my orgasm, but because in no way, I can look Mickey in the eyes now.” 

“Yeah, it’s not you who has to work with him tomorrow.” 

“And because of who, we ended up shagging in the bathroom?” You ask Ray with raised eyebrows.

“Alright, alright.” He says as he opens the bathroom door for you, and you step outside, embarrassed. 

Mickey stands at the end of the hallway, leaning towards the wall, hands in his pockets. 

“Are you feeling better, Y/N?” He asks you when you reached him.

“No, she isn’t.” Ray replies instead of you “That’s why I think we should head home.” 

“It was a lovely party, Mickey! We both enjoyed it a lot.” You tell him as you say your goodbyes. 

Raymond is already dragging you towards the door when you faintly hear Mickey say:

“Oh yes, I bet you did.” 

———

After saying goodbye, totally embarrassed, you’re sitting in a limousine on your way back home, your legs are thrown over Ray’s, and you still can slightly feel him being hard under your legs. 

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you’re watching him, his focus is on the road, the only signal that he’s with you is how his thumb circles the exposed skin of your leg. 

Then you think ‘fuck it, let’s finish what we started’ and you quickly unclasped the safety belt, and with one move, you sat down in Ray’s lap, to his biggest surprise.

“Do you want me?” You repeat his words from the bathroom earlier, and he smirks at you before he crushes his lips against yours in a heated kiss. 

You move your shaky hands between your bodies, unzipping his pants so you can free his cock. 

Raymond groaned animalistically into your mouth when your soft, small hand touched his rock hard erection. 

You loved the combination of his soft skin and hardness, you loved to feel his veins under your hands or tongue. 

Still kissin, you started to move your hand around Ray, twisting, moving up and down, and when you reached his already leaking tip, you made sure to swirl your thumb over his sensitive head, spreading his precum, and moving a little lower to circle your thumb on the spot under his head, knowing what effect it has on Ray. 

Meanwhile Raymond’s fingers found their way under your dress, ripping your lace panty off of you and throwing it on the floor of the limousine. 

Ray always did this, ripping your finest lingerie off of you, then taking you shopping for new ones the next day. 

His agile fingers easily slipped between your folds, you were so wet you could actually hear it, so could Raymond, and gosh he fucking loved it. 

When your lungs were screaming for air you broke the kiss, and took Ray’s fingers away from your wetness. 

You made sure to keep eye contact as you raised his wet fingers into your mouth, sucking your wetness off of his fingers while you looked deeply into his eyes. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” Ray groans loudly, then he smashes his lips against yours again.

You lift your hips a little bit, and you straddle over his erection, placing him to your opening, and you slowly sink down on him, making both of you groan loudly. 

“You’re so fucking wet.” Ray praises as he gently wraps his fingers around your throat, not choking, just holding you. 

You were sitting there without moving, eyes closed as you let yourself adjust to his size before you started riding Ray with everything you got. 

Raymond’s hands were on your ass the whole time, supporting you, and helping you with your movements, kneading your cheeks in his big palms. 

You could swear that you never rode Ray this good, you don’t know if it was the fact that you were being teased all night, or the fact that you were in a limousine, but everything felt so much better than before as Ray’s big cock was slipping so easily in and out of you. 

Raymond lets your bottom go so he can slip the dress from your shoulders, revealing your bouncing tits to him.

With a loud groan, Ray buried his head between your boobs, licking and sucking your perky nipples, making your roll your hips against him from the pleasure. 

You were still on the edge from your previous almost orgasm, and you felt everything more intensely, especially since Ray’s throbbing erection brushed right against your g-spot with every move, and your clit was teased by the expensive material of his pants, and his talented tongue was licking, circling, and sucking your nipples just the way you love, and his beard, god you fucking loved feeling his beard on your skin while the two of you were fucking. 

“Please.” You beg quietly as you ride Ray faster and harder, chasing your own and his pleasure too. 

Raymond was just as eager to feel you explode around him as you were, wanting to throb and clench around him, swimming in the ultimate pleasure of your orgasm, so he bit down on the crook of your neck hard, knowing it will push you over the edge. 

And so it did.

As you felt Raymond’s teeth dig into your sensitive skin, your eyes rolled back into your skull as the mixture of pleasure and pain pushed you into your most intense orgasms you ever had. 

Your whole body is shaking, and you’re struggling to catch your breath as Ray is still pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm. 

You let out a sob from the feeling of his huge erection sliding in and out of your oversensitive pussy, so you put your hand on Ray’s chest to stop him.

“I want you to cum into my mouth.” You whisper against Ray’s lips, then you slowly, with your wobbly legs, you sit back in your place in the car. 

You take a look at Ray, and honestly you hated the fact how collected he looked, still after fucking. 

His hair was still in place, his glasses were sitting neatly on his nose, and his clothes were looking perfect, meanwhile you were a sweaty, hot mess. 

The only indication of your actions was Ray’s cock standing proudly, glistening from your wetness. 

You licked your lips and leaned down to take him in your mouth, you tried to not tease knowing very well that you’ll arrive at your home soon, so you started sucking him properly, tongue swirling over his tip, licking every part you can reach. 

Raymond’s head was thrown back on the seat, his eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and he wrinkled his forehead as his only focus was on how your mouth felt around him, how your velvet tongue licked him in the right spots, and sucked him like your life depended on it. 

“Yes, just like that.” He groaned, making you suck harder and faster. 

You felt him throb in your mouth, and you knew that he’s seconds away from cumming, so you took his balls into your hands and massaged them the way he liked it.

Raymond grunted loudly as his hip bucked up at the same moment his whole body went completely still as he spilled himself inside your mouth, making you swallow every drop he had to offer. 

You keep sucking him, more gentle this time, letting him ride his orgasm out, making sure every drop he had to offer landed in your mouth. 

You let his cock go with a loud pop, and you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand while Ray quickly tugged himself back into his pants since the car parked outside your house. 

The driver opened the door for the two of you, and Ray stepped outside first, then he helped you out, since your legs were still shaking from your orgasm he wrapped his strong arm around your body, supporting you. 

“I hope you had a great ride!” The driver says as a goodbye, and you freeze.

“Do you think he knows?” You ask Ray as you watch the limousine drive away. 

“Yes, you were loud.” Ray says casually as you reach the front door. He’s about to open the door when he stops, you can see him think for a second before he says “Plus we forgot your panty on the floor.” 

Tag List: @innerpaperexpertcloud​ @lady-evans​ @agirllovespancakes​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @claudiahxrdy​ @keithseabrook27​ @alexa-rae-dreamz​ @rocketqueen​ @woahitslucyylu​ @de-profundis-ad-astra​ @mylifeliterally​ @happyhenners​ @rosieposie0624​ @hotdamnhunnam​ (send an ask or comment if you want to get added)

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/67791176

Chapter 39

The band's success became more and more noticeable. Even though they seemlingy didn't do anything different than before, what was making their music, the hotels they lived in became more luxurious. Suddenly they were filled with eagerly polite pages that followed them around, not only caring for their luggage for that they could now afford more costly stuff. Still, more important to them than clothes and fancy rooms, was their equipment. Norbert saved money for something very special he had been looking forward to for a long time. When he finally had enough, he set out early in the morning to get it, because it had become increasingly difficult for him to show his face in public without being recognized by anyone. Even though Norbert liked the attention, if not admiration, he avoided them now. He didn't want to be held up. Someone else was going to admire him today and he couln't wait to see that person again.

Some time later he arrived at Bates' Music Shop. The quiet ring of the bell already made him feel nostalgic for all the good old times he had spend in there, staring at all those instruments he couldn't pay for and wallowing in dreams. It was a long time ago since he had last visited the shop. He simply didn't have time. And now he felt like he entered the past. He let his eye wander over the shiny new equipment, thinking about how much he could afford now. A mix of various colorful guitars caught his eye. But when he searched for the object of his desire he noticed with horror that it was gone.

"No", he whispered and hurried over to the instruments to take a closer look. He couldn't find the one. Then a familiar voice interrupted him. "Can I help you?" Immediately, he turned around. "Where is it?", he desperately asked and Bates gave him a puzzled stare. "I'm sorry?" Norbert pointed at the wall. "That masterpiece of wood and strings that was hanging over there." "You mean, the blue guitar?" "Yeah, that," Norbert said, vehemently nodding. "Where is it now?" "Well," Bates said, turned away and walked back to the counter, way too relaxed for Norbert's taste.

"It's reserved for a special customer," the shopkeeper explained then. "What? Who?", Norbert blurted out. "I'm sorry, but I'm not giving away the names of my customers. Discretion, you know." Norbert, who had followed him to the counter, now folded his hands to plead: "Please, Mr. Bates, I must have it! I'll pay more than that other customer! You know how much it means to me, please think about it!" Bates blinked. "Norbert? Is that you?" His expession lit up. "Uh...Yeah, it's me," Norbert answered and unsurely grabbed his hair. "Did I change so much not even you can recognize me?"

"Well, if you don't look close enough...", Bates eyed him. "I heard you're a star now." Norbert was flattered but waved him off. "Nowhere near. I just stopped being broke for most of the time." "Nick Lightbearer", Bates said grinning. Norbert returned the smile. "The girls like it." "Oh, I can imagine you're being very busy now. You don't come round to my place anymore." "Uh, well, we really are busy. You know, the tour and everything. We've never been as wanted as we are now. It's all exciting. We even played in the Parade District." "I hope there's no better music shop in the Parade District that you favor now?" "Oh, no, there's no better shop than yours in the entire town," Norbert assured him, making Bates light up even more.

"Well, I've been wondering if you would remember good old Bates one day and visit me again. And for that case..." He grabbed something under the counter. "I kept this for a while longer." Suddenly, the blue-silver, shiny guitar lied in front of Norbert who loudly gasped. "You...you kept it for me?," he stuttered while his fingers stroked the polished wooden body. "You're lucky. I was about to give it away. There really is another potential buyer I can't put off for any longer." "You really are priceless", Norbert sighed, then he quickly digged into this pocked and brought out a wad of notes that he slapped on the counter. "Keep the rest," he said with emphasis. Bates shortly estimated how much it was, then he shook his head. "I can't take that." "You can. See it as amends for everything I owe you." "You don't owe me nothing." "Nothing officially," Norbert corrected him and shoved the notes back to him. "Just take it. Or else I'll offer you more." "Don't lead me into temptation, old Nick," Bates said laughing and finally accepted the payment. "But don't let that get to your head, you hear me? Money makes people lose their common sense. You're a good boy, Norbert. Stay that way."

Norbert gave a wide smile. "Don't worry, I have the best overseer," he said, thinking about his beloved, sensible Morrie. "Alright." Bates shortly patted his shoulder. "Drop by from time to time, will you?" "Of course I'll come back," Norbert promised, "I can't survive without your stuff!" "Little charmer." "You know me," Norbert said with a self-contented shrug. "Good luck, Norbert", Bates dismissed him and Norbert reverently took his new guitar, put it in it's case and made his way back to the hotel, where Morrie was surely waiting for him. He was so euphoric he felt like he could fly away if the guitar case wouldn't hold him down. He couldn't wait to show his lover what he got.

First, he placed it in the hallway, before he went into the room. Morrie was sitting at the desk and writing music, as usual. "Hey there, my sweetheart, did you miss me?," Norbert greeted him cheerfully. "Norbert, where have you been?" His lover sounded a bit reproachful. Norbert walked over to him and started to massage his shoulders. Morrie stretched himself, leaning into the touch and sighing quietly. Then Norbert leaned closer to whisper into his lover's ear: "I have a new crush." Morrie promptly froze. "You have what?" His voice rasped. Norbert continued to pet him while he said: "She's outside, in the hallway. Wanna see her?" His voice was soft as silk. Morrie stood up and stared at him in disbelief, following him outside.

He was still staring when Norbert showed him his new acquirement with bright eyes. "Isn't she beautiful?", he whispered, holding the wooden body. Morrie let out the air. "You...", he began and walked towards Norbert. "You nasty brat!" Norbert broke out in laughter and fled backwards until his back hit the wall. His lover had no trouble closing the distance between them. "Come here you, I'll teach you a lesson!" He grabbed the other boy, threw him over his shoulder and carried him back to the bed. Norbert still laughed hysterically, trying to speak. "...Morrie...wait...can't you take a joke...?"

The moment he lied in bed Morrie started to tickle him without mercy. "Stop," Norbert was soon out of breath. "Stop it!" "So, you've been in Bates' Music Shop without me? What weird new habit is that?", Morrie asked him, granting him a pause. "I...wanted...to...surprise you," Norbert gasped. "Fucking me over is what you wanted," Morrie countered and continued the punishment. "Scare the hell out of me. What did I do to deserve this?" Norbert winded, helplessly laughing. "Nothing...nothing! Please, Morrie...I...sincerely...apologize...please stop...I...can't..." Morrie showed pity and granted him another pause.

While he watched him gasp for air, he couldn't help but pet his cheek, tell him it was okay. Norbert quietly chuckled and beamed at him. "Do you like it a bit?", he asked after calming down. "Oh, yes," Morrie affirmed. "You'll look ravishing with it. I won't be able to focus when I see you on stage." Norbert chuckled. "You only see me from behind." "That's even worse." Morrie chuckled too. "But you'll turn around for me from time to time, right? Blow me a kiss and that?" "Sure, I'll come over to shag you on your concert grand." Morrie's face turned a bit more pink. "You know how I like it."

Their financial status wasn't the only thing that changed alongside with their increasing popularity. One day Norbert entered the breakfast lounge and a girl walked close behind him, asking him, seemingly out of breath: "I'm sorry, are you Nick Lightbearer?" Norbert eyed her face that radiated excitement and made a lazy pose when he answered: "You're right, luv, that's me. And who are you?" She made a high pitched sound and pressed her hands on her mouth, before she clasped them and said: "I'm your biggest fan!" Then she calmed down a bit and said quieter. "Elaine, just call me Elaine." "Okay, Elaine," Norbert answered, and even this simple sentence made her chuckle happily. "How about we get ourselves a coffee and talk?" That made her a bit uneasy.

"I'd totally love to...But...but...I don't live in this hotel. I only heard a rumour that you're here and sneaked past the waiters to get to you." "Really?", Norbert laughed. "You have some manners, girl." She chuckled again. "Are you mad?" "Nonsense, just sit down, you're my guest now.", he decided without hesitation. He hadn't met a fan before that took a risk to see him and he was just as curious about her than she was about him. Soon, they were sitting at one of the modern, expensive looking tables and Norbert ordered them coffee.

"That's so kind of you, Nicky," she sighed, admiring him. Norbert waved her off. "It's nothing..." "You are a kind one, are you? Or are you rather dangerous, you know, like they say in the magazines?", she continued to purr, eyeing her idol, who made an effort to adjust his suit and his hair without being obvious. If he had known he had visitors today he would've spent more time on it in the bathroom. "That depends," he answered, "right now I'm in a way too good mood to be dangerous." "Oh, that's so amazing," she cheered. "I've always wanted to meet you, Nicky, and now I finally see you in person." "Well I hope you're not disappointed," Norbert said and leaned back, looking as relaxed as possible while his feelings boiled up. He had the choice between bursting with pride or drilling her with questions why of all people she admired him so much. Instead he tried to look like it wasn't the first time he met a fan.

"Absolutely not. You look even better than in the magazines." She sighed again. "I didn't get that close to you at your concerts. I'm so glad I found you, Nicky. Does it bother you that I call you Nicky?" "Not at all. My friends call me that too." Norbert's heart pounded loudly. Many girls liked him before, but they never adored him that much and made him so many compliments. This whole situation paralysed his tongue. He found himself much too taciturn, but Elaine seemed to like him anyway. Every single one of his words made her beam more.

Suddenly she leaned closer and whispered so quietly that he had to lean in too to hear her. "I fell in love with you just the moment I saw you on TV..." Norbert froze, wondering if he had misheard her, and gave her a quite flabbergasted look. Then he felt her foot on his. "Don't you feel it too? Our hearts beat like one when we're close." Norbert opened his mouth to answer but his brain didn't come up with anything, so he stared in silence. The cool facade collapsed. He knew he should shy away, run, but that would only embarass him in front of everyone in this room. In addition, his body didn't obey him. He was paralysed, waiting for anything to happen.

"You have to kiss me now, Nicky," she whispered. Norbert leaned closer without thinking. He tilted his head, felt the warmth of her skin when he suddenly stopped. His heart pounded heavily in his throat and panic started to bubble up in him. The feeling radiated from his chest and ran through his body, causing him to struggle his way off the table while Elaine's disappointed look followed him. "Sorry...I don't feel it," he stuttered and hurried out of the lounge, feeling the looks of every guest on him and the heat crawling up his face. But he couldn't stop running until he was back in his room.

