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wildefiction · 5 years

Text

Hot Highs

PAIRING: Rob x Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,049

SUMMARY: Reader is on vacation with friends in Hawaii when a rousing game of truth or dare presents the most interesting opportunity

WARNINGS: Swears, Anxiety, Drinking, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex

A/N: This was created for @spnkinkbingo. Check out my 2019 Bingo Card.

SQUARE FILLED: Public Sex

Smooth black vodka spilled over the lip of the bottle clutched in one hand, mixing with the pomegranate juice and Chambord already in the shaker. Sprinkling a pinch of edible glitter atop the other ingredients, you fit the top to the device, gripping tightly as you began to shake the drink in your hand.

Pouring the concoction into a chilled tumbler, the only step remaining was to add a twist of citrus. Slicing fresh lemon to accompany the signature drink, these glasses were added to the wooden serving tray already holding bowls of fruit, meats, cheeses and crackers.

Laughter could be heard from the next room over, the suite you and a few friends had rented for the Hawaii Supernatural Convention had been larger than even the pictures had shown.

The corner room overlooked the ocean, two of the walls constructed of floor-to-ceiling windows. Backing through the gauzy curtains framing the balcony doors, you set the tray down, joining the others at the patio table.

Several hours passed where your only concern was relaxing and having an amazing time with people you didn’t often get to spend time with.

Cards Against Humanity soon made way for a rousing game of Truth or Dare. Posting embarrassing videos to social media and screaming their love of Supernatural from the balcony were among some of the light-hearted tests that night. Flopping back into an empty chair, you turned to see your friend Violet’s cheeks flushed with the evidence of perhaps one too many drinks. Sitting forward, her eyes glittered with a fierce clarity as she set her sights on you.

“So, [Y/F/N], truth or dare?” The challenge in her expression suddenly made you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, uttering a meager “truth” under your breath.

“Ahh, yeah...no that’s enough of that.” Laughing to herself, your friend only grinned.

Eyes flicking to the other three people surrounding the table, you tilted your head in confusion.

“See, the point of the game is to have fun and make total fools of ourselves. Can’t very well do that if you pick ‘truth’ every time.” The exasperated look on Violet’s face finally broke your stubborn resolve.

“Fine, fine..dare.” Squinting at your friends, you braced yourself for whatever they were going to come up with.

Looking to the others, who merely nodded encouragingly, Violet turned to face you - a wide smile spreading over her features.

“Okay, so, tomorrow - during autographs, you’re going to give Rob your phone number.”

The patio was silent as you sat staring at your friends. A full minute passed while you waited for them to laugh or something - anything, to indicate they were joking. It never came, their raised eyebrows a clear sign that they were expecting some sort of an answer.

“You..you’re kidding, right?” “What kind of a dare is that?”

While you scoffed at the idea on the outside, the heavy thudding in your chest as your pulsed began to race gave way to how you had really reacted to their words.

“I’m not doing it, pick something else.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you rolled your eyes while you waited on them to reconsider.

“What’s the big deal [Y/F/N]? You’re single, he’s single...and you have a mad crush on the guy.” Lena, who sat to your right, spread her hands out, shrugging as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah, you’re right, he is single - but he’s also a successful actor, a prolific musician and a gorgeous, kind human.” Ticking off your counter-arguments on each finger, it was still incredulous to think that they might be serious.

“Besides, people like Rob don’t date fans, it’s just not how things go.”

“--but..” Violet opened her mouth, ready to defend her argument - only to be cut-off.

“Fine, I’ll do it. It’ll just prove my point.”

Equal parts annoyed at their insistence and determined to squash the hope stirring in your gut, you pushed back from the table and went inside.

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, rays of light streaming through the drawn curtains. Rolling to your back, you were in the midst of rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you were reminded of the promise you’d made the night before, the thoughts filtering through to the front of your mind.

Pulling jeans up over your thighs after showering, you could think of nothing but how you were supposed to pull this off.

Grabbing the paper schedule from the bedside table, you scanned the document, searching for your options. The biggest obstacle was going to be getting the note to him without being intercepted by his handler. While you’d decided that simply handing him a scrap of paper with your number on it was the best way to go, you’d still yet to figure out how to actually get it in his hand.

The choices were limited, two opportunities presenting themselves to you: Swain had autographs early that afternoon, and you knew from previous experiences that they usually held their signing right after playing the acoustic jam in the vendor room. The alternative would be when Rob had his solo autograph session - almost directly before the concert was due to start.

