#such a good design the blue fur n white/pink accents!!!!

[eebie]

first incarnation of 2D spotted in tha jamie hewlett artbook

[maxthelesbian-hasmoved]

Sugar, You’re Sweet

inspired by this imagine (x) and @subjectx17

Ship: Lou x Debbie x Reader

Rating: T

It was always the moment they first saw you that made your heart stop. Lou was usually the first to notice you in a room, no matter how crowded or dark; it was as if she had a well-trained compass that activated instantly and had pinpoint accuracy. Debbie would follow Lou’s gaze, like a well trained companion movement. The pair of them turned heads of their own. They always looked like they were ready to take on anything and still look just as fantastic as they were before. Everything from Lou’s devil-may-care leather  aesthetic, to Debbie’s love of high heels and tight dresses screamed luxury . They were head-turners no matter where they went from day one, and they made sure you were too.

Lou always looked like she was undressing you lazily as she took in the beautiful girl wearing just what she had thought would look so well. She always had good judgement when it came to it these days, in her own style and yours. Though you were really happy with anything glittery,  Lou knew just how to make you sparkle.

Debbie always looked intensely adoring, like  you were the sun, and she had been in the dark for so long. Her face might only slightly shift, but her eyes sparkled. Debbie was usually more reserved than you and Lou. She was constantly unshakable, always looking as if she was ten steps ahead of everyone else. More often than not, she was.

“Hey, baby girl,” Lou beamed smugly as she and her brunette partner approached you. “ You look absolutely amazing.”

“Thanks, Lou,” you smiled back, lifting yourself up to place a kiss on Lou’s cheek, soft and steady. Lou’s arm went around your waist instinctively, as well as Debbie’s next to her, “Did you guys like the set?”

“Absolutely! You really are stunning, Kitten,” Debbie agreed, reaching over with her arm and brushing your cheek. You beamed back at the affection.

“You’ll look even more stunning on the Loft Floor when we get home tonight,“ Lou purred in that deep, rough voice that made chills run down your spine.

“Agreed, let’s just hope we can make it through the Night Rush,” Debbie nodded, leaving you blushing pink and giggling happily as Lou’s lips nipped at her ear and released her hold on you.

Between the two women, you were sure you were spoiled absolutely rotten, though this relationship had never been just for the money. Lou and Debbie were everything you could have wanted. The three of you worked together like a precision instrument, complimenting each other's strengths and weaknesses to form an unshakable power trio.

Lou and Debbie were exciting, and sexy, and made your heart skip a beat when you got to wake up in the morning nestled between the two gorgeous women who you loved, and who loved you back. Sometimes joined by the little puffball of a dog Debbie had brought home one day with Constance in tow explaining that she was forced into adopting the thing, and his name was Fizzgig.

Your life had changed that day in the club. Of course you hadn’t expected it to, but who really ever expects two goddesses dropping out of the sky and sweeping you into a life better than you had ever dreamed of. In fact it had been just another unenchanting girls night out with some of your old call center buddies. You didn't’ really fit in with them, but your social circle had been miserably small after moving to New York soon after graduation.

The Stardust had been the third club of the night, as it was the only one open all night long. You had been ready to go home after the second bar. The heels had looked cute in the beginning of the night, but now you would probably be sporting blisters. Your co-workers however were enthusiastically hammered and not ready to go. Designated Driver Duty was the worst, at least when you were intoxicated you couldn't feel your toes.

The music in The Stardust wasn’t bad;  in fact it was some of the kind of older music you had sitting in your own sort of outdated playlist at home. You hadn’t seen a DJ, so the music must be the owners, or whoever was on shift.

You ate another pretzel at the bar as your friends took to the dance floor to make a fool of themselves. That’s when you looked towards the person behind the counter, and met the most beautiful  pair of storm blue eyes you had ever seen.

The second thing you noticed was the shaggy, almost bleached, blonde bangs obscuring the piercing eyes from view. Her cheekbones were rounded and angular, almost feline, only adding to air of angelic rebellion that she radiated. She was leaning in front on you against the counter, arms crossed and placed casually on the bar.

Her silver suit-coat sleeves were rolled up to expose her forearms, littered with several bracelets and a very expensive looking watch. She also wore several necklaces, and a tie loosely around her neck, tucked into a few-sizes-too-small black vest. Her lower half was hidden behind the bar, but from how she was bent to rest on the counter, she was anything but short.

“You look like you’re having fun,” She smirked, an accent on the edges of her words, the last fragment of an instinct. Her voice alone was enough to make your knees feel a bit weak, not to mention she looked like an elven queen became a lesbian zaddy with far too much faux leather on for the beautiful creases of laugh lines etched into her skin. But the woman wore it unlike anyone you had ever seen. Everything about her reeked of almost gross confidence.

There was rampant smugness in the way she pushed her tongue ever so slightly into her cheek as she beamed. The way her hair fell so perfectly along her shoulders, “The name’s Lou, in case you can’t ask. Which, by the looks of your face, might be the case.”

She couldn’t be just the Bartender, she looked far too at home for that. This mesmerizing woman had to be a manager, something that matched her commanding energy, and she knew it too. You hadn’t noticed your jaw had dropped until Lou coolly extended a hand and gently pushed it closed, a chuckle coming from her buttery throat, “You look good like that mind you, awestruck.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and goosebumps erupted up your arms. You tried to summon any sort of intelligence for speech but only found a strange assortments of noise like whoever was writing the dialogue of your mind smashed their hands repeatedly into the keyboard, “alksjdfkldsa I- Y/n,” you blundered out.

‘Way to be a bottom, Y/n,’ you internally cursed, of course you would stuff your foot in your mouth in front of one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen.

Lou laughed then, “I knew the haircut was good, but I didn’t know I had that much power now. You alright there, sheila?”

“Lou, leave the poor girl alone, you don’t need to jump on every face we find pretty,” another voice came from behind you. You turned and you felt your jaw drop this time.

The other woman’s body was wrapped in a pale white, fluffy fur coat, a skin tight full black jumpsuit beneath, only broken by a gold, diamond studded belt around her middle. She was tanned as if she had spent a summer at the beach and it hadn’t quite faded, light freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and forehead, a sun-kissed queen.

She was on the more average side of tall,  her face more squared off than Lou’s. Her hair was deep chocolate brown and it feel past her shoulders in loose glamorous curls, only accented by a light sprinkle of burnt caramel highlights. She had genius written in her features.

A warm smile graced her full lips, softening her otherwise sharper features. Her eyes were deep and comforting like black coffee, almost the Ying to the blonde’s Yang. She carried herself regally, a born leader, but she still glowed with a gentle kindness.

A look was shared between the two before the brunette looked back at you, “I take it Y/n is what I call you, for now?”

You nodded, “Yeah, sorry, it’s been a long night,” At least you could form coherent sentences now, “If I have to hear ‘Shots Bitches’ shouted by Kelly from HR one more time I’m going to lose what is left of my sanity.”  You gestured towards the group of flapping limbs that was your companion quartet.

The brunette laughed and moved to sit next to you at the bar, The blonde pulling out two drinks and placing them in front of you, you couldn’t take your eyes away from her hand as it moved to push her hair to one side, “Babysitting detail, not always the most enjoyable way to spend an evening.” she nodded, “Call me Debbie,” She extended a hand to you, which you took.

“Debbie,” you tried the name out, liking how it made her smile just a bit brighter when you said it, “Are you two-” You tried to find the words, together? Tag teaming?

“Yes,” Lou replied before you could think another option.

You blinked for a moment, you felt like something in you had short circuited and clicked into place all at once. You found yourself laughing along with the three of them, the sounds blending happily.

You had all fit far too well from the get go, getting to know each other like it was an unnecessary step, and before you knew it, it was time to drag your drunk work buddies home. But you found yourself reluctant to leave.

Lou and Debbie had invited you back before you all but herded the small group out the club’s doors as the pair followed behind to lock up. You had exhaustively told them you would love to, but you had plans. Which you did at the time, but those plans had eventually been canceled. You came back to The Stardust the next night.

It was supposed to be a one night stand, that turned into breakfast, which turned into a day out together, which turned into you staying with them for a week. You hadn’t wanted to leave each other and soon, and they asked you to join their couple. You had accepted obviously, who wouldn’t. Lou got you a job working at her club as a singer for the night crowd, and together the three of you found a rhythm.

You loved the two of them more than you had ever thought possible, and they loved you just as much, and you wouldn’t swap that for anything in the world.

[sian22redux]

He followed me home

Title:  He Followed Me Home

Pairing:  Chris Evans/Reader

Rating:  T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup:  Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series.   Whoever won got a drabble.   It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland.   So here is her choice:  Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name:  from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney.   Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic.    Enjoy! 

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.  

Thanks so much to  @mypatronusismrpricklepants   and  @arizonapoppy for their awesome help. 

 Chapter 1:  Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable.   You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.  

His arms are folded across his chest.  His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once.  It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago.  Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.  

“Oh really.”  The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.  

It was just the first thing that popped into your head.  Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”    

“Maybe,” you squeak.  It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.  

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.  

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).  

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.  

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”    

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun.   It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees.  Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of  Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog  (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).    

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes.   His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch.  Probably with Dodger on his chest.  

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.  

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.  

He so needs it.  The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.  

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point.   The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before.  How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa.  How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out.  That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.  

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip.  You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat.   Change was hard for animals.  

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.    

How do you explain?  You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run.   Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window.   So cute, and so in need.  

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist?  Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit.  “It just kind of happened.”   Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.  

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again.   “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap.   At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup.    The little guy whimpers mournfully.   You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure.  The smells and sounds are new.  There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.  

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.    

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much  

“Come on pal, leave off.”   Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host.  The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.  

Puppy is still scared.  He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.  

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.    

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing.  “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.”   A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.  

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim.    “Boy or girl?”  

“Boy.  He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.  

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur.    He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly.    "Homer, I can see your doodle…"    

“Chris!”  

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis.  It is also a recognized crossbreed.  

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip.   “Shuddup.  A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross.  You shouldn’t tease the little guy.  He’s had a really rocky start.  Was just busted out of a puppy mill.  He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t.  Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose.  His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle.  Quirky and utterly adorable.    You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick.   “Awww.  Sorry dude.”  

You shift the warm furry load at your hip.  A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.  

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure.  Bring him in.”    

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail.  So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.  

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing:  white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.  

“You, too.  Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee.  The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked.  A picture of controlled enthusiasm.  His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.  

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack.  You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety.   Chris is the alpha male:  one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.  

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts.    “Ow.”  he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp.  And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder:  how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home.   The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home.  It’s been years since you had a pet.  Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen.  You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.  

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note.  He has been so good.  Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.    

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check.  In a sec.  Does he have a name?”  

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records.  At Ace they called him by his number.  They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam.  I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash,  a comb,  smaller steel bowls.  Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.  

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time:  all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell.  Pure heaven.  And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.  

(No ticking clocks, here.  Nope.   None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up.  Coughs once.  Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.    

Chris looks over at you alarmed.  “Is he ok?”    

This time it’s you that melts a little.  Chris worries.  Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.  

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time.  He’s a rescue from a puppy mill.  The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.”  Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.  

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over.   Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet.  All is in order.  Case # A201206 has been dewormed.  Had all shots.  Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements.   Has been off his feed because of illness.  Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy.  You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention.    Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.  

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush.  This is the tricky part.   “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup.  Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur.  Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates.  Hefty and solid.  He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.  

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”  

Chris chokes.  “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”    

You hold your breath.   This is a gamble.  Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow.  You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”  

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back,  reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek.  A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart.   “Chris, I feel like this meant to be.  You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard.  He’s like your kindred spirit.  Bernese are also big and loyal and loving.  They adore kids.  But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”      

“So you’re just like me, hunh?”  he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds.   I’d be doing curls with you…”    

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.  

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.  

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it.  Keen on it right away.  This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning.   Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog.   Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems.  There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving.  Possibly another Broadway run.  There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.  

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too.   Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour.  It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once.   As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist.  You’re a name on the end credits.  Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with.  A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great.  Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game.  You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date.  No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter.  No one’s staking out your house.    Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up  your calf. Hidden. Secret.  Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do.  Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going.  Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much.  The frequent long distance trips make it hard.  Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode.   Constantly catching up.  Two steps forward and one back.   Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate.   Case in point:  today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice.   “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.  

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.”  Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap.  He sighs. “This was a really good idea.  I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?”  You sit straight up.  Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian.  He experienced and no-nonsense.  A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay?  You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.”  Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed.  Easy. Intimate.  It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“How can anyone resist this face?”  he says, tickling Puppy under the chin.  It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out.  You’re lost, the both of you.  

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins.  “I was just surprised.  Needed to think it through is all.  Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain,  but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.  

“What do you….?”  

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you.  ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps.  Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected.  Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.  

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.  

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.  

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you.  Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”    

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say.  Going public seems like a giant step.  Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy.  Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath.  This is truly what you want but can you make it work?  

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation.  He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling.  “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit.  I am getting old.  The flights are getting harder.”  

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask.  You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.  

“Ancient.”  

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head.  Dodger’s head pops up.  If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead.  He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity.  Chris sets the puppy on the floor.  The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh.  Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins.  This new development is surprising but not scary.  He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.  

“Woof!”   It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.  

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.”  Chris is laughing.  Puppy seems very pleased with himself.   A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows.  Outside the morning is clouding over.  It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain.  Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird.  Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.  

Pup looks to him and back.  “Boof!”   Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger.   Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized.   A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen.  Pad are laid beside the back door.  The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket.  You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly.   He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.    

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen.  “Lets get the little guy’s space all set.  He’ll need to eat soon and then go out.  We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”  

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend.   They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again.    It’s hilarious and sweet.  Big brother playing with the little guy,  but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns.  And coughs.  

“Hey…”  

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest.   A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired.   It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.  

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head.  He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell.   Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best.  There’s a twinkle in his eye.  One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”