#but who is so secure in that position and unashamed but also honest about the resentment the moments it IS there

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

thasmissy thesis statement

[minimitchell]

Can you write 4 - "You're so perfect. And I'm so lucky."?

(mentions of sex ahead)

.

Ben can’t move.

Even if he wanted to - which to be honest he doesn’t even want to right now, Callum is way too comfortable under him - he isn’t sure his legs are working anymore.

Sweat is still cooling on their skin, Ben felt it running down his back not too long ago in the heat of the moment, and their chests are still heaving where they’re pressed against each other. Ben’s face is tucked into Callum’s neck, where he landed falling forward after what was him probably coming his whole brain out.

One of Callum’s hands is trailing up and down the dip of his spine; his breath slowly turning from harsh pants back to its normal rhythm while he comes down from his own orgasm. His other hand is still tangled somewhere in the sheets next to their bodies, though it’s resting comfortably now rather than gripping the fabric with all his might like before.

Ben doesn’t want to gloat or pat himself on the back too much but they really outdid themselves this time. It’s always good, phenomenal even, with Callum but this was something else entirely. Otherworldly even. He’s glad they have the house to themselves tonight because he’s pretty sure he was screaming all sorts of things in-between.

“You broke me.”

His voice is drowsy where it’s still pressed into the skin of Callum’s neck. He’s not tired and it’s also not that late into the evening yet, but it feels like all his energy just got drained out of his body, coaxed out of him together with his climax.

“Sorry?”

Callum’s hand runs up into Ben’s hair, tangling in the strands at the back of his head. He doesn’t untuck Ben’s head, knowing that Ben likes to wrap himself around him like an octopus and just feel for a few long moments after they’ve slept with each other, just lightly running his fingertips along the back of his neck.

It’s peaceful; this love and closeness and pure serenity around them right now, a stark contrast to the wild passion from moments before.

“I honestly think you broke me this time. Shagged me too good with your perfect dick and now I’m broken.”

“Give over.”

Callum squeezes the skin underneath his fingers, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the space behind Ben’s ears. Ben untucks his face from Callum’s neck, instead resting his chin on the patch of skin underneath Callum’s collarbone, looking up at him through thick eyelashes.

Ben loves looking at Callum when they’re like this, all pliant and fucked-out, because he looks so peaceful and content that it makes Ben’s heart beat just that little bit faster. Seeing Callum completely unguarded still tugs at his heartstrings and he’s still so unbelievably grateful that he gets to see him like this; that Callum chose to give himself to Ben body and soul.

Forever now even.

“I’m serious. I can’t feel my limbs. Maybe I’m paralyzed. God, Cal, paralyzed by sex. They’re gonna write medical articles about me.”

“You’re such a pillock.”

Callum’s hand leaves its place in Ben’s hair to sneak around to his chest, pushing until Ben falls onto his back. They’re both laughing, Ben letting out one of those rare belly-laughs no one but Callum and Lexi get out of him and Callum’s quiet giggles betraying his faux-annoyance at Ben.

Ben throws himself half back on top of Callum when he starts making moves like he wants to get up, trapping him underneath his body. Realistically, he knows they should get in the shower soon, before they become all sticky and gross, but Ben wants to stay like this for a while longer.

They don’t get to just be too often; there’s always something that needs to be sorted or fixed or dealt with. They so often have to be sons or brothers or dads; they rarely have the chance to just be fiancés. To just lounge around and have sex and talk all afternoon like they did when they first got together.

Not that he would change what they have now for anything in the world, he wouldn’t. The security, the domesticity, the unwavering trust and support - he’d never give that up. Not even for sex. Because as it turns out, they still manage to blow each other’s mind when it comes to that anyways.

He looks up at Callum again; at the way he’s still slightly shaking his head at Ben and at the faintest trace of dimples on his cheeks.

God, he’s so in love with him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

Callum meets his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment. There’s a smirk twitching at his lips and it’s obvious he doesn’t take the comment as serious as Ben meant it to be.

“For shagging you?”

Ben can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in him, trying to hide it in the naked chest underneath him.

“No, idiot. You’re so unashamed of who you are now. Not afraid to be or do what you want. I forget how far you’ve come sometimes but I’m so proud to see it. You’re so perfect. And I’m so fucking lucky.”

Callum’s eyes soften immediately at that, as does his entire expression really, and he takes Ben’s face in both of his hands to pull him into a kiss. They stay like that for a while, trading languid kisses with one another, fingers dancing over each other’s skin, until there’s a crick in Ben’s neck from the weird angle and they’re both breathless.

When they lean back again, Callum runs his nose over Ben’s cheek, pressing a faint kiss to the hinge of his jaw before falling back against the headboard.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ben leans back on his elbow, still keeping eye contact with Callum. Their almost saccharine smiles stay firmly in place and Ben could swear Callum’s eyes are liquid and sparkling from where he’s lying - a perfect ocean of warmth and love.

