#lottie x darlene x benny

[basilone]

Things you said... 'when we woke' for Benny? Juno xx

Juno, Juno, Juno, you know there's only one way this is gonna go. And I know you won't mind that at all. 😏 Rating this E to be on the very safe side, though we're not going too deeply into the smut. Also adding a warning to people who are not here for references to a throuple situation or for references to an established f/f relationship. If you've been following me a long time, you'll recognize Darlene. I've had a bit of a thing on my hands lately as I came to realize that Benny would not only fit with her, but would likely be a much better match for her than her previous pairing. Consider this me taking that idea for a spin!

Things you said... when we woke

She is used to waking up alone. To stretching out amid pillows and rumpled sheets and finding the spot beside her already void of warmth. Lottie rarely lingers in the morning – rolls out of bed and gets ready faster than any girl – and leaves it up to her to start the day on her own.

Darlene knows something is different when she wakes to a hand in her hair. Wakes to the lingering scent of smoke and an exhale that is too deep-voiced to be Lottie’s. Wakes to warmth beside her, early morning sunlight coating bare skin in soft gold, and to someone who’s succeeding at detangling even her most stubborn curls.

“Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” she grins, stretching out beside Benny DeMarco and kicking the last of the sheets down to her feet. “Mornin’ smoke?”

He exhales. “Passes the time.” His smile comes easy. Soft. “Can’t complain about the view, either.”

Darlene shakes her head as heat slowly suffuses her body. “Stop sayin’ things like that, Ben,” she complains, wrinkling her nose and pushing herself upright. “You’re gonna make me blush again.” She’d blushed something fierce last night, especially when Lottie had added her own praise to his words. “But”– she says now, drinking the sight of him in fully –“you’re damn right about the view being nothin’ to sneeze at.”

That, at least, earns her a laugh and a shake of his head as well. He doesn’t blush – not even after Lottie had tried her best to make him – but does avert his gaze as he moves to put his cigarette out. Darlene rakes a hand through her hair as she watches him, all broad shoulders and thighs that should simply…

“Hey now,” he chuckles as she moves to straddle him, “good morning to you too.”

“Do ya mind?”

He grins up at her. “Do I look like I do?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, biting her lip a little at the heat that flares to life in his gaze. “Don’t wanna assume… I mean,” she says, gesturing at the rest of the room, “with Lot already out the door an’ all…”

“Surprised me with that,” he grunts, squeezing her thigh. “Ace rushed off like all the devils from hell were chasing her this morning. Tiptoed a little not to wake you, but…”

She tries not to let it sting. “She does that.” Usually not when there’s a fella in our bed, though. “I’m a lil slower in the mornin’. Lot’s always first to leave. Ya get used to it.” She half-shrugs at that. “If you… If you wanna leave, too, that’s all right?”

“You’re gonna have to kick me out of this bed if you want me to go.”

“Oh do I?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he laughs, “I’m not even sure I can walk in a straight line right now.” His eyes are bright with mirth as his hand comes to rest on her lower back. “Not sure I want to, either. Goddamn, you two damn near killed me.”

“Ya kept pace with us,” she retorts archly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Ain’t another fella out there who can say that. You’re good people, Benny DeMarco. Even if ya got that mouth on ya”– she grins before kissing him on it, all closed lip and heat –“and absolutely no shame at all, sittin’ up in a bed that ain’t yours like this,” she teases, letting her fingertips skim across his belly, “naked as anythin’, all fucked out”– except he’s not, if his sharp intake of breath is anything to go by, and that just makes her smile –“or… wantin’ more?”

“You’re one to talk,” he says, shamelessly eyeing her, “climbing on top of me like that”– and his hands are roaming, wandering, pulling her closer –“Jesus, look at you,” he sighs, voice going softer than she good and well thinks she deserves to hear, “I’m never gonna want to resist this.”

“Ben–”

His kiss is languid. Gentle, even, with him brushing stray curls out of her face before his hand comes to skim the underside of her breast. “More of this,” he affirms, “if you want…”

She nods, wordless, as he kisses her again. Wraps her arms around his neck, just like she’d dared last night when they’d been out for drinks and he’d been flirting back a little too pointedly to ignore. And it’d been a little hassle then, getting him to realize that Lottie was in on this – had been smirking at them half the evening, knowing how the night gonna go – but he’d not missed a single beat since. She smiles at the memory. Presses closer to him still, kissing his cheek and jaw and neck and–

“Darlene,” he murmurs, voice almost cracking, “stay fucking still, you’re…”

“Feeling very wanted right now,” she grins, feeling his full-body response to her pressing against him like that. Heat pools between her own legs at the realization, answered by a sudden flash of warmth in her lower belly. “God, Ben, just one more time, you an’ me, all right?”

