#lacey french x lachlan macaldonich | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ifishouldvanish · 5 years

Text

Destiny or Circumstance

Lachlan MacAldonich x Lacey French: Lacey doesn't remember much of what happened last night, nor does she recognize the new ring on her finger. But when she realizes whose bed she's in, she really can't bring herself to mind.

A little something to go with my Big Bang fic, How Do You Sleep?. This covers the morning after their first encounter. It’s... mostly fluff.

RATING: M WORDS: 6,205 A/N: These two are a trainwreck and a half but I love them, okay???

[READ ON AO3]

Lacey arched her back, stretching and blinking her eyes open as she woke. Sunlight managed to peek through the slats of the drawn blinds, which hung from an unfamiliar window.

She furrowed her brows at it.

Where was she?

Rubbing a hand over her face, she lifted her head from the pillow– bringing on her pounding punishment from all the fun she'd clearly had last night.

She grumbled and rolled over, finding her bed companion curled up into a ball with his back to her. He had a messy mop of shoulder-length brown hair, soft and shiny, and wore a heavy bracelet on his–

Lacey threw a hand over her mouth.

Carefully, she crept closer for a better look.

Was it him? Still?

Last night hadn't exactly been her first rodeo, but this would definitely be the first time she wasn't kicked out right after, be it by an overwrought manager or the talent themselves.

Come to think of it, they weren't even in the hotel room anymore. This was… someone's house. Apartment?

Lacey leaned over the man beside her, careful not to wake him. He shifted a little and rolled towards her, hair falling out of his face, and oh yeah. It was definitely him.

She pressed her thighs together, noting the telltale ache between them, and bit down in her lip.

He made a small grunting noise that told her he was beginning to wake up, and her eyes darted around the room, not sure what to do. Sneaking out of bed was her standard morning after protocol, but being in bed with Lachlan MacAldonich was far from standard.

No, no– Lacey French wanted to stay in this bed as long as possible.

Which settled it, then.

She gently laid her hand on his bare chest, and slowly slid it down toward his hips, nudging the sheets out of the way so she could palm his cock.

Lachlan drew a deep breath through his nose, and exhaled slowly. His mouth fell open as she began to work him, and his eyes soon opened too, their gaze fixed blankly on the ceiling.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

“Good morning,” she grinned, straddling back over him.

“Aye,” he scoffed. “Fucking beautiful.” He stared at her for a moment, his features scrunching in mild confusion– but soon there was recognition in his brown eyes, and he smiled. “You…” he pointed a finger lazily, “I remember you…”

“Always nice to make an impression,” she said.

“...Lindsey?” he guessed.

“Nuh-uh,” she smiled, shaking her head and beginning to grind her hips into him.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, throwing his head back. “Ah… fuckin’... Australian broad…?”

“Lacey,” she said, taking mercy on him.

“Lacey,” he repeated with a nod. “I knew that... I knew that. That's… a much better name, actually. I like that.” His eyes wandered over her body appreciatively for a moment, then narrowed somewhere downwards.

Lacey frowned. “What?”

Lachlan scoffed. “Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just ah… hope your husband's not the jealous type.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

“Your… husband?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don't–”

She finally noticed it then. A ring on her finger, with a rock that had to have cost more than she was worth.

“Goes to show where I had my eyes last night,” Lachlan joked. “Usually stay away from the married ones…”

Lacey's face flashed hot. “I wasn't wearing this last night,” she said.

“Oh. Well that explains it,” he mumbled, easily accepting the explanation at its surface.

“No,” she said. “You don't understand. I'm not married. I've never seen this thing before in my life.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck.” Lacey rasped. “Did I– did we?”

Lachlan's eyes bulged as he caught on. He sat up quickly and grabbed her hand so he could take a better look. “...Jesus fuck.”

Lacey pulled away, climbing off of him and looking around for her purse, or more specifically, her phone. She found it on the floor at her side of the bed, and began digging through her texts, choosing to ignore the handful of missed calls from Ruby.

But there it was, at the end of a thread of barely coherent texts– a photo she'd sent at 2:37AM of herself and Lachlan, cheeks flushed from alcohol, posing beside an overtanned man in a cheap suit with too-white teeth– the words Just Married scrawled across the backdrop behind them.

“Holy shit.” Lacey whispered.

“What?”

She climbed across the bed back over to Lachlan, and thrust the screen in his face. “Do you remember this?”

Lachlan stared and blinked owlishly at it, but said nothing.

“You know what?” Lacey said, pulling her phone away and gracelessly hopping out of bed on one leg, “it's probably just... One of those fake ones, you know? Where they just go through the motions and take pictures, but it's not like… Actually legally binding or whatever?” she continued, her voice creeping higher in pitch.

She swiped her clothes off the floor and hurriedly began to dress.

“I mean, seriously– What kind of place would actually marry two drunk-ass motherfuckers who just waltzed in at two in the morning, asking to get married right then and there?” she went on, mouth dry and heart racing. “...Right?”

Lachlan wet his lips, nodding slowly. “Aye, you're probably right, that.”

“Too drunk to marry, but not so drunk they wouldn't take our money,” she muttered, twisting ring around her finger and beginning to pace.

It crossed her mind to take the thing off, but she didn't.

“Look,” Lachlan said, and Lacey spun around, finding him sat up in bed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If we got married– for real, like– we should have a… you know. A…”

“Certificate!” she finished, already starting to rummage through the room.

She could hear Lachlan clumsily dragging himself out of bed and glanced over her shoulder, watching as he reached for a bottle on his nightstand. He quickly discarded it when he found it was empty.

“I need a fucking drink, if I'm to deal with this shite,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and shuffling out of the room.

“Yeah. So do I,” Lacey muttered under her breath.

Of all the stupid shit she'd done in her life, this had to take the cake, didn't it?