Struggling with the decision, you finished getting ready and headed downstairs; the first panels due to start in half an hour.

Sitting in your assigned copper seat, your heart began to race as Billy stepped on-stage. Norton and Mike followed, busying themselves with checking their instruments and getting into position. The anticipation of seeing Rob had you holding your breath and you didn’t know why - you’d been just fine around him yesterday. You’d yet to follow through on the dare, there was no reason why you should be this anxious. Willing yourself to calm down, you took a deep breath just before Rich’s heavy voice echoed through the ballroom, a wide smile plastered across his face as he flew up the stairs to start the day’s programming.

Autographs with Swain came sooner than you anticipated, the schedule running behind had the boys pushing the acoustic jam to after their autograph session rather than before. Having lined up for their performance early, you were among the first in line for autographs.

Approaching the table, the knot in your stomach tightened - a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you placed the black 5x7 photo mat on the banner in front of the handler. Passing it to Mike, who sat directly to her left, you held your breath, fingering the note clutched in your tense grip. The man’s reassuring smile and heartfelt thanks as he passed the mat to Norton made you a bit less nervous, and inwardly you breathed a sigh of relief. By some stroke of luck, the boys were arranged differently today, Rob being last at the table. As their signatures filled the black rectangle in silver sharpie, you began to breathe easier. Billy, who’d just removed the cap from his pen, greeted you; “What picture are you gonna put this with?”

Scribbling his name in the bottom right corner, he looked up in time to see you blush.

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips as you tried to think of an elegant way to describe the photo in question.

“Suffice it to say that had I put the picture with the mat, it probably would’ve been confiscated for being inappropriate.”

Billy laughed at that, and passed it on to Rob. Meeting his clear blue eyes was easy enough for you, but a flush colored your cheeks as he lifted one eyebrow in interest.

“Oh? Well, you should’ve brought it anyway.”

The smile was probably supposed to be encouraging, but you read it as lascivious. Flicking his gaze to the paper clutched in your hand, he looked back up at you from beneath thick, dark lashes. Finishing his signature, you watched as the gold ink he’d chosen began to dry in the center of the frame.

“Is that for me?”

Your eyes followed his movements as he extended a hand towards you; long, artistic fingers brushing against the folded paper still clutched in your own trembling hands. You must’ve made some noise that affirmed his question, and you watched, terrified, as he took the note from you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the person behind you in line inching closer, her glossy photo sliding into place in front of Rob.

The fear in your expression must’ve been obvious, and you watched as the man before you narrowed his eyes. Picking up on your anxiety, he smiled - placing the folded paper in the front pocket of his white button-up shirt. Sighing in relief, you thanked him again and hurried from the table, equal parts relieved that you’d gone through with it, and terrified of what the outcome would be.

Afraid of that outcome, you really considered skipping both the vendor jam and the concert. You’d be mortified if people found out you were delusional enough to think he’d react favorably to being so forward. In the end though, it was the reassurance from your friends who’d dared you to go through with it in the first place, that put your mind at ease.

“There’s no point in staying in the hotel room, all miserable while the rest of us are having fun. He won’t have had time to read it before jam, which starts in--” looking at her phone, Lena grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down the hall at a brisk walk “--now!”

The thoughts were momentarily chased from your mind as the beginning riffs of Poptart Heart echoed through the room. By the time you reached the crowd, there was no space left at the front, and, seeing Rob immersed in his singing, your anxiety quieted a little. Maybe your friends were right, besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

Settling in to enjoy the rest of the short set, you fished the kazoo from your jeans pocket as the band shifted into Medicated; the cheap plastic instrument ready for the resounding solo that always came towards the end of the song.

“I knew you could be the kind of girl, that I could talk to..”

Changing into the long bohemian skirt you’d made specifically for the luau and concert, you took the time to comb through your hair, pinning an orange and magenta plumeria flower behind your right ear and sliding bangles around your wrists. The cropped tank top you’d paired with the outfit showed just a sliver of skin as you reached for your phone. Deciding to forego shoes with the weather being so nice, you took the elevator to the bottom floor, chatting with your friends about your excitement for the show; the embarrassment of earlier now completely forgotten.