He smiles up at her. “Like I’d say no?”

“I dunno…”

“Never. Never ever gonna say no to you.”

He makes it sound like prayer. Like some sort of talisman he keeps, with her arms around his neck acting like its chain. Her belly swoops as though she’s airborne – and maybe that’s how he feels, flying that bomber, like that giddy feeling that’s taking root inside of her now. There’s a vow in it she doesn’t want to listen to for too long. If heard like that, she might believe more than she should.

She nuzzles his cheek. Kisses him again, long and slow and wanting. “Want me to stay like this?” she checks, to his insistent nods that make her laugh out loud. “Can ya reach the draw–”

“I’m just here to grab my”– interrupts another voice to her right, so suddenly that Darlene almost squeaks out offense –“well, fuck me.”

Benny is the first to recover, and does so rather admirably. “Grab what?” he asks, peering at the doorway. “Didn’t think you were coming back this morning.”

“Yeah,” says Lottie, judgment coloring every inch of her now that Darlene looks at her, “that much is clear.” Her girlfriend, blonde hair raked back into a haphazard ponytail, leans against the doorframe. Eyes them almost the same way she did last night, though right now her face is marred by a slight frown that deepens the longer she stands there. “Jesus,” she whistles sharply, in a way that makes Benny lean against the headboard and close his eyes a moment, “you’re still going at it?”

Darlene frowns back. “Just enjoying my mornin’,” she retorts archly, making sure her tone stings. You could’ve enjoyed the same if you really wanted to. God knows you do it all the time when I’m gone. “Did ya leave somethin’ here?”

“Yeah.” Lottie’s voice is sharp in turn. Her words almost a snap as she reaches out to grab her flight jacket off the chair by the door. She doesn’t linger. “Looks like I left my senses.”

The door slams shut behind her. Too loud. Too quick.

“Hey,” murmurs Benny, fingers brushing her cheek now that Darlene’s gone and flinched at the sound, “everything all right?”

It’s hard to look at him. Hard to see the concern in his eyes – really, are you okay? – that now translates into how gentle he makes his touch. Darlene bites her lip. Takes a breath that’s a little too noisy as she feels her eyes begin to sting. Good going, Lot, you’re fucking me up here.

“She’s just spittin’ mad,” she breathes as she wraps her own fingers around that stubborn curly strand of hair on his forehead, “that I didn’t kick ya out yet.” She braves a smile. Meets his eyes. “Ain’t your problem, all right? Between me and her.”

It’s hard not to like him even better than she already does when he gives her a tiny nod. “All right.” Just like that. No pushing. No getting involved. Just his acceptance, and the only question she’d expect him to ask. “Do you want me to go, now?”

Darlene raises an eyebrow. “Do ya think you’re in a position to leave, Ben?” She laughs as he actually glances down at his lap, then back up at her. Catches how his eyes darken with the motion. How his arm tightens around her waist. “That’s what I thought.” She can’t help but sound a little bit smug at that. “Weren’t we in the middle of somethin’ here?”

“You were starting something,” he corrects idly, pulling her even closer. His own laugh is almost breathless. “Again.”

“Oh was I? What was I star– ohhhh.” She sighs as his free hand moves down between her legs and his fingers find that sweet, sweet spot that almost makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. “I remember now,” she breathes, shifting in his lap a moment until he’s hard and wanting beneath her in a way that’s got him muffling a curse against her skin, “I was starting somethin’ that ends with you inside of me, wasn’t I?”

“Oh were you,” he smiles back, eyes warm and bright as his fingers already slip inside her and leave her gasping. “Like this? Or…”

“Goddamnit, Benny,” she admonishes, to his answering chuckles, “you know I want your cock.” She’s brazen about that the way she’s been with him since last night – he ain’t a shy fella, after all – and he’s smiling up at her about it all the same. Smiling up at her with an almost impish delight as his fingers curve up inside her like they did when his mouth was on her. “Come on,” she almost wheedles, unable to keep a slight whine out of her voice, “lemme take it nice and slow, Ben…”

“Nice and slow for the morning, huh?”

Darlene nods, smiling, as his next exhale ghosts over her lips before he kisses her. Nice and slow, so I can remember being with someone who wanted me first.

She doesn’t say that part out loud.

[basilone]

for the one word prompts... here to request "surprise" with... imogene and rosie? x - @softspeirs

Thank you so much, @softspeirs, for sending me this! I'm sorry it took a day and an age to fill. 😅 But I hope this will be a good treat for you and the rest of us Rosie-lovers!

swear I thought I dreamed you

The base has been abuzz since the early morning hours.