Sure, she may have indulged in a silly fantasy or two when she was younger. That one day she'd meet one of her idols and they'd think the sun shone out of her ass as much she thought it did theirs. That they'd notice her and see something special and worth their while.

But those fantasies usually involved long conversions during which they'd tell her she was interesting and smart and different from everyone else they'd ever met. Not… whatever this mess was.

She was feverishly searching the drawers of his dresser, and that was ridiculous. Who came home drunk and tucked a legal document in with their fucking socks?

She thrust the drawer shut and glanced around the room again. Because if this thing existed, she had to find it. She would find it.

“Ah… Lacey French?”

She stopped her pacing and looked up at the doorway, where Lachlan was standing.

“This looks pretty fuckin’ legitimate to me,” he said, holding up a piece of paper.

Lacey squinted at it from across the room, then rushed over for a closer look.

State of California Certification of Vital Record County of Los Angeles License and Certificate of Marriage

Dozens of tiny boxes followed, and in one of them was definitely his name, and in another was definitely her name. The date had been stamped at the bottom along with some other numbers and signatures.

She folded her arms over her chest. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He tossed a shopping bag bearing the chapel's name on the bed, and a handful of brochures and other papers slid out. Without a word, they both began to dig through it all.

Congratulations on your LEGAL marriage!

Get a great deal on your destination honeymoon!

Thank you for choosing Little Chapel LA!

Top 10 Romantic Spots in Los Angeles

Save on California hotels!

Leave us a review on Yelp!

Get Disneyland discount tickets!

“The fuck…” she whispered, continuing to rummage through the countless pamphlets, postcards, and coupons.

“Oh. Here's a good one,” Lachlan said.

Lacey scowled and looked up, finding him holding up a coupon for twenty percent off at The Pleasure Chest.

She was ready to smack him before registering the dryness in his tone, and the silly look on his face.

She smiled instead, and laughed– the tight, anxious coil in her belly finally releasing.

This would all be fine.

She'd be laughing herself sick about it one day.

Have another great story to tell at parties.

“I mean, if you don't want it…” he trailed off.

“Wait–” she giggled and plucked it from his hand. “Maybe I wanna buy some nipple clamps for you,” she snorted. “Or a big strap on.”

He reeled back, his eyes wide with horror.

“...I can make jokes too,” she said, and tossed the coupon back on the bed.

“Right,” he nodded, relaxing a little. “Right…”

Lacey's eyes landed on a folder with the words Your Wedding Photos printed on it in a scripty font. She picked it up and held it out to him. “How much do you think they charged us for these?”

Smiling, Lachlan snapped his finger and picked up a brochure with the chapel's pricing information on it.

“Deluxe photo package? ... One hundred twenty-five dollars.” he read, and tossed it back on the bed.

Lacey snorted and opened the folder, a handful of wallet size prints falling out and scattering across the bed and floor.

They'd covered all the classic poses, it seemed.

The awkwardly standing next to each other while smiling stiffly at the camera pose– not at all helped by the fact that the suit jacket they'd thrown on Lachlan was at least two sizes too big for him.

The kissing pose, which might have looked sweet if their tongues weren't already down each other's throats and he wasn't grabbing her ass.

And the laughing pose– herself doubled over with laughter while Lachlan stood behind, smiling with his arms around her waist as if to keep her from falling.

On second thought, her drunk ass probably was falling.

“Aw…,” Lacey said at last, flipping the folder around to show him an 8x10. “They're almost nice.”

A smile crept across his face, and he took the folder from her. “...Aye. Look at that.”

A long strip of paper caught Lacey's eyes, and she plucked it off the bed. “Suit rental…” she read off the receipt, “deluxe ceremony package… deluxe photo package… walk-in surcharge… officiant fee… license fee… LA county license fee… gratuit– Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

Lacey checked the line item again, making sure she'd read it right.

She had.

“Dude, you tipped the officiant three hundred dollars,” she snorted.

“No, I didn't,” he said, rejecting the mere possibility.

Lacey squinted at the small print. “Well, I'm sure as hell not… Amex ending in… 98341,” she read aloud.

“What?”

“But look on the bright side: they gave you a 10% discount for being a California resident. See?” she pointed, “My ring would have cost you–”

Lachlan snatched it from her hands. “The fuck…” He stopped reading and looked at her finger, pointing. “You're taking that off and it's going back.”

“What? S’no big deal!” Lacey laughed. “You just call the credit card company and say it was a fraudulent charge. I do it all the time when I rack up an insane tab. Besides– receipt says all sales are final, and I dunno… I kinda like it!” She said, admiring it again. “Makes me feel classy.”

He shot her a defeated look.

“Check it out–” Lacey said, tossing her hair over her shoulders and righting her posture. With an exaggerated gasp, she clutched her hand to her chest, as though she'd just suffered some horrible offence. “Wait 'til my husband hears about this!”

His features sank into a pained expression, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking shite, don't tell me I married a bloody wannabe actress…”

“What?!” Lacey squeaked, actually offended this time. “No!”

A buzzing sound came from somewhere in the room, and their eyes darted to his pair of jeans on the floor.

Lachlan bent down and pulled his phone from one of the pockets. “...s’my manager,” he explained brusquely, taking the call and tucking the device against his shoulder. “Wendel!” he greeted with a cheerfulness the belied their situation. “How's–”

An angry voice cut him off, and he fell silent.

“…No. No, I'm home actually,” he said quietly. After another beat he chuckled, and held the phone to his ear. “Aye, well, I met this… lovely brunette and we decided to ah… take the party back home, if you know what I mean. Look– I'm sorry about skipping out on…” he trailed off, swallowing as the angry voice shouted over him. “No. …No, of course I understand. Listen, I've actually got a bit of a situation, if I'm–” he got interrupted again, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “No no no no!” he laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that! Just ah… Look. C-can I call you back? Wendel? I'll be just a minute, I swear. …Aye. Thanks.”