He lets the silence between them stretch for another moment, lets the edges of the world surrounding them turn rose-colored and soft before he continues, a smirk already fighting its way onto his face.

“You’re also super hot like this.”

The eye roll he gets from Callum in return is enough to crack him up, falling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes, laughter tumbling out of him in bursts.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

Ben lifts his arm and peaks over at Callum when he feels their mattress dip, being greeted by Callum’s naked ass when he plants a knee onto their bed and leans over, looking for something on the floor. Ben doesn’t exactly know what, if he’s maybe looking for his underwear even though they’re still home alone, but he can’t really form a coherent thought anyway. Not when Callum’s pert little butt is on full display in front of him.

“Go on then. Hit the showers, kid.”

He’s still giggling under his breath and that coupled with the sudden lack of blood in his brain from looking at Callum’s ass must make him do what he does next. Because before he can even register he’s doing it, he’s reaching out and gives Callum’s right butt cheek a timid slap.

The quiet smack echoes through their bedroom and Callum stills his movements at the same time Ben does, hand now resting on the naked flesh he’s slapped before. Callum is silent while he slowly turns around to face Ben again, eyebrows climbing higher and higher into his hairline as he does so.

Ben is sure he’s about to get a telling off and he almost rushes to apologize, but the sudden heat in Callum’s eyes stops him before any words can even escape his mouth. Ben’s eyes drop from Callum’s pinking ears down to his hardening dick and he can just about hold back the appreciative groan, biting his bottom lip to keep any noises in.

Callum crawls over to Ben again, swinging one leg over his waist so he’s sitting in Ben’s lap now, mirroring Ben’s position from earlier. He’s still only looking at Ben, but his eyes are getting darker and darker by the second. Ben has a good idea what he’s thinking about.

“Oh? Seems like we’re unexpectedly going into overtime.”

His laughter soon gets swallowed by kisses; giggles replaced by pants and moans.

Being able to use your extremities seems very overrated to Ben anyway.

[something-tofightfor]

Forget It

Pairing: Sam Adams x Reader

Word Count: 3790

Rating: NSFW 

* Continuation of “Remind Me”, which can be found on my Masterlist under the “July Drabbles” section *

Author’s Note: This got real smutty real fast... and it’s all for @its-my-little-dumpster-fire, who supports me CONSTANTLY in every way possible... this is a little payback. You’re the best. 

Tagging:

@banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious @madamrogersstorytelling @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @drinix @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz @zaffrenotes @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @luminex3 @malik-payne @lexxierave @lynne1993 @elanor-of-imladris @bucky-is-my-precious @traeumerinwitzhelden @mfackenthal @weallhaveadestiny @ladyblablabla @sweetybuzz25 @dreamwritesimagines @thesumofmychoices @audreychaz @tc-elliot @dreams-with-thoughts @kind-wolf @gollyderek @honeyydippaa @thesandbeneathmytoes @geeksareunique @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @benbarnestongue @the-blind-assassin-12 @binbonsadoration @ificouldhelpyouforget @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

“It feels so good to lay here with you, why are you trying to get up?” He spoke quietly, hand settled on your shoulder, his long, rough fingers curled against your skin. “Stay.” Though you knew there were things to be tended to, the plea in his voice kept you in place, a deep breath drawn before allowing it to escape. Fine. 

 “Sam.” You sighed, rolling onto your back and pulling the blanket up to cover your bare chest in one smooth movement, head turning to look at your husband. He had his left arm folded beneath his own head, cheek pressed against the bare skin near his elbow, and a smile on his face as he eyed you intently, cheeks still flushed. “Sam we have so many things to -”

 “They can wait.” You watched as his tongue poked out of his mouth, the hand that had been on your shoulder rising up to cup your cheek. “All of them. I want to lay with my wife.” He raised an eyebrow as you leaned into his touch, lips curving into a smile. I can’t deny him, I never could. “I’m sure you have so many things to tell me about what I’ve missed.” You agreed that you did, shifting closer to him and tucking your head beneath his chin, forehead pressed against his neck as his hold on you tightened. “You can start by telling me why you’ve allowed that beast to sleep in here with you.” 

 Giggling, you closed your eyes, one of your arms making its way around his waist. “Rogue kept me company, Sam. He barked so often when he was sleeping downstairs that I got almost no sleep, so…” You kissed his chest, inhaling. “So he came up here with me, and we both slept much better.” Though Sam had brought you the dog in the first place, you’d learned very quickly that your husband was a jealous man,  that your diverted attention - even to a dog - was enough to sour his mood at times. “But now that you’re home, I’ll have no problems sleeping, with or without him upstairs.” 

 “No,” he replied, lips finding the top of your head. “You won’t. I’ll see to it that you can’t even get the housework done because you’re so thoroughly tired.” His words were playful but the tone he used was full of promise, and you knew that he could make good on what he was saying - before he’d left for his last trip, Sam had shown you exactly how much he cared about you, and how much he’d miss you, leaving you exhausted for nearly a week. 