The concert had been amazing, a full luau and the Saturday Night Special taking place right on the beach? It was easily the best performance you’d been to. Strings of hanging lights guiding you back to the hotel, you were surprised when your phone vibrated. The number wasn’t one you recognized, so you sent the call to voicemail and tucked the device back into the pocket of your waistband.

Back in the hotel room, you were just getting ready to change into something more worthy of lounging around the room in, when your phone vibrated again.

It was the same number as earlier.

Glancing at the time in the top right corner of the screen, and, seeing it was nearing eleven-thirty - you sent the call to voicemail once again. The device had just hit the bedspread when it went off for a third time.

This time, it was a text:

UNK: "Why aren't you answering your phone?"

Quickly typing out a reply, you were stepping out of your skirt and trying to juggle your phone in the other hand. Knowing if you tried to set it down, it'd be only to pick it up again moments later.

[Y/F/N]: Maybe because I don't know who this is and it's almost midnight? I think you have the wrong number…

Almost instantly, the person responded:

Unk: Do you make it a habit of handing out your number to strange men?

[Y/F/N]: I'm almost positive you've got the wrong number, because, no, I don't give my number to jus--

A cold prickle blossomed out over the back of your neck, your fingers suddenly still - mid-sentence.

[Y/F/N]: ...wait…how did you get this number?

Somewhere in the background, the door to the room opened, the scrape of the metal latch distracting you momentarily.

Your friends, brazenly stumbling into each other amid peals of laughter saw you then, sitting on the floor - one leg still stuck in your skirt.

Perspiration dotted your temples; where moments before you'd been perfectly comfortable. Not wanting to believe who you were talking to, the events of earlier that day came crashing into you all at once.

You'd only given your phone number to one person today…

Another alert came through. Startled you dropped the phone to land with a quiet thud on the plush grey carpet.

Tentatively, you reached out - one finger tracing your lock screen pattern, the new message filling the available space.

Unk: Pretty sure I pried it from your vice-like grip right around lunchtime today...

"Bullshit! You see?! I TOLD you!"

Violet had glanced down to read the words about the same time you had, a wide grin lighting up her face. Meanwhile, you were too stunned to say anything, much less respond.

After several minutes, the screen lit up once more - the vibration muffled by the carpet on which it still sat.

Unk: Did you turn into a pumpkin?

Unk: Oh. It's after midnight…

Unk: Guess I'll leave you alone now. Sleep well, uh...huh - don't know your name either..

Gingerly, you lifted the phone and began to write:

[Y/F/N]: Not a pumpkin, just in shock.

Apparently Rob had no interest in letting you sleep though, as a new barrage of messages came through.

Unk: Why are you in shock?

You went on to explain it was all his fault. You hadn't expected him to actually call you.

Unk: Well...I mean, wasn't that your intention? Why else would you give someone your number?

Unk: My thumbs are tired. Wanna get a drink or something?

A small, helpless noise fell from your lips as the last text came through. Wide-eyed, you looked up at Violet and the others, as if questioning what you should do; knowing full well what they were going to say.

"If you don't accept his offer - right now - I'm gonna do it for you."

Olivia, the quietest of the trio, fixed you with a stare - her intense blue eyes fixated on yours.

Reluctantly, if only because you were still in complete disbelief, you accepted his offer.

Fixing your skirt as you stood, you weren't completely sure what to do next. Was the bar still open this late?

"Breathe [Y/F/N], you've got this, this is fine.."

Muttering to yourself, you checked your appearance in the mirror. With a final deep breath, you pulled the door to the room open, glancing back over your shoulder at the three people who'd gotten you into this mess to begin with.

One last text came through just then. A simple number the only contents: "2516"

Realizing the man had just given you his room number without so much as a second thought, you began to wonder if this was a regular thing for him. As giddy as you were to be receiving the attention you so desperately craved, it was still a sobering thought.

Rob's room was ten floors above your own, and the higher the elevator climbed, the more anxious you were becoming. Being stuck in your own head likely wouldn't make for a very good time, and you did your best to focus on the present.

The quiet hush of the doors as they slid shut behind you was the only sound on the seemingly abandoned floor.

Straight ahead, a gleaming plaque attached to the wall directed you to the left. As welcoming and well-lit as the entryway had been, the corridors stretching in both directions were lit only with the soft glow of wall sconces. Spaced approximately ten feet from each other, you were lost in their illumination until a quiet voice grabbed your attention.

"Hey [Y/F/N].."

The way your name sounded on his lips had you stopping short. Barefoot, Rob stepped from his room to greet you.

"C'mon in for a sec, I've just gotta grab a couple things."

Holding the door open, you squeezed by him, the space between the two of you a lot less than you'd have imagined. For being a smaller person, his body still framed the doorway almost completely.

Curious as to what the plan was with it being well-past midnight, you hovered quietly just inside the door, watching as the man grabbed his phone and wallet from the dresser, crossing the floor to shut off the light in the bathroom.

The lamps to either side of the king-sized bed were dimmed, throwing heavy shadows around the room as he approached. Smiling, he reached towards you. Bypassing your waist, his fingers closed around the door handle and he pulled it open, gesturing for you to go ahead. Suddenly thankful for the dim lighting, you slunk into the hallway - silently berating yourself for thinking he had ulterior motives.

"So, [Y/F/N], I figured we'd head up to the roof - have a couple drinks? Should be pretty quiet, does that sound okay?"

"Uh, yeah. That-that sounds great."

The two of you walked down the hall together in comfortable silence. Or maybe all the questions that swirled through your mind was enough of a distraction that you didn't think to speak.

At the end of the hallway, a stairwell waited behind a heavy, steel door.

Leaning against the handle, you held the door for Rob and the two of you climbed the five flights to the top of the building; your weight on the cement stairs echoing throughout the confined space.

A tropical breeze greeted you upon reaching the top and wandering out onto the roof. You'd expected it to be fairly bare, perhaps a couple of benches to sit on and some lanterns. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised. Long sofas were gathered together with chairs and large tables, soft strings of lights hanging gracefully around the perimeter. One corner held a full bar, tall chairs arranged neatly in front of it.

Leading you over to one of the couches, Rob gestured for you to sit while he ambled toward the bar.

Reclining in the corner, you grabbed a pillow and put it in your lap - something you'd always done since you were a kid. Curling your legs up beneath you, you looked up at the canopy hanging overhead; huge swaths of tangerine, plum and sky blue fabric decorating the iron frame.

"So, [Y/F/N], what'll it be?" Rob still had his back turned, but called out over his shoulder as he perused the various bottles.

Shrugging and then realizing he couldn't see your reaction, you told him to surprise you.

Turning to face you with a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand, he began to chat while pouring the dark liquid into short glasses.

"This your first visit to Hawaii?" Extending one hand, Rob gave you a glass and sat next to you.

"Mhm. You?" Bringing your lips to the edge, you took a sip of the drink, closing your eyes in bliss as it warmed your insides.

Three drinks in, and you were no longer nervous.

"So, how exactly did you find out my name?"

Raising one eyebrow in interest, you stared at the man sprawled out next to you. At some point over the course of the last hour, Rob had reclined on the couch, his legs stretched out and tangled in yours.

Neither of you seemed to care, and it was comfortable enough of a position to be in.

Even at nearly two in the morning, the light breeze coming in off the ocean was warm; playing with tendrils of your hair as it danced around your face.

"I, uh, I might've asked around." "Seems like you frequent these events pretty often Ms. [Y/L/N]."

Shrugging nonchalantly, you went back to sipping your drink.

"So, I do." "Who told you?"

"Chris." Rob looked up to gauge your reaction.

Nodding, you made a mental note to thank your favorite photographer the next time you saw him.

Emptying the remainder of your glass, you set it on the table, gripping the edge of the couch to help steady your movements.

Leaning back against the canvas cushions, you decided then to see if you could get Rob to give you a straight answer about your earlier question.

"And why did you decide to call me?" "And don't say 'because you gave me your number' - cause I can't be the only girl that's ever done such a thing."

Scrutinizing his half-lidded expression while you awaited his answer, you became lost in the color of his eyes and almost didn't hear his response.

"Actually, pretty much for that very reason. You seemed terrified, and yet you still had the balls to hand me that slip of paper."

"I'd actually forgotten that I had it until just before I called. Everyone had decided to go out for a late dinner, but for some reason - I just wasn't feelin' it. I was clearing out my pockets and remembered it was there."

"Besides, I think you're cute."

Pretty sure you were hearing things, you shook off the small glimmer of hope that immediately sprang to life.

You'd been listening to him talk, just enjoying spending time with him, not expecting anything to come of it aside from some really great stories.