Lachlan hung up the phone, sighing and tossing it on the bed.

“Well. He's no’ happy,” he mumbled, giving Lacey an apologetic smile.

“Sounds like a prick,” she said.

He scoffed and put his hands on his hips, looking at the mess of papers on the bed with a frown. Lacey watched warily for him to say or do something.

At last, he looked to her and clapped his hands together. “Alright,” he sighed. “Look, I'm… I'm really sorry about all this. You came out to have a good time last night and this– I shouldn't have…” he took a took deep breath. Sighed again. “Why don't you just… make yourself comfortable?” he told her. “Shower, help yourself to the kitchen… And I'll ah… make some phone calls and get us all sorted out, aye?”

Lacey nodded slowly, surprised by how apologetic he was being about the whole thing, how ready he was to accept full responsibility for it. “...Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

****

Lachlan was still on the phone when Lacey got out of the shower. Still on the phone after she'd finished getting dressed again, and still on the phone after she'd foraged through his kitchen's very humble offerings.

If she didn't know any better she'd have mistaken it for a clean and tidy kitchen. But his was a bachelor's kitchen– free of any mess because it was never actually used. There was no art to it, no hominess, no character– save for an array of liquor bottles arranged like a shrine on the far counter.

In the den though, things were far more interesting. His guitars were out, displayed on their stands– and Lacey bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to touch. There was an acoustic, and a Les Paul she recognized from concert footage and music videos.

Oh, what was the harm?

It wasn't as though she'd never handled a guitar before.

She picked it up. Not to play, but to check the back.

There the finish was worn through– a mass of scratches from buttons, rivets, and belt buckles that resembled a big tumbleweed, marring the otherwise smooth, glossy clear coat.

This guitar had history, she thought with a smile, before setting it back down and moving onto his record collection.

The shelves spanned an entire wall, and were so tightly packed as to be nearly impossible to browse. She could read titles and artists names off the spines of some of them, but she was determined to see the rest, and began plucking sleeves out one at a time.

Some of her favorites were in there. Some of her not-so-favorites. Things she'd never heard of. Things that surprised her. Things that didn't surprise her at all. Pressings from English bands, which ranged from mildly elusive to virtually nonexistent in the States: Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets, the Charlatans’ early stuff before they got picked up by Universal.

Several minutes later, she heard Lachlan's footsteps coming from the bedroom.

“You have a killer collection,” Lacey hollered over her shoulder. She slid another record sleeve out from the shelf and admired the artwork for a moment before pushing it back in.

“Aye, thanks,” he said, coming over.

She slid another one out, quickly recognizing the artwork. “Alice Cooper Band…” she clicked her tongue. “Nice.”

He chuckled, “It's some fuckin’... good music .”

She moved onto the next, and the next, and he must have had the whole discography. She paused at the last of them, and looked over her shoulder at him disapprovingly. “Muscle of Love?”

He shrugged. “Bit of a completionist.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright…” she accepted slowly, and returned to her browsing.

“Look, I ah… I just got off the phone with the chapel.”

“Yeah?”

“If we want to ah… you know. We've got tae actually file for divorce. Like, properly? Form… FL… one hundred, they said?”

Lacey stopped thumbing through the vinyl, but found herself smiling.

She was married to Lachlan MacAldonich.

Lachlan MacAldonich was her husband.

The same Lachlan MacAldonich whose picture used to be taped inside her locker.

“Since we were just… Absolutely fucking plastered, we should be able to just do an annulment, but ah… we'll need to have some kind of proof to show a judge?”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards. She was sure she'd have a receipt for enough shots to tranquilize a horse somewhere in her purse, but she thought better of digging for it right now.

“That all sounds like a pain in the ass,” she said and adjusted her purse strap– aiming for nonchalance as she continued to browse his collection.

“Right?”

“I mean… I'm in no hurry,” she shrugged and spun around again, leaning against the shelves. “We can just like… Exchange numbers and get it sorted whenever. Next weekend, next month… next time one of us is trying to get hitched,” she joked.

“Aye. Same here,” he smiled, and Lacey felt her stomach do a ridiculous flip.

She looked down at the floor, rubbing her thumb over the band of the ring still on her finger.

“Ah… had no luck with the credit card company either,” he admitted with a chuckle. “So…”

She nodded and gripped the ring, giving it one last look before pulling it off and handing it to him. “Yeah, I get it. Was worth a shot though, right?” she smiled.

“Was, yeah,” he said– and as he dodged her gaze, Lacey could've sworn he was blushing. “Chapel said they won't take it back, so… probably bring it to the pawn shop. See what I can get for it.”

“Makes sense.”

He put it in his pocket and stared back at her. Lacey waited for him to add something, but he never did.

She reached into her purse for her phone. “Should I send you a text? Or… How do you wanna–”

He blinked and shook his head. “Oh! Right, right. Yeah. Sorry, I just…”

Lacey smiled. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think talking to girls made you nervous.”

He scoffed, and the color in his cheeks deepened. “Just ah… used to having a little more drink in me, is all,” he said, taking out his phone and opening up his contacts. “A lot more drink,” he confessed, and handed it to her.

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” Lacey said as she typed her information in. “Trust me.”

Lachlan huffed a little laugh through his nose. “Certainly appreciate that,” he said, hiking his brows in acknowledgement. “But no. Just I ah… get a little anxious? From time to time?” he trailed off and shook his head, folding his hands over his chest and putting on a smile. “It's fine, though, ye know?” he shrugged, “I-it's nothing.”

Lacey gave him a long, skeptical look. “There's like, pills for that, you know. Roommate swears by 'em.”

Lachlan's eyes widened. “...Nah,” he decided, scowling and shaking his head. “Nah, did enough pills in the nineties, I'm afraid.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Uppers, downers…” he bobbed from side to side, “...all arounders,” he joked, winking and making a funny face.