 Though he’d had a reputation before you’d met him, when he began courting you, Samuel Adams had worked hard to prove that though he was many things, unfaithful was not one of them. You’d caught his eye as he walked from his small home toward the tavern, and that had been enough. A shameless flirt (especially with you), it had taken only a week for you to agree to walk with him through the streets of Boston in the daylight hours, your maid following close behind, and another month or so for Sam to convince your father that though people thought the worst of him, his intentions with you were pure - as they were for the Colonies. 

 With your father convinced (and quite interested) at the prospect of Sam and the other rebels succeeding and therefore securing themselves higher positions within society, Sam was permitted into your home, where you spent countless hours during both the day and early evening learning about each other. You’d fallen in love with him quickly, and although no one but the two of you knew they’d happened, the times when he’d snuck onto the property while you were walking the grounds or pulled you into the shadows between or behind the buildings in the city were what had solidified your desire to marry him, even as things escalated around you in Boston and Sam’s activities became more dangerous. There was more to Sam Adams than met the eye, and you were lucky enough to know that not all of him was focused on the fight against the British, that he had a heart beneath the lapels of his jacket as well. 

 “Sam.” You wet your lips with your tongue, sighing. “I am starving. And you must be hungry as well, after traveling for such a long -” He cut you off with a kiss, lips molding to yours as he rolled closer to you, the weight of his body pressing you back into the mattress as it had only half an hour previously. “Samuel Adams, you are -”

 “Happy to see my wife again after months apart?”He murmured the words as he kissed you gently, lips trailing down across your chin and jaw, to your throat. “Can you blame me? You seemed more than eager to pull me into this bed, and…” He kissed you again, shrugging as he rubbed his cheek against yours. “I’ll always be happy to see you.” He sighed, one had sliding down your arm and stopping at your wrist, which he squeezed gently. “But you’re right, I am hungry, and we’ll both need to eat if we’re going to celebrate my homecoming as I plan to.” His eyes were bright as he stared down at you, lips shaped into the barest of smiles - the smirk, actually, that you loved so much on him. 

 “And how is that, Mr. Adams?” Your own hand rose, pushing his hair away from his face, fingertips lingering on the scar next to his eye. “How do you propose that we celebrate? My family would love to see you, they -”

 “Naked. In this bed.” He spoke plainly, tone honest. “That’s how I intend to spend at least the rest of today.” He paused, raising one eyebrow and turning his head to kiss the inside of your wrist, lips lingering on your skin. “And also perhaps some of tomorrow.” He closed his fingers around your forearm, moving your hand away from his face. “But first, you can make me dinner.” You laughed, nodding. “And… maybe I’ll take a bath while you do that, we can catch up…” He licked his lips, cheeks going round as he grinned. “That sound good to you?” You nodded, feeling yourself smile as well as Sam shifted off of you, sitting up in the bed. 

 “It’ll take some time to get the water ready, Sam.” You sat up too, swinging your legs over the opposite side of the bed, pulling your shift back on before you stood. “I’ll go put that on to heat while you get the tub.”

 --- 

 The process of filling the tub enough for Sam to soak had taken some time, with you putting the kettle over the fire to boil while the two of you took turns bringing in pails full of water from the pump in the yard to supplement the hot water you’d later add, but after nearly a half an hour, the water was steaming, waiting for your husband to climb in. You started to prepare dinner while you waited for the water, Rogue following you around the kitchen dutifully as Sam sat at the table, chin in his hand. “He’s truly grown to love you.” Though there was a note of disapproval in his voice as he spoke, Sam also seemed happy. “I’m thankful he’s here to protect you.” You reached down, scratching the dog between his ears and smiled. 

 “I am too.” Pulling the final bucket away from the flames and dumping it into the tub, you looked at your husband. “He’s no substitute for you, of course, but…” You grinned. “Get in, Samuel, I’ve got to finish cooking.” Unashamed, Sam stood, locking eyes with you as he pulled his shirt over his head, draping it over the chair he’d been sitting in before reaching down to unbutton the breeches he’d pulled on, letting them fall to the floor. You’d just seen him naked a few minutes earlier, but your breath still caught at the sight of your husband’s body - long and lean - in the light streaming in through the window. “I missed you, Sam.” He winked at you before lifting one of his legs and climbing into the tub, sinking down into the water with a sigh. 

 For the next fifteen minutes, Sam leaned back against one end of the tub, most of his body concealed beneath the water as he soaked and scrubbed at his skin. You kept up a steady stream of conversation with him as you chopped carrots and cut up potatoes to boil with salted pieces of ham. “I baked bread yesterday, too, so -”

 “Whatever you make, it will be perfect.” His voice was quiet, and you looked over your shoulder from the kitchen counter at your husband, hair slicked back and eyes on you. “I wish that this was all over.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We still have a long way to go until we have peace, but… we’ve made so much progress, and it’s all going to be for something, but the cost is…” He shook his head. “I hate being away from Boston, away from you.” Oh, Sam. Your husband’s emotions often were on display - that was just how he was, unwilling to hide his feelings, unwilling to sit back and let others act on his behalf, but to hear him say something so honest about you? 