It’s no longer a surprise to Imogene when this happens. It seems that every so often there is news that cannot remain behind closed doors for long, which spills out onto the grounds and travels all the way to the hardstands. When there is a new shipment, the ground crew’s preparations are always observed by several members of different flight crews. When there are new girls coming in, either as flight crew or as Clubmobile hopefuls, it’s got Tatty up in a tizzy so much that Imogene’s got no hopes of keeping up with her.

Lately, there’s been other news too. About two fronts moving ever closer to Berlin, meeting up and interlinking at last. About guys being smuggled out of Europe, back to the States. About camps being liberated, even, which seems to Imogene like something one might only be able to do at the end of a war. When you’re winning – if you still know what victory looks like – and very close to bringing all the living home.

She’s not sure what the buzz is about this time. She’s been up since before dawn, because Darlene had gotten it into her head that she wanted to check on another plane in the middle of the night. Darlene’s been doing that a lot lately – checking once, then checking again – and Imogene doesn’t really have the heart to ask her outright why she’s avoiding Meatball this much. Whether it’s to do with DeMarco, who’d confided to Imogene he wants to marry Darlene after the war, or with Lottie, who’d been curled up around Meatball in utter misery for the better part of a week or two before crashlanding in Europe herself.

Imogene sighs. Casts a critical glance at Meatball, who’s looking mighty sorry for himself just outside the Clubmobile wagon. Just last week, some farmer had stopped by to complain that Meatball had somehow gotten his dog pregnant. Bloody chicken thief, the man had snarled to Imogene’s barely contained laughter. Always sticking himself into trouble, that one, miss. She’d almost replied just like his owner, because Benny DeMarco had been rather fond of inserting himself in complex situations too, but had thought the better of it once the kids had begun yelling excitedly about puppies.

“You know what you did, mister,” she tells the dog all the same, biting back a smile when Meatball’s guilty look increases tenfold. “Chasing after chickens, getting a lady dog pregnant, acting like you are above the law”– really, she’s almost convinced that week with Lottie made the dog worse –“doing things that would make a regular fellow lose his rank over here real quick. You’ve been demoted, Sergeant Meatball.”

She chuckles to herself as she busies herself with the next round of coffee. Soon enough, the base is going to calm down enough to remember that they would very much like a cup of that. Imogene had opted to stay behind – waving Tatty and Helen and the rest of the girls out, saying she’s got it covered – because, well, there’s not going to be much of anything new. It’ll be another crew coming in, or another young man bailed out by another country’s resistance, or a new shipment that will be enough to end the war for now. Someone needs to provide the fresh coffee in light of all that excitement, which…

Imogene swallows thickly. Her eyes sting a moment as she attempts to recall where on earth Helen put the milk this morning. She struggles to recall Helen’s breathless excitement, with the little nods to their actual work hidden beneath a layer of joy that Imogene can’t bring herself to feel right now. By all rights, she should have stepped away from the coffee too. Shouldn’t have thought she could just be on her own with this, not when this was always something she shared with one man in particular. Early morning coffee. Sometimes a long conversation. Sometimes just the regular thank-you and a joke, with his smiles crinkling at his eyes and her feeling giddy for the rest of the morning.

Don’t get attached. It’s something she tells the new girls every time, even when some of them have their hearts set on not listening. For the love of God, smile at them all you like and flirt if you must but don’t start thinking this is going to last. Because it doesn’t, really, not when so many of these men fade away in the skies over Europe never to be seen again. You can’t afford the heartbreak when you’ve got a job to do. And that’s why she’s here, scrubbing out coffee pots and trying to remember where the milk went, busying herself with work while the rest of the base seems beside itself with excitement. She could miss the end of the war like this, for all she knows, and it’d still not feel like a relief to have it be over. It won’t stop the ache in her chest.

“Shush, Meatball,” she admonishes as the dog begins to yip and howl just outside the door. “Damn huskies and your yelling,” she mutters when Meatball’s high-pitched sounds turn into whines, “always got something to say, don’t you, just like DeMarco could never shut up a day in his life once he got excited… Will you please stop?!”

“Sorry,” comes a new voice, just behind her. She’d just as soon think Meatball had started talking – and she had lost the last of her marbles – except… except she knows this voice. “I think he can smell all the food on me.”

She drops the towel, and the pot, and forgets all about the milk. Takes a deep, shuddering breath – hands flat on her work station, heart thundering through her chest – before she’s got the heart to turn around.

The noise that escapes her when she sees him is enough to put Meatball to shame.

“Rosie,” she whispers, bridging the gap between her work station and the door within seconds. “Rosie, is that really… Oh, it is you”– and she is crying now, unable to swallow back tears the way she’s been doing for weeks –“it really is you!”

His arms wrap around her as soon as she embraces him. His chuckle lands warm in her ear, reverberating through his chest until she can’t tell if she’s hearing his laughter or his heartbeat. Her hands are creasing his uniform, folding around his jacket, and she’s crying still because it feels like hugging someone who came back to life. Because this is Rosie, voice shushing her but not admonishing her over her tears, arms tightening around her like he’s okay with her never letting go.