A little giggle escaped her, and Lacey quickly glanced away, scolding herself for it– for acting like some kind of giddy schoolgirl around him. She needed to stay cool.

Squashing her smile away, she smacked her lips and looked back to him. “Crazy times, huh?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “no doubt.”

“We um… must have had a good time last night, though.”

“Looks like it.”

Lacey licked her lips. “Yeah. It does.”

A crooked smile spread across his face, and he tilted his head at her. “Do you…” he trailed off and closed his eyes in thought. “C-can I pour you a drink?” he asked at last, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and toward the kitchen.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she checked the clock on the wall.

She still had some time.

“...I'd like that.”

His smile widened. “Perfect.”

Lacey followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the island while he browsed the collection of bottles on the counter.

“Whisky girl,” he mumbled to himself, remembering at least that much from the night before. “Or would you prefer something else–”

“Oh, no. Whisky’s just fine. My tolerance for anything else is a little–”

“Oh, I hear you,” Lachlan chuckled. “Tequila and I do not get along, that's for certain.” His hand hovered over the bottles hesitantly. “...Jack? Crown?” he asked.

Lacey shrugged. “Surprise me.”

“Tell you what, Lacey–” he wagged his finger, “For you? I'll pour my best,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.

She fought back a smile. “You… really don't have to.”

“Eh,” he waved her off and opened up one of the cabinets for two glasses. “I mean, we're just married, right? Ought to celebrate.”

Lacey shifted on her feet, drawing closer to him. “You know... you're absolutely right.”

He finished pouring and handed her her drink.

“Fuckin'... cheers,” he said– clinking their glasses and knocking his back without so much as a pause to appreciate the taste of the almost two hundred dollar bottle.

Lacey sipped her own slowly.

“S'good, in’it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks.”

“It's a batshit crazy situation, ye know?” he said. “Gettin’ fuckin’ married. But ah… you gotta… gotta see the humor, in a situation like this, I think.”

“Yeah,” she agreed over the rim of her glass. “Could've been a lot worse.”

He snapped a finger at her. “Exactly. And it's far from the worst thing I've ah…” he trailed off and shrugged. “You know.”

She didn't. But she could imagine.

“So um... last night was the last stop?” Lacey asked. “Of the tour?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Back in sweet home, LA.”

“You know, I've always kinda wondered,” she said, “what bands do like… in the time between the end of a tour, and working on the next–”

“Oh, fuck all,” he laughed. “Absolutely fuck all.”

“I guess it's the only time you have to really relax and like, spend time with family, huh? Or do you just like, get a day job for a while?”

“I mean… it depends,” he said. “What kinda contract you're on and all that. How much the label wants you to cavort about in the press circus…how many records they want to squeeze outta you in so many years…”

“Gotcha.”

“God,” he carded a hand through his hair and sighed. “We were on Wen Gray… they wanted six records over ten years.”

Lacey stopped sipping her drink and lurched forward. “Shit.”

“Aye, it's a lot, when you include the…”

“Touring and shit, yeah.”

Lachlan stared off blankly for a moment. “Well,” he shrugged, “they got two records. And a half.”

“How does that um…” she whirled her glass about, “how does that work? When uh, one of the members…”

“Depends if the label thinks things are ‘ salvageable ,’ was the word they used. If they thought we could replace...”

“Oh, fuck no,” Lacey shook her head.

“Yeah. Ye know, it's one thing to lose a guitar or a bass player, but–”

“But still. It's never the same.”

Lachlan hesitated for a moment, then quickly poured himself another shot. Swilled it down and took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agreed– nodding, tossing his hair out of his face, and squaring his shoulders. “But also like… compilations and all that count towards the contract too?”

“Yeah!” Lacey pointed a finger, “yeah, I read that somewhere. Guys running out their contracts that way. Greatest Hits and Deluxe Editions and shit.”

“Aye. Nowadays they've got clauses about that sort of thing,” he chuckled. “But anyway, ah, the label decided to cut their losses with us. I guess. After…”

“Yeah.”

“People don't realize that, I don't think,” he said. “Just assume we're all… just like these kids in a candy store, with the drugs and shite, parties twenty-four seven... But there's– there's a lot of pressure too, you know? To produce–”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So you got these guys just like, living in the studio, you know? Having little baggies of coke dropped off because they think, ‘there's no way I can finish this album on time otherwise’?”

A sudden lump formed in Lacey's throat. He was talking about Jed, she knew. Found dead in the recording studio from an overdose.

She swallowed it down hard.

“You have a daughter though, right?” she asked to change the subject. “You think you'll get to spend time with her? Now that you're–”

“Ah… no, ” he stilled. “No, I'm not… in her life. Really.”

Lacey ducked her head and clenched her eyes shut. “Shit, I'm sorry, that's personal. It's none of my–”

“You’re fine.” he dismissed. “But yeah. Haven't seen her since…”

She nodded slowly in understanding, not sure what else to say.

Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I um…” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I was still using? At the time?”

“Yeah. I mean of course you were,” Lacey said. “After… that.”

“So, we decided it was best if I was just out of the picture,” he explained, looking at the floor. “But Catherine's– my ex– she's a smart woman. Real strong and all that. So l mean... I know she's in good hands. It's just… i-it's complicated,” he finished, and took another swig of whisky– this time straight from the bottle.

“Yeah, I get it,” Lacey said, giving him a rueful smile. “My family's kinda fucked up, too. Haven't seen or spoken to my dad since I moved out here.”

His wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked back up, lips parted. “Oh.”

“I mean, that was kinda the whole point, honestly,” Lacey admitted with nervous chuckle. “Was to get away from him.”

Lachlan's eyes fixed steadily into her own, the prolonged contact beginning to feel uncomfortable before he finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly, blinking his focus away. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Lacey frowned and took a swig of her drink, not really tasting it either this time. “Me too.”

He fumbled with the cap on the whisky bottle for a moment before taking a step back, leaning against the counter and tucking his hands into his pockets.

Lacey counted to five, and picked her glass back up for another sip.

“You know,” he coughed, “part of it was that… we weren't supposed to do a US tour so soon.”

She froze and tilted her head at him.

“In our contract, I mean,” he said. “But Bank Street was doing so well over here, the promoter sent us over. So… a six month Euro tour became… a year and a half world tour.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. So we were behind on Glass Houses , toured again for that, and then we were behind on our third.”

“That sucks,” Lacey said, finally taking her sip. “You'd think they'd like, give you some leeway when–”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “They didn't give a shite.”

She sucked her teeth. “...Bastards.”

They moved onto safer topics after that.

Their favorite albums, their favorite bands– ribbing each other on their taste for long after Lacey had finished her drink. By the time they were discussing who was worth seeing live and who was better on the record, the space between them had dwindled to a few mere inches– and Lacey's “don't giggle like a schoolgirl at every other word out of his mouth,” ship had long since sailed.

She was recovering from one such bout of giggles when Lachlan's gaze slipped downwards– but it wasn't the floor he was looking at.

“I'll be honest,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper than before, the timbre so different when he was so close. “You have… the sexiest fucking legs, and I would really like to take you back to bed right now.”

Lacey sank her teeth into bottom lip and pressed her thighs together. A hesitant chuckle escaped her as she glanced at the clock on the stove.

“Um… As much as I'd love to… I um, I should probably head home so I can get ready for work, actually.”

Lachlan's expression fell. “Right, right…,” he nodded, pulling away.

“Normally, I'd just um... call in?” she said. “One of my coworkers is this Armenian guy with like, five kids, so he's... kinda my guy when I need someone to cover for me,” Lacey confessed with a little snort. “But uh, I kinda already called in twice this week?” she said, shrinking back guiltily.

Lachlan pulled a funny face at that. “Sounds like you’ve had one hell of a week,” he chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “You um– you have my number, though?” she reminded him. “We could… get together again. Sometime.”

“Yeah. Yeah, right.”

“I usually work mid shift, so… I'm free most nights. Like, late nights. If you wanted to–”

“Aye. Definitely,” he nodded. “Definitely wouldn't mind... doing that.”

“Nothing like, serious or anything,” she assured him. “Just, you know. ...Fun?”

“Yeah. Fun, of course” he nodded again. Clasped and rubbed his hands together. “I mean, it really can't get any more serious than married, can it?” he joked.

“Yeah, right?” she snorted and rolled her eyes.

Lachlan leaned over the island on his elbows again, looking up at her with what Lacey could only describe as puppy dog eyes.

“W-w-where did you say you worked?” he asked, tilting his head and drawing closer.

“I didn't,” she answered dryly.

He cracked a smile, and that was definitely a blush on his face.

Lachlan MacAldonich was blushing at her.

She tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I um… I just cashier at the pharmacy off 10 and Santa Fe.”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I think I know it. Across from the ah…” he snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

“The strip club with the–”

“Aye,” he chuckled, “that's the one.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, feeling playful. “Do you... frequent the–?”

“No,” he shook his head and laughed. “No. I mean– I've been. But it's not like–”

“I'm teasing,” she smiled. “But yeah. I should go.”

“No. Sorry, yeah. You've got… work,” he said, pulling away again and gesturing limply toward the front door.

“Rain check?” she asked, slowly brushing her hair off her neck as she strung her purse over her shoulder.

It had the intended effect, and his eyes wandered over her neck. “You know– why don't I… show you out?”

Lacey bit back a smile and shrugged. “Okay.”

“We can take the walk of shame together, eh?” he said, resting his hand on the small of her back.

They made it halfway to the door before Lacey stopped and snorted, earning her a curious look.

“I don't remember how I even got here,” she realized, laughing. “Or where I am.”

It dawned on him too, then, and he chuckled. “Neither do I,” he told her. “But we're in Highland Park.”

“Oh, okay,” she giggled, falling back in step with him. “Yeah, I'm East LA.”

“Well, let's see if I need to call ye a cab,” he said, taking his hand off her back so he could open the door.

They stared blankly at the old, electric blue Camaro parked haphazardly in the driveway.

“That you?” he finally asked.

Lacey snorted. “Yeah, that's me, alright.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I don't remember driving at all,” she laughed, stumbling against him and burying her face in his shoulder.

“Hey, I've been there,” he admitted. “Looks like we made it over in one piece, though,” he pat her back. “S’all that matters, right?”

Lacey peeked up at him, letting herself drink in his brown eyes for a moment. An image– fleeting memory– from the night before came to mind, but it just as quickly disappeared. “I… I'm trying to think,” she said, finally tearing away from him and starting down the porch steps. “The last thing I remember… after– oh.” she perked up as it came back to her, bouncing on her toes and turning back around to face him. “I remember!”

He raised his brows. “Do you?”

Lacey flapped a hand in the air, struggling. “I remember… we had sex…”

He nodded slowly, stifling a laugh. “Aye, we sure did.”

“Again, I mean,” she giggled. “At the hotel. And um… you said I was a… daft bird? The most daft bird,” she corrected herself, continuing toward the car. “And I said you were probably into it? Because you needed the crazy to down out everything else?”

They reached the car, and she spun around again. Lachlan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her.

“You asked if I was speaking from experience,” she recalled, “and I remember saying… yeah. Because if I– I know that if I ever slow down…”

“...something'll catch up and bite ye in the arse,” he finished.

Lacey smiled. “...Yeah.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Aye. I do remember that now, actually.”

“You know what?” she swat her hand through the air, “I bet the rest of it all will come back to me in a few hours.” She rested her hand on the door handle and paused to look up at him, squinting at the sunlight. “You know. Just a brown out.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Brown out?” she said again. “Like a blackout, but… you just need something to jog your memory a little bit first?”

“Ah. Well, then perhaps we might be able to piece our night together yet,” he smirked.

“Yeah!” she laughed. “I mean, it must have been a good one, right?”

“Aye. For sure, for sure,” he agreed, checking her out again.

“Anyway,” she shook her head, “yeah. I should… I should get going,” she mumbled, digging her keys out of her bag and pointing them at the door.

“Right,” he nodded. “Well, ah… it was… lovely to meet you. Lacey.”

She stared down at the hand he was offering.

“Yeah,” she smiled, accepting it. “Same here.”

“I'll… be in touch, I guess. About the whole… marriage thing–”

“Yeah,” she laughed, reluctantly letting go of his hand so she could unlock the door.

She climbed into the driver's seat then, and began turning the window crank– lowering it all the way before pulling the door shut.

“Oh–” Lachlan leaned in, folding his arms over the door and poking his head inside. “You know how to get to 110 from here?”

“Um…” Lacey gripped the wheel and pushed against it. “No, actually,” she admitted, slouching. “No idea.”

He wet his lips and smiled. “Well, it's real easy: Just pull out that way,” he pointed, “make a left onto York, and it'll be just about a mile up the road.”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards as she repeated his directions back in her head, committing them to memory. “...okay. Cool, thanks.”

“I'll… see you around then,” he shrugged, giving the door a finishing pat and pushing away from the car.

“Yeah. Um…” she closed her eyes, hesitating between lingering a moment longer, and starting the car. “Bye– I guess,” she decided with a little wave.

He took a step away from the car, mirroring her awkward wave. “Ah… Drive safe?”

“Yeah. Will do,” Lacey smiled before starting the engine. It roared as she gave it a few pumps of gas, and Lachlan shouted something she couldn't hear.

“What?” she shouted, poking her head out the window.

“Beautiful car,” he hollered back.

“Oh!” she grinned. “Thanks!”

He gave her one last smile, one last nod, and took a few more steps back. As she backed out of the driveway and pulled down the road, Lachlan was still on the porch, waving her off.

And later, as she sat in traffic on 110, Lacey was still smiling.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #anyelle #anyem #Lachlan x Lacey

24 notes · View notes

smartgirlsaremean · 6 years

Text

Cell Block Tango

Fandom: OUAT, Marilyn Hotchkiss’ Ballroom Dancing and Charm School

Pairing: Frankacey (is that a thing?)

Rating: M (for language - I think multiple uses of “fuck” rate an M anyway)

Summary: Frank Keane is mistaken for a certain Scottish screw-up during a routine traffic stop; while awaiting his phone call, he meets Lacey, Lachlan’s biggest fan.

AO3

Cell Block Tango

A/N: This is the Frank x Lacey story nobody ever asked for but at least one person ( @avatoh) said they’d read it and then Muse wanted to write it so…here it is. I have never written Lacey. Or Frank. So I hope I didn’t majorly fuck either of them up.

The flashing red and blue lights nearly caused Frank Keane’s heart to stop in his chest. He wasn’t speeding, or swerving, or doing anything that could warrant a stop, and he knew there was no reason to panic, but he couldn’t help it - ever since the accident, music and lights had that effect on him. His palms sweating, he pulled over to the side of the road and took several deep breaths while he waited for the officer to approach his passenger-side door.

Several sharp raps announced the officer’s presence, and Frank rolled down the window, smiling timidly.

“Hey, buddy, you’ve got a tail light out,” the man said, leaning down to look in the window. “You need to…wait. I know you!”

Frank blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What the hell are you doing driving? You haven’t even had your hearing yet!”

“H-hearing?”

“Dammit, are you drunk again?” The officer shook his head. “Step out of the vehicle, Mac.”

“I…”

“I said get out.”

His hands trembling, Frank opened the door and stepped carefully out onto the shoulder of the road and waited for the officer to come around.

“I’m not drunk, Officer,” he said, “I’m just confused.”

“Not much difference with you, is there? Come on, Mac, this is stupid even for you.”

“I…I think there’s been a mix-up - I’m not…I’ve never…”

“Hands against the car, Macaldonich.”

“Mac..Macal…” Frank turned and placed his hands on the car. “Officer, this is a mistake. My name is Frank Keane, and I…”

“Really? So there are two shaggy bastards with goofy accents tooling around this part of town? I don’t think so, Mac.”

“I swear,” Frank said, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “I’m not…I’m Frank Keane, I run a bakery on La Brea, I…”

“Fine.” The officer crossed his arms. “Prove it. Get your ID.”

With a sigh of relief Frank shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Once he’d shown this very confused officer his license, he…

Frank felt the blood drain out of his face and he felt a little dizzy. His wallet wasn’t in his pockets - he could actually picture his wallet sitting on his dresser, could hear himself thinking “Don’t forget the wallet, Frank,” and what had he done?

“What's the matter, Frank?” the officer said, his tone weary and sarcastic. “Missing something?”

“I, uh…I appear to have left my wallet at home,” Frank said weakly.

“Yeah. I figured you might have.” The officer shook his head and held up his handcuffs. “Come on, Mac. Hands out.”

Lacey French was having a pretty fucking awful night. Between the drunk and disorderly charge and that asshole Keith, she was probably going to spend the rest of the night in this stupid holding cell. At least the bartender had vouched for her not being a hooker so she didn’t have to worry about a felony. The station door creaked open and Lacey looked up. It had been a slow night, and she was really hoping for something at least halfway interesting to happen, but then she saw who was walking in and she thought she might faint.

Lachlan Macaldonich. Lachlan Macaldonich. Lachlan Macaldonich was walking toward her, his signature long hair falling his face, his hands - God, those gorgeous, talented, long-fingered hands - clasped in front of him, the fingertips oddly black and…

Oh. He’d been arrested. She wondered why. She wondered what the hell he was doing in LA. She wondered if he still played, if he still sang, if he still…

She stood rooted to the spot as the officer opened the cell and lightly pushed Lachlan fucking Macaldonich into the holding cell.