 “Sam, it’s… I knew what this meant when we married, I knew that you’d be gone often.” You stirred the pot once more, putting a lid on it and setting the spoon down on the countertop before you walked over to where the back door was, opening it to let Rogue outside. That done, you turned and moved to where the tub was, pulling a chair next to it. As you settled down into it, you pushed the sleeves of your shift up, over your elbows and reached over, running your hands through his hair. “Think of what happens when this is all over, when people look back at you and your friends.” He nodded slowly, eyes focused on you, expression serious. “I’m here. I will be here. I don’t care how long you’re gone, or where you have to go, this is our home, and I am your wife.” You leaned in, kissing him beneath his eye. “You’re capable of so much good, Samuel Adams, it would be a shame for you to stay here and just be a husband to me - and I don’t want that for you.” 

 “I should have met you sooner,” he sighed, eyes closing. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have wasted so many years of my life to alcohol and being a burden to John.” 

 “Sam, stop.” You leaned down, scooping up some of the water and bringing it to his head, dampening his hair further as you worked your fingers through it. “You lost Elizabeth, and it wasn’t easy for you. No one faults you for your behavior.” Not now, anyway. Your hands continued moving, rubbing a small piece of soap over Sam’s hair, watching it lather. “You’ve grown up, Sam. I watched it, my family watched it, your family watched it, the people of Boston watched it… and without you, we’d still be…” You shook your head, hands near the nape of his neck as you continued to wash his hair for him, nails scratching against his scalp and causing him to groan softly under your touch. “Sit up, Sam. Tilt your head back.” He did as you asked, patiently waiting as you reached for the small bowl next to the bathtub, filling it with water and pouring it slowly over his head. You worked the soap from his hair, ensuring that you removed it all before nodding one at him. “There. All clean.” 

 “There are other parts of me that could use your touch as well.” His voice low, Sam’s gaze burned into you, wet fingers reaching out for your face as he tugged you toward him for a kiss. “It’s been a while since I’ve thoroughly bathed.” 

 “What, like your back?” You teased him, reaching for a scrap of cloth and another small piece of soap, wetting the material before beginning to work on the smooth skin of his shoulders which was directly in front of you. “I can understand that, even with those long arms of yours.” He laughed quietly, allowing you to clean him, fingers running over the taut muscles as you soaped him up and then rinsed him off, using the same bowl. “You’re going to smell better than me, Samuel.” He laughed again, trailing off into a contented sigh as you worked on one side of his ribs and then the other, careful not to tickle him. You knew what you were doing - knew exactly where the bath was going to go, and didn’t want to risk ruining the mood by causing him to kick, toes slamming into the side of the tub. 

 “I’ll be more than happy to return the favor for you,” he replied as he lifted one arm, allowing you to work the cloth all the way up beneath his arm, humming quietly to yourself as you did so. “I believe I know your body better than my own and I know what needs the most attention.” You shivered at his words, glancing up to see the look on his face and then quickly looked away, moving to the other side of the tub, repeating the movement for his other arm. Yes, you do. You were married, allowed to feel the way that he made you feel, in absolute awe of the things that he could do to you with only a few words or a look, but it still shocked you that despite knowing him for years and being married, the feelings hadn’t changed. 

 “Stop it, Sam.” You shook your head, cheeks blazing as you dipped the cloth back into the water, eyes on his chest. Kneeling on the floor next to him so that you had better access to the front of his body, you took a deep breath. Without warning, his hand moved from the edge of the tub, arm crossing over his body and his fingers closing around your chin, lifting your face to look at him fully. 

 “No.” He shook his head, a serious look on his face. “I won’t.” You inhaled sharply, pressing your lips together, but you nodded at him, feeling your chest expand. In a split second, you decided to continue the game you were playing with him, using your left hand to rub the soap against his chest, moving it in small circles through the dark hair present there before moving lower, broadening the strokes of the perfumed chunk. You followed this with the dampened cloth in your right hand, pressing down against his skin - giving him what he asked for without speaking. You said thorough. He was silent as you cleaned his skin, focused on your task, but as you worked lower, he shifted in the tub, his right hand moving away from the lip of it and settling between your shoulders - not holding you tightly, but still letting you know it was there. 

 His arousal was visible through the slightly tinted water and you felt yourself smile at the sight - Sam was insatiable when it came to you, and though it was slightly improper, you were glad that your teasing hadn’t been for nothing. Your hand reached the water line, where the trail of dark hair on his lower abdomen began and though the soap was still between your fingers, neither of you were focused on the bath anymore. The cloth dropped from your hand with a soft splash into the water, and you finally let go of the soap as you extended your fingers, flattening them against his stomach and watching as they too dipped beneath the water. He said your name, under his breath but you didn’t pay attention, closing your fingers around him and feeling his grip against your back tighten. 

 The soapy water allowed your hand to move against him comfortably and easily, and you felt your own lips part as you touched him, breaths shortening as he stiffened further in your hand. Sam’s legs shifted to brace himself as he moved his hand upward, fingers tangling in your hair, which was pulled into a loose tail and hanging over your shoulder. You glanced up at him, looking through your lashes and found your husband staring at you through hooded eyes, tongue poking out from between his lips. “I’ve missed this.” He spoke hoarsely, shaking his head back and forth. “Your touch, your…” He groaned as you squeezed, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “You’ve never…” He panted your name out again, and you watched him, feeling a heat building up in your own belly. “Never in the water, not like this.” He could barely get the words out, and as you shifted, leaning further over the tub to kiss him, you twisted your wrist, catching him off guard. 

 Sam’s grip on the back of your head changed immediately, holding you to him tightly and even as you continued to move your hand up and down, he kissed you hard, tongue moving against yours in a way that would have scandalized you only a few years previously. “Sam…” You said his name once when you broke apart for breath, pressing your forehead against his and feeling his damp hair against your skin. “Oh, Sam.” He nodded, and you heard the edge of the tub creak as he gripped it tightly with his free hand. Your own right hand was working tirelessly on him, the cuff of your sleeve damp from skimming the surface of the water as your arm moved, and you glanced down, noticing that the end of him was peeking up above the edge of the water, droplets of moisture - from him or the bathwater, you couldn’t tell - collected on his smooth skin. 

 “I’m almost… please…” His voice cut into your thoughts and you snapped your eyes back upward, finding his wide open and staring at you intently. “Please don’t stop, keep…” He hissed, the next word leaving his lips a quiet “damn”, and you giggled, despite yourself as he continued to speak. You imagined what his friends and colleagues would say if they saw him like this- at your mercy, pleading for you to please him in one breath and praising you for your skill in the next. “Just you wait,” he whispered, lips pressing against yours roughly, a shake of his head causing his hair to fall forward and dampen the skin of your face. “Wait until we’re back upstairs.” He was panting, muscles rigid and you nodded slowly, knowing that he was close, that it would only take a few more moments. 

 “You belong in my hand, Samuel Adams,” you half whispered the words, lips next to his ear, fingers moving over the tip of him. “And in our bed, and in me.” He cried out, fingers digging into your back and you felt him shudder in your grip, hearing him let out a breath as he relaxed into the water, a warmth coating the inside of your palm and fingers - and, as you looked down and saw, his stomach as well. “Welcome home, Mr. Adams.” You leaned forward, kissing him gently on the lips before removing your hand from him and reaching into the water with the other one for the cloth, using it to wipe at his stomach, cleaning him before using it to do the same to your own hand. Discarding it onto the floor, you pushed his hair away from his face before standing, wiping both damp hands on your shift. “The water’s getting cold. You should dry off and get dressed… dinner should be ready soon.” 

 He looked up at you, still catching his breath and offered you a smile before standing too, putting his hands on your waist and lowering his head. You felt the wetness beneath his palms soaking through the material of your dress, but didn’t care as he kissed you again - this one tender and full of appreciation. “I do belong with you,” he said quietly as he moved his head away from yours and pulled you closer to him, the tub giving him some (unnecessary) added height. “And I’m never going to let you forget it.” Despite the fact that he was wet, you didn’t pull away, letting him wrap his arms around you as you turned your head to lay your cheek against his bare chest. He held you close for nearly a minute, both of you silent, and then said your name again, causing you to straighten up. Sam’s hands moved away from your torso, coming up to your jaw and he held your face between them, staring down at you. “I love you.” 

 You nodded, unable to speak for a moment as he repeated the words, a grin breaking across his face. “And I love you.” You squared your shoulders, blinking slowly. “Which is why we need to eat before we continue this.” He laughed as you turned, reaching for the clean blanket that you’d gotten ready for him to dry off with. When Sam took it from your hand, you walked purposefully over to the stove, using another scrap of cloth to remove the lid from the pot, stirring it thoroughly. Just about done. You added another few ladles full of water to the contents, inhaling as you willed your own heartbeat to slow. Though you knew Sam would take care of you later, you weren’t used to being left wanting, especially when - 

 “Here.” He reached around you, using the blanket he was wrapped in to protect his hand as he lifted the pot from over the fire by the handle, setting it down atop the counter. “Look at me.” You did as he asked, turning and realizing that he’d just draped the blanket over his shoulders and nothing more. “Why bother getting dressed yet?” Sam wrapped his arms around your shoulders, encasing you in the material with him.  “We’ll both be fine for another hour...or two.” Hands on his hips, you nodded, rising onto your toes to kiss Sam, head tilted to the side. He deepend the kiss, holding you tightly before taking your lower lip between his teeth and tugging as he pulled away. “Alright?” You nodded, breathless, and Sam grinned bending down to pick you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest before turning and carrying you from the kitchen and back up the stairs. 

---

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 15

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: ongoing fic; we have a tag list, let me know if you want on that shit.

Warnings: flirting? Touching? Swearing?

Abstract: John Deacon and reader get a feel for an automobile; Deacy wishes the night would last forever.

     After expressing your address, you found yourself lost in thought, unable to look away from John Deacon. Lucky for you, considering he wasn’t in a position to get away from your gaze. He particularly enjoyed the attention and had no desire to escape your attentions, however. Deacy’s beauty was under-appreciated, you thought. His hair, quite honestly resisted gravity and all logic. You wondered if he liked his hair color, its texture, its style; he seemed to change his look enough, so it was hard to know for sure. This was indicative of a person who cared about either what others thought or took pride in themselves, or were insecure. Not necessarily bad characteristics. You thought people who genuinely didn’t care what others thought were liars outright. Though, someone who took care in how they looked for reasons of self-empowerment was admirable. And, as for feeling insecure, well, you knew exactly what that was like.

     Would it be easier to just voice all these thoughts, rather than keeping them silent, and looking for hints? Hoping he’d drop a clue here or there to let you know what was on his mind? Was this disingenuous? You couldn’t decide. When was too early to ask everything you wanted to know about a person? Would it scare them away? You didn’t want to scare him away. And you had just met tonight. Perhaps it was better to stay silent.

     You contemplated his cheekbones. Also underrated. They were not overly pointy cheekbones, more joyous than anything else. You found them at their best when he was smiling or laughing; the way the light glinted off them when he laughed at something you said, grinning at the attention, it made his face glow with excited passion and keen interest. And they weren’t better than yours, which made you feel better about yourself in a self-loathing insecure way you hated.

     What did it mean to be in a relationship when you were insecure, you thought? Was there a such thing as a person who wasn’t insecure? Especially at the start of dating? So much goes unsaid, so much you become blind to, there’s so much you willfully ignore. What does it mean to be honest in a relationship? Is it possible? You thought so, but, then again, here you were with a man you thoroughly enjoyed and you couldn’t even bring yourself to voice your concerns, questions, and desires. You wanted to be blunt, unabashed, and just say what was on your mind, but you didn’t know how to start.

     So, you kept looking at him, unashamed at least in the knowledge you had a certain right to gaze at a man who had made you climax during your first sexual encounter together.

     Most women, you found, lied about their ability to orgasm. It was a telling sign between someone younger and older; younger women tended to brag about their ability to cum every single time during sex with a man, yet the man never seems to use more than his dick. This was not a common recipe for a woman’s orgasm. Older women tended to be a bit more frank and realistic when it came to sex. And though you were by no means near 30, you also weren’t as close to 20 as you had once been. Deacy, an older man, certainly understood the key to a woman’s orgasm usually has nothing to do his dick and had everything to do with her mind. This made him, in your mind, a considerate and fantastic lover. You couldn’t wait to sample more.

     But you would wait. That was part of the game for you. And you knew well enough it was part of the game for him, too. Deacy wanted a woman who would play the game, and it was a game you lived for. You wondered how long it would take to reach peak sexual chemistry together, and what it would feel like the first time you archived your orgasms at the same time. You didn’t know much about what he liked himself. What you had gathered from him at your first encounter was that he enjoyed a light form of power exchange that excited you in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t always easy to find someone who instinctively knew what you wanted, whom you were compatible with regarding what you liked in the bedroom, and who cared more about your pleasure than his own. Maybe that last part wasn’t entirely accurate. What had he said right after? He implied he had had as much pleasure as you had had simply by giving you pleasure, or witnessing your pleasure. No one ever did anything selflessly in bed; there was always a currency exchange occurring. As long as the foundation was reciprocity, everything ran like clockwork. You certainly wanted to find out more about him and his desires. To do that, however, you’d have to find a way past your insecure mouth and say something. You wished sex was as easy to discuss with a new partner as cats or dogs? Chinese or Italian food?

     John Deacon wanted to know everything about you. He wondered what your life was like. When did you wake up in the morning? What did you look like? You snored, he thought, clutching the wheel tighter than necessary. It was a scrap of information he was clinging to in order to convince himself he really knew you so he didn’t feel so silly about how deeply his feelings for you were already growing. Was he being a fool, he pondered? At almost 32 he definitely thought he had a good grasp on who he was and what he wanted, maybe for the first time in his life. He was a man with pretty clear dual natures. The silent and sassy rock-star, who could command the attention of hundreds of fans with the plucking of a few strings. Then there was the surly outcast who felt alone in a room full of people, felt categorically misunderstood by half the people he met, and wanted desperately to make a connection with someone who saw this, acknowledged it, and was willing to live with it and be his equal partner in it. One side was ultimately dominate and the other inherently, shyly confident and determined to be who he was and fuck the rest; but which was which? Who would get that constant internal power struggle, and would anyone want to put up with the game of it all? Were you that person? Did you already understand it?