Still shivering, he crawled under the blanked, trying to forget Elaine. But the feeling of regret didn't leave him. Regret of running away, not taking the chance. She had longed for him so much. He couldn't forget her eyes he had been running from and feared he would dream of them. Then he scolded himself. Morrie was his one true love! Why was it so hard to follow that simple rule? He felt guilt, as if he had really kissed her, because he wished he had done it. Because he felt like a coward and at the same time like a cheater. He didn't know how long he hid under the blanket until Morrie found him. He felt his fingers palpate the blanket. "Norrie? Are you still in bed?" Then he lifted it up and eyed at his lover with an amused expression. "What are you doing down there?" When he saw Norbert's helpless look he turned serious. "Is something wrong? Are you hurt?"

Norbert straightened himself, grabbed Morrie like a drown would grab the shore, and pressed his lips on his. He kissed him as fiercely as he would've kissed her, giving to him what she had tried to steal. Morrie, who was surprised by his lover's eagerness, made an amazed sound. He was pulled into the bed. Norbert sat down on his lap and gave in to the urge he had been surpressing, ripping the clothes off his lover's body. He bit and licked Morrie's skin, turning him into a winding and moaning mess. Then he entered Morrie, making his lover gasp at the unexpected, forcing himself not to cramp. Norbert began with a slow rythm, feeling Morrie move his hips to let him in. He needed him more than ever. His fate depended on this moment.

When the release he had longed for overwhelmed him, he bit Morrie's shoulder, feeling the salty taste of his sweat. Shivering and sweating, he made a few more thrusts while Morrie clung to him, moaning in pleasure and ruining the bedsheet. When Norbert collapsed next to him, he heard his lover breathe in silence. His hands stroked Norbert's temples and Norbert closed his eyes, focusing on the gentle touch. Then his lover made an approving whistle. "My, Norrie...", he whispered. "I gotta say...I didn't know you until now." "I see that as a compliment," Norbert sighed, hugged his lover tightly and smiled. "Do you feel better?", Morrie said into his ruffled hair. "Yeah." All feelings for Elaine were gone. He kissed Morrie once more, on the cheek, as thanks.

[emospritelet]

Honourable Members

This is partly the fault of @thestraggletag for this post and the subsequent dream I had.  It’s also the fault of Bobby for posting pics of his new project.  I know I said I wouldn’t post it until it was done but I am weak.  Should be a three-parter.  Part two is almost done.  See AO3 re the fictional political parties and Government departments.  Sorry about the title: I am a child :)

AO3 link

If there was one thing Robert Sutherland hated more than any other, it was giving interviews to right-wing lifestyle journalists.  He’d had to suffer through many an indignity in his working life, but relatively little of that life had been under public scrutiny.  He had had what was diplomatically described as an inauspicious start in life, but had developed an interest in politics after becoming a union representative at the factory where he had started work at sixteen.  Coming to Westminster as a backbench MP had opened his eyes to the reality of trying to represent the people he served in a place rife with deep divisions and party infighting.

One of the hardest lessons he had learned was that honesty and integrity did not automatically lead to political success.  A less surprising, if more irritating realisation, was that once you made it to the House of Commons, and especially to the front benches, it was open season on your private life as far as certain sections of the press were concerned.  He thought that it was probably fortunate that he had gotten divorced five years earlier, before becoming leader of his party, but it didn’t stop the speculation about potential love interests. Since leading his party through a successful election campaign, ousting the British Unionists from power in a crushing victory and entering 10 Downing Street, the interest from the press had only grown, and with it the amount of salacious gossip that he tried hard to ignore.

He supposed it was hardly surprising; he had been single since the divorce and happily so, but a vacuum always tempted people to fill it with their own rumours.  His Principal Private Secretary, Carrie de Ville, had assured him that giving interviews to publications such as Green Space would improve his polling amongst right-wing middle class women, but he was beginning to wonder if the current discomfort he felt was worth it.

The current subject of his disdain, Ms Tamara Finlay-Warburton, was perched on a chair in the White State Drawing Room, a porcelain cup of tea steaming in its saucer on the table beside her.  The red-haired woman had been servile to the point of revulsion, but there was a predatory gleam in her blue eyes that told him she was in no way to be trusted.  10 Downing Street’s resident cat, Arthur, had taken one look at her and scurried off, and he considered that a black mark against her character before she had even opened her mouth.

“So,” purred Ms Finlay-Warburton, tapping her pencil on her notebook.  “Still unmarried, after all these years. It must get lonely, having no one to share your success with.”

“Can’t say I’ve thought about it,” he said.  “A little too busy with matters of state.”

“So there’s no special someone?” she pressed.  “No dirty little secrets? We’re all aware of how indispensable your secretary is.”

“Yes, Carrie is my right hand woman,” he said honestly.

“So there’s no sexual tension there?”

He blinked at that.

“Uh - no,” he said.  “Our relationship is very professional.”

“But so many relationships start in the workplace, don’t they?”

“That may be true,” he said, feeling his irritation grow.  “But she’s already married.”

“Well, it’s not as though that’s a barrier to anyone these days,” she said airily. “You can imagine the opportunities for gossip, I’m sure.”

“Did you do any research before this interview?” he asked waspishly.  “She’s married to a woman!”

“Oh.”

She looked momentarily stumped, and shuddered delicately, as though Carrie’s private life was somehow distasteful.  It made him dislike her all the more.

“Well, I did a piece on her last year,” she said.  “I must have forgotten that, but then I was concentrating on her time at university.  Quite the wild thing in her youth.”

“I couldn’t care less what she got up to,” he said, reaching for his tea, and counting down the seconds until the allotted fifteen minutes was up.  “She’s extremely competent.”

“So, no sparks flying from that direction,” she said vaguely, scribbling in her notebook.  “Of course, the other rumour is that you’re having an affair with the intern.  Comments?”

Sutherland almost spat out his tea.

“Alice?”

She sat forward, pale eyes gleaming.

“Why so surprised?” she purred.  “Pretty young girl, blonde curls, all that energy and innocence of youth.  A little odd, by all accounts, so she probably needs taking under your wing and protecting.  Plus, I hear she’s always pulling your tie straight and dusting your shoulders.  Rather familiar for a mere minion, wouldn’t you say?”

“I can assure you she’d think the idea of the two of us sleeping together both hilarious and revolting,” he said tersely.  “And don’t ever call her a minion in my presence again.”

“Ooh, looks like I touched a nerve,” she said, with a smirk.  “No need to hide your office romance from me, Prime Minister.”

“I’m not,” he snapped.

“And why should my readers believe that?”

“Because I’m a massive lesbian!” announced Alice cheerfully, breezing into the room with a leather folder in her hands and her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders.  “Going from what you write in that magazine of yours, I’m probably at least partly responsible for the decline of society, but I have to say I’m having a lot of fun with it.”

Ms Finlay-Warburton looked as though she’d bitten something sour, and sat back as Alice leaned over to place the folder in Sutherland’s hand.  Alice grinned and leaned closer, making her shrink almost into the cushions of the chair.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Alice pleasantly.  “You’re so not my type.  I did put my nasty gay hands all over the biscuits though, so I hope you didn’t eat any.”

Sutherland bit the inside of his cheeks to hide a smile, and she winked at him.

“Carrie said to tell you that the car will be here in a moment, sir,” she said.

“Thank you, Alice.”  He stood, tugging his cuffs straight.  “Ms Finlay-Warburton, you must excuse me. Prime Minister’s Questions, you know.  Ms de Ville will show you out.”

He strode out of the room, wanting to sigh with relief, and made it to the waiting car without incident.  It idled outside Number 10, the engine purring as they waited for Carrie to emerge with his briefcase.  She appeared in less than a minute, sharply-tailored charcoal grey trouser suit and white silk shirt beneath a gleaming bob of blonde hair.  She slid onto the back seat beside him, setting the briefcase between them, and the door thumped shut before the car pulled away. Sutherland slipped the leather folder into the case, and Carrie looked at him with some amusement.

“I hear the interview went well,” she said wryly.  “She seemed not to want to shake my hand, so I can only assume she’s remembered I’m a raging homosexual.”

“I don’t understand why you delight in inviting bigots to interview me.”

“Oh, it’s fun,” she said airily.  “They’re always the easiest to offend.  Besides, it’s a section of society in which you need to improve your polling.  You’re falling down with the ‘traditional family values’ mob.”

“I don’t need the support of intolerant arseholes,” he said sourly.

“Now now,” she chided.  “That’s not the attitude to take.  Their votes are as good as anyone’s.  And not all of them are like Ms Fanny-Wobblebum, I assure you.”

“Bloody gossip-monger!” he grumbled, running a hand through short, greying hair.  “She could have asked about the new policy on free childcare or the money for women’s support services, but instead it’s a bunch of bloody shite about work-based romance!  Are they expecting me to be shagging half my staff?”

“Probably.”

“Well, they’re in for a disappointment.”

“Oh, they’ll just make something up, you know how it goes.”

“They’re welcome to.”  He sat back with a sigh.  “Any idea what’s coming up in PMQs?”

“Other than the usual?” she asked.  “Nothing I’ve heard. We’re as prepared as we can be.”

“Good.”

x

The Commons was in excellent voice, the benches filled with MPs, almost all of whom were awake and contributing to the noise.  Sutherland tuned it out, tapping his fingers on the papers in front of him, the crisp white cuffs of his shirt just visible above the sleeves of his black suit.  He knew the contents of his papers by heart, but having them there was useful nonetheless, allowing him to collect his thoughts when necessary. Prime Minister’s Questions was in full swing, and having delivered a ringing endorsement of the government’s economic record in response to a question from his own side, he was waiting for the resulting shouts of derision and braying cheers to die down before the first of the questions from the Opposition back benches.

“Miss Belle French!” bellowed the Speaker.

Sutherland’s brow crinkled for a moment. French, French.  Ah, of course.  New Liberals.  Just won the by-election in Avonleigh.  Carrie says she’s one to watch.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.”

He glanced around, trying to see where the voice was coming from. There. God, she’s tiny!  A young woman was standing in the top right of the rows of benches.  Small and pale, with deep red lips and chestnut hair tied neatly back, she was dressed in a very respectable dark blue dress and jacket.  She was perhaps five feet four, although his guess could be off by an inch or two, depending on how high her heels were. She was also incredibly pretty, but he did his best to ignore that fact.

“Mr Speaker,” she began, “last week in my constituency of Avonleigh, I received some truly shocking news regarding Government contractor Wolsingham plc and its negligent attitude to its waste treatment facility.  It appears that waste material from the production plant bordering my constituency has been leaking out and is in danger of polluting the water supplies used by local farmers.”

A familiar noise rose in the House, a booming chorus of denials from the Government benches, and roars of support from the Opposition.  Sutherland wanted to sigh. Questions about Wolsingham plc were inevitable, he supposed; nothing stayed secret for long in politics, but he had hoped to avoid the issue for a little longer.

“Rumours have also spread,” she went on, “that the company itself is failing and that its assets are being sold off piecemeal while it destroys the land around it!”

The noise had increased to a roar, the odd bleating noise from some of the older politicians, order papers being waved.

“Having - having made some enquiries—” Miss French was having to shout to be heard over the din.  “—I was shocked to discover that not only was Wolsingham plc fully aware of the pollution, but had done - had - had done—”

The clamour from the House had reached a level loud enough to drown her out, and she bit her lip, clearly frustrated.

“Order!” shouted the Speaker, calming the noise somewhat.  “The Honourable lady must be allowed to put her question!  Which I have every hope she will do very shortly, rather than treat us to a lengthy speech!  Miss French!”

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.”

She was still looking frustrated, and Sutherland sensed that she would abandon the speech, ask her question and be done.  Good.

“My constituents are concerned that special interest groups may be influencing Government policy regarding Wolsingham plc,” she said. “Particularly in respect of their continued breach of environmental legislation, and the company’s future financial viability. What assurances can the Prime Minister give me to take back to my constituents that their concerns are being addressed?”

Sutherland nodded as he stood up at the despatch box, catching her eye. She was staring at him with a strange mixture of caution and hope.

“Let me be amongst the first to welcome the Honourable lady to the House,” he said.  “I trust that she will serve her constituents well, and the country as a whole. This Government is - aware - of the reports of which she speaks, and I can assure her that they are being looked into.  A statement will be made in due course.”

He sat down to indicate that he was finished, shuffling the papers in his hands. Miss French was bouncing on her toes, mouth opening and closing and looking outraged, but the Speaker called another name, and she was forced to sit down, her face like thunder.  Sutherland tried to put her out of his mind as he listened to a question from his own side. A pity she had chosen to raise the bloody subject today, but there it was. No doubt the press would now start digging around, and the whole shit show would be wide open for all to see before they could get everything sewn up.  New MPs.  Always so bloody idealistic.

Once PMQs was over, he gathered his papers, slipping them into his briefcase before stepping away from the despatch box.  There was to be a debate on renewable energy, but he left the Environment Secretary to make the Government’s arguments. Carrie was waiting for him in the lobby, foot tapping impatiently on the stone tiles.  She flicked her hair out of her eyes and arched a brow at him as he left the chamber.

“Well, that was reasonably successful,” she said, taking the briefcase from him and shoving it at one of her assistants as they began walking.  “I thought we might go through the preparations for the President’s visit after your four o’clock.”

“Yes, fine,” he said.  “I believe her wife is coming too?”

“So my counterpart across the pond tells me.”

“Good.  We’ll host them at Chequers, but I’ll leave any decisions on menus and entertainment in your hands.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Prime Minister!”

He wanted to sigh as a clear voice cut across the lobby.  Miss French.  Of course.  He kept walking, shoes ringing on the gleaming tiles.

“Prime Minister, if I might have a word?”

She trotted up beside him, but he didn’t slow his stride.  Carrie looked at her somewhat askance, but said nothing.

“What is it, Miss French?” he asked dismissively.

“My question about Wolsingham plc,” she said, her voice impatient.  “You completely shut me down!”

“No, I gave you an answer,” he said.  “Just not the one you wanted.”

“I told my constituents I would raise the matter with you personally!”

“And so you have,” he said, and turned away from her to Carrie, who was watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.  “Carrie, can we fit Mr Llewellyn in before six, do you think?”

“I could find ten minutes in your diary, sir, no more.  And even that would be a squeeze.”

“Do that, then,” he said.  “If you can get one of your staff to prepare a one-page briefing paper beforehand? I’d rather not go in cold.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.”

They walked on, and Miss French trotted to keep up.

“Prime Minister, might I schedule some time with you to discuss my concerns?” she asked, and he glanced across at her.

“Put your question in writing to Ms de Ville, Miss French, if you’re unhappy with the answer I gave,” he said impatiently.

“It wasn’t an answer!” she retorted.  “It - it was a fudge! You didn’t tell me anything!”

“As I said, put any further requests to my secretary in writing,” he said.

“A letter?” she scoffed.  “Should I sign it with a quill pen?  This isn’t the nineteenth century!”

“There are still protocols to follow, as you’re well aware,” he said.  “I’ve already said we will be making a statement in due course, and I have nothing further to add at this time.”

He walked on, the entrance looming in front of him, spring sunshine spreading across the tiles.  He could hear the rapid click of Miss French’s shoes as she sought to keep up with his stride, and rolled his eyes as they stepped out into the warm spring sunlight.  The press pack waited some way beyond, cameras clicking and flashing, reporters waiting with mikes outstretched, and Miss French was still at his heels like an insistent terrier.

“Prime Minister, I really don’t think you understand how worrying this is for my constituents,” she said, a little breathlessly.  “If we could just sit down to discuss the matter, I’m sure we could—”

Sutherland stopped abruptly, spinning on his toes to face her as he finally lost patience.

“Miss French, are you deaf or merely stupid?” he snapped.  “For the last time, I have nothing to say to you regarding Wolsingham plc and this will remain the case until the Government delivers its official statement on the matter!”

She stared at him, strands of chestnut hair buffeted by the wind.  Her eyes were wide and very blue, her cheeks smooth and pale. She had full lips, painted with a deep red lipstick that outlined them perfectly.  They were slightly parted in shock at his outburst, but there was also fire in her eyes, something he recognised well from his own youth, when he had been filled with ideals, with the desire to do good.  It made him feel old and irrelevant. An ancient political dragon, facing a young would-be slayer, Chosen One of the people. Oddly, it also made him want to stand his ground, to roar and belch out flames one last time to protect what he hoarded.  Instead, he tried for a more measured, dismissive approach. The young firebrand was gone, after all, mellowed by the years into the elder statesman.

“Put your concerns in writing,” he said, more calmly.  “Ms de Ville will bring them to my attention as she sees fit.”

Miss French worked her jaw a little.

“I thought at least you might hear me out,” she said.  “I’m aware you were born and raised in a deprived community, you must know how dependent my people are on the land around them, and—”

“I got where I am by knowing how to pick my battles,” he interrupted. “Something you appear to have no concept of, but which you’ll learn in time, I have no doubt.  If you want to be anything other than a voice in the wilderness, you need to learn how to bend in the wind, follow protocol, and understand that sometimes progress happens in ways you may not always like.”

“I came here to serve my constituents!” she protested, raising her hands and letting them fall.  “To give a voice to those who can’t speak out for themselves, to - to help people!  Not to become part of the problem!”

“Enjoy your time on the back benches, then,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Spend time in your constituency, and leave the politics to those of us who are in touch with reality.  While you’re listening to tales of woe and patting shoulders and kissing babies, you’ll become increasingly irrelevant.”

She opened her mouth angrily, but he cut her off.

“You’re not part of some Borough Council anymore,” he said scathingly.  “Time to grow up. See the big picture.”

“Don’t patronise me!”

“Don’t act like a child, then.”

She took a step towards him, eyes flashing with the light of challenge.  It was giving him a tiny thrill, a tight ball of fire in his chest that was sending a pulsing trail of heat down to his groin.  No one had dared to get in his face to this extent for years, instead shouting their insults from across the benches or making sly comments about his alleged incompetence to the press.  To have someone go toe-to-toe with him outside the Houses of Parliament was almost exhilarating.

“So, one little push back from a woman, and the misogyny surfaces,” she said, in a flat tone.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“My assessment of your behaviour is based on your inexperience and current attitude, not your gender.”

“And you want to teach me a lesson, is that it, sir?”

Oh, his mind did not need to go there!  He yanked it back before his imagination could cause too much mischief.

“I have every confidence that your peers will do that, Miss French,” he said coldly.  “Do us all an enormous favour and try not to get above yourself in the meantime.”

“If you think you can pat me on the head and shut me up, you’re mistaken!”

He smiled at that, knowing how it would irritate her, and was proven right as her glare intensified.

“Well, I must say this passion is admirable,” he drawled.  “But ultimately pointless.  Political naivety may play well in whatever backwater constituency you managed to claw your way into, but in Westminster it’ll get you eaten alive.”

“I have no intention of - of letting you eat me!” she snapped.

A faint blush had risen on her cheeks, and he felt an odd lurch in his belly as his active mind helpfully provided an alternative meaning for that phrase.  She was glaring at him, eyes shooting blue sparks, chin raised as though she would bite him.

“Then take my advice,” he said.  “Pick your battles. Fall in line. And wait your bloody turn.”

“So, they got to you, too?” she said bitterly.  “I might have known. I knew there had to be some reason everyone’s lips are sealed.  Wolsingham has his dirty little fingers in every political pie going, it seems to me.”

As fascinating as she was, Sutherland had had enough.  He raised an admonitory finger, leaning in as his eyes bored into hers and she met him stare for stare.

“You’re new here, Miss French,” he growled, his accent thickening.  “So I’m gonna let that one slide. You ever question my integrity again, and you and I are gonna have a problem, understood?”

She swallowed, sudden fear in her eyes.  It was gone almost as quickly as it had come, her jaw tightening as she faced him down.  Really, she was magnificent. There were flashes in the air around them, the click of cameras, and he wanted to groan as he remembered they were in the sights of the entirety of the Westminster press.  At least they were out of reach of any microphones, he supposed. He leaned back, swallowing his anger, and nodded curtly.

“Good day, Miss French.”

He turned on his heel, Carrie side-eyeing him before following him to the car. Reporters clamoured, questions being fired at him, but he ignored them all, slipping onto the back seat and staring straight ahead as Carrie got in on the other side.  The door closed with a heavy thump, and the sounds of the waiting press were cut off immediately. Thank God for armour plating.

“Well,” said Carrie, as the car pulled slowly away.  “That was - bracing.”

She sounded highly amused, and he decided to change the subject before she could start teasing him.

“Who’s next?” he asked.

“Lunch first,” she said promptly.  “Then I thought we might go through the Select Committee papers before tomorrow.  And you have a four-thirty with the Chancellor.”

“Fine.”

Sutherland sat back as the car headed for Downing Street, trying to ignore his thumping heart.  Miss French was a mouthy nuisance, to be sure, and he wanted to put her from his mind, but the encounter had made him feel more alive than he had in years.

x

The heavy tick of the clock on the wall showed that it was after ten, and Sutherland pinched the bridge of his nose to clear his eyes.  A large tabby cat with white socks was settled comfortably on a pile of discarded papers to his left, purring contentedly. Arthur’s job was supposedly to catch mice, but he seemed to spend most of his time sleeping as far as Sutherland could tell.  He didn’t mind that too much; he liked cats, and it was nice to have a little company in the evenings when he finally stopped working. He scratched Arthur’s ears, receiving a nuzzle in response, and set the final document aside just as Carrie entered.  She had a glass of whisky in one hand, a pile of newspapers in the crook of her arm and a wide grin on her face.

“Well, at least you made the front page.”

She dropped the first editions of the next day’s papers on his desk, startling the cat into a standing position. He lashed his striped tail before settling down again, tucking his feet under as the top newspaper—a copy of The Sun—slithered off the pile into Sutherland’s hands.  A picture took up almost the entire page, a close-up of he and Miss French practically nose to nose, glaring at one another with every ounce of the mutual disdain they could muster.  The headline above, in thick red letters, shouted GET A ROOM!

Sutherland groaned under his breath as Carrie chortled, and despite himself he read the opening paragraphs of the drivel masquerading as an article. Sparks flew this afternoon outside the Houses of Parliament as Avonleigh’s stunning New Liberal MP Belle French went toe-to-toe with the PM!  Petite brunette Belle (29) let Sutherland have it with both barrels! You could cut the sexual tension with a knife, and your Sun reporter wonders how they might break their deadlock outside of a bedroom!  Policy difference or lovers’ tiff? See more on page 2! Pages 4 and 5: Belle French - bombshell or bitch?

He tossed the paper aside in disgust, and Carrie caught it, grinning at him.

“Now now,” she chided.  “Don’t blame the press for the stories they cover.”

“It’s The Sun,” he growled.  “One flash of a pretty woman’s legs and they collectively lose their tiny minds.”

“So, you think she’s pretty?”

“Please tell me she didn’t give an interview,” he sighed, ignoring her question.

“Not that I can see,” she said.  “But the two of you made the front of every tabloid there is.  Even pushed the latest horror story about a new Ice Age off page 1 of The Express.”

“Wonders will never cease,” he remarked.

“I expect she might use the sudden interest to publicise her concerns over Wolsingham, though.”

“Well, that can’t be helped,” he sighed.  “It’s all gonna come out soon, anyway. However things go.  Did we hear anything from DII?”

“Talks still ongoing with potential administrators.”

He grunted.  Lengthy talks about financial viability never boded well, in his experience.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, looking the paper over.  “They’re not wrong. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“Fuck’s sake, Carrie…”

“I’m teasing.”  She rolled up the paper and swatted him with it.  “I’m sure your intentions are completely honourable.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, hers might not be…”

“Can we leave Miss French out of this?” he snapped.  “Is there any actual news I need to hear?”

“Apparently William Hill’s have slashed the odds on you getting married during this Parliament to seven to one.”

“Carrie!”

“Alright, fine!” she sighed.  “The Guardian didn’t mention the spat; however, they have picked up on the precarious position of Wolsingham plc and are starting to put feelers out.  You have a nine o’clock tomorrow with the Minister. There’s a briefing in the folder at the bottom of that pile.”

“Thank you.”

“The Telegraph, Independent and Financial Times are focusing on the prospective deal with the US, unsurprisingly,” she said.  “I thought we might release the President’s proposed itinerary tomorrow.”

“Yes, fine,” he said absently.  “Are we expecting any protests?”

Carrie snorted, setting down the glass of whisky.

“Since that bigoted, racist disaster was ousted and thrown in jail, public perception of the White House has improved greatly.”

“Not wholly surprising,” he remarked, and she nodded.

“A few small groups have requested permission to march,” she said.  “Mainly pacifists, anti-capitalists and anti-pharma, nothing to cause any real disruption.”

“Fine,” he said, pushing the pile of newspapers away and sitting back in his chair.  “Go on, get home. I’m sure Ursula would like to see some of you this week.”

“I’m sure she’d like to see all of me,” she said, with a wink.  “Are you sure? I can stay if you need my input on anything.”

“Go home,” he said firmly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.  “Don’t stay up all night.  And try not to let the gutter press give you nightmares, hmm?”

“Would you bugger off before I change my mind?”

She swept out, chuckling, and he sighed, reaching for the glass of whisky she had brought him and sitting back in his chair.  It wouldn’t hurt to take a break. There were some papers he wanted to look through, but nothing that needed his immediate attention.  He sipped at the whisky, enjoying the smooth burn on his tongue, the warmth of good alcohol and the taste of honey, peat and smoke.

The image of Belle French kept swimming to the front of his mind, blue eyes sparking with anger and passion, and he scowled to himself, shoving the memory away.  So what if she had intrigued him? She had all but accused him of impropriety in respect of a Government contractor. The fact that her claim was bollocks was beside the point; she had no business throwing around accusations with the press pack just out of reach.  He recalled that Carrie had caught some of her campaign on a visit to Avonleigh, and had been impressed with the dedication and passion she had seen, but if Miss French was to succeed, she would need to learn to bend a little. She wouldn’t last long in Westminster if she couldn’t rein in her clearly impulsive nature.  Her fellow MPs would soon steer her right.

He shook his head, wondering why he was wasting time thinking about her future.  It wasn’t as though they would be working together, and she was on the Opposition benches, if not in the official party of Opposition, so hardly likely to be looking to him as a potential mentor.  Even if she was, the woman was clearly wet behind the ears and he didn’t have the patience to deal with that level of inexperience. Besides, it was unlikely they would cross paths unless he wished it; as a new back-bencher she had been lucky to get to ask a question at PMQs.  There would be no reason for him to have to endure her impertinence again.

He drank the last of the whisky, putting down the glass with a clunk and making the rare decision to go to bed at a reasonable hour.  Arthur seemed to sense that he was making a move, and stood up, stretching paws in front of him and curling his tail over. Sutherland petted him, pushing back his chair and heading for the door, the cat sauntering in his wake as he prayed for a decent night’s sleep, free of dreams of fiery young blue-eyed goddesses with perfect lips.

[xsandramx]

Stay p.26

Hi guys! Here’s another chapter! Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I just own Sofia

Masterlist

Chapter 26

I run into the kitchen, to eat a quick breakfast, I was already late for work, but at this point who cares. It’s not like they’ll fire me… I know too much! Wow, this was dark! But anyway, it’s true! I run past Pepper who’s walking towards the living room with some clothes. I stop and give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Morning! And happy birthday!” I say cheerfully. “Those clothes look way to feminine for Tony. And I know for a fact that you don’t take care of my clothes. So, another one-night stand?”

“Good Morning, and thanks Sof. And yes, another one. This time he brought home a reporter!” she said, faking a cheerful voice.

“Wow, it just keeps getting better. At least she will make a lot of money with the article she’ll write. I can already see the title: ‘Tony Stark, Genius, Playboy, Millionaire, Philanthropist and a Wonderful Shag!’” I say loudly, making Pepper laugh.

“I’ll see if she’s around so she can’t touch anything. Go have breakfast, you’re already late!” she said, turning and starting walking back to the living room. “Oh! And thanks for the present!”

“Yes, mother!” She laughed again. “And you’re welcome!”

After having breakfast, I sent a text to Nat telling her that I’ll be a bit late and to tell Fury to change the time of the meeting. She quickly responded with ‘Done, but he’s pissed off.’, which I replied with ‘When isn’t he? XD’. As I finished texting, Tony came into the room and pecked me on the cheek, stealing a bit from my cereal.

“You have a bad habit of stealing my cereal.” I tell him. But he just mumbles a ‘good morning’.

“Good morning to you too.” I reply, smirking as I take a bite. “Heard that you slept with a reporter last night. Thank god our rooms are far away from each other!” I laugh.

“I did? Weird.” He asked, faking ignorance. “That doesn’t matter, I came to say goodbye. Pepper is this far from pushing me out the door and take me to Afghanistan herself.” He finished making my good mood go away. I forgot that he was going today. “What? What’s with the face? Something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing. Just…” I start, hugging him tight. “…just come back quickly. And, be careful.” I say, my voice like a whisper. He doesn’t question me, he just hugs me too, kissing the top of my head.

“I will, don’t worry.”

 As you might suspect, he wasn’t careful, and he did disappear for three months. And when me and Pepper were at the airport waiting for him, he ignored me, and left me there. Rhodey brought me home.

I waited for him all day, but when he got home, and I tried to talk to him, he just turned and went to the garage. I looked at Pepper and even she had a disappointed look on her face. I sat down on the couch and started to tear up, so I tried to hide my face by laying it on my hands, elbows resting on my knees.

I felt Pepper sitting next to me, and it only made me cry harder.

“Don’t worry, I understand why you didn’t say anything.” She said, rubbing my back. I looked up at her.

“Yeah, but you’re still disappointed… and maybe a bit mad.” I whispered.

“No, honey, not mad… or disappointed. Just…afraid.” She confessed.

“Afraid?” I asked, this time my voice a little louder.

“Yes, afraid. You and Tony have always been really close. And after all of this he is going to need someone to help him. And if doesn’t get over the fact that you had no choice on the matter…I don’t know what will happen to him.” She explained, whispering the last part.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day and tomorrow off? I think it would be good. And it will make Tony ask for my help and not yours if he needs something.” I proposed. “Maybe I’ll be able to talk to him.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. And I really need a day off. These three months drained all my energy.” She agreed, making us both laugh at the end.

“Would you believe me if I said that this is going to turn out pretty okay?” I asked softly. She stared at me for a while, a few tears of her own coming to her eyes.

“I hope so.”

 The next morning, I was making some pancakes, because I know that Tony probably stayed all night in that forsaken garage, making the new arc reactor.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, miss Sofia?” he answered right away.

“Is Tony in the garage?”

“Yes, mister Stark is in the garage. But, unfortunately, he has forbidden you to enter.” He warned.

“Of course, he has.” I grumbled under my breath. “Well, tell him that I made pancakes, and that I’m leaving them halfway down the stairs, so he doesn’t have to see me.” I said, already going in the direction of the stairs.

“Of course, miss Sofia.”

I stayed at the top of the stairs to see if he did come and get them. He did, quickly and very quietly. That only made my heart break even more, seeing that he really doesn’t want to see me.

Sometime later in the morning, I was in my room, talking to T’Challa.

“Are you getting tired of me, my love?” he said, jokingly, when he picked up.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, a small smile on my face. I missed him.

“Well, it’s been almost a month since you last called. And that makes it almost probably three months for you.” He said, lightly, but I could notice the concern on his voice.

“Yeah, it has been three months.” I said, quietly.

“What happened?” he asked, this time the lighter tone on his voice no longer noticeable.

“Do you remember what I was worried about? What was going to happen to Tony, and that I couldn’t say anything to him?” I said quietly, tears coming to my eyes again.

“It happened.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” I whispered. We stayed quiet for some time, the only sound heard was my quiet sobs.

“Have you talked to him?” he asked softly.

“I have tried. But, at the airport, he ignored me. Even left me there. And now at home, he is just avoiding me. He even has locked me out of the garage.”

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I wish you were here.” I whispered again, whipping my tears with the back of my hand.

“Me too.” He whispered back. We stayed silent again, for some time until Jarvis called for me.

“Miss Sofia, mister Stark is requesting your help on the garage.” He said, and I immediately got up.

“Sweetie, I’ll call you back okay?” I said, already getting out of the room, rushing to the garage.

“Of course, I love y…” I didn’t even let him finish before I hanged up.

When I got to the door to get into the garage, I put my code in, but it wasn’t accepted. Logical, since he locked me out. So, I knocked on the door. He looked at me from the kind of chair where he was lying on. I saw him say something, probably to Jarvis, and then the door opened.

“Before you say anything, I would like to know why the hell you told Pepper to take the day off.” He started, his voice rather angry. “You think you have that kind of authority? To order my employees around?” he continued, making me flinch.

“She worked non stop during these three months and has been nothing but an amazing worker since you employed her.” I began, my voice calm. “Also, she was exhausted, and if you didn’t see that you’re damn blind.”

“Now, you see, that’s the kind of…” he started again talking, this time louder, until I interrupted him.

“I couldn’t tell you!” I yelled, shutting him up. He looked surprised by my outburst. “I can’t tell anything that’s going to happen to anyone because that might change what’s meant to happen.” I stopped, taking a breath. “Do you think that I liked seeing you go into that plane knowing that the next day you wouldn’t come back? It killed me Tony!” I finished, tears starting to roll down my eyes. He didn’t say something for a while, just stayed there looking at me.

“Pepper did say something about you not getting out of the house for these three months.” He said, this time quietly. “I think deep down I knew that you couldn’t have told me anything, since you know, physics and time and stuff, but I think I directed the anger I felt towards those bastards to you.” He continued, making me look at him, hope in my eyes. He then looked at me and gave me an apologetic smile. “And, I guess, that means I’m sorry.” He finished, making me sob, this time, in happiness. I took a few breaths to calm myself down and whipped the tears away.

“I must be dreaming because I think you just apologised to me.” I joked, chuckling.

“Don’t get used to it.” He chuckled too. “Now, show me your hands!” he ordered, making me smile and raise my hands.

“Don’t worry, I know what to do.” I told him, starting to remove the old arc reactor.

“Is that something from your all-knowing power?” he teased, making me groan and take out the magnet at the end of the wire, making him scream in surprise. “You said you knew what to do!” he yelled.

“Stop saying that! And don’t distract me!” I yelled back, while attaching the new arc reactor to the baseplate. He screamed and then turned to me.

“Was that so hard?” he sassed.

“Never said it was.” I sassed back. He finished putting the reactor into place while I whipped my hands on a towel that was on his stomach. After he cleaned himself from the liquid that the device lets out, which is gross by the way, he got up and turned to me. We stayed looking at each other for some time until I got fed up with it and threw myself into his arms. I hugged him tight and he hugged me back, tighter. I sobbed a few more times, from relief. God, I’m crying to much.

“Please, never ignore me again. Just yell or scream at me, but don’t ignore me. I don’t know what I would do.” I whispered.

“I won’t… if you don’t ever leave me.” He said, letting me go and looking at me, arms still around me.

“You know I don’t control that.”

“But when you’re not next to me, you can always call and whatever. You know that. Just…” he tried to explain, but I interrupted him by holding his face with my hand. He looked at me in the eyes. “I don’t have anyone, but you.”

“Yes, you do. You have Rhodey. And most of all, you have Pepper.” I told him, with a knowing smile. He immediately let go of me, letting out a groan.

“Don’t star with that again. I forbid you! I’ll lock you out of the garage again!” he threatened, making me laugh.

“But isn’t she the cutest?” I teased, making him groan again.

“Out!” he yelled, making me laugh even harder.

[not-close-to-straight]

“Offline” (Chapter Eight)

MASTERLIST

Enjoy :)

***********************

“James.” Eve smiled up at him and turned her cheek for a kiss. “How are you? Are you heading off on holiday?”

“Holiday.” Bond grimaced. “Forced rest and relaxation.” he held the door to Q Branch open for her. “I am here to surrender my gear and then I am off.”

“Hullo, Q.” She waved and Q looked up from his computers, green gaze flicking over where Bond’s arm rested around her waist. “Aren't you up for holiday soon as well?”

“God forbid.” Q said dryly. “As if Q Branch would survive without me. All of MI6 would come to a halt without me at the computers.”

“So modest this one.” Eve elbowed Bond lightly. “Where are you going, then?”

“If I told you where to find me, it wouldn't be holiday, would it?” Bond said mildly, emptying his pockets of all Q Branch issued tech and scattering it about on the table. “But if you must know, there is a hunting lodge in Dartmoor I enjoy. Misty mornings, quiet days, cold nights, all of that.”

“Creepy moors, tales of monsters, hardly any cell service.” Eve added, ticking it off on her fingers. “Sounds lovely.”

“Indeed.” Bond smiled faintly. “There are so few places to disconnect and be offline these days--” Q perked up a little and Bonds smile grew. “--it will be nice to have ten days to myself I suppose.”

“You mean yourself and whichever barmaid you convince to share your bed.” Eve rolled her eyes and Bond feigned a hurt look.

“Eve. I can assure you my taste runs far more sophisticated than bar maids.”

She snorted, apparently unconvinced and Bond signed the form for the last of his tech. “That's it, then. Don't let the world burn down while I'm gone. I will see you in a few weeks.”

“Bye James!”

“Safe travels, 007.”

************************

Q-- Dartmoor area has notoriously terrible cell service, but will you at least let me know when you arrive?

B-- Of course. I wish we had had time for a kiss goodbye.

Q-- As long as you bring me a present, I'm sure I'll have a kiss waiting for you when you return.

B-- Q, darling, do you only kiss me because I bring you trinkets?

Q-- Yes

B-- I am hurt and horrified.

Q-- You are neither of those things

B-- I could be.

Q-- You could be, but you aren't.

Q-- Do hurry back, James. I believe I already miss you.

**********************

**********************

Bond took himself to Dartmoor that very afternoon, to a quiet lodge that boasted the best food in the area, and plenty of solitude, as well as the chance to hunt a little and all of that was exactly what he wanted. If he had to be relaxing, this was a good place to do it.

There was a small pub he could drink at every night, moors to walk in the morning, and a large sitting room with a huge fireplace where he could read as the day went on. There was forced radio silence between he and Q Branch, and there wasn't good enough cell service to text regularly with Q, so after two or three days Bond was missing his favorite genius quite a bit, enough to consider driving out of the area just to have a chat, or to risk talking via comms.

But he forced the feelings aside and went down to the pub for his usual pint, ready for some relaxation and another quiet, cold night, which in all actuality sounded wonderful.

Of course, Bond had the sort of luck that all agents did, and quiet evenings were never quiet for long, so when someone new stepped into the pub and headed right for him, Bond knew his night was most likely ruined.

“Can I help you?” He asked the man cooly, and really rather rudely, because he was fairly certain the scowl on his face had served as a fuck off sign so no one would bother him. The pub might have been peaceful but Bonds thoughts tonight couldn't seem to stay off of Q and that was driving him crazy, so he really couldn't believe the man had just sat down like he was welcome.

“Why don’t you just–” The stranger tapped his own ear, indicating Bonds earpiece, and Bond raised his eyebrow, but turned off his comm anyway. He didn't even know why he was wearing it, bloody habit was all, it was muted on his end and Q wasn't going to say anything unless there was an emergency so there wasn't any point. But he turned it off anyway, going so far as to remove it from his ear and set it on the table.

“That’s better, thank you.” The man smiled cheerfully. “Now listen here–You have just a few minutes before the biggest prick in the British government descends on you on some nosy self righteous mission that I couldn’t talk him out of. Oh, and he will be accompanied by a gorgeous twat in a ridiculous coat who will probably glare at you before announcing something rude, but don’t take it personally, he’s like that with everyone, yeah?”

“Why will these gentlemen be invading my peace and quiet?” Bond queried. “And why should I stick around and listen?”

“You’ll stick around because the older one has this entire town locked down and access to every camera in the area so if you run he might just have you killed and skip the conversation all together.”

“And?” Bond was unimpressed, and the man looked him over with renewed interest.

“And it would help your present situation to listen to what he has to say. Not worried at all, are you? Brave of you.”

“Who are you?” Bond cocked his head. “And what do you know about my present situation?”

“Doctor John Watson, or Captain John Watson, if you prefer. And I know more than you think, because I share a flat with the one in the coat, and he isn’t near as subtle as he thinks he is when planning devious schemes.”

“And you came to warn me, Dr. Watson? Why’s that?” Bond drummed his fingers irritably on the table top.

“Because I’ve been at the receiving end of one of these exact talks.” Watson leaned across the table. “It isn’t fun, but for the love of god don’t mouth off or else–” he shut up abruptly when the door to the pub swung open and two men entered, both tall, one wearing the before-promised ridiculous coat and the other carrying an umbrella.

“You live with the gorgeous one, hm?” Bond said softly, and the doctor grimaced.

“Been trying to shag him for a year now. Bloody git wouldn’t notice if I threw myself at him naked and covered in oil.

“Shame, that.” Bond let his eyes trail over the John’s body critically, his gaze warming appreciatively and the man wet his lips before grinning. “It would seem he has no idea what he is missing.”

“Cheers, mate. Always nice to be appreciated.”

“Indeed.” Bond started to smile. “So if you aren't in fact shagging him then--”

“Commander Bond.” Their moment was broken by the man with the umbrella, who inserted himself into their conversation with the kind of ease that came with years of having his every order obeyed without question. “Do you know who I am?”

“No.” Bond said shortly, and the other one with the long coat narrowed astonishingly colored eyes in his direction, obviously studying everything about him. Bond returned the look boldly, letting every bit of his disdain show in his face. “Should I?”

“Commander Bond, my name is Mycroft Holmes.” The man stamped his umbrella on the floor once for emphasis. “And you are going to stop fucking around with my little brother.”

“Sorry, what?’ Bond sent John a quick look. “Your little brother, was it?”

“He didn't know.” The one in the coat announced. “Look at him. He has no idea.”

“Mm. That doesn't make this any better for him, I'm afraid.” Mycroft muttered and across the table John rolled his eyes, obviously having seen the brothers together enough to be annoyed by their manners.

“You know him as Q.” Mycroft said, and suddenly he had every bit of Bonds attention. “You are going to stop playing this ridiculous game with him, or I will bring the entire heel of the British government down upon your head and crush you like a bug, do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Bond took a moment, took a long drink and looked the men over. “Your little brother, is he?”

“You are acting dumber than you really are.” the one in the coat leaned too close into Bonds space. “Why is that?”

“Sherlock, don't.” John shook his head. “Don't start that. You don't need to do that.”

“Sherlock.” Bond repeated. “Mycroft and Sherlock? Is Q’s real name something as ridiculous?”

“At this rate you will never know.” Sherlock had a baritone that was little more than a rumble and Bond realized with a start that if the man wasn't such a prick, he’d be attracted to him.

Unfortunately, Sherlock realized it too.

“You are attracted to me.” he stated, a little overly loud. “But not because of me, because I resemble Q with dark hair and greenish eyes. Also our frames are similar and an Alpha male type like you prefers a man that nearly feels like a woman in your grasp. Struggling with our bisexuality are you?” he tapped his chin. “No, no not struggling. Enjoying it, but actively avoiding women because your heart was broken by a dark haired woman some time ago, which makes it interesting that you still cling to brunettes, instead of chasing after blondes in an effort to avoid the memories. Your right shoulder is injured, an old one, I would think because it only seems to hinder your movement when you are unsure of something, like now, even though it was perfectly steady when you took your earpiece out of your ear a few moments ago.”

“You are put off by Mycroft which is understandable, but not by me, again drawing on the familial resemblance, but I can assure you, Commander Bond, that I am in no way like my brother other than the brilliance that we all have in spades. You should be much more worried what a man like myself can do to you, since Mycroft can posture and bitch all he wants but as a 00 agent, you have the government's protection from him but not. from. me. And I can assure you, Agent, that if I in any way think you are sniffing after my brother, I will in fact destroy you and leave you in some desolate alley for Scotland Yard to find you and I promise you I have seen my fair share of desolate alleys, so believe me when I say I can put you in the worst one in England.”

Bond sent a stupefied glance towards John, who looked about six shades of annoyed with the whole business, then back at Sherlock who was waiting with a triumphant smirk, obviously impatient for Bond to ask how the hell he had known so much.

Bond wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

“I am attracted to you.” he began. “Or at least I was until you opened your mouth. Has anyone told you that you resemble a fishwife, harping on like that? I do enjoy Q’s slimmer build but not for the reason you think, simply because I enjoy how he fits together with me. Trust me, I prefer my men to be--” a meaningful glance towards John. “-- men, preferably soldiers, because no one shags quite like a soldier on leave. My heart was broken by a brunette haired bitch, but the only way you would know that is if Q told you, because there isn't a single brunette girl in this place for you to have noticed me staring at or avoiding at all.”

“My injury is from some time ago, but was re-injured just this last week. I'm put off by Mycroft because of that ridiculous umbrella, and by you because you think you know everything when in fact you miss the most obvious things. I have no doubt that you know many terrible alleys, the way your eyes are darting about and you are licking your lips would look like anxiety or perhaps watchfulness, but on you they are obvious signs of a drug user. Heroin, perhaps, since you are much too high maintenance for a simple bump of coke and entirely too posh to try something as dirty as meth.”

“You see, Holmes and Holmes, I have spent my entire life training to do exactly what it is you two do, whether it's using my position in MI6 to threaten people, or trying to scare them with observations that they consider amazing. The fact is, neither one of you intimidate me, but I will apologize in advance for everything of me you will have to hear about from Q. It is terrible annoying to listen to your sibling wax poetic about a lover, isn't it?”

Sherlocks mouth actually fell open in surprise, and Mycroft glared daggers at him, but across the table, John burst out laughing. “Bloody brilliant. You’ve managed to shut them both up at the same time! I'll buy you a drink for that!”

“I'll accept, thank you.” Bond smiled in satisfaction, completely ignoring the brothers fuming above him. “I can't imagine this will happen ever again in these two’s company, so I suppose we should celebrate.”

“It’ll never happen again, believe me.” John grinned, and waved the waitress over for a round.

Mycroft gathered his dignity and left without another word, but Sherlock stared between the two of them for a moment, looking both mystified and concerned. “John, are you staying?”

“Yep.” John sent Bond a wink. “Think I'll stay and have a drink or two.”

Bond lifted his glass. “Stay as long as you want.”

***********************

***********************

Johns phone buzzed for the eighteenth time in the last hour, and he pulled it from his pocket with a sigh. “Well, Sherlock is working himself into something of a panic. I suppose I should get back to the room before he starts causing damage.”

“High maintenance, much?” Bond drained the last of his beer. “Good luck with that one.”

“Good luck with yours.” John returned. “Even though I suppose Q is the easiest of the bunch. Mycroft is wound so tight I think he might actually snap, and Sherlock is completely neurotic, nearly mad, and obsessing over something different every single week.”

“And you want to shag him anyway?”

“You saw him. Bloody gorgeous man.” John shrugged, licked his lips. “Plus, there is something...else. Something beneath that frightening intelligence and lack of manners that is fragile and breakable and I-- I want to be the one to make sure he doesn't fall to pieces, yeah?”

“Which is why you have been drinking with me for hours instead of going to see him?” Bond’s eyes sparked good naturedly and John grinned right back at him.

“It does him some good to remember that people other than him find me interesting.”

“Hm.” Bond pushed his glass away. “Well I'd like to keep you, since you are very interesting, but I won't. Go tend to your genius.”

“I could say the same for you, if yours was here.” John stood when Bond did, grabbing his coat and scarf. “And as much as I'd like a go at you, I wouldn't want to take you from Q, or have the man angry with me. He scares me nearly as much as the others with all he can do on his computers.”

“Cheers.” Bond said lightly. “If either of us end up unattached at some point, we should revisit this moment, hm?”

Johns eyes lit in interest, and before they parted ways in the street, he scribbled down his number and shoved it Bonds pocket. “Even if all you want to do is get together and bitch about our respective Holmes’.” and Bond laughed out loud before heading down the street towards his rooms.

Halfway there he tapped his earpiece on. “Q?”

“Bond? Are you alright?” Q answered immediately. “You shouldn't be contacting Q Branch unless it is an emergency. What’s going on?”

Bond smiled at hearing his voice. “Everything is fine. I just had a very interesting conversation with one Dr. John Watson.”

“Dr John Watson-- oh no. No no no.”

“And then I had an equally interesting conversation with a tall man with an umbrella, and another one in a long coat with a penchant for saying whatever the hell he wants whenever the mood strikes.”

“Oh bloody hell.” Q sounded completely horrified. “Bond, I promise I had no idea they would-- I can't even begin to-- honestly what the fuck were they---”

“It's fine.” Bond cut in. “We had a pleasant chat and they went on their way. “

“I highly doubt it was pleasant.”

“Either way, it was all fine.” Bond opened the door to his rooms. “The good doctor and I had a lovely visit after the other two left.”

“Oh?” Q’s voice was guarded, perhaps a little jealous, which Bond found very surprising. “And what did you and Watson talk about that was so lovely?”

“Seems as if we both care a frightening amount for dark haired geniuses with wicked tongues and beautiful eyes. However he has his genius here with him, while I am alone. It's a shame, really.”

“...A frightening amount, is it?” Q cleared his throat. “Are you enjoying your time offline, 007? Even if it is alone?”

“I'd enjoy it more with company, Quartermaster.”

“...I see.”

“Do you?”

“I am beginning to.”

“Well, when you see the entire picture, give us a ring.”

“I...will. Good night, 007.”

“Quartermaster.”

*********************

*********************

When the door to Bond’s room creaked open almost five hours later, the agent didn't say a word, just propped himself up on his elbow and waited in the dark for the shadowy figure to come all the way inside.

Then he flung the covers back on the bed and patted the mattress loudly, and when the slim body lay down hesitantly, he tugged them closer, turning until they were spooning and he could bury his face in the riot of dark curls.

“Good night, James.” Q whispered and Bond pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his neck.

“Good night, Quartermaster.”

*******************************

[looselucy]

November

Eating was awkward enough as it was without having a table. But it was Friday morning when we all realised just how bad things had gotten. Myself and Zayn sat on the sofa together, both silently eating our bowls of coco-pops, Harry and Tally were both in camp chairs across from us. Barely a noise from all of us.