“Hello Imogene,” he murmurs, lips moving against her hair. “Spare me a cup?”

She sniffles loudly at the familiar question. “Yeah, of course, I’ll make you something fresh,” she replies, voice a little muffled through his jacket. “Didn’t… Didn’t think…” Didn’t think I’d see you again, she almost says, even though they’ve been told he survived his crash in Berlin. Imogene dabs at her eyes as she leans back a little. “H-How was Russia?”

Rosie’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Did you know you’re the first to ask?”

“Am I really? What, no debrief for the Major?” she replies, feeling slightly flustered because she went and called him Rosie instead of Major like she should have done earlier. “You’ve flown all this way, surely someone thought to ask?”

“They asked plenty.” His hands linger on her shoulders. “But nobody asked how it was, not really,” he muses out loud, one thumb rubbing circles on the spot where she mended her uniform at least thrice. “They like to sing. Their jokes are worse than DeBlasio’s”– impressive, considering how often she has seen Stella Lombardi bury her head in her hands in mock agony lately –“and they really do drink vodka like water. They were very kind to me.”

“I have heard,” she says, stepping away from his touch with some difficulty, “that their women actually hold your rank, Major.”

“Some do. It’s… different from here.” A shadow passes over his face. Colors his eyes with darkest midnight. “All of them would fight to the death rather than become prisoners. I… I have begun to understand why.”

Imogene sucks in a breath when the shadow somehow lingers in his gaze. “Major… Rosie,” she says, feeling woefully out of her depth, busying herself with the coffee brew so she won’t have to look at him, “you are not in that place. You are not fighting for your life in this moment with me, unless you think my coffee will knock you on your ass.” She snorts at the thought. “You’re just here with me, okay? I know that isn’t much in the gra–”

“It is,” he interrupts. “After… I…”

“What?” she asks, turning to find his gaze has moved to the floor.

“I kept thinking I needed to remember all of it. Not because it was so important,” he says wryly, mouth curving up into the semblance of a smile, “but because you weren’t there to see it. And I wanted to… to come here.” His eyes meet hers. “Tell you all about it over coffee.”

She smiles. “I’ve got time.”

“Good, because I can’t find the words,” he quips, eyes crinkling into a smile that doesn’t fully warm his face.

“What’s this? Major Rosenthal, lost for words?” she teases, fingers tapping on the table now that she’s waiting for that coffee to finish brewing. “That’s all right. I don’t think I’m much for grand conversation. Still recovering from the surprise that’s you walking in after so long.” Her laugh is a little bit sheepish. “I’m sorry about hugging you, sir.”

“I��m not.”

“You’re n-not?”

Her fingers stop tapping only because his hand finds hers. “Imogene.”

Her eyes fill anew with tears. She lets out a shuddering breath as he squeezes down and interlaces his fingers with her own. “R-Rosie,” she hiccups, wiping at her cheek with her other hand. “I just missed you loads. That’s all.” She braves a smile. Always keep that smile going, even when you feel like falling apart. “I really, really missed you.”

“And I you. So, no, Imogene, I’m not very sorry about that hug.”

“Okay,” she chuckles, “I’m not really sorry either. But it would be considered improper, of a sort. Not that anyone on this base still cares about that, what with the many love affairs happening, but…” She inhales sharply. “I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of floozy.”

“A floozy,” he laughs, now, rich and amused warmth coloring his tone. “Not a word I’d ever think of when it comes to you.” His voice lowers into a conspiratorial whisper. Light dances in his eyes. “And I think about you all the time, you know.”

Imogene glances down at their intertwined hands. Decides she won’t pinch herself, not today, not over something that feels like a liminal space between dream and reality. She is going to take this on faith. Belief got her this far – belief in something better, belief in him – and courage might give her the rest.

“You’ve never left my mind,” she whispers back, and lets her forehead come to rest against his. “Not for a single second. Never. You’re always the first person I look for in the morning.”

“You’re the last person I want to see,” he murmurs back, lips brushing her cheek before his breath fans out warm over her mouth, “before I fall asleep.”

“Ro–”

His mouth slots over hers so gently she muffles a cry against his lips. Warmth spreads through her when his hand brushes her cheek before coming to rest on the side of her neck. And he’s pulling away, except she doesn’t let him, except her mouth finds his again before he can move away, except she wants to kiss him and not come up for air for a long time. He’s laughing – she’s kissing his smile, the corners of it – and she’s laughing too – nudging affection against his skin any way she can – and it feels like nothing else on earth when his arms wrap around her and pull her close again.

Home, she muses, like love – and she knows that’s what this is – is where my heart is.