“Don’t I get a phone call?” Lachlan asked, and Lacey shivered. His voice - she’d fallen asleep listening to that voice more times than she could count. She’d also done…other things while listening to that voice, and the wine and tequila she’d drunk tonight were making her think maybe she should tell him that. See where it went.

The officer didn’t answer his question, just stalked off to his desk. Lachlan sat down heavily on one of the benches and moved as if to run his hands through his hair but froze, staring at his ink-blackened fingers. He looked dazed and more than a little terrified, which didn’t really fit her image of a 90s rocker who wasn’t exactly known for staying on the straight and narrow, but people changed, right?

Lachlan was staring at the floor now as if he were trying to figure out how to burrow his way out of the cell, and Lacey gathered all her courage. Taking a deep breath, she sidled up, sat next to him, and deliberately crossed one long stocking-clad leg over the other.

“Hey,” she said.

He glanced up at her, his eyes going comically wide as he took in her appearance: teased auburn curls, sinfully red lips, bright blue sequined dress that barely covered her ass. She looked like a million bucks and she knew it, and she grinned triumphantly when his gaze flitted over her legs and back up to her face.

“Uh. Hello.”

“Sucky night, huh?” she said.

He nodded mutely.

“Look, I know you hear this all the time but…I’m a huge fan.”

“F-fan?”

“Oh, yeah. You guys were the best, I have all your albums, even the one you did solo, and I listen to your podcast all the time and…”

“I - I’m sorry, miss…”

“Lacey.”

“Lacey. I’m sorry, Lacey, but I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else.”

That flummoxed her for a minute. She hadn’t thought he might not want to be recognized. “Oh. Okay. It’s just…I loved The Cranks so much, y’know? They were my absolute favorite band and their music…it meant a lot to me. I don’t want to bother you, I just wanted to…to let you know.” She paused. “And I’m sorry about Jed. We all were.”

He said nothing, simply staring at the floor. She moved a few inches away from him and leaned back against the wall, and Lachlan relaxed a bit. He took a few deep breaths, then straightened and turned to her, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “Whoever Lachlan is, he’s very lucky to have your admiration.”

Lacey felt herself blush, which was ridiculous because she never blushed, and she looked away. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Lacey had almost reconciled herself to the idea that he really wasn’t going to talk to her anymore, let alone take her against the cinderblock wall and fulfill like eighty percent of her fantasies, when he spoke up again.

“Ah…what were you brought in for?”

“Drunk and disorderly,” Lacey said. “I’m not even that drunk - kinda tipsy - but when you hit a guy with a pool cue they tend to take that seriously.”

Lachlan raised his eyebrows. “A - a pool cue?”

“The guy challenged me to a game of pool, and when I started winning he copped a feel.” Lacey shrugged. “Asshole had it coming.”

Lachlan frowned. “I’m sorry, that’s…horrible.”

“Shit happens.”

“It shouldn’t.” He sounded almost angry, a firm note in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, well.” For some reason she hadn’t expected Lachlan to get all hot and bothered about some guy getting handsy. He’d been kind of a womanizer in his time, after all.

But…people change, right?

“And…you’re the one who ended up in jail?” Lachlan asked. “Why not him?”

“Friend of the sheriff,” Lacey said. “Plus, y’know, I was the one holding the cue.”

“But you were defending yourself.”

“According to them I was assaulting him.” Lacey shook her head. “I’m lucky he didn’t press charges.”

Lachlan didn’t say anything for a long time, but his face was kind of amazing - there were dozens of different emotions playing across it. “You’re not lucky, and you didn’t deserve it,” he said at last. “I have…some experience with…he was in the wrong, not you. I hope he has the worst headache of his life tomorrow.”

Lacey grinned. “I didn’t hit him in the head.”

“…Oh.”

This was easily the strangest night of his life: arrested for being someone he wasn’t, stuck in a grimy little jail cell with an impossibly beautiful woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a not-particularly-reputable magazine - and who also thought he was Lachlan Macaldonich.

Whoever Lachlan Macaldonich was, he had obviously made some very strange choices in life.

They’d been sitting in silence for nearly twenty minutes, now - Lacey had tucked herself into the corner of the bench, kicked off her four-inch heels, tucked her feet up underneath her (her skirt now riding almost all the way up her legs) and leaned her head against the wall. She’d gone so quiet and still that he started to think she’d fallen asleep.

Frank rose and walked to the cell door, peering out between the bars. The lone police officer had wandered out for a “smoke break” a while ago. There was still no sign of him, and Frank wondered if he would ever get his phone call.

“God I’m bored,” Lacey moaned from her corner of the cell, and Frank whirled around. “I wish they’d play some music or something.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to enjoy being in here,” Frank said.

“I guess not,” she said, sitting up straighter. “You could do me a solid and sing for me, though.”

“I - I don’t sing.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” she said, rolling your eyes. “Because you’re not Lachlan Macaldonich, you never played guitar, you were never in a band, and you never had a solo album.”

Frank shrugged helplessly.

“So if you’re not Lachlan, who are you?”

“Frank. Frank Keane. I own a bakery.”

Lacey nodded. “Okay, Frank. I get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that…sometimes it’s good to get away from all the shit in your life. So…you’re Frank. If I could be somebody else for a bit, I would too.”

“Who would you be?” He didn’t have the energy to insist again that he was really Frank, and besides, she sounded so wistful…

She blinked at him, as if she hadn’t expected the question. “I don’t really know,” she said after a moment. “Someone - someone quiet and sensible, I guess. Someone who doesn’t get in fights at bars or have to hustle pool to make rent. I always liked to read - maybe I’d be a librarian or run a bookstore or something.” Her eyes had taken on a distant, dreamy look. “And maybe I’d meet someone nice and sweet, like…I dunno…” she sent him a little grin “…a baker with long brown hair, and we could drink coffee and talk about books and movies. And he could sing to me, but only when he wanted to.”