It had been that way since their drunken shag on Tuesday evening. They both knew the routine of sleeping with someone one time, and that being it. What they weren’t used to, was then having to live with that person. And they were not doing well. At first it was pretty funny, but after a few days’ worth, it really was just torture. We literally couldn’t even begin to make conversation, we all just sat in silence, trying to eat our breakfasts as quietly as possible, but every single noise was amplified by the sheer grossness of the situation. Oh… It was awful. It was around ten minutes of absolutely nothing before Harry raised to his feet, taking his dish over to the sink, before beginning to make his way out of the flat, running late. “Wanna get drunk tonight Zayn? I need it.” He huffed. “Yeah, sounds good, man.” “See ya later.” I cringed even more as he left, catching Tally’s eye for the first time and she just shook her head in the smallest manner possible, waiting until she had heard the door slam, double checking he was definitely gone, before turning around to us. “Oh my god!” She yelped. “Tally, this is ridiculous!” Zayn pointed out the obvious. “I didn’t tell you the whole story.” She grumbled uncomfortably. We both leant forward, eager to hear her story, but she just threw her toast dramatically onto the floor and started fake sobbing into her hands, not saying anything. “What?” I cried. “No!” She protested. “Tell us now.” “I can’t! It’s too embarrassing.” “All the more reason to tell us.” Zayn smiled, eager. “I asked him out.” She said clearly. “WHAT?” I died inside. “Oh god. Oh god no.” She started, face still hidden. “It was in the morning, and I was getting dressed, and he was lead there like some kind of porn star and... Oh god. He looked so good. So good. And I forgot how to be normal and asked him if he would want to do something some time. And he was like, oh no, sorry. And I got so flustered and stupid and I ran out of his room without even putting my dress back on. It was the lowest moment of my life.” I felt for her. I really did. Tally had once gone up to a boy on a night out and asked him to take her out, just to prove a point to us, and his mouth had literally dropped open and he had said he would love to. Tally wasn’t used to rejection. Tally wasn’t used to having to live alongside a boy she had shagged, who had continued to reject her. It was not a good situation. I mean, things were bad enough between me and Harry, never mind Tally and Harry. However, not a word had been spoken between me and Harry since Tuesday evening, so that was quite nice. “Well,” Zayn mumbled eventually. “I wasn’t expecting that.” “It’s very out of character for me.” “Why’d you do it?” I baffled. “He’s a knob.” “He’s very appealing. And he was so nice and flirty with me all night. Very charming. Never met anyone like him.” I couldn’t help but agree in my mind, but it was probably not for the same reasons she felt like she’d never met anyone like him. She stood herself up, groaning as she picked up the toast she had thrown on the floor a few moments beforehand and threw it in the bin, then turning back around to me and Zayn, finally being able to comfortably tuck into our cereal and not be paranoid about the noise we were making. “I’m gunna go home.” She sighed. It wasn’t uncommon that Tally went home at the weekends, she was only an hour’s drive away from campus, just under two hours on the train, but we knew it was simply because of how tense things had gotten in our flat, and she wanted to escape it. “Seriously?” I gawped. “Yeah. I’m gunna go now, actually.” “Don’t you have a lecture?” “Yeah. I don’t care. I’ve not missed one yet so it’s fine.” She sulked into her room to prepare her bags, leaving me and Zayn alone in the kitchen, finishing our breakfast together. He chuckled under his breath. “What?” I asked. “Harry’s been here just over a week and he’s caused so much drama.” That was extremely true, and we had around another six months for Harry to cause even more drama. It was bound to happen. With there being one girl in his flat that he hated, and another one he had shagged, of course more stuff was bound to go wrong, and there was going to be more drama on the horizon. That much was clear. Zayn checked the time on his phone, before quickly leaping to his feet. “Gotta shoot.” He sighed. “We’re drawing a naked man this week.” “Oh, you’ll love that.” I played. “Damn right. Love a good penis.”” “In and around your-” “EY! Calm down, Pippa, it’s not even lunch yet.” He grinned. He gave me a little wave over his shoulder as I chuckled to myself, wondering how this weekend was going to turn out. + + + Being the wise cookie I am, I had opted to miss out on the drunken night Harry and Zayn had planned. The weekend before had all gone to shit when I tried to make an effort, so I thought it would be good for me to just let them go out and do their thing, whilst I got a relatively early night. I’m sure I was slap-bang in the middle of a blissful, undisturbed sleep, when some very, very loud knocking on my bedroom door, ruined it. My eyes popped open, my face only being uncovered by bed-sheets from the nose up, scowling straight away, glancing to my clock and expecting it to say 4am, but it had actually only just gone midnight. I realised that often, I was a truly poor excuse for a student. The banging continued and I groaned loudly to myself, before shouting. “IT’S OPEN!” “OH. IS IT?” Zayn’s drunken voice was sweet and vulnerable and very cute. I suddenly lost the tough, angry facade and crumbled under the sound of my best mate drunkenly wanting to see me. “YES! COME IN!” The handle was pulled down and he ran in quickly, jumping on top me, and on top of the sheets, thankfully, and started hugging me to the best of his ability, like the absolute idiot he was. He began cheerfully yelling his glee. “YAAAAY YOU’RE AWAKE!” “I wasn’t but, you’re very noisy.” “And you’re very rude, Miss Payne.” The door opened again, and we both glanced to see Harry dancing his way into my room, clicking his fingers with the dopiest smile on his face, stepping joyfully to a non-existent beat, despite the fact it was absolutely silent. “LOOK, HARRY’S HERE!” Zayn continued to yell, even though his face was mere inches from mine. I could tell they had just been drinking, because they were on different highs than I had seen them for the past few nights out. When they had taken drugs, it was like they were intense, focused on dancing and having a good time. Just on booze, the two of them were so playful and lovely, even Harry, thus far. The dancing really did make me laugh. Next, Harry jumped on top of me too, there definitely not being enough room on my bed for me under the covers and two idiots flailing around on top of them. Those single beds really were a curse, and intensely uncomfortable. “This is weird.” I mumbled up to the two of them. “We would like to invite you to get really drunk with us.” Zayn nodded firmly. “Not my idea!” Harry raised one hand. “I was quite happy without you.” “I was immensely happy without you, Harry.” He smirked, and for once, it felt like our hatred was actually quite playful, which was a better way to go about it. Maybe if I was drunk too, it would be even better. “So?” Zayn pressed on. “So what?” “So are you getting drunk with us?” I glanced from one pretty face to the next, the sensible part of me wanting to just go back to sleep, but the temptation was far too great, and their faces far too funny. I huffed out uneasily, rolling my eyes and trying to contain my smile. I swear, I had started rolling my eyes so much since Harry moved in they were close to remaining perfectly fixed in the back of my head, just like my mum had always warned me. “Okay.” I reluctantly agreed. “YAAAAY. Okay, I’ll go pour us a drink.” Zayn uneasily got off my bed, clambering over Harry and tripping over himself merrily before he stormed out of the room, continuing to cheer to himself. Only then did I realise that it was now just me and Harry, and he was still on top of me, on my bed. He was far too drunk to take in how completely awkward it was. He looked down at my chest, which had become slightly revealed thanks to the wriggling of the two lads. I was bloody waiting for him to make some stupid comment. “Are you naked, Pip-Squeak?” “Will you get off me?” “Are you?” “GET OFF!” I pushed him, with a great deal of force, off my bed, happy to hear how amused he was when he crash landed on the floor, when it so easily could have spurred another argument, because I was in no way gentle with him. He then raised to his feet and looked down to me, stumbling back slightly, but not moving out of my room. I stared back up to him, confused. “What?” “I’m just waiting for the show.” He grinned. I threw my teddy, Lulu, at him, regretting it straight away because that stuffed penguin held a special place in my heart, and in my head it was as though it had been tainted by touching Harry’s tanned skin. But he laughed, clutching his stomach, having wound me up successfully, before fleeing from my room. I rolled my eyes again, being hesitant to get out from under the sheets, but as soon as I did I ran over to the door and turned the lock, half expecting Harry to attempt to burst through the door and see the apparent ‘show’ he had been waiting for. Thankfully, he never did. I threw on some underwear, leggings and a baggy top, scuffing my hair up and wishing I could simply not care and leave my face completely blank, but I caved under the pressures I had created for myself, and put some foundation on my pale face. I heard more banging coming from down the corridor as I swung my bedroom door open, seeing Harry and Zayn now banging on Mike’s door, the same stupid smiles on their faces. I went and stood next to them with my arms folded, waiting for Mike to exit. He poked his head out of a small gap he created in the door with hatred in his eyes. “For fuck sake, lads.” He huffed. “Are you naked?” Harry asked him. It seemed Harry had a fascination and a need to know when anyone was naked. Mike’s glare intensified. “I have a fucking girl in here.” He alerted. “YOU DO?” Zayn smiled wide. “OH CONGRATULATIONS! CAN WE MEET HER?” Without another word, Mike slammed the door shut in their faces, and the sound of the lock going was extremely loud. Zayn turned to me, his bottom lip poking out, eyes sad. “He was naked.” Harry nodded calmly. “OOH! Shall we invite Ringo?” Zayn’s eyes went wide again. “Leave the poor girl alone. C’mon, lets drink, before I give up and just go back to bed because you’re both insanely annoying.” I followed them into the kitchen, turning around and looking longingly at my bedroom door, remembering how lovely and snug my bed was, how warm and content I was. Why the hell was I choosing to get out of bed and drink, I’ll never know. I walked into the kitchen to see Zayn had prepared me a vodka and coke whilst I was getting dressed, and he presented it proudly to me, passing it my way and not letting go, tipping it into my mouth and not giving up, even when I tried to distance from it. I somehow powered through, finishing my first drink in one sitting, but I gagged as soon as I was done. “That was disgusting.” I grimaced. “It was probably sixty percent vodka, thirty percent coke.” He shrugged. “What about the other ten percent?” I asked through a smile. “Huh?” “You’re missing ten percent.” “Oh. Well… that ten percent is umm... love. I love you, Pippa.” “You two are disgusting.” Harry fell down onto the sofa, drink in hand. Zayn started pouring me another drink immediately as I sat down in a camp chair across from young Harold, scowling at him as usual, before turning back to Zayn, who was just about keeping himself on his feet. “How did you both get so drunk, so quickly?” I asked them. “We went to Jax for a few casual pints.” Zayn made sure to create the speech marks with his fingers when he said casual pints. “And they’re turning it into a cocktail bar too, so they were doing a night of practicing, and giving out free cocktails so people could try them. Really good night to stumble in there.” “Really good.” Harry agreed. The cocktails had obviously done their job very well, because it was probably the most drunk I had ever seen Zayn. The same could be said for Harry too, but I didn’t have much reference when it came to him. But they were giddy, obviously both in very high spirits. I preferred them that way, I couldn’t figure out why they ever chose to do drugs when they were so much better and livelier on alcohol. I suppose it was just a whole side of life I didn’t understand. I took another sip of my drink as Zayn went and slumped next to Harry, putting his arm around him. Harry’s dozy eyes closed for a second, the smile on his face proving how content he was. Zayn and Mike got on, in the way most lads get on, but Zayn and Harry were really getting on over their past week or so of being friends. They were both very similar. Ignoring the fact that I hated Harry and loved Zayn, even I could see that. I had always been a little baffled by how easily lads could click with one another, form these instant friendships and never bullshit each other, never fall out over petty things. I had always been a girls girl, always liked being one, but I figured maybe that was why I was getting closer to Zayn. Growing out of that thing where I felt like I could only be closer with one gender. Being friends with Zayn was easy. I liked that. “Shall we play a drinking game?” Harry suggested. “Yeah.” I moved to the edge of my seat. “I need to play catch up.” “What game?” Zayn mumbled. “I’ve Never.” Harry barked quickly. Zayn’s eyes went wide before he got back up to his feet and grabbed a second bottle of vodka from his food cupboard, before slumping back down. “I’m gunna need this.” He sighed dramatically. From our other few experiences of playing I’ve Never, it seemed Zayn was a very experienced chap. He knew he would be doing a lot of drinking during the game, much more than I would. Although I hate to admit it, I was definitely looking forward to learning a little more about Harry. “OKAY I’LL START!” He yelled for no reason. “I’ve never... had sex with a boy.” I took a sip, which was very expected, but Harry looked like he was about to pass out as soon as Zayn raised his glass to his lips, smiling dumbly to himself. I guess I was pretty taken aback too. Myself and Harry sat waiting for an explanation, but Zayn kept his mouth shut, obviously loving what he was doing to us. I knew Zayn considered himself to be straight, so this was news to me. “ZAYN!” I cried after some time. “What?” He played dumb. “C’mon, man!” Harry started. “I said that to get Pip-Squeak to drink, not you! Give us the story.” He just shrugged, winding us both up no end, so I decided to continue the game, and see if I had guessed the scenario correctly. “Okay, I’ve never had a threesome.” He clicked his fingers and pointed in my direction, confirming I was absolutely spot on, and taking another drink. I noticed Harry didn’t drink to that one, which in all honesty, surprised me. “Alright, you have to tell us.” Harry drunkenly demanded. “Alright okay.” Zayn got himself comfortable. “It was with a guy and a girl. My main aim had been to just shag her, but then the lad bent over in front of me and I was like... okay. Why the fuck not?” Zayn was an incredibly open person. Up for anything. He believed in trying everything that presented itself to him, he grabbed opportunities when they were there, and it was one of the best things about him. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, I knew this about Zayn, but it was still really interesting to hear that. “What was it like?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Weird. Weird as fuck. I’ve not done it since, don’t think I’d do it again. But... glad I did.” We all took big gulps of our drinks, downing the new information, both me and Harry wanting to be the type of people who didn’t make a big deal over something as trivial as a boy sleeping with another boy, but it was pretty shocking to hear. I cleared my throat, and we all moved on. “My go.” Zayn began. “I’ve never slept with someone I live with.” We both darted our heads quickly to Harry, whose bottom lip extended itself before he took a big swig of his drink, shaking his head and trying not to laugh along with me and Zayn, but he couldn’t help but let out a little drunken giggle. ”Alright, laugh it up you two. Laugh at my misery.” “It can’t have been that bad?” Zayn laughed. ”Mate, it’s been awful. The sex, was average at best. And the whole aftermath of it? Honestly, totally not worth it. She asked me out man, what the fuck? You told me she was down for casual sex!” “She is! I just think she thinks you’re fit.” Zayn fought. “That’s because I am.” Harry raised his brows, taking a heavy sip. My face went from a smile and dropped massively, because he just did that to me. He was being deadly serious, he was so obsessively arrogant and blinded by himself, it drove me insane. I finished my drink, and poured another, sticking with Zayn’s 60% vodka and 30% coke, now with 10% of absolute frustration. I could be having a relatively nice time, and then he would just say something, something so small and something that should be insignificant to me, and it changed my mood. I tried not to roll my eyes, blinking it away a little as they both continued to ramble on about it. “You have to like... learn how to talk to her again.” “I never bloody spoke to her before, how am I supposed to figure out how to do it now?” “That, however, is an extremely valid point.” Zayn nodded. Harry tried to shake it off, obviously not even wanting to think about it, never mind talk about it. He downed the remainder of his drink, on some kind of whiskey or rum or something, and poured another, almost having the entirety of that one in another foul swoop. I guess I noticed it then, that little glint in his eyes, that bob of his Adam’s apple, the heave of his chest. It bothered him. This atmosphere he had created for himself, the way things were going with Tally. I would have never guessed it, if my eyes had been on Zayn in that exact moment, I wouldn’t have ever known. But I caught him the exact moment his facade dropped. It was surreal. But he sucked it up. I dropped my gaze. “I’ve never,” He began again. “Wanted to shag someone in this room.” Zayn awkwardly moved his eyes to me, before taking another swig, hardly able to contain his smile, proceeding to laugh new bubbles into his drink. Harry gave a knowing raise of his brows, kind of saying, I knew it. “Zayn!” I cried. “It was before I got to know you!” He cried back. Harry’s laughter caught in his throat, which he quickly washed away with a sip of his drink, and I could see he felt like saying, because who the fuck would want to shag you after getting to know you? But even he wasn’t that low. But he did think it. I know he did. “Thanks.” I huffed sarcastically. “No, no. Not like that. It was the first night we moved in, before we got this close! You were wearing that tiny red dress, and I was just like… Yeah… I definitely would.” I grinned before leaning and high-fiving him, pretty much flattered by what he had said, now he had redeemed himself slightly. We were obviously past that stage, if anything were to happen between me and Zayn, the atmosphere that was present between Tally and Harry would be nothing on ours. He was my best mate, there was no way in hell. But I liked that he had once seen me that way. I was complimented. “Okay.” Zayn continued the game. “I’ve never taken drugs.” We all took sips of our drinks, and I noticed the surprise in Harry’s eyes as he spotted me taking a big swig, and I was expecting him to say something. “Thought you were a virgin to all that, Pip-Squeak?” “I tried MDMA… once. It did not end well. In fact, it ended in a puddle, in the street. So, never again.” They both burst out laughing and I tried to pretend I wasn’t entirely embarrassed about the whole night and laugh with them, but the memory of it just made real shame stick to the bottom of my stomach. They were both clearly amused by my trauma. “Can’t hack it.” Zayn slapped his hand against his forehead. “Honestly, I don’t know why you get offended by me calling you Pip-Squeak. It’s so, so fitting.” That just got to me even more worked up. The nickname was bad enough all on its own, but the fact he thought it actually suited me and what I was like, was what really got to me. I wasn’t bothered about the fact I couldn’t hack drugs, that didn’t faze me, it was the thought that maybe he thought I was like that through and through. It was a nickname that suggested I was pathetic. I was weak. I was neither of those things, I never ever wanted that to be his impression of me. Or anyone’s impression, for that matter. “It is not fitting!” I screeched back. “Yeah but, it definitely is.” He showed his disagreement. “It’s a fucking stupid name. I wish you’d stop calling me that.” ”Well I’ll wait til you prove me wrong.” He smirked, as always. I just about stopped myself from blowing a raspberry at him but taking the biggest gulp of my drink so far, staring at him over the rim of my glass, seeing him glare right back, having successfully would me up once again. + + + I could hear Harry and Zayn laughing about something as I tried to undress myself, stumbling out of my leggings and lifting my top over my head. I stood swaying, just in my underwear, trying to stay stood up, feeling an all too familiar sensation churning in the pit of my stomach and gradually making its way upwards. “Fuck.” I mumbled to myself. The drinking had gotten far too out of hand as the night went on, and the more Harry annoyed me, the drunker I seemed to get. Unsurprisingly, Harry annoyed me a lot, so unsurprisingly, I was completely fucked. My head was spinning as I turned and stumbled over to the door leading to the tiny room where my toilet was, falling hard onto my knees, creating bruises straight away. I clutched at the seat, retching, my stomach violently emptying itself. I’m not sure how long that went on for. I remember it felt like hours, just hours and hours of it. My eyes watered and stung. I should have been used to the feeling by that point in my life, but every single time was like the first time. I cried. It hurt. My whole body ached with the feeling. Around half way through the ordeal, I noticed blood seeping from my knees, still half aware of the lads still drinking outside, loud and happy. I cried harder, wondering when the damn torture I had brought upon myself would end. It was green and it burnt every few minutes or so when it would escape my insides. I felt like absolute death, and the longer it went on, I could feel myself becoming increasingly sober, and the worse it felt. I eventually ended up with my cheek on the toilet seat, tears gently rolling down my face, knowing the worst was yet to come. “PIP-SQUEAK?” I just about heard. I closed my eyes and ignored the yelling, gagging a couple of times before sticking my fingers down my throat, and they did their job perfectly. I heard Harry yell my name again, and honestly, it just brought on more tears. But nothing could possibly bring more tears, than the sound of my bedroom door opening. I cursed under my breath. “Please don’t come in here.” I whispered to myself. More vomit came up as I heard the door to the toilet quietly open itself, and I could feel his presence behind me, tall, looking down to my shaking frame with my head in the toilet, only covered by a tiny bra and knickers. I tried to ignore he was there, drunkenly wondering whether he should back out and leave me to it or not. But, I feel, to both of our surprise, he didn’t. “Oh, Pip-Squeak.” He sighed his sympathy. I blubbered, saliva and vomit dripping from my pink lips. I could hear him shuffling awkwardly behind me, before he made his mind up. He moved down to the floor, and shuffled so I was in between his legs, his black jeans warm against the outside of my bare legs. I fell backwards and settled between his legs, my head lolled back on his shoulder, completely gone. I became surprisingly comfortable and calm against his frame, snuggling against him and loving the warmth of his body. I could tell he wasn’t expecting that. He was probably waiting for me to tell him to leave, but instead I set up camp between his legs and let my eyes close, feeling his chest heavily lift and drop between my shoulder-blades, a tranquil beat and rhythm that helped keep me content. “I’m threw up.” I hiccupped the nonsense. “Yeah.” He mumbled somewhat uncomfortably. He leant forward, with as little movement as he possibly could, and flushed the toilet, before moving back so I would remain comfortable against him, my head heavy, my stomach still churning. I let my breathing fall in time with his as we silently sat on my bathroom floor together, Harry’s head hovering over my shoulder. Next, I threw up in my mouth, the tiniest amount, and gulped it all back down before I was fully aware of what I was doing. “I threw up in my mouth.” I told him. “C’mon, Pip-Squeak, you need to get it all up.” His cheek brushed against mine. “Only if you call me Pippa.” I demanded. “I... I can’t. Wouldn’t feel right.” He chuckled lowly, his breath hitting my neck, erupting a rash of goose-bumps. “Call me Pippa, and I’ll throw up in the toilet. Call me Pip-Squeak, and I’ll throw up in your hair.” “Is that a threat?” I could feel his dimples on my cheek. ”Yes.” “Okay. C’mon, Pippa. Get your head in the toilet.” I swear I bolted forward and threw up straight away, feeling Harry grab at my hair with his oversized hands and move it out of my face, before massaging my back in the perfect pattern so that everything that could possibly come out, did. I swear he was an expert, this definitely wasn’t his first time. I think I fell asleep on those could tiles, dry blood on my legs, my head against Harry’s chest, my breathing aligned with his, but I don’t really remember. + + + I sat with my hands in the giant front pocket of my hoodie, hair scraped back into a bun, tiny denim shorts on, ignoring the weather, as always. “I swear,” I mumbled. “I’ve never been this rough.” Ed chuckled as the tattoo gun buzzed and came to life in his hand for a split second, looking excitedly down to it, me and what I was saying completely in the back of his mind. “You’re always rough, Pippa.” “Yeah.” I watched him set everything up, finally there doing it. Ed had been talking about tattooing since day one. In our first ever lecture, on the Tuesday, Ed mentioned tattoos to our lecturer, loud and excited. About people caring and relating to certain words so much they needed them on their body for the rest of their lives. It made for an interesting conversation. I’m glad I sat next to him that day. He had been drawing and practicing this tattooing business, and he had made enough money from the gig he played on Tuesday evening to finally be able to afford the tattoo gun he had his eye on. His day had arrived. He took a shaky breath. “Okay, so what date is it?” He asked. I pressed the button on my iPhone so the lock screen appeared to me, revealing the date and time to me, a little picture of myself and Grace too. “It’s the twenty-sixth.” I told him. “Alright. Twenty-six it is.” “What? That’s what you’re going to tattoo on yourself? Just like that?” “Well, yeah. I’ve been waiting for this day for years. It’s a wise thing to tattoo on myself.” He nodded confidently. I shrugged in agreement, sat on the table in his flat, looking down on him in the chair as he stretched his arm out on the table, rolling his sleeve up so he could see the inside of his upper arm, clearly quite nervous. “Ed?” ”Hm?” “Don’t you want to be doing that on your left arm, so you can use your right hand?” He looked up to me with his eyes squinted before nodding along, genuinely only just realising that was probably the way to go about it since he was right handed. “I knew there was a reason I asked you to be here, Pip. You’re wise beyond your years.” Being with Ed was curing my hangover, if only slightly. It was a drizzly Saturday afternoon, and how out of hand the evening before had got was hanging an even greyer cloud over my aching head. I hadn’t really wanted to move from my bed all day, but I had promised Ed I would be alongside him for his first tattoo. He rolled up his other sleeve and flicked the gun on, gritting his teeth right away as it neared his pale skin, letting out a pathetic squeal. “C’mon Ed you can do this. I believe in you.” “Thank you.” “Honestly, I do. You’re strong. You’re beautiful.” “Even a hangover doesn’t get rid of your sarcasm, does it?” We grinned together as the tip met his skin, and he squealed again, before he started gently moving, knowing what he was doing, if only slightly. Then his face relaxed. “So?” “It’s not even that bad. Just… weird.” I gently got off the table as not to shake his arm, moving round so I could watch him permanently scar the number 26 into his skin forever. He smiled the whole time. I think I did too. When he was done, we both gazed fondly onto the piece. He had done a good job, the lines weren’t overly wobbly, you could definitely make out what it was. Maybe you wouldn’t think a professional had done it, but it definitely didn’t look like a first-time effort from the man himself. He turned to look at me with a cheeky look in his eyes. “You want one?” “Not today.” I grinned, ruffling his hair. I stalked over to the kettle, pretty comfortable to say it was only my second time in his flat, realising I had gone far too long without a cup of tea. It was desperately needed. “You making brews?” He asked excitedly. “I will if you have any clean mugs.” “You should be so lucky. I’ll wash two.” He wandered over and deciphered two that were his from the side of the sink, rinsing them out briefly, the worst attempt at ‘washing’ I had ever seen in my life but I wasn’t overly fussy. “Do you take sugar?” I asked him. “I’m sweet enough.” He gave me the most typical reply he could, amusing himself. “Actually, no I’m not. I’ll have two, please.” “Okay.” I giggled to myself. Once the tea was made, we both sauntered back over to the table. Ed’s flats may not have been the nicest, but I was a little overcome with jealousy about the fact that they at least had a bloody table. Before moving to university I had never realised how vital tables were. I vowed never to take tables for granted again. So, I didn’t. I placed the steaming hot tea down on top of it, the feeling I got from doing that was so much more satisfying than it ever should be. “Oh! I forgot to say, I can’t believe you live with Harry!” Ed piped up. “I can’t believe it either, to be honest.” I groaned. “Why, what’s up?” “We don’t get on.” I told him. “Seriously?” That seemed like more than a question, as though Ed was genuinely surprised by that information. I gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he was so amazed by the fact we didn’t get on. “Seriously. Why?” “You’re shockingly similar.” “I am nothing like Harry fucking Styles.” I protested. “Okay.” He pfft my way. “I’m not!” “So you’re both not insanely sarcastic? You both don’t love winding people up? Aren’t you into photography?” He asked. “No.” I lied. “He’s a lads lad, you’re a girly girl. He is literally male you. That’s probably why you don’t get on. You’re so similar you just clash.” “I refuse to listen to such rubbish.” I gave myself a quick moment to think about what he had just said, wondering how much truth there actually was to that. I couldn’t help but think maybe he was right. Maybe a little bit. But me and Harry went about our teasing in different ways. His sarcasm had much more of a bitter tone than mine ever did. We couldn’t be similar. No. Not me and Harry. Nope. “He’s a good lad.” Ed mumbled more to himself than me, flicking on the TV. “How do you two know each other again?” “We met in Ibiza over the summer. He was in the same hotel as me, a few rooms down. I was there with a few of my mates and he was there with this lad Niall. We all got on straight away, just clicked. It was good.” I nodded, realising the coincidence and how strange it was that their lives had been thrust together again, but not really wanting to say anything about it because I didn’t want them to form any more of a bond than they already had. “You have a good time?” I asked with my head down. “The best. Honestly, Pip, he’s a good lad. Give him a chance.” I nodded, because I intended to. For Zayn, for Ed, and mainly, for my own sanity.

[marauders70s]

Could you write some cute Wolfstar? Thank you! (547)

I love wolfstar. For @anxova

1977 - Sixth Year

“I wouldn’t go up there,” Peter said, only halfheartedly trying to stop James. 

“I need my Transfiguration book,” James said cheerfully, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Remus and Sirius won’t mind.”

“No really,” Peter tried again, but with even less effort. James’ face would be so funny. 

“Need anything while I’m up there?”

“Pictures,” Peter muttered sarcastically.

“What?”

“Just…just a new quill.”

“Right.” James bounded across the commons and halfway up the spiral staircase before he slowed to a walk. At the very top was their door, the brass nameplate turned silver with their permanent dormitory, due to James’ stubbornness at living in the little attic turret. He pushed open the door, his hand covering the cold metal reading SIRIUS BLACK | REMUS LUPIN | PETER PETTIGREW | JAMES POTTER. He took the little ladder-like narrow wooden stairs to the the very top where their bedroom was, the beds arranged in a long row under a sloping roof. In Remus’ bed, second to the left from the far wall, the hangings were drawn. James frowned. They never closed their hangings, unless something was really wrong.

“Remus?” he asked hesitantly. Then a little louder: “Remus? You okay?”

There was no answer, and James guessed Remus must have put up muffliato, muffling sounds going in or out of the shut ring of red velvet curtains. It must be bad if he had tried to keep his crying or something quiet.

He moved forward, stepping carefully and with long practice around the trunks at the end of his and Sirius’ beds and approached the hangings with a hand out, hesitating. He didn’t want to intrude, but Remus was really scaring him. “Remus?” he asked quietly, gently drawing aside the curtain.

The muffliato spell was shattered at the breaking of the circle. James screamed. Remus screamed. And strangely enough Sirius screamed. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” yelped Remus.

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED!” James cried, yanking his glasses off for some sense of blindness. 

“WHY DID YOU OPEN THE HANGINGS?” Sirius bellowed.

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED!” James screamed back, blindly backing up until his knees hit Sirius’ bed and he collapsed onto it, cradling his poor, blind eyes. 

There was a moment while he heard a sheepish Remus and a nettled Sirius rearrange the covers and sit up also.

“Well I think that should be obvious,” Sirius said coolly, but his tone was still sparking.

“When…how…when…” James sputtered futilely. Then he let out a strangled yell. “I JUST WANTED MY TRANSFIGURATION BOOK.”

“It’s on the dresser,” Remus said patiently. “I put it there this morning so you wouldn’t forget it.”

“Well I forgot it,” James said helplessly. 

“Put your glasses back on you dumb deer,” snapped Sirius mulishly. “Good griffins, we’re not going to jump you or anything.”

Gingerly, James slid his glasses back up his nose, but he choked again when he got a look at them, side by side. They were both covered in sweat, and Sirius’ hair was sticking up all over the place. Remus had a very suspicious bruise blooming at the base of his throat. 

“How…how…” he managed.

“Not long,” Remus jumped in hurriedly. “Just…just after Valentine’s.”

“When I broke up with Siobhan,” added Sirius. 

“And…and I’ve been trying to get you a girlfriend!” James gulped. “Well now I feel jolly stupid.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and burst into laughter, which Remus interrupted with:

“So you’re not…angry?”

“Angry?” James was baffled. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because…because…” Remus floundered.

“Because we’re woofters,” Sirius said flatly. 

“You are not,” James argued. “You’ve shagged tons of girls.”

Remus went a brilliant white, looking down at his fingernails. 

“Remus can be a proper woofter,” James went on, winking at Remus.

“Can not,” Sirius argued. “I’m a dog. I get to be a woofter too.”

“He’s a wolf,” argued James. “He’s a super woofter.”

“WE’RE BOTH WOOFTERS,” Remus shouted suddenly. When the two best friends turned to look at him, he tinted faintly pink. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…” he took a deep breath. “Look. So you’re not freaked out?”

“Freaked out?” James looked bewildered again. “What for?”

“Because we’re shagging each other,” Sirius said, exasperatedly. 

“Well I didn’t need to see it,” James stressed.

“You’re the one who opened the hangings. You never open the hangings. That’s the dorm rule.” Sirius was speaking from a very embarrassing experience with Peter in their third year.

“It was Remus,” gestured James. “He’s not like that. He waits for all of us to fall asleep proper-like.”

Remus was choking, and Sirius only hit him on the back sharply a few times. “Yeah, he does,” he beamed fondly. “The polite bastard.”

“You…you…” Remus couldn’t finish, and he slumped onto the discarded pillows, his whole back going red with mortification, the scars lighting up whitely against the surface.

“Is that what that’s from?” James asked suspiciously, pointing at the round bite mark under one of Remus’ arms. “From you?”

Sirius grinned unrepentantly. “Yeah. But we weren’t doing it as dogs or anything.”

“Doggy style,” Remus mumbled into the pillows, and both Sirius and James roared with laughter until Remus managed to pull himself back up, with help of one of Sirius’ arms. He flushed when Sirius left it lying over his shoulders.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Sirius asked again.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” asked James, confused. “You two are my best mates. Saves me the trouble of meeting anyone new and pretending to care about their chatter.”

“James,” scolded Remus, but without heart.

Sirius only gave him a high-five.

“Well put a sign out next time!” James managed.

“THE HANGINGS WERE SHUT,” roared Sirius. “Don’t open the hangings! You can come in and get your stuff and you won’t hear us and we won’t hear you!”

“Okay, okay, sorry!”

“Let me get your transfiguration book,” Remus said quickly, rolling over the other side of the bed and taking the covers with him. 

Sirius squeaked, and immediately folded over.

The resultant roar from James and the distant shattering of glass could be heard floors down in the common room, where Peter was snickering into his sleeve. 

“What’s going on up there?” asked Lily, looking suspiciously. “Should I go up and have a word?”

“Oh no,” Peter said in horror. “I just tried to stop James from going up there.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” Peter grinned. “Nothing most people with eyes don’t know, anyhow.”

Lily’s grin broke out. “He didn’t,” she laughed. ���Not even Potter is that stupid.”

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” everyone could hear Sirius roaring, and the clattering of things being chucked down the stairs, one of them the Gryffindor seeker.

James arrived in the commons bright red, breathless, and glasses askew on his very disheveled hair. He came straight over to the table, ignoring Lily, and slammed his Transfiguration textbook down. “Sorry Wormtail,” he said heaving a huge gust as he slung himself in a chair. “I couldn’t get your quill.”

[lauraxxtennant]

fic: the trace of pleasure or regret, (5/5)

Previous: One - Two - Three - Four

Ao3

When Rose had agreed to come to Shareen’s wedding, she was excited - not just for her friend, and to see her old mates, but for where the evening reception might lead. She’d considered that maybe she’d get the Doctor flirting with her, get him up dancing, show him off a bit to her mates. She’d hoped that maybe, when they got home, he’d give her a kiss goodnight again.

She had not anticipated their evening progressing to him being inside her, shagging her against a tree, in the open air. On Earth. Where anyone could have caught them.

Luckily, they hadn’t been noticed yet, which Rose thought was quite a feat, considering how loud they’d both been.

It was only seconds after they had finished that she realised how cold it was outside. “Oh my god,” she said, laughing in disbelief. “It’s December.”

“Yep,” he muttered, wincing as he tucked himself back into his pants as soon as he’d softened enough.

“And we’re at Shareen’s wedding.”

“Yep.”

“And we snuck off for a shag.”

“That we did,” he said carefully, helping her stand on her own two feet again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few tissues, looking adorable and awkward. “Um, shall I…”

Rose laughed and took them from him to clean up a bit, feeling equally awkward but also, mostly, elated. He seemed so unsure, suddenly, that she had to tell him how happy she was.

“I feel good,” she said, beaming up at him, and watched him sigh in relief.

“Me too.” He gave her a shy smile. “That was…”

“Yeah.” She reached up to his hair, tidying it as best she could, but she couldn’t see very well in the dark, so she doubted either of them looked remotely presentable. “Do you think they’re wondering where we are?”

“Probably.”

She adjusted her dress a little, shivering with just her thin jacket for warmth. “We can’t really go back in there now, looking like this, can we?”

“Probably not.”

“We can’t just disappear, though. Shareen will be miffed if I don’t see her off.”

“See her off?”

“They’re heading out on their honeymoon later. Straight to the station.”

“Anywhere nice?”

“Paris,” Rose replied, in her best French accent.

He nodded. “Nice, nice.”

She shrugged. “It’s no Ludolphi.”

The Doctor made a small noise in the back of his throat, indicating his pleasure at her words. Taking her hand, he led her back towards the church hall entrance. “Perhaps we can sneak into the bathroom and tidy up a bit. Then we can at least say goodbye. And make sure Bev doesn’t drive your mother home; she’s had far too much to drink. I told you she would. I’ll phone them a cab for later.”

“She didn’t kiss you again, right?”

“Thankfully, no.” He poked his head through the doorway, saw the coast was clear, and ushered her in and to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

They both came to an abrupt stop, jaws dropping at the sight before them.

“Rose!” Shareen gasped, jumping in front of her groom, Gary. Who was purple. And had spikes where his hair had been, earlier. Then, Shareen narrowed her eyes at her and the Doctor. “Hold on, where’ve you been? Thought you said you weren’t together! Look at you both, you’ve been off shagging, haven’t you? Bloody cheek, at my wedding!”  She grinned at them, clearly delighted and not bothered in the slightest that they’d abandoned the reception for one another’s company.

“Shareen, never mind that!” Rose exclaimed, her eyes shifting to Gary again. “How come you didn’t tell me Gary’s an alien?!”

Shareen rolled her eyes. “Come off it, as if you’d’ve believed me.”

“Hello again Gary, nice to see you in your…natural form. A Huviform, in fact. Aren’t you? From Krax?”

Shareen and Gary blinked at him.

“Yeah, mine’s an alien, too,” Rose interjected, with a quick smile.

Gary burst into speech, “Oh thank goodness. You won’t tell anyone, will you? Only…” He glanced sheepishly at Shareen. “We’re not strictly speaking supposed to, well…”

“Ah yes,” the Doctor nodded understandingly, and turned to Rose. “The government of Krax is quite famously rather xenophobic throughout most of its history. Marrying someone from another world, especially a human…not really the done thing, to say the least.”

“I love him, Rose,” Shareen said, lifting her chin. “I won’t give him up.”

“No one’s asking you to, not here anyway,” Rose assured her, lowering her voice. “How’d you get here, Gary?”

“Crash-landed,” he admitted, looking a tad embarrassed. “Tried to fix my ship, but. Well. I met Shareen. Weeks went by. Then I stopped trying, didn’t want to go back anymore.” He reached his hand to Shareen, and she took it, squeezing gently. Rose smiled. “Gonna settle down right here, with my lovely girl. I can blend in, like a - what was it you called it, love?”

“A chameleon,” Shareen said.

“Right, that. Excepting, of course, when we…er. Well, the reason I’ve reverted currently is…”

Shareen shifted from foot to foot. “They didn’t really need to know that.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, curious. The Doctor handily and cheerfully jumped in, “Huviforms can’t keep up their transformed appearance when they have sex.”

“Right, right,” Rose said, eyes wide.

“Do you…is it the same for you?” Shareen asked the Doctor.

Rose laughed. “Nah, he still looks like this. He’s a Time Lord; they look pretty human.”

“Well, you lot look Time Lord,” he corrected.

Rose took in the cramped surroundings of the bathroom, and wrinkled her nose. “Wait. You were really gonna have your first marital shag in here?”

“Like you can talk,” Shareen huffed, letting go of her husband’s hand to fold her arms. “Where did you do it, then? Don’t see any hotel rooms round here.”

“Anyway,” the Doctor hurried on, “We’ll leave you be. We were just gonna say our goodbyes anyway, weren’t we, Rose?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, and lurched forwards quickly to grab Shareen in a hug. “I’m really happy for you. Call me as soon as you get back from Paris. We have a lot of catching up to do, apparently.” She pulled back from her friend with a grin. “This alien thing. It’s mad, innit?”

“It really is,” Shareen said, nodding sagely. She glanced at Gary. “The best, though.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They left the room, and the Doctor - who they decided looked the least rumpled out of the two of them - went into the main hall to tell Jackie a taxi would come pick her and Bev up in a couple of hours. Rose waited for him by the coat rack, beaming to herself, a ball of nervous, excited energy. Gary, an alien! Shareen - finally in on the secret about the Doctor. Well, the Time Lord part, anyway. She’d have to fill in her in on the TARDIS when she got back from her honeymoon.

The Doctor came back. “All sorted!” he grinned, a bit manically, and took her hand.

Bemused, but used to it, she simply said, “Ta, Doctor.”

“No problemo.” He paused as he let her exit the hall first. “Well, one small problemo. Bev guessed. Your Mum knows. Bye for now!” He let go of her and dashed off, and Rose rolled her eyes.

“Oh my god. You idiot,” she muttered. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around, bracing herself.

“Rose!”

“Hi Mum.”

“You told me you and that plonker weren’t like that!”

“We weren’t.” She fiddled with the zip on her jacket, feeling like a little kid again. “Aren’t, really. I’m not sure what we are, to be honest, but tonight…” She couldn’t help but smile. “Mum, tonight was brilliant, and, well, you know how I feel about him, so I’m not gonna listen to a lecture.”

Jackie’s eyes softened. “I’m not gonna give one. I just…you’re happy, yeah?”

“Yes. Very.”

“And he treats you right? He’s good to you? Won’t break your heart?”

Rose sighed. “Mostly. I dunno, he gets all hot and cold about it, but, I can handle that. I just wanna be with him. Whatever he wants from me, I’ll…” She shook her head. “I know that must sound pathetic, like I’d do anything for a man who won’t give me the same, but you don’t know him, Mum. I know deep down he wants everything that I do. I’ve just gotta be patient with him, I reckon. You know?”

Jackie nodded, her eyes shining. “He’s really old, though, Rose. And an alien.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I know. Surprisingly, those really aren’t deal-breakers for me.”

“Where’s he gone, anyway? Left you to face the music with me, did he. I should give him what for for that, if nothing else.”

“It’s all right. He’ll come back. You terrify him, that’s all.”

“Me?” Jackie snorted. “He’s from outer space, you battle monsters every day, and he’s scared of me?”

“Not every day, Jackie. Trouble’s just the bits in between. And yes, you’re the scariest thing in the known universe,” the Doctor informed her.

Rose grinned, and the Doctor came up behind her and took her hand. He murmured to her, “Sorry. Panicked a little bit for a second there.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled at her mum. “We’re gonna call it a night. I’ll ring you tomorrow and arrange about Christmas Day, okay? And get home safe tonight, don’t let Bev behind the wheel!”

Jackie nodded. “Okay, sweetheart. Night.” She pointed at the Doctor before she turned around. “You be good to her.”

“I will.”

Rose squeezed his hand, and they headed home.

::

“So. Guess Mum thinks we’re together now,” Rose said, overly casual, as she unzipped her jacket. Instead of tossing it on the floor as she was wont, she hung it over the railing, giving him a pointed look as she did. He nodded at her in acknowledgement.

“Yes, I suppose she does.”

“She’s, um. She’s not gonna really get it, the whole, ‘it’s just ‘cos it’s Christmas,’ thing.”

“I don’t blame her. I think we’ve pushed that ruse to its limit, don’t you?”

Rose leant her shoulder against the nearest coral strut, nibbling on her bottom lip, looking nervous. “How d’you mean?”

“Rose. Come on. We can’t go on like that. Before we know it, it’ll be March and we’ll be saying, ‘oh, but it’s still Christmas somewhere!’”

“So you want to stop. Already,” she stated flatly.

“I didn’t say that. I don’t - I just…” He sighed. “I need to think.” He caught her worried look and hurried to add, “Just for a bit. Tonight. Let me think things through?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. Course. I’ll…” She summoned up a smile for him, and his pulse rate calmed considerably at the sight. “I’ll go have a cuppa before bed. Come and find me if you want to talk.”

He leaned against the console, hands in pockets, and watched her walk out of the room. She paused halfway to take off her heels; it was a bit of a challenge, walking on the grating in them without twisting her ankle. She looked back at him over her shoulder as she tossed them under the jumpseat for now, and they shared a smile. Then she left.

The Doctor let out a long breath. One hand left his pocket to run through his hair, and he just stayed where he was for a few minutes, sorting through his thoughts. He moved to tinker under the console after a bit, rightly predicting it would clear his head better.

There was no way they could return to the way things were before. They had been kidding themselves about that already, with what was essentially their Christmas gift to one another, but they had taken it even further tonight and there was no turning back.

It terrified him, really, that he’d allowed this to happen. Once upon a time, he’d been so certain that he could resist, that they wouldn’t give in. That they could be content living together, travelling with one another, as best friends alone.

But the two simple facts of it all were that she made him incredibly happy, and he was in love with her. For once in his life, why shouldn’t he get to experience that properly? The Time Lords weren’t here anymore. And the universe at large didn’t have to know he was...in a relationship with a human. There was nothing to stop him being with her, not really, not outside of his own head.

He had already been monumentally distracted by her on several occasions, long before they gave into temptation this evening, and the universe was still intact. Perhaps it could work - balancing his responsibilities with a relationship. Certainly, Rose already took on her share of saving-the-universe obligations. They’d always made an excellent team, ever since she first stepped aboard.

The Doctor continued these musings as he finished up his tinkering and wandered down towards the galley. He didn’t want to be on his own, having these revelations, with Rose in another room probably worried he was changing his mind.

A problem shared, a problem halved - that was an Earth saying he’d heard. His problem: his duty to take care of the universe. The solution: realising that actually, Rose shared all that with him anyway. He’d never wish to burden her with the kind of life he’d led, but he couldn’t deny that she wanted to help, wanted to travel with him and save worlds with him. He trusted her with his life - that went without saying. But he also trusted her with other people’s lives. He believed in her ability to wield her strength and her compassion to help those who needed her. And people did need her. It seemed to him that the universe was a much safer and much brighter place with Rose Tyler wandering around in it, sorting things out.

And he needed her. She was his best friend and his partner and - well. Everything, really.

The Doctor entered the galley and found Rose slumped over the table with her head resting on her arms, eyes closed. He smiled, and gently ran his fingers across her bare shoulder blade, murmuring her name.

She wrinkled her nose a little but didn’t stir further, so he raised his voice above a whisper. “Rose. Best wake up if you don’t want to get a crick in your neck.”

Rose’s eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?”

“You’ve fallen asleep at the kitchen table,” he said, chuckling, and helped her up when she started to stand.

On her feet again, she looked up at him, and he watched her stifle a yawn. “You okay?” she asked.

She seemed so concerned that he suddenly felt shy. “Mmhmm. Come on, let’s get you off to bed.”

He offered her his elbow and she looped her arm through. “Did you, um. Did you get much thinking done?”

“A little.” He glanced down at her. “You’ve only been gone forty minutes or so.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you were having a cuppa.”

“Was waiting for the kettle to boil, must’ve dozed off,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

“Well, it’s been a long day.”

“Yeah...”

She sounded curious; she was probably wondering if he was even going to acknowledge what they’d been up to. Gathering his courage, he cleared his throat, and mumbled, “I, er. I still can’t quite believe we did that.”

“Did what?”

He gave her a pointed look, just as they stopped outside her bedroom door.

“Oh, right,” she laughed. “Yeah, me neither.” She let go of him and leant against her doorframe. “Especially outside. Against a tree.”

The Doctor felt a blush tint his cheeks. “Yes, quite.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Rose ventured, “So, um. Night, then?”

“May I…” He tilted his head towards her bedroom. “To sleep,” he added quickly, because she was tired and he was overwhelmed, and he just wanted to be with her, tonight, in her presence. Well, in her bed. But - not - the other. Not quite yet.

A beautiful smile crept onto her face. “Yeah. Course you can.” She took his hand, and led him in. “You know this morning, when you asked if I needed help with my dress?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, watching as she stepped over to her floor length mirror and removed her earrings. “Yes. And you said you were fine.”

“You can help me now if you like.”

“Just now, when I said ‘to sleep,’” he reminded her, “I honestly meant that.”

“I know. Promise I’ll put on pjs after.”

The Doctor laughed. “Right, then.”

She motioned for him to come towards her.

“I don’t see any zips that need unzipping,” he remarked, but he moved closer to her, drawn to her immediately, as ever.

Rose met his gaze in their reflection in the mirror, and shrugged.

Without breaking eye contact, he trailed his fingers up her bare back, then slipped the tiny sleeves of her dress off her shoulders. The silk garment slowly slid down her body, and she wriggled it down past her hips so that it smoothly fell to the floor.

It took great strength for his eyes to stay on hers rather than sliding with the dress, but he managed it. Just. Rose arched an eyebrow, evidently noticing this.

The eyebrow did him in, and his gaze dropped, and he heard her giggle. His hands went to her hips, stroking the lace covering her bum on the way, and he pulled her back against him, taking in her reflection fully. The flush on her neck and sternum deepening as she watched him watch her; her breasts, which he estimated instantly would be a perfect fit for his hands; her nipples, pink and peaked. One of his hands moved to rest on her smooth, flat stomach, and he stroked his thumb across her navel.

Absurdly, a lump came to his throat, and he swallowed hard before whispering, “Rose Tyler.”

He was about to tell her how beautiful she was, and how much he - how much he - but she smiled that smile at him again, and he knew she’d already heard what he really meant when he murmured her name. What he always meant.

The Doctor kissed her temple, composed himself, and warned instead, “Blimey. You’d better get dressed.”

He didn’t mean for his voice to sound so gravelly, but it did, and Rose shivered as she left his arms. “On it, Sarge,” she said cheekily, seeking out her pyjamas.

She nipped into the ensuite bathroom to brush her teeth and use the loo, and he tentatively sat down on her bed, considering what clothes to remove himself. By the time she was done, he had been down to his pants, then put his shirt back on, then taken it off again and hastily got under her covers, feeling a bit mortified by the whole ordeal.

“Why do you look so embarrassed?” Rose laughed, getting in beside him. He was silent. She said, more softly, “Are you nervous about sleeping next to me? ‘Cos of what’s happened before?”

“I’m just feeling a little…” He slumped down, head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling for answers. “Well, I suppose it’s just that - I - you - ” He broke off and tried again. “I’m not used to not wearing much around you.”

He felt her cuddle up to him, and looked at her, bringing his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve seen your chest before,” she reasoned, smoothing her hand across it, giving him goosebumps. “All those times we’ve been at the beach or in the TARDIS swimming pool, and you’ve been in your trunks.” She slid her leg between his. “And so obviously your legs, too. And in that toga! Ha, remember that? Couldn’t believe you actually got out of your suit for once to blend in. Made my week, that did.”

“That made your week?” he snorted. “Not the absolutely fantastic snog I gave you, but me, wearing a toga?”

“Oh my god,” she said, laughing again, “You know, that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged that happened.” She craned her neck to give him a peck on the cheek, then nuzzled his jaw on her way back down to rest her head on his chest. “Yeah, that was pretty great.”

“It’s different,” he murmured, after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

She sounded sleepy. 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re exhausted; let’s sleep.”

“No, it’s okay - what’s different?”

“We’re different. This whole situation is different, now that we’ve...you know.”

“It’s not that different,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “Still Rose and the Doctor.”

“The Doctor and Rose,” he corrected, starting to smile.

“Yeah.” She patted his chest lightly as she started to doze off. “If you like.”

::

Rose woke up to an empty bed. Muffling a groan in her pillow, she rolled over, onto the side of the bed on which the Doctor had slept, then sat up to survey the scene. The chair by the dresser, where he’d left his tux all neatly folded the night before, was empty. She flopped back down onto her back, and sighed.

It was then that she heard the door to her ensuite inch open, and she looked over to it in surprise. The Doctor crept out, looking sheepish. He was dressed in his pinstripe suit, and as he leant back onto the door to close it, he stuck his hands in his pockets, adopting his usual casual stance.

“Morning,” she murmured, sitting back up again and folding her arms.

“Morning, Rose,” he said softly. He cleared his throat after a moment, and tilted his head backwards to indicate the bathroom. “Used your shower. Hope you don’t mind.”

Rose shrugged. “Your ship.”

“But this is your room. I should’ve asked. This is your private space.”

“Don’t have to be,” she suggested carefully, offering him a smile.

“Ha, er,” he mumbled, and ran a hand through his hair, looking extremely awkward.

She took pity on him. “So, um, how long you been up?”

“Oh, not long. I just…” He blew out a short breath. “I sort of felt - I needed -” He paused, then tried again, “I felt like I needed to get up and dressed and walk around for a bit.”

“You needed space,” she said, nodding, “That’s okay.”

The expression he turned on her then was one she was familiar with, on his face. It made her melt a little bit, as it always did. “I’m reconsidering my idea now,” he said, and his tone matched his longing look.

“How come?”

“Because you…” He closed his eyes briefly. “Your bed looks cosier than I remember from thirty minutes ago.”

Rose laughed. “Oh yeah? You can come back, if you like.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Cuddle up nice and close.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t. Tempting enough as it is.”

“Did we have another ‘moment?’”

“Hmm?”

“We didn’t wake up and kiss in the middle of the night and I forgot or something, right?”

The Doctor looked offended. “No. I’d think you’d remember that.”

“Right. Good. So why’d you look so tense?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you think?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to elaborate - to acknowledge it in the light of day.

With a sigh, he came closer, and sat on the edge of her bed; she stretched out her arm to meet him, and his hand slipped into hers, squeezing lightly. “Are we…are we going to be able to do this?” he whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. I think it must be because I’m very nervous.”

She smiled at his admission, and raised her voice back to normal volume, “Course we can.”

“But honestly, Rose. This is - I’m not used to this.”

“So?”

“So?” His eyes widened. “So, I’m rubbish at it. Evidently.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down. It was pretty great from where I was standing - ”

“I didn’t mean that - although - really?” He shook his head. “Never mind that. It’s - navigating this whole thing - Rose, I’m a Time Lord.”

“So you keep saying.” She squeezed his hand. “Stop over-analysing it. Like I said last night, we’re still us. You and me.”

“I’m not sure that I’m equipped to - to juggle it all.”

Rose bit her lip, and withdrew her hand. “What’s there to juggle? I’m not getting in your way of saving the universe, Doctor. In case you hadn’t noticed, I help you out with that occasionally.” She folded her arms again, closing off a bit.

“Of course I noticed that. I was thinking about that last night, actually. About what a good team we are. But Rose - I’m not certain that - well, that - that my feelings for you - ” He stopped, and swallowed hard.

Rose dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself reacting noticeably to his words. It was far too early in the day to have a cry. “It’s not worth it, is that what you’re saying? A relationship with me isn’t worth the effort.” Her legs felt like jelly, suddenly, but nevertheless she wriggled out from under the duvet and stood up.

The Doctor looked alarmed. “That’s not at all what I was going to say.”

“Your feelings, you said,” she muttered, wandering about her room, looking for that book she’d been reading a little while back. “What about them, then? Not strong enough to bother? Not the same as mine?”

“Rose - ”

She found the book beneath her bed, where she must’ve accidentally nudged it in her haste to get ready yesterday morning. “In this,” she told him, holding it up. “It talks about all these rules your people had about not interfering in the universe - in time.”

“You shouldn’t be able to read that.”

“The TARDIS translated it for me. You knew this was what I was looking for that day in the library, right? You left it on the coffee table.”

“Yes, but I had no idea why you were so interested in it - ”

“I wanted to get some idea of where you were coming from. I had no clue where to start, but I figured some of those books on Time Lords and their history would help. The TARDIS nudged me towards this one, which I didn’t get, at first. Seemed to be all about telepathy and time sense and stuff. The dos and don’ts. But a few chapters in, I got the picture.”

The Doctor stood, and his hands returned to his pockets as he stared her down. “All right, and what picture was that?”

“That you defy the ‘Time Lord rulebook’ all the bloody time! Always have! You interfere, and you help people, and you like humans way too much for your own species’ piece of mind, and - ”

“And I stole a TARDIS and ran away from my own planet, yes - none of this is new to me, Rose. I never did fit in there, I hated it, and at the end it was a corrupt and cold-hearted place, but it was still my home, and it isn’t there anymore, and contrary to all reason, I miss it.”

Rose made a small noise of frustration. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t miss it. God. My planet’s full of shitty people but it’s still my home, that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

His jaw clenched for a moment, then relaxed. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m wondering why, if you refused to abide by their rules about getting involved in other planet’s timelines - then, when they were alive, and now, with them gone - then why are you so fixated on this one?”

“What one?”

“Us! Us not being able to be together because you’re some big mighty Time Lord and I’m just a human and - ”

He moved towards her quickly, and took her upper arms in his hands, looking into her eyes intently. “That is not the way things are. I have never and will never see you as ‘just a human.’”

“Then what’s your problem?” Rose asked; not bluntly, utterly lacking in attitude for once, just a quiet, confused question.

To her dismay, the Doctor’s eyes started to glisten. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. She frowned, and tossed the book to the bed so that she could rest both her hands at his waist.

“Doctor?”

“I’ll answer you,” he murmured, nodding, “I will, I promise, I will answer that question later and sort all of this out, but for now can we just - can we stop fighting and can I kiss you and then can we have a day of us just in one another’s company without all of - all of this, so that I can get my mind switched on enough to say what I really mean to say?”

Rose hesitated, eyeing him warily. “You - hold on, what?”

He raised one of his hands up to her face, and stroked her hair behind her ear before cupping her jaw. “You did say last night you would let me think.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But then when you came to bed with me I thought…”

“It’s all just so new, Rose.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Doctor, I don’t mean to push you into something you don’t want to - ”

“Rose.”

“I’m just trying to understand, because it seems like you do want - ”

“Rose, I do, you know I do. It’s just whether I can - whether we can make this work, when it comes down to actually interacting with the universe at large.”

“You mean, it works when we’re on the TARDIS, or at my mate’s wedding; normal, domestic situations. But when we’re out there saving the world…”

He exhaled a long breath, sounding relieved that she was on his wavelength. “Exactly.”

“So. Why don’t we go out today and save a planet and prove it can?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Well. That’s - that’s quite a good idea, actually.”

“Well, that’s the reason you keep me around, innit? All my good ideas.”

He smiled. “One of the reasons, yeah. A very important one. Not the main one.”

He’d started to lean in closer, so she raised her eyebrows and warned, “If you’re gonna say kissing me is the main reason, then you’d better watch it, mate. I won’t be impressed.”

“Not that either,” he chuckled, but kissed her anyway, and she encircled his neck with her arms, fingers sinking into his hair.

“What, then?” she murmured against his mouth, when they paused for breath.

“That’s for me to know.”

::

That evening, they stood facing one another in the console room.

Rose tucked her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, her lips twitching as she fought a grin. “So.”

“So,” the Doctor agreed, nodding.

“I was right, right?”

He smiled. “I guess you were. Nipped out, saved a village, had a celebratory feast thrown in our honour…”

“See? Nothing’s changed. And they thought we were a couple.”

“Did they?”

“Yep. Think it was the way you introduced us - ‘the Doctor and Rose Tyler’ - saw ‘em write down your name as ‘Doctor Tyler’ on the seating plan at the feast. We’re married now,” she grinned.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stepped forwards, reaching out and freeing her hands from her hoodie so he could hold them.

“Right then. I’ve decided to get over myself.”

Rose’s grin grew even bigger. “You have?”

“Yes. I want to stop...well, I want to stop lying to myself. To us both. It’s exhausting, and frankly, you shouldn’t put up with me doing it.”

Rose squeezed his hands. “Are you sure, because - listen, I know I had a go at you this morning, a bit, but I can respect your boundaries if you need to make them. I want to be a good friend, I’ve tried to be - ”

“You are a good friend. The best,” he said softly. “But we’ve never just been good, or even best, friends, have we? You want more than that. I want more than that, I’ve just been, oh, I don’t know.”

“Scared? Daft? Preoccupied with your own self-importance?”

He squinted at her. “That’s rude.” He sniffed. “But true, I suppose. Anyway. We’ve given in, already.”

“Yeah.”

“And, you know, we saved the world today - ”

“A village,” she reminded him, laughing, but let him draw her closer.

“And I think we’ve probably got a new version of our usual victory hug we could implement...”

“Is that a line?” she asked, as she looped her arms around his neck. She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Are you coming onto me?”

His arms settled around her waist. “Last night...I know I for one can’t just pretend last night didn’t happen, and I highly doubt you can either.”

“It was the hottest night of my entire life, so, no, doubt it.”

The Doctor grinned. “You see, if you say things like that, then it just sounds like a challenge, and there’s no way I can pass that up.”

“Dunno how you’ll top it,” she snorted. “That’d been building up for two years, bound to be explosive the first go around.”

“Explosive?” he repeated, delighted.

She shrugged.

“Right, so, answer me this,” he said, sneaking his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “If I put us into orbit around, say, the birth of a star - or, no! Even better, a star gone supernova - and we keep the TARDIS doors open and make a little bed of pillows and blankets right here on the ramp, do you think that could, potentially, be equally explosive?”

“I think,” Rose smiled slowly, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth, “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

(It was.)

::

Rose woke up to discover that the Doctor had, at some point while she was asleep, shifted the TARDIS in space. The open doors no longer showed her the remnants of a burned up star, but her own planet. She sat up on their little makeshift mattress, biting her lip as she took in the sight of being suspended in the Earth’s orbit.

“Mm, come back,” the Time Lord murmured, and she looked down at him with a giggle.

He tugged on her arm, drawing her back down beside him, snuggling close.

“You still sleepy?” she asked curiously, tracing his features with her fingers.

“Not really,” he replied, eyes still closed. “But you’re lovely and warm and, if it’s all right with you, I would quite like to never move from this spot for the rest of time.” He kissed her shoulder. “Ta.”

She giggled again, giddy with how happy she was feeling. “You must’ve got up at some point already.”

“Yeah, came straight back down here though. Got a bit chilly piloting in the buff.”

“I’d’ve liked to see that.”

“I bet you would.”

“So…if you’re not tired,” she said, raking her nails across his chest, playing with the hair there for a bit. “And you’re happy to stay right here…”

One of his hands ventured from her waist to her thigh, lightly stroking, and he finally opened his eyes, gazing into hers. His mouth curved into a slow smirk. “Morning sex with Rose Tyler? Hmm, I think I’m in.”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

He kissed his way from her lips to her jaw, down to her neck, and then mumbled, “And conveniently, we’re still naked.” He moved aside the blankets covering them, trailing his hand down to the back of her knee, and lifted her leg over his.

::

“I know we’ve been a bit distracted with our own...stuff, but, can I just say...we still haven’t spoken about the fact that Shareen’s married to an alien!”

They were still in their heap of blankets and cushions, her back to his front as they spooned, cuddling together for warmth. 

The Doctor chuckled. “I know! You did it again, Rose - you said something was different about him. And I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well you had better things to worry about,” she grinned, tongue sneaking out to tease him, “Like showing me your dancing moves.”

“True, true.”

She looked at him for a few moments, pondering something. “Doctor, you know you said about how on Gary’s planet, they wouldn’t want him being with a human?”

“Yeah.” He stroked his fingers along her bare arm, making her shiver. 

“And you disapprove of that attitude.”

“Of course. People should be able to marry whoever they want.”

“And yet you didn’t wanna let yourself be with me.”

His fingers paused in their stroking. “That’s different.”

“How is it? Seems to me you need to apply your open mind - well, not even open mind, just common decency - to yourself for a change.”

“I’m with you now, aren’t I?”

“Only ‘cos it got too hard not to give in.”

“Rose, let’s not fight about this.” The Doctor snuggled closer, nuzzling her neck. “We’re cosy and warm, just…shhh.”

“But what if you change your mind?” she murmured.

He tightened his arm around her. “I won’t.”

Rose turned around so that she could meet his eye. “How do you know?”

Tangling his free hand in her hair, he leant in to kiss her softly. When he released her lips, he closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not going to run from this anymore, Rose. When I woke up this morning with you in my arms…”

“What, Doctor?” she whispered, when he trailed off.

“You asked me once why I couldn’t just let myself be happy.”

“Yeah…” She bit her lip. “Look, that was harsh, what I said that day, but - ”

“I couldn’t understand,” he interrupted quietly, pulling back to look at her, “Why you couldn’t tell that I was already the happiest I’d ever been.”

“Oh,” she murmured, breath leaving her in a whoosh.

“However. You also said we’d be happier together. Like this,” he said, squeezing her to him. “And you were right. You could’ve travelled by my side for the rest of your life, holding my hand, being my friend, and nothing more, and I would’ve been content, and grateful, and so, so happy. But it wouldn’t compare to how I felt this morning.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Doctor.”

“Hmm?”

“You said, yesterday morning...you said you’d tell me the answer.”

“Answer to what?”

“You know. When I asked you what your problem was.”

“Oh, right. Well. It doesn’t matter, now.”

“It does, though. I want to know what you were gonna say.”

He blew out a long breath, and shifted onto his back, tucking his arm beneath his head. “Right. Yes, okay.”

Rose stroked her hand across his chest. “Relax, Doctor. I’m done with all the arguing. I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” he laughed.

“Okay...then, what?”

He tilted his head and met her tender gaze. “I’m in love with you,” he murmured. “And I was worried that skewed my judgement.”

She blinked. Opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“However,” he continued quickly, “Given that I’ve, er. Felt that way for some time, I realised that simply admitting that by virtue of being in an actual relationship with you hasn’t changed anything, in the grand scheme of things. Personally, of course, things have changed, what with all the new...intimate...developments, but, when it comes to us travelling about and saving people, well. We’ve managed well enough so far.”

Rose continued to stare at him silently, and he felt compelled to carry on.

“It’s not going to be easy, it never has been - especially you being as jeopardy-friendly as you are.” That earned him an evil look, and he smiled. “I’m always going to want to choose you over the world, Rose. I did so right at the beginning, so of course I’d want to tomorrow. But you didn’t let me, then. You wouldn’t let me, and you told me, trusted me, to do what was right.”

“Are you talking about Downing Street?” she murmured, forehead crinkling into a small frown.

“Yes. And every other time you’ve told me to ‘do it,’ to save everyone else; or wanted to stay and fight with me, when others run away. Brave, daft thing that you are.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

He rolled closer and stroked his hand across her back, fingers tickling the back of her neck. “And it’s no use me sending you away for your own good, because then you just do things like open up the heart of the TARDIS and fly right back to me.”

“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hate it when you make my decisions for me.”

“I know.” She raised her eyebrows, clearly expecting more, so he added, “And I’m sorry. I just get so scared.”

“Me too.” She bit her lip. “Guess we’re both a bit reckless.”

“You could say that.”

“It’s easy to get like that though, don’t you reckon? When you’ve got a best friend who saves your life time and time again? I trust you ‘cos you’ve got previous, Doctor.” She smiled. “You’re really good at getting us out of tricky situations.”

“Yeah, well...I suppose...” 

Going by her giggle, he wasn’t sure he managed to sound as humble as she did, when he’d complimented her just now.

“Anyway, being reckless has other advantages,” she said, eyes twinkling.

The Doctor grinned as he picked up on her meaning. “Indeed.”

“Still can’t believe we did that.”

He rubbed at his eye, feeling himself blush, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “I’m sorry our first time together was against a tree in the middle of December.”

Rose shook her head. “I’m not - it was brilliant.”

He made a small noise, chuffed. “And so was the second time.”

“And the third…” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And the fourth was just spectacular.”

His forehead creased. “Fourth? There hasn’t been a fourth time.”

“Oh?” she remarked innocently, finding his hand and moving it to her chest. “Better get on that, then.”

“Already?” he laughed.

“You saying you can’t keep up?”

“No, no, that’s not at all what I’m saying.” He rolled her onto her back, hovering above her and giving her his best smoldering look. She laughed. He scowled playfully, and reiterated, “Not. At. All.”

“Thank god for that. And then we’ll get breakfast, yeah? I’m starving.”

“Yes,” he agreed, kissing his way down her body as he moved, nudging her legs open to make room for him. He made sure to kiss his new favourite freckle, the one between her breasts. He'd write a poem in his head about it later. “And then, Rose Tyler, we’ll go and find a proper bed.”