     He couldn’t fully tell. You had stood up for yourself during that horrid fight with Roger, which was surprising and a huge relief. Deacy didn’t want some person who couldn’t speak her mind. It seemed that even if you didn’t always say what was on your mind, you were at least capable of doing it. Why didn’t you more often, he questioned? You had also been more than willing to play during sex; people were more genuinely themselves during sex than any other time you’d see them. So, he figured that was a good indication of who you were, of the person you tried so hard to keep hidden away. Deacy thought the real you was hidden, maybe even in the same why he hid himself; out of necessity. Though why you felt you had to do this, he had no idea. You were insecure and smart and so shockingly tender while maintaining a steel wall around your inner heart. A paradox, like himself, he thought.

     What was it is like to be as sexually explicit and upfront as Roger, Deacy wondered? He was the most honest person Deacy he ever met. Sure, Brian was honest and true, but he didn’t always reveal everything about himself; Roger did and to a fault. You always knew what you were getting with Roger, and Deacy admired that. Sure he was an annoying twat, but he was also an especially true friend because of that special no holds barred brand of honesty. Roger was so comfortable regarding his sexual desires and romantic interests, he’d work it into everyday conversations. Nothing would get in the way of Roger getting what he wanted. Deacy, frequently, was his own worst enemy in this respect. He tried to spare his romantic partners from painful truths or criticisms or awkwardness; this was an issue, and had proven to be a contributing reason why many of his past relationships had ended. Paradoxically, he figured sparing his partners pain would keep them safe, happy, and willing to stay. To them, however, it seemed that he was being dishonest, two-faced, and--worst of all--mistrusting of them. Roger, even though he seemed instinctively reluctant to enter a lasting, permanent relationship, never had an issue with his honesty, because no one ever stayed around long enough to see it as a fault. Deacy wasn’t even so sure it would end up being a fault for Roger—he was almost too charming to have his faults noticed. What would it be like to have the security and freedom of being honest in a relationship? To have a partner who wanted honesty, and could stand it, and not falter because of it? Most people claimed to want that level of biting honesty, but never really ended up treasuring it in the end. Maybe it was impossible to win, he thought.

     Could you be the one I’ve been searching for, Y/N? Deacy couldn’t stop thinking this one thought. Were you it? Could you handle me? Could you know me, and let me know you? Inside and out?

     You were staring at his lips and hands, back and forth, you allowed your eyes to flick to them at your leisure. His fingers were so long, and probably made him the proficient musician he was. His smile was wide and his lips were so captivating; full and like his eyes easy to sparkle. His hands had been all over your body tonight, almost inside you; close to penetration but never quite there. He was such a tease, but delivered the goods in the end in his own way. He wanted to give you everything while keeping a secret for himself. His vulnerability was guarded.

     Why weren’t you talking? Say something? Here you are, together, alone. Take your chance. Now or never.

     “Have you always been a paradox, John Deacon?” You asked, tracing shapes on his knee.

     “Yes, I have. It isn’t easy to put up with, I realize.” John said sheepishly. “If I can’t keep something for myself I feel...invisible. Empty. Unsure.”

     “Can you ever completely know a person?” You wondered aloud.

     “I would say no. A person could get close to it, if you’re very lucky and very transparent. You’d have to trust each other. I find some blasted way to be quite close, quite vulnerable.”

     “Hard conditions to achieve.” You reasoned.

     “Yes, but not impossible.”

     You took a deep breath and said, “I don’t want to do this if I have to hide myself from you.”

     He looked at you as long as he could spare while driving. Your green eyes met his grey ones. It was a moment of truth, loud and undeniable. Would he cross the Rubicon with you, or stay stranded on the other side?  

     You continued, “I’ve done that before. Made that mistake before. It’s only ever made my relationships fail. I won’t do it again. I need to be in the driver’s seat, active in my own life. I don’t want to be the only one in charge; I want dual driver’s seats, if that makes sense?”

     “Roger would like that.” Deacy laughed, noticing his palms were sweating.

     “Would you like that? Do you like that?” You decided to push him for an answer. If you were gonna lay your cards on the table and ask the hard questions, you deserved the same in return.

     “I do. I want you to be open with me. Like you are now. You’ve been holding back all night, whether because of me or something in you, I’m not sure. I want you to feel like you can tell me everything. And I want you to actually do it.”

     “Would you be able to do the same for me? Be just as upfront, always?”

     “Isn’t ‘always’ a fallacy?”

     “Isn’t that something someone says when they want permission to lie?”