Feeling a shift in Rob's movements, your eyes flicked to his when he clambered from the couch, stumbling only the slightest amount as he disentangled his legs from yours.

Reaching out to take your hand, he helped you into a standing position. Somehow, likely because you were naturally uncoordinated, you threw your other arm out to catch yourself when you tripped over your own feet. Catching you with one arm around your waist, the other still clutching your hand - Rob stilled, staring at you from the mere inches that separated your bodies.

Slowly releasing your hand, Rob brought his palm up to cup your cheek.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?"

His words were hushed, the grip around your waist pulling your body to align with his.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded.

The kiss was the barest brush of his lips against yours, but as your fingers carded themselves into the fine hair at the base of his neck and moved up to twist in the dark curls, it quickly moved past chaste into something hungrier.

Rob groaned, leaning into your touch - tightening his hold around your waist.

Pulling back from the kiss, you turned, placing one hand in the center of Rob's chest to push him towards the couch.

Easily getting the hint, he flopped back against the cushions, drawing you down to sit in his lap as his lips found yours once again.

Struggling against the material of your skirt, you reluctantly broke from the kiss a second time, this time standing to adjust the strips of material clustered around your legs. Gripping a handful of fabric on each side, you stepped forward, straddling Rob's lap, the soft layers of material fanning out around you.

"God damn, [Y/F/N]. Are you sure you want to do this?"

His breath heavy, Rob's hands tentatively rested at your waist, his pupils blown wide with lust.

In response, you rolled your hips into his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Heat flooded your body when you felt him responding to your touch; his grip tightening to pull you harder against his growing erection.

Threading his fingers in your hair, he pulled your mouth to his. There was nothing gentle about this kiss - all teeth and tongue and biting, his fingers accidentally caught in your hair, pulling a sharp cry from your lips.

"Shit, I'm sor--"

Rob's voice trailed off as he realized that the noises you'd made weren't from pain.

His eyes darkened then, a slow smile replacing his worry.

"Ahh...it's like that is it?" An almost sinister grin spread out over Rob's features while his hand tangled itself back in your locks, the callused tips of his fingers trailing along your scalp.

A sharp intake of breath had your eyes fluttering shut in bliss with the sudden, sharp tug of your hair. Tilting your head to one side, his grip didn't loosen until his lips were moving along the curve of your neck.

Pants straining, Rob broke from your neck when your fingers closed around his thigh. Looking to him for permission, when his hand closed over your fingers and moved them up over his cock, you knew exactly where this night was going to lead.

Moving your other hand from where it rested against his chest, your eyes remained fixed on his while you moved to unbuckle the wide strip of leather encircling his waist.

Fingers danced along his waistband for a moment, stroking along the sprinkling of hair that disappeared beneath the denim.

Sliding your hand over his boxers, your fingers wrapping around his generous erection, you grinned to yourself as Rob sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back in pleasure at your touch.

Shifting down into the cushions a little more gave you easier access to pull Rob from the confines of his jeans, your mouth beginning to water at the thought of him sliding across your tongue.

"[Y/F/N], you don't hav-- ooh fuucckkk…"

Your mouth closed over the thick head of his cock, humming in pleasure at the velvet texture of him.

Concentrating on licking circles and careless patterns across his soft skin, you smoothed hands up his thighs, fingers running over the hip bones that had driven you crazy since day one.

"You are so fucking beautiful.."

Rolling your eyes up to stare at him from beneath your dark lashes, you continued to take him into your mouth. Backing off each time before taking him even further on the next pass, soon your nose nestled against the warm skin of his belly, his cock filling your throat. Robs hips rose and fell in time with your ministrations, his hands combing through your hair, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

As his thrusts began to lose their rhythm, his grip on your scalp tightened, you knew he was close. Humming in satisfaction, the vibrations coursing through your body was too much. Pulling you away, the saliva pooling beneath your tongue coated your lips, and a whine of discontent at the sudden interruption had you glancing up to see if something was wrong.

"You keep that up, I'm not gonna last much longer." "C'mere sweetheart."

Rob helped you sit up, his fingers laced in yours as you straddled his lap once again.

Fingers dancing across the thin panties beneath your skirt, he groaned at the dampness coating the lacy material.

Wrapping his fists in either side, a sharp tug had the seams splitting and he threw them to the side; his hands moving to your hips, the grip bruising.