“I told you, Lacey, I don’t sing,” Frank said, but he felt his ears redden. He reminded himself that it wasn’t him she fancied, but this Lachlan chap.

“Right, I forgot. Sorry.”

“I do dance, though.” Frank immediately wished he hadn’t said anything, because Lacey lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You wanna dance for me? I don’t have any singles!”

“Not - not like that!” Frank exclaimed, his face burning. “I mean - foxtrot, and rumba, and - and things like that.”

“Wait, you mean…you can really dance?” Lacey sat up and beamed at him. “Like Fred Astaire?”

“Nothing like Fred Astaire,” Frank said, holding up his hands. “F-forget I said anything.”

“No fucking way!” Lacey shoved her feet into her shoes and stood up. “Teach me!”

“Ah…” Frank glanced over his shoulder, hoping against hope that the officer might have returned, but no - he was on his own. “I…”

“Oh, come on, Lach…I mean Frank,” Lacey said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Please? I’m so bored, and I promise I’ll stop asking you to sing.”

Her eyes were wide and shining and so very, very blue, and Frank sighed. “Alright.”

She squealed, actually squealed, and threw her arms around his neck.

Lacey thought she might have died and gone to heaven. Lachlan was going to teach her to dance - he was going to hold her in his arms and she could press up against him and…

And then Lachlan reached up to unhook her hands from behind his neck, placing her left hand on his shoulder before laying his right hand flat against her shoulder blade. He took her right hand in his own and, when she tried to step in close, gently pushed her back so that their arms made a perfect frame.

There was a good foot of space between them. Fighting down disappointment, she looked down at her feet to make sure she was moving them in time with his. When he stepped forward with his left, he encouraged her to step back with her right, and vice versa.

When she had the hang of that part, he moved her in a very slow box step, and Lacey wondered if this was really worth it. The heat of his hand on her back was nearly scorching, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, and…

“Lacey?”

Lacey shook her head and met his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I want to show you how to turn,” he said. “When I step back like this,” he demonstrated, “you have to step in after me and turn all the way, ninety degrees.”

Math? He was using math to talk about dancing? “Sure, okay.” Lacey bit back a sigh and tried to concentrate, but this was really not what she’d been hoping for.

Suddenly Lachlan’s hand on her back pulled a little harder, and Lacey stumbled, letting out a gasp. She tried to step forward to compensate, but she lost her balance, and Lachlan hastily bent forward, gathering up in his arms and holding her close against his chest.

Oh, God, he was so warm and solid and he smelled so good - earthy and sweet and just a bit like baked bread.

“You - you really do own a bakery, don’t you?” Lacey said, a little thrill rushing through her when she realized that he still had his arms tightly around her waist even though it was obvious that she wasn’t going to fall.

“Yes. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. I just didn’t think…I don’t know what I thought.”

She was standing solidly on her feet and he still hadn’t let go of her, so she took a chance and slid her arms around his shoulders, staring up into those beautiful dark eyes that had so often haunted her dreams - God, he was so much more handsome up close. “Thanks for the dance lesson,” she said, allowing a husky note to enter her voice.

His face went red. “I, uh…I don’t think I’m a very good teacher. You almost broke both your ankles.”

“That’s okay. This is more the kind of dancing I’m used to, anyway.” She pressed herself a little closer, and he swallowed thickly.

“Lacey, I don’t think…”

The station door squeaked open, and Lachlan practically leapt away from her. Irritated, Lacey pursed her lips and turned to glare at the officer who had just entered; the young man’s face was a picture of embarrassment as he approached the cell.

“Mr. Keane,” he said, “I’m sorry, I - I’m so sorry.”

Lachlan heaved a deep sigh, and Lacey felt a little dizzy.

“We ran your prints,” the officer said. “I’m so sorry, I really thought…I mean, you look just like him, and…I’ll get your things immediately. You’re free to go.”

“Wait a second,” Lacey squeaked. “You’re - you’re really not Lachlan Macaldonich?”

Lachlan - no, Frank - looked at her, his eyes large and sad. “No. I told you I wasn’t. I’ve never even heard of him.”

Mortification swept through her, and she sat down hard on the bench. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and looked down, his hair hiding his expression. “It’s alright,” he muttered.

“No, it’s really, really not. I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have…”

“I know,” Frank said. “Believe me, I know.”

There was something a little melancholy in his voice, and Lacey frowned, realizing what she’d said. “I mean…I might have. If I didn’t already know who Lachlan is. There’s a reason I’ve had a gigantic crush on him my whole life, y’know.”

Frank looked up from his hair, a tiny grin on his lips. “Gigantic crush, eh?”

“Well, yeah. Sexy accent, big brown eyes, good at something other than drinking and playing video games. You’re not exactly a booby prize.”

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, heading for the cell door.

“I’m serious,” Lacey said. “I’m looking you up after I get out of here - your bakery’s on La Brea, right?”

“Lacey, you don’t have to…”

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll find it myself, and then you’ll see.” She crossed her arms and smirked, meeting his eyes as he searched her expression, probably trying to see whether she was joking or not. “I’m gonna come get a croissant or a scone or whatever it is you make, and then you’re going to give me another dance lesson.”

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll see you around, Lacey.”

“Count on it.”

With another disbelieving smile and shake of his head, he followed the officer out of the bullpen, leaving Lacey to wonder just how many bakeries there were on La Brea, and whether he would be as adorable on the other side of the bars. He wasn’t her usual type, but her usual type sucked. Maybe it was time for a change of pace.

#ouat fic #frank keane #lacey french #belle french #marilyn hotchkiss ballroom dancing and charm school #mistaken identity #one shot #maybe #i don't know

26 notes · View notes