     He laughed in surprise and joyful fascination at your honesty. “I will be myself with you to the best of my abilities. I will share the truth with you, I will be honest; I cannot promise I’ll be fair, or entirely likable or conventionally nice.”

     “You are nice, John.”

     “Bri says I’m the only person he knows who can destroy someone in two sentences or less.”

     “You have bite.”

     “Is that a request?” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

     “It might be. I have a fair amount of bite, too.”

     “Is that a warning?”

     “It might be.”

     You both laughed. There was a silence, though not uncomfortable.

     “I fear who I am is designed around who I am in public and who I am in private, and I dread that I can no longer distinguish between them.”

     “Is this a rare moment of your mask slipping to the side?”

     “It might be.” He smiled. You were playing with each other now, but it was more than that; he was testing the waters, seeing if he could scare you away in a more subtle way than the fight with Roger had been. “I’m not sure which one is the real me anymore.”

     “I’d hazard a guess it’s a bit more complicated than one being you and one being a lie.”

     Deacy thought that was exceptionally perceptive of you. “Where do you go to university?”

     “How did you know I was in school?” You asked, more curious than surprised.

     “I figured you weren’t quite finished yet.”

     “I’m at Oxford.”

     “Studying music?”

     “Yes.” You confirmed. “Why are you interested in dating someone younger?” Everyone in the world knew how old the members of Queen were.

     “I’m not.” He said. There was a tone of finality to it. Your stomach dropped through the floor of the car and was probably ran over by its back tires. “I’m interested in dating someone who understands me, or who could understand me. If you were 43 instead of 22 or 23, I’d still be here, driving you home, in this moment together, negotiating our future together.”

     “Good answer,” you said, able to swallow and breath again, instantly feeling better. “Do you know those moments in romantic films? Where the guy says something and the girl says something back? Then they’ll close in on the guy or the girl, but no one says anything because it’s assumed the conversation is over?”

     “Yes, I think so.”

     “You see, what’s on there faces is the real conversation they should be having. It’s whatever they thought when the silence starts that really says what they wanted to say more than what they actually said. Does that make sense? God, I’m not making sense.”

     “It does. What you’re saying is these couples who think they’re having a heart-to-heart aren’t really. They believe they’ve had one because they said ‘I love you’ for the first time or something like that. But immediately after the conversation these people are thinking something in reaction to what was said, and because they never voice whatever those thoughts were, they’re missing the point?”

     “Exactly! If they went on to voice what they were thinking right after that pronouncement, whether it's ‘I didn’t know you thought the same, felt the same’ or ‘you’ve made me so unbelievably happy I could sing loud enough to wake the dead’ that’s the real conversation! that’s the real feelings behind the I love you. But they always skip that part. No one ever just says what they’re thinking when it matters the most. And we can’t read their minds, so we have no idea what they were thinking, and neither do their partners. It infuriates me.”

     “You’ve just ruined Casablanca for me forever.”

     “Let’s never be those people.”

     “What the people who ruin their relationships by hiding behind their words and thinking they’re saying what they mean but aren’t?”

     “Precisely. Or I get out of this car right now while we're speeding along.”

     “If you do that, I’ll have to jump out after you. I’d never hear the end of it from Roger. ‘Ruined another car,’ he’d say. ‘Shocking. You’ll do anything to keep a girl around, mate.’”

     “Are you doing it already?”

     “Yes,” he sighed, “And now that I’ve started I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you. All night. From the moment I saw you, all I could do was think about you. What your name was; if you liked to dance; what you’d smell like; if you liked dogs; if you preferred winter over spring; if I wasn’t famous if you’d like me, see me, want me; it all roped back to you. Every thought I had. I couldn’t stop it from happening even if I wanted to. And I assure you, I don’t want to stop thinking about you. You lassoed me, you have me.”

     “I kept thinking” you said slowly, “all night how ridiculous this was. Feeling so drawn you, wanting to know you, to figure you out, you puzzle of a man, to understand you and have you understand me. Everything you were sang to me the second you touched my hand, and I was hooked. But we had just met and I kept thinking I was insane.”

     You were pulling up to your apartment. You didn’t know how you got here, but you had. “It’s that one on the right.”

     “Right.” Deacy pulled over, and parked the car. “I know you said nothing else tonight, and I respect that. However, if I don’t at least see you to your door, I’ll regret it all day until I see you again.”

     “Alright.” You said happily. “In the spirit of our negotiations, I have an unconventional proposition...”

     “I’m listening.”

     “We could try sleeping next to each other, but not sleep together. I know I’m not the best at sleeping next to someone else, but I’d like to try it again with you. If you’d like to, that is? I’d understand if you just wanted to go home and sleep in your own bed. Nothing is as good as that, but now I’m rambling. So?”

     But John Deacon had removed the key from the ignition already, bewitched at the notion of holding you close; he couldn’t bear to leave you there.

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