Brushing fingers through your soaked folds, he made short work of lining himself up and pushing into your body, filling you perfectly in one long stroke.

Hesitating for only a moment, he immediately lifted and slammed your body back down onto his, your clit brushing against his pelvis as he did so.

Digging nails into his shoulders, you lowered your mouth to his neck, testing the flesh with your teeth, a heavy groan of pleasure slipping from your lips.

His hands trailed along your ribs, running up over your breasts as he buried his face between them. Setting his teeth in the space of your cleavage, Rob bit down - hard - one hand traveling back down to rub over your clit. Small, sure circles across the sensitive bundle of nerves combined with the increasing pace of his thrusts had you panting with need.

"Fuck Rob, just..I'm gonna…" rolling your hips against his palm, you could feel the flames in your belly fanning out to lick along the rest of your body, pleasure building in waves.

"What's that baby? Tell me what you want...what do you need?" "Fuck, you look god-damned gorgeous, taking my cock just like that..."

Rob's voice was a growl, the filthy words falling from his lips adding fuel to those flames.

"That's it, you gonna come for me? Open those pretty eyes, I wanna watch you fall apart..."

Slowing his hips to an agonizingly slow pace, Rob shifted just enough to where you could see as he slid in and out of your body. Breathing ragged, his thrusts methodical, Rob's fingers began to move against your clit, the pressure and speed steadily increasing until you were squirming, right on the edge of falling over that cliff, on the edge but not quite there.

"Please, Rob, fuck .."

Leaning in you crushed your lips to his, moving to pepper his neck with open mouthed kisses. Moving from his pulse point up, along the curve of his neck, and around to his ear - a needy string of expletives and nails biting into the muscles of his back had him groaning under his breath. Redoubling his efforts, his thrusts turned aggressive once more, his fingers speeding up. As slick coated your thighs you finally fell over the edge with a shout - Rob following almost immediately afterwards, his warmth filling your belly.

Collapsing against his chest, his fingers dancing in lazy circles over your back - you closed your eyes and sighed.

Right now, you didn't need to think about what came next, or what any of this meant. Right now, you were content to just be, the warm ocean breeze bringing with it the smell of the tropics.

TAGS: @natasha-cole @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#WildeFiction #Rob x Reader #SPN x RPF #spnkinkbingo

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banshee-cheekbones · 7 years

Text

title: make it to tomorrow [ao3: here]

main pairing: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall

rating: Hard M

word count: ~2100 words

written for: the ‘robots′ square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card and for the 2017 Summer Heat Mini Round over at the ROK LJ community.

summary: After all is said and done and the Breach is closed, Isaac and Scott share a moment in the catwalks above the Shatterdome, away from the victory party below.

(or, the Pacific Rim AU with "I'm so happy that we're alive" hand jobs.)

Mere hours ago, the Shatterdome had echoed with the sounds of an army prepping for war; yelling in half a dozen languages, the screech of metal against metal, the frantic, repetitive thud of booted feet crossing the expanse of the room over and over again. It’d been chaos; organized chaos, albeit, but chaos nonetheless.

Now, the vast space is filled with the sounds of joyous victory.

Isaac isn’t sure who is in charge of the music, but the speakers that are normally reserved for broadcasting announcements and orders are now spilling out pounding electronica tracks, the volume so high that the bass seems to reverberate through every surface he lays his hands upon. Drunken whoops and joyous yells break through the music every so often, along with the sharp crack of a cork exploding from a bottle of champagne.

For being an active military base, there seems to be a lot of the latter lying around.

Isaac’s sure that, if he ventured down from the catwalk, he wouldn’t have to ask for a drink. They’d shove full bottles in his arms, pour it down his throat, probably drench him in it. It’s all too possible that he’d end up on someone’s shoulders, carted around the room like a trophy or idol.

Some of the other pilots would absolutely love that. He’s sure they’re already down there having the time of their lives.

That’s all the more reason for him to stay away.

As far as he can tell, he’s the only one up in the catwalks; all the mechanics and technicians that usually fill them have abandoned their posts, are probably down below soaking in the revelry. Not that Isaac blames them; there’s nothing for them for them to be working on, after all. Every last one of the cavernous Jaeger bays is empty, their normal occupants either abandoned in the bay or ripped to pieces or blown to bits in another dimension.

Hopefully, they'll never be occupied again.

He has to believe they’ll never be occupied again, that what happened today is a permanent fix, because otherwise everything they did, all the people they lost-

(and that is not a line of thought he wants to pursue right now, because while he’s only been at the Shatterdome for two weeks, barely enough time to get to know anyone, he knows that they were good people, people with lives and hopes and dreams for after the apocalypse was thwarted, people who deserved to live)

-was for nothing.

Abruptly, the sound of nearby footsteps thudding against metal breaks through the music, and he pulls his gaze away from the deep shadows of the bay that previously held Alpha Wolf, which is now entombed in the murky waters of the ocean. Most of the overhead lights have been switched off, so it’s a few moments before Isaac can actually make out the figure of someone coming towards him. He gets ready to defend his absence from the party below, starts combing through excuses in search of one that won’t just lead to more invasive questions that he doesn’t feel up to answering.

Thankfully, before he actually has to decide on an excuse, he recognizes the figure, and he relaxes back against the sturdy railing.

“I figured you were up here,” Scott says, smiling as he leans up beside Isaac. There are three stitches holding together his eyebrow, and butterfly bandages dot his forehead and cheeks. Two of the fingers on his left hand are bound together in a splint, and dark bruises march up and down both arms, extending from his wrists to where the sleeve of his tee bisects his bicep.

All things considered, the fact that he’s in one piece, that they’re both in one piece, is something of a minor miracle.

“How was the party?” Isaac asks, sliding down to rest on the ground with his legs stretched out and his back pressed against the railing. His ankle bone is bruised, and although the painkillers that were thrust upon him in the medical bay are top-grade, it’s probably best to get off it sooner rather than later.

“Skipped over most of it, actually,” Scott says, sinking down beside him, a wince momentarily passing over his face. “Last I saw, they were hoisting Jackson around on their shoulders.”

“I’m sure he’s absolutely loving that,” Isaac mutters.

“He probably won’t even remember it tomorrow, if he keeps drinking like he was.”

It’s the last either of them say for what feels like hours. Isaac isn’t sure when Scott’s head drops down onto his shoulder, but he follows suit by carefully lowering his own head down so that he doesn’t end up resting his ear on any of Scott’s battle scars. Their hands end up entangled together shortly after, and Isaac finds himself entranced by the way their fingers slot together, like they were solely designed for that purpose.

“It’s so quiet,” Scott eventually murmurs, the words washing over where Isaac’s collarbone branches away from the collar of his t-shirt. The Shatterdome is still echoing with noise; if anything, the music and yelling has only increased in volume, but Isaac knows what Scott means.

Without the drift connecting them, without Scott sharing every single inch and hidden corner of his brain, his own mind seems painfully quiet and empty.

“It is.” If he concentrates hard, closes his eyes and does his best to block out the sounds of revelry filling every inch of space, he can still feel something connecting his mind to Scott’s. Something thin and tenuous, like a loose thread gently unraveling from a well-worn sweater.

He wonders how long they have before that thread reaches its end and tears away for good.

He wonders what that will change between them. If that will change anything.

He hopes with everything he has that it doesn’t. Scott’s the first person in years that he’s been able to depend on, and even though they’ve known each other for all of two weeks, he’s not sure if he knows how to go back to being on his own again.

Even if he was interrogated, he wouldn’t be able to definitively answer which of them leans in first; what he knows, and what matters most, is that their mouths meet and immediately meld together like they’ve been doing so for years.

They don’t stay leaning against the railing for long; Scott slowly slumps over, until he’s stretched out on his back, and Isaac is obliged to follow him. Thankfully, the catwalk is more than wide enough to safely accommodate them so, once they’ve moved safely away from the edge, they pick up right where they left off. The only difference is that, this time, Isaac is slotted between Scott’s legs, and Scott’s right hand is fisted tightly in his hair, tugging slightly whenever Isaac shifts.

He was starting to think that his hair was getting too long, but he’s definitely reconsidering that notion.

The rough metal of the catwalk scrapes against his knees, even through the thick fabric of his pants, and he can’t imagine that it feels comfortable against Scott’s undoubtedly bruised back. But when he pulls away for a moment, before he can even part his lips to ask, Scott shakes his head fiercely.

“I don’t want to move,” he says, tightening his fingers in Isaac’s hair. “I’m fine. Kiss me.”

That’s all the assurance Isaac needs to dive back in.

Part of him thinks that they should be talking about this, trying to work through things before they step over a line that they can’t come back from, but that part only remains in the forefront of his mind for a few moments. The last few weeks have been an absolute exercise in control, in keeping himself carefully between the lines, so that he didn’t jeopardize the mission. The drift was no better, because for every errant thought that slipped through, every memory of his father or every half-thought out musing about what Scott would sound like choking back a moan, there were dozens, hundreds more that he had to keep hidden away.

He’s tired of holding himself back.

The others down below are celebrating their victory with rivers of booze.

Isaac is going to celebrate by letting himself go.

His own various aches and pains let themselves be known across his body as he rolls his hips down against Scott’s, but he does his best to ignore the urge to pull away when Scott’s fingers press into a bruise or trail over a line of fresh stitches. When he braces his forehead against Scott’s to take a breath, the butterfly bandages holding Scott together scrape against his skin, and he silently apologizes for any pain he’s causing before he dives back in.

By the time Scott’s fingers yank open his button and zipper, Isaac already feels like he’s walking along the edge, whether it’s from the adrenaline that has yet to totally wane from his system or from the sheer fact that he’s alive, they’re both alive, still living and breathing and able to touch each other.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to last,” he laughs against Scott’s swollen mouth, words trailing into a gasp as Scott’s fingers slide past the elastic of his boxers.

“I was going to say the same thing,” Scott grins, arching his hips into the line of Isaac’s thigh. “There’s always later for that.”

Later.

Hearing that word pass from Scott’s lips officially shuts down the last remnants of concern in Isaac’s mind.

When Scott’s fingers wrap around Isaac’s cock, Isaac’s breath catches in his throat. He wants to return the favor, but for a few moments, all he can focus on is the feeling of Scott’s calloused palm, the slick slide of his thumb slipping across the head of him. It’s just on the right side of overwhelming, and he thrusts his hips into the loose circle of Scott’s fist, bites back a groan as his mind finally sparks back to life. He sits back slightly, putting more weight onto his knees, so that he can better access the zipper of Scott’s pants. His fingers, normally so sure of themselves, fumble and skitter, until he finally manages to get the button open with a frustrated growl.

“Take your time,” Scott says quietly, resting his free hand on Isaac’s face. The metal of his splint is warm against Isaac’s cheekbone and he twists to press his lips to it, another silent apology.

The real thing can wait until later.

He gets Scott’s zipper down with more ease, yanks his pants down his hips until he can get his hand inside. It’s far from a great angle; warning twinges of pain shoot through his wrist, but he ignores them.

What’s a little more pain, after all?

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry about finding a way to work through a wrist cramp; before the warnings can turn into the real thing, Scott spurts onto Isaac’s fingers with a sudden gasp. His head drops back against the catwalk with an alarmingly loud thud that seems to echo. The grip of his fingers around Isaac’s cock grows tighter, and he twists his wrist in a unfamiliar way that makes fireworks go off behind Isaac’s eyes.

He comes with his teeth pressed into Scott’s bottom lip and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Who the blood belongs to, he couldn’t say.

Once he’s gotten his breath back, he wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants and carefully lowers himself to the ground at Scott’s side, wincing as every ache and pain that he’s been ignoring makes itself known with a vengeance, painkillers be damned. Scott wipes his own hand off on the hem of his shirt before carefully tucking himself back into his pants. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering his face, and when he rolls his head to face Isaac, so close that their noses brush together, a smile more radiant than the nuclear heart of a Jaeger splits his mouth.

“We’re here,” he says. One of the bandages dotting his forehead is slowly turning red, the skin underneath freshly split open. “We’re here.”

Now that the adrenaline has started to melt away, replaced by pain and rational thought, Isaac is ready to admit that, at some point, they’ll have to talk further. They can’t just ignore what happened today, all of it; they need to mourn for the people they lost, find their place in a world no longer on the edge of disaster, figure out how they fit together without the drift to tie them together.

But all of that can wait for tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, dropping one hand to Scott’s chest, right above his pounding, beautifully strong heart. “We’re here.”

He leaves the I’m not going anywhere unspoken, but he trusts that somehow, Scott hears it all the same.

#scisaac #twrarepair #twrarecharbingo #scott x isaac #twrarechar #mine #mine: fic #scottisaac #only one square left!#i left the vaguest one for last #so that'll be fun to write...

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