pretty boy, consumed by death

Uhhh this has been in the works for fucking ever!! I meant for this to be post in January but I couldn’t write it how I thought the idea deserved so i guess it took 5 months lol

I am glad it worked out this way because this fic means a lot to me and I love it so dearly and because it took so long I now have the privilege to post it on my One year Thunderbolts anniversary, it’s been exactly a year since I saw this wonderful movie and this is my way of celebrating

Dad!Bob reynolds I love you so very much

-Iris/Mars 💛🖤💛

Words: 3.7k

It’s been 4 months, 13 days and 9 hours since your life has been forever changed for the better. Your life finally had a sense of completeness, like you are finally free of your former life

4 months ago your daughter Daisy was born. It took a while but you had finally settled in a comfortable rhythm where you and Bob had a routine that worked. You would take care of the baby and Bob would take care of you. If the baby needed changing you would do that, if you needed to eat, Bob would make you a meal. Obviously Bob would still care for his daughter, It just wasn't his main role, his main priority was you and your wellbeing. Though this wasn’t the normal way of navigating these early stages, this is just what works best for the two of you.

Though you would still always try to encourage Bob to participate in activities. You knew all about his childhood and how he came from a long cycle of abuse, he had always been very open about that to you since the beginning. But when you first brought up wanting to start a family Bob had opened up. He had explained all his fears about being a father and how he was worried about what may happen due to effects of the Sentry and the Void.

So for the past few months you both have been taking small steps to help him with these various anxieties.

~~~

“Honey, I want to try something simple tonight. Can you just be in the room for bed time?” You asked looking up at your husband who was quietly cleaning up dinner.

Bob cleared his throat. “Ummm… what would that entail? Like just so i’m… prepared or not prepared per say, just so I can- know exactly what to expect.” Bob asked, as his face contorted in a wince. He knew he sounded so pathetic being worried about putting his own daughter to bed, he just couldn’t stop the swarm of thoughts racing through all the scenarios that he could screw up..

“Nothing hard Bob, just change her into pajamas, sing and rock her to sleep then set her down. Easy as can be” You reassure, placing a hand on his back and rubbing comforting circles.

Bob nodded slowly, running it over in his head, thinking of ways to avoid potential disasters he could cause. “Ok… Ok! Yeah this will work” Bob said more to himself, trying to psych himself up.

“You got this ‘dad’” You tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek. And as on cue Bob’s face heated up.

“I know I just can’t stop wor-” Bob starts to explain, starting a spiral of panic and overthink but you instantly shut that down by pressing a brief but loving kiss to his lips.

“I know baby,, I know exactly why you worry and why you are so cautious with her but I still think you are more careful and in control than you believe you are..” You try to reassure.

Bob lets out a pained noise “ I know… but just what if I’m not.. What if- I could never forgive myself if something happened to her” Bob whispered, the pain evident in his eyes as he thought of the possibilities.

“And this is why we are being slow and careful and working our way up. “You remind, gently wrapping your arms around Bob’s waist.

Bob looks down at you and lets out a deep sigh “I don’t deserve you… and Daisy. I’m so incredibly lucky” Bob admits, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Though you don’t agree… we are lucky to have you too” You say looking up to press another kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“Now let’s go put this little miss to bed” you coo, stepping away from Bob and going to grab Daisy out of her highchair.

Bob follows you both into the nursery where he practically melts watching you take care of her and change your daughter into a little cat onesie for her to sleep in.

“Here let's do something, Bob, go sit in the rocking chair” You instruct pointing to the rocking chair in the corner. Instantly Bob does what he is told and settles down, albeit a little confused.

You carry Daisy in your arms and go to sit on Bob’s lap so you are parallel to his lap and he can easily hold you while you hold Daisy. “There, now I'm holding her and you are holding me. It's a win-win-win.” You softly tease.

Bob just nestles his face in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder “all perfect to me” Bob sighs against your skin.

You lean your head against his chest before softly clearing your throat then begin to softly sing as you watch your daughter’s eyes flutter close.

God Bob couldn’t have asked for a better wife. He never thought he would get this kind of life, he always kind of assumed he was gonna die alone in an alleyway. Then once the whole Sentry project came to be, he thought no one would want him as an unstable, all powerful being. But you proved him wrong. You showed him how to be loved properly, how he is allowed to have good things in his life, how he can ask for help if he needs it, how he doesn’t have to please everyone especially if it hurts him. You treat Bob as a person and not something to use. You love Bob for exactly who he was, flaws and all. The same went for the Sentry and Void, sure you were a bit more cautious of them but they were still your husband so you treated them as such.

You were also the perfect mother. Bob had never wanted kids, always been too scared of the responsibility and how his mental illnesses would affect them. Then he became scared of how the sentry serum would affect any children. But once you brought up how badly you wanted a baby, there was no way Bob could say no to you not after seeing how your eyes shined the whole conversation. So after many tests that came to the conclusion the baby wouldn’t be affected by the serum and trying for a couple of months you were pregnant.

While Bob had been thrilled by the news, it was the Sentry who was most excited. He loved seeing you pregnant, all round and full of his baby. It was like a claim he had on you that said ‘this is my wife, my baby, mine’ and god he couldn’t wait to get you all full of his baby again~

This was what Bob had been thinking about while he held you in his arms, watching you care for your darling daughter.

“Love you~” You softly sing, finishing up the last lyric before bending down to press a forehead kiss to your now sleeping baby girl. You then press a kiss to your husband’s cheek “don’t worry I love you too”

Bob wordlessly pulls you closer in a sort of subtle claim, like he has to have you as close as possible. You glance up and catch the shimmering gold in his eyes trying to take over the blue. “Oh no” tease, playfully rolling your eyes while carefully getting up out of Bob’s lap to put Daisy away in her crib.

Bob quickly follows after right on your heel. “Why ‘oh no’?” he questions, raising a brow. Because he couldn’t resist, he wrapped his arms around your waist, physically unable to have you out of his grip.

You suppress a snort not wanting to wake up the baby. “You, I saw the gold in your eyes, whatever you were thinking about got you all excited~” you whisper, trying to ignore his wandering hands on your body that are trying to distract you.

“What, can’t a man just appreciate his gorgeous, sexy wife~” Bob or well the Sentry groaned against your neck.

“Mmm… now is this Bob speaking or one of the others?” You ask, dragging him out of the nursery by his hands.

“Well, we are all Bob, but if you want to differentiate us, then you usually call me the Sentry” Sentry huffs, but more than happy to be dragged around by you.

“Mmm I see” You humm, “So what brought you out Sen?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Love when you call me that~” he murmurs while pressing kisses against your neck. “But, if you want to know, I was just thinking all about how good a mother you are. How gorgeous you looked round and full of my baby. I thought about how badly I want you like that again~” Sentry groaned as he nipped and kissed your skin in between sentences.

“I- I forgot you have a… a raging breeding kink as the Sentry” You try to joke, but the stutter in your words gave away how much he was affecting you.

“Seems you forgot how much you love it as well” Sentry purred in your ear giving it a slight tug with his teeth.. “Besides, I’m still Bob, he has just as much of one as I do, but I on the other hand am not a coward to show it. To act on it” He whispered, pressing you against the wall so you can feel the hardening erection in his sweatpants. Your breathing begins to quicken as you start to feel like putty in his hands, Sentry reveals in the state he causes for you, how much you are affected by the Sentry.

‘God, you seem to have forgotten how much you like having me around… haven't been out to play since the baby came~ “Senry hums. “Bob doesn’t trust us with the little one, but you.. he knows just how well I can take care of you~” He caresses your cheek causing you to shiver.

“I’ve missed you so much baby~ Missed touching you, holding you, tasting you~” Sentry murmurs before licking a strip along your neck. “Bob is criminal for keeping you away from me for so long… he’s too afraid of doing something to the baby, when he knows full well I’m the reason the baby is here” Sentry lets out a low wanting breath “And I will be the reason there’s another…” He promised before grabbing your face harshly pulling you in for a deep, passionate, needy kiss.

You let out a low groan at the sensation, hand gripping on to his shoulder, just wanting him so bad. But eventually sense came rushing in breaking though the lust clouding your brain.. “Sen… we can’t, it hasn’t been that long…” you warn, trying and failing to push him away.

“Why not? It hasn’t been that long since what?” Sentry mumbled not really focusing on what you were saying, too distracted in the way you taste, the way you feel pressed against him. “Because if you are talking about since I’ve last seen you, I’m aware it’s been fucking forever, Bob has kept me away from you for months” He groaned bitterly at the reminder of the separation. His hold on your hips tightened as if worried something was going to take you away from him.

“No, not that. I mean since I’ve given birth… I may not be all healed..Down there” You whisper, cheeks flush feeling embarrassed.

The realization sunk in leaving him stilled for a second, then he just smirked “oh well… so sad, I just have to eat you out instead, whatever shall I do” Sentry deadpanned with an eyeroll as if this issue is beneath him. Before you could react he picked you up wrapping your legs around his waist and walked into the bedroom. He tossed you on the bed and moved to crawl over you.

For the briefest of moments his eyes shift back to blue as Sentry looks down at you sprawled underneath him and then he pauses, absolutely in awe of you. He couldn’t believe how lucky he is, that he gets to be here in this position with you. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lost in thought and the feel of you as his hands trail down your body beneath his hands. Despite him being a literal god, he will worship you like you are his reason for breathing.

“Hey golden boy~ I thought you said you were gonna eat me out, ummm kinda need my clothes off for that” You taunt with an eyebrow raised, taking any opportunity to tease him.

His eyes flash a brilliant gold no trace of blue, your words bring back to the present. “Mmm, needy girl feeling impatient~” Sentry mock pouted “I’m going to make you regret being sassy with me~” He all but sneered and you couldn’t hold back your grin of excitement.

~~~

Bob glanced down at you asleep in his arms, absolutely dead to the world, he can’t help but be amused. You are always out for hours whenever Sentry takes over. Based on the lingering taste in his mouth he had a very clear idea of what happened and honestly he’s just sad he can’t remember it.

He sits up trying not to disrupt you as he gently plays with your hair spread across his lap. Then he hears it.

Through the baby monitor on the bedside table, Daisy lets out a piercing cry causing Bob to instantly freeze. He glances down at your sleeping form starting to stir from the noise but taking longer to get up as a sign of your exhaustion. Without thinking Bob quickly moves to shut off the monitor returning the room to silence aside from Daisy muffled cries a few doors down.

Bob gently moves your head out of his lap and creeps towards the bedroom door to head towards his crying daughter. As he walks he tries his hardest to clear his head of all anxieties and to calm his breathing. He’s got this, he knows he does. This is his daughter for god sake, he knows exactly why she’s crying like this. She's hungry, earlier during dinner she was being fussy and refusing to eat so you decide to just feed her later. Bob just wishes his mind would stop overthinking this simple task.

Once in the nursery he goes over to his crying daughter and gently picks her up. “Hi sweetheart” Bob softly coos, holding Daisy to his chest as he goes to prepare a bottle for her. The motions feel like second nature with how many times he has watched you do it.

Once the bottle is prepared Bob sits down in the rocking chair across the room, “there we go sweetie, just like that.” He whispers, admiring her as she quiets down and watches her eat. “Not so hard huh.” He swipes his finger delicately across her cheek. “For me it’s a bit hard…” Bob pauses, hearing the slightest sound. His head snaps up searching for any sign of movement, he scans across the room for what could have made the noise but eventually decides it was nothing.

Bob turns his attention back to Daisy and watches as her eyes start to droop, falling asleep in his arms. “Anyway, I tend to overthink the simplest of things, I’m so used to being a fu- screw up that I always assume the worst is going to happen.” He softly explains. “And usually the worst would happen, you see I had a…. A hard life let’s just say until I met your mommy, but with her… god with her life has been the best it ever has. With her I’m not just Bob the screw up, to her I'm just Bob, I'm her Bob, her husband and it’s honestly my favorite thing… well that and being a dad.” He rambled, a smile growing on his face as he talked about his amazing wife.

“But anyway, I’m still not used to the fact that life is over, I’m no longer in that bad situation and I have a wonderful life with you and mommy. But I get so overwhelmed and have so much anxiety when it comes to you, I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing and that something bad will happen, and I'll be my usual screw up.” Bob paused and took a deep inhale. “But I’m working on it, and it’s all thanks to your momma, without her I couldn’t have done any of this. I wouldn’t be sober, well I’m technically sober because of the serum but she would be the reason I got sober anyway,” Bob softly chuckles at his tangent.

“What I’m trying to say is my life is great and it’s all thanks to your mom, she gave me a place to belong, this wonderful life and most importantly she gave my beautiful daughter” He bopped daisy nose, “and for that I'm forever grateful.” He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Eventually Bob straightens up and carefully brings Daisy back to her crib once he knows she is fully asleep and will stay asleep. Silently Bob made his way back into the bedroom and back to bed, he curled under the covers and gently maneuvered you so you were resting against his chest. You stirred and pushed your hands under his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, snuggling into him, and pressing kisses against his sternum. “Hi baby…” You whisper sleepy looking up at him with the most love and affection in your eyes.

“Oh! Hi darling… Did I wake you?” Bob asked in a voice so soft and only reserved for you. You just shook your head, still pressed against his body but still looking up at him with all this love and affection. Bob gives you a curious look, confused to where all this is coming from –but honestly he’s not complaining– You just shrug, answering his unsaid question and press a kiss to his lips. Bob, still confused, gives in and starts kissing you back until you both drift off to sleep.

~~~

You start to stir at the sound of your daughter’s cry through the baby monitor but it abruptly turns off. You were about to get up to go check on her but then felt your husband's big hands move you so were no longer resting on him and instead just laying on the bed as he got up.

glancing over and seeing he turned off the baby monitor had a jolt of panic run through you. You know it must have been Bob who turned it off and he probably has his reasons, the main one most likely being that he wants to give you the chance to sleep but it still makes you uneasy to have the monitor off while Daisy is in the other room. You reach across the bed and turn on the monitor where you can see Bob reach down into the crib and pick up a crying Daisy. You let out a tired sigh and get up out of bed.

Walking down the hallway, you make your way into the nursery knowing exactly why she’s being fussy. Daisy didn’t eat much at her normal dinner time,she wouldn’t latch on to you and you were too tired to fight her on it so you decided to feed her later. You know there are supplies for a bottle in there but you also know that this is one of the many things Bob is nervous to do with your daughter. Besides Daisy prefers to be breastfed not bottlefed so this would just be easiest to put her back to sleep.

Just as you were about to walk in to get her but stopped at the sight in the room, Bob, still shirtless and in boxers, curled up on the rocking chair, feeding and talking to your daughter. From your view he doesn’t even look nervous, he looks like this is something he does all the time, he looks like a dad

. You can just barely hear the words he’s whispering to Daisy while she drinks from the bottle. You push open the door a little bit to try and see him better and your heart practically leaps out of your chest when his head snaps up at the barely audible sound the door makes. You move out of his sightline and hope he doesn’t see you. Bob shifts his attention back to Daisy and resumes their ‘conversation’

You return to your spot watching them from the doorframe, just admiring the view. Your heart melts as you watch how gentle he is, how he is practically an expert at this despite only ever really observing. What really gets you is the kind words he is whispering to your sleeping daughter, how he’s telling her all about what a good person he thinks you are and how much you have changed his life for the better.

These words aren’t new, you hear similar words to this all the time from him. He tells you how much he loves you, how you have improved his life, how good a mother you are, you hear this plenty but something about hearing him say it to someone else without knowing you are hearing it just makes it way more meaningful for some reason. The words just further your disbelief in how you got such an amazing life with the perfect man for you.

You get so wrapped up in watching them that you forget where you are and startle when Bob starts to get up and puts Daisy back in her crib. You rush back to your bed and crawl back into your original position as if you hadn’t moved. A few moments later Bob creeps back into the room, trying his hardest to be as silent as possible to not disturb you. Once in bed he settles in beside you, moving you so you are back against him. You get an overwhelming feeling of love for this man, for your daughter, for this life and you can’t help but think your life is complete

"Happy to take your money, Garcia. My money's on the mobster," he quipped, throwing down a ten of his own and gesturing at an alpha with slicked back hair on the inside of the booth a few from the group had taken up residence in. He had his arm around the only female in the pack and was quietly chatting with a very animated man with an obnoxious gold chain and the kind of showy muscles that come not from hard labor like the ones under the sleeves of the alpha they'd deemed the Cowboy. This one that Bob quietly referred to as the Greaser had a small, barely perceivable smile and watched his mate with a fondness that made Bob's own heart ache. As much as he hated to, Bob had to admit Jake might just be right. And Bob wasn't even sure the cowboy was an alpha despite the rest of the group readily agreeing.

Mickey seemed to be having some doubts as well. He smiled at Hangman, but it came off as put on, the kind of confidence his erstwhile teammate never had to fake. After all, Jake Seresin was a neverending well of self-regard.

"What makes you think that? Yeah, the mobster is definitely an alpha, but he's not commanding the space the way the cowboy is." Nat, an alpha herself, turned to Bob and rolled her eyes.

Hangman grinned. It looked less inviting and charming the way it did when he flashed it at the single betas and omegas who came to the bar and more the smile of someone who knew they'd won the game before it even began. Fanboy's cheery grin visibly faltered.

"I tried to chat up the female," Jake admitted, much to everyone but his chagrin. Even Nat raised her eyebrows, but Hangman was too busy being smug to pay their surprised reactions any mind.

"That's a level of ballsy I didn't think even you were capable of, Seresin," Rooster shot at him, taking a lazy sip of his beer, face nonplussed even when Jake turned his Cheshire grin to the squad's only omega.

"What? You jealous, Bradshaw?"

Before Rooster could bite back, Payback cut him off.

"Get to the point, Bagman. At least give Mickey the courtesy of knowing why he's losing money tonight." When Mickey shot him a fake hurt look, Reuben just shrugged and grinned. They all knew that Fanboy's proverbial goose was cooked.

"Right, so where was I?" Jake drawled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Rooster, who was doing his best to ignore the obnoxiously cocky alpha who was blatantly peacocking for his attention. Again.

"They need to fuck and get it over with," Nat muttered into Bob's ear right as he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink. He should've known to brace himself the second she leaned in conspiratorially, but her little asides routinely caught the WSO off guard. It took a kind of effort Bob had practiced as long as he'd known Phoenix, but he was able to swallow his mouthful of Sprite without sputtering or choking. His glass, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

Fortunately, Phoenix was on top of it, instantly mopping up the spilled drink with the kind of speed and efficiency that meant she'd already carefully weighed the pros and cons of her snide remark before it even left her lips. When the others turned towards them, concerned, Bob waved them off, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin Natasha handed him with a smirk.

"Anyway," Hangman said, finally turning to face Fanboy, "I was talking to the female of the group - definitely an alpha, by the way - and the greaseball glared at me like he wanted to blow my damn head off. He stormed over, put his arm around her shoulders, and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost."

"What did he actually say? The exact words used?" Coyote spoke up.

Jake only grinned more. "He told me to get my goddamn hands off his girl and fuck off."

Most alphas would be at least repentant about treading on another's territory as laughably outdated as that notion was, but Jake just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Typical.

The squabbling only got louder, so Bob used his empty glass as an excuse to get away. His call for refill requests fortunately was ignored just like it normally was, so he didn't have to haul half a dozen various beers across the crowded bar. And he didn't have the voice of his mom in his ear, scolding him for not being a gentleman like he did when he didn't ask at all. It was a win-win all around.

That was one thing about being the quiet beta of the group. When he was younger, Bob resented how easily overlooked he was. 'A wallflower,' his sisters called him when he told them about how he was always passed over by his peers at school. 'A sweet, upstanding young gentleman,' his grandma declared him to be as she pinched his cheeks until they hurt. 'A late bloomer,' his pa deemed him when Bob didn't get the same growth spurt at the same time all the other boys did. 'Just like your dad,' his mom would say with a wistful smile, no doubt thinking about their younger years. He didn't like any of it.

But, grudgingly, Bob Floyd learned the benefits of being generally overlooked. Anything he did well always shocked and impressed the others around him. The few moments he'd let his wit out to cut like a fresh rapier, his opponents were always thrown off. And the few people who did notice him, like Natasha Trace and, eventually the entire Dagger Squad, were the kind of friends you made for life, the ones who saw Bob for who he was and liked him for it.

Which is why it surprised him when one of the omegas from this new pack looked straight at him from across the bar and gave him a faint smile. Bob had to fight the immediate urge to turn around, to see who else this man was looking at. But he saw the eye contact and the way the omega appeared briefly hesitant at Bob's lack of response. And his blatant staring. So quickly, Bob smiled back. It was perfunctory but natural. Not one of those he'd give in the hallway while passing any number of faceless, nameless officers he'd most likely never see again. It was genuine. And even across the room, the omega seemingly sensed the sincerity, and his face relaxed.

Whatever little moment was or wasn't happening got abruptly interrupted when another bar patron accidentally walked right into Bob, who barely avoided the man's drink spilling on him. He'd been in this situation more times than he could recall. Fortunately, this man that Bob quickly clocked as another beta, one with long brown hair and a gentle face, acted more concerned with Bob's state of being than the condition of his now half-spilled glass of white wine.

"I'm so sorry," the beta said, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and checking Bob over for errant stains. "Don't know how I didn't see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Bob assured him with a smile. Fortunately, his dress shirt was just as clean and crisp as when he'd put it on after drills that afternoon. "No harm done. It happens all the time."

Their interaction was fairly short: the stranger apologized a few more times, tried to start mopping up the spill with his handful of napkins until Penny threw Bob a spare rag to use instead, and even turning down a free refill (a first that he could remember from Penny), declaring that the incident must be God telling him that he's cut off for the night. It didn't surprise Bob when the handsome beta walked back to the corner with that strange pack, right into the arms of a different small omega who immediately inspected him like he'd been in a serious accident as opposed to the human equivalent of a fender bender. Bob watched as the beta reassured his mate, nuzzling his forehead against the omega's cheek until the latter visibly relaxed.

"Weird evening, isn't it?" Penny asked when Bob finally stepped up to the counter, placing his empty glass there for a refill.

"Yeah, there's something about that pack," Bob admitted, watching as the bartender swept his old glass away in a motion as easy as breathing. "The squad's been taking bets about them all night."

"I meant the two spills in less than five minutes, both of which you were involved with," Penny said with a grin. Bob had the decency to blush, something that only made Penny laugh mirthfully. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't charge you a clean up fee."

Quick as a blink, the bartender turned to the soda fountain, filling up a brand new glass. She turned and set it down on the counter in front of Bob and popped a new straw in it in one fluid motion with the kind of easy grace that always secretly astounded the pilot.

"By the way, you left your jacket," Penny added, nodding over to a black lump of fabric in one of the bar chairs.

Confused, Bob picked up what appeared to be a much-loved but clean hoodie with the name of some band he didn't recognize splashed on the front. Bob Floyd didn't wear hoodies, preferring zip up sweaters instead. And he certainly didn't listen to the kind of music where the band spelled their name in letters so jagged and stylized that he could barely make out the words. But he could see why Penny thought it was his. Written on the label in bold, sharp script were three familiar letters - B O B.

Before he could do more than process the name, a voice came from behind him.

"Um…that's mine, actually."

It was a nice voice: low, quiet, and so soft around the edges that it was almost a hum. It was the kind of voice that was more used to rounding the ends of sentences into a question even when stating an objective fact. The kind of voice Bob could easily imagine murmured into his ear late at night, one he could feel through a rumble in a lover's chest pressed against his back.

Maybe it should've been a surprise when Bob turned around to see that omega from the new pack, the one who smiled at him from across the room. But for some reason? It wasn't.

His voice fit his appearance. Whether it was the mop of brown curls, the cozy and clearly well-loved sweater, or the openness in his face, one word came to Bob's mind: soft.

But there was more to this omega than that. There was some steel there. Even mated omegas tended to avoid being alone with someone unmated that they didn't know. Even a fairly harmless beta like Bob could prove a threat in a room full of liquored up and rowdy patrons. But this omega didn't even seem nervous about Bob himself, just about interrupting his conversation with Penny.

And when Bob spent too long staring at this handsome stranger, those eyes went from warm and friendly to flinty and hard. The tentative smile on his face stretched taut, as if putting on a gruesome mask of the kindness that was previously on his face.

Before the omega could ask, Bob quickly blurted out, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just…" He gestured down at the tag and the faded name in Sharpie, his words failing him.

"Surprised someone still writes their name on the inside of their clothes as an adult?"

And a sharp sense of humor to boot. Bob added that to his mental tally of this omega who was becoming more fascinating by the minute.

"No," Bob said with an awkward little laugh. "No, it's not that. That makes sense if you're living with other people. Keeps you from getting your clothes stolen."

The stranger nodded, his stance becoming slightly less defensive even as he crossed his arms in front of him.

"I was just surprised is all," Bob continued, pointing at the tag. "Penny, the owner, thought this was mine."

The man across from him paused, blinking rapidly, a cute little crease of confusion forming between his eyebrows.

"Wait, but…" He pointed at the name tag on Bob's shirt, the one that said "FLOYD" in all capital letters.

"Last name," Bob explained. He extended his hand to shake before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Bob Floyd."

The other man paused, eyeing his outstretched hand hesitantly. This wasn't exactly a typical greeting to a mated omega, but Bob wagered this wasn't your typical mated omega anyway.

After a moment of hesitation, he took Bob's hand, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Bob Reynolds. No fancy title. Just Bob."

Their hands lingered perhaps a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, and Bob had to ignore the way his heart pounded just a hair faster.

They talked for what felt like minutes but stretched out to over an hour. On the surface, the two Bobs had little in common beside their names. After all, what would a straight A student turned decorated Navy lieutenant have in common with a middle school drop out who spent most of his adult life struggling with addiction and housing insecurity even have to say to each other? Yet they continually found common ground.

"Vodka soda?" the Other Bob asked as Bob took a new glass of Sprite from Penny. At Bob's frown of confusion, Bob Reynolds gestured at the drink. "Drinking a vodka soda?"

"Oh!" Bob Floyd exclaimed, chuckling a little nervously under his breath. He was used to the teasing from his heavy-drinking friends, but experience didn't make the sobriety talk any easier. "No, just a Sprite." Pointing at the dark cola on the bar next to the other man, he added, "Rum and Coke?"

"Close," Bob R. said with a little laugh of his own. "Just hold the rum and replace the Coke with a Dr. Pepper. I've been clean for two years this coming February. Not breaking that for a shitty cocktail."

"Oh." Bob knew from the way the other man's face tightened just a fraction that he'd made the situation awkward just that much weirder from his reaction. So clearing his throat, he added, "Congratulations. That's a huge accomplishment."

When Bob R. waved away the compliment, Bob F. doubled down.

"No, seriously. That's impressive. I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel and it tastes gross. But you're here at a bar, addiction ground zero. That must take a lot more self-control than it seems. You make it look easy." He spoke with such sincerity that it seemed to strike the omega speechless for a moment. The other man blinked a few times, eyes darting around like he was trying to process the words.

Bob gave him that space, let him sit in the compliment and figure out if he even wanted to respond to it. Unfortunately, he took a sip of his drink when the Other Bob found his words. And even though he'd learned how to keep it together with Phoenix, he had no defenses against this new Bob.

"Bars aren't that tempting to me. Now a crack den? That would be a problem. I'd be like a kid in a candy shop."

A few minutes later, Bob Reynolds apologized for making the lieutenant choke on his drink, but to Bob Floyd? It was worth it to make the other man laugh so hard tears pricked his eyes.

Naturally, conversation shifted towards their respective groups. The Other Bob was the first to offer up details about his pack.

"So, the beta that bumped into you? That's William," Bob R said, pointing out the man with the long, brown hair and friendly face. "And the omega in his lap? That's Miles. They're bonded. Joined the us together a few months ago."

All of the pack were introduced in turn, so Bob was able to put an actual name to the unofficial titles the Dagger Squad had dubbed them.

Bob R agreed that "Cowboy" was an appropriate nickname for the one called Rhett, not just because he wore a cowboy hat and boots. Finding out he was a former pro bull rider was a shock but nowhere near as much as finding out the cowboy was an omega.

"I thought he was maybe a beta," Bob admitted, trying not to stare at the man out of sheer curiosity. If the cowboy noticed how closely both of the men at the bar were watching him, Rhett gave no indication of it. "I've never seen an omega who's built like that."

When the other man's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of bright pink, Bob tactfully said nothing. But he found himself glancing at the seat of the tall omega's pants, idly wondering just how built this cowboy really was.

The well-dressed alpha sitting nearby was introduced as Todd, an unlikely pairing for a rough and tumble country boy like Rhett. But, according to Bob R, they joined the pack as a mated pair.

The three in the corner booth were all directly mated to the Other Bob, a revelation that didn't come as too much of a surprise from the casual way he'd noticed them touching the omega all night. Nothing untoward, of course. Just leaning against him, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders. Little careless gestures that spoke of quiet companionship and a deep affection.

The muscular beta with the gold chain who was now visibly playing footsie under the table with his two alphas was Jordan. The only female in the pack was indeed an alpha like Hangman had claimed with a pretty name that suited her well. And the one with the slicked back hair, the alpha who'd confronted Hangman earlier, was introduced as Rocco.

"He's the head alpha," Bob R added, popping the de-shelled peanut the WSO offered him into his mouth.

Bob didn't mean to laugh. It just bubbled out of him, fast and sharp enough that he covered his mouth and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any other patrons. The Other Bob didn't question him, just watched patiently with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of the mouth. It hit Bob that the other man knew that he didn't have to ask, that Bob would explain himself. Phoenix had given him the same look innumerable times in the past few years they'd been partners. That thought was quickly brushed under the proverbial rug. He wasn't quite ready to ponder the meaning of that revelation and how it made the tightness in his chest that had been there since this mysterious pack entered the bar loosen just a fraction.

"Hangman was right," Bob said, gesturing at the preening alpha still at the center of attention of the Dagger Squad.

A few of his teammates caught his eye, shooting curious looks at him, some of them even openly gesturing at Bob R then back to him in silent question.

He ignored them.

Bob Reynolds gave a nervous wave and a bashful grimace in an approximation of a friendly smile. When he turned in his chair a bit to subtly put his back to the group, Bob Floyd didn't blame him.

"I'm guessing 'Hangman' is that blond alpha who looks like he thinks he's a king holding court in front of his subjects?" the Other Bob asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Bob muttered, tossing an errant peanut shell in an empty Budweiser glass he'd designated for such a task. No need to get Penny on his ass for making another mess for her to clean. "He's more a court jester who thinks he's king. If we had a leader other than Mav, it wouldn't be him." Tilting his head, Bob gestured at lone omega in the squad who was sitting by the wall, too distracted by the temptation of the bar's piano to pay Hangman any mind. "More likely, it'd be Rooster. Or maybe Phoenix, but I don't think she'd be too pleased with me for saying so."

The Other Bob risked a look at the Dagger Squad, just long enough for him to register their faces, most of which were still eyeing the two Bobs at the bar with unabashed curiosity. Bob Floyd turned and looked himself, briefly catching Phoenix's eye and blatantly ignoring her raised eyebrows.

"Do they always stare like that?" Bob Reynolds asked with a wince, his voice slightly higher and creaking from embarrassment.

Catching Payback's eye, Bob Floyd's unamused stare was met with an impish grin and a wink. When Fanboy wolf whistled, Bob turned back to the Other Bob with an audible sigh, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes.

"Unfortunately," he deadpanned, taking another sip of his Sprite, for once wishing it was something a little stronger.

After a few moments of the kind of awkward silence that only comes when two people know their every move is being heavily scrutinized, Bob R spoke up.

"Are they always this…" He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly like he was searching for his next words which had suddenly taken flight from his brain. Bob returned the same polite patience the omega had given him just minutes before, letting him figure out what he wanted to say and not interrupting or pressing him.

When he found the word, the Other Bob wrinkled his nose as if dissatisfied with the results of his searching.

"This…nosy?"

"Absolutely," Bob said with zero hesitation. That awkward expression bled from Bob R's face, replaced by the kind of genuine amusement Bob F wasn't used to receiving from something he'd said. Hangman had once declared he had no sense of humor, but it wasn't Bob's fault he didn't like being unnecessarily mean for the sake of a joke. But if everyone responded to jokes as beautifully as Bob Reynolds, maybe he'd need to start making more.

"Makes sense why you guys were nicknaming some of us. Have you been watching us all night?" There was a twinkle in the omega's eyes that made Bob's stomach flip in the same kind of way as when Becky Wilson in 5th grade held his hand for three precious minutes during recess. The same one as when Melinda Davis kissed him after junior prom.

Bob Floyd was many things but a stuttering fool wasn't one of them. Usually. So he cleared his throat, composing himself before he answered.

"A little bit," he admitted. Even if his voice was steady, the tips of his ears burned hotter than an overheating F/A-18 engine.

The impish grin that spread across Bob Reynolds' face should've been classified as a military-grade weapon suitable only for use in active combat. Definitely not something to be used in the middle of a bar against an unarmed combatant. Bob Floyd's stomach wasn't the only thing flipping; his damn heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in his chest.

"Explains the nicknames," the Other Bob said with just a hint of a drawl. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, almost like he knew what he was doing to the flustered beta across from him. "You guys debating on who's the cutest? Because I can make a good case for myself."

"Not exactly," Bob said wryly. He took another sip of his drink to whet his suddenly-dry mouth, hands still fiddling with the same peanut he'd been rolling back and forth for the past few minutes.

The Other Bob waited, eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile growing more dangerous by the second. Bob Floyd thought he caught the other man sneaking a glance at his ears which were bright red by now judging by how they burned with the kind of heat usually only registered on the surface of the sun. But, when he glanced up at Bob Reynolds' eyes to catch him looking, the omega was merely watching him back.

"We were…" he started, cutting himself off before continuing. "They were making bets. About your pack."

Bob R's eyebrows shot up even further, making his forehead crease in a way that the WSO struggled to not label as 'adorable.'

"Nothing weird," Bob F added quickly. "Things like who was going to win that game of pool. Or who'd finish their drink first."

The Other Bob nodded, but Bob Floyd couldn't help but notice a twinge of some expression he couldn't quite place cross his handsome face. Relief?Disappointment? Hard to tell.

"Not exactly the most exciting bets. I think my idea is way better."

Bob F nodded absently, finally popping that peanut in his mouth and slowly chewing.

"Hangman and Fanboy were betting on who the pack alpha is," he finally added, flicking the crushed peanut shell into his cup to join its conquered brethren.

That seemed to interest the Other Bob, who perked up, sitting taller in his chair.

"Oh, that's what you meant by 'Hangman was right.' Everything's making sense now." He tapped his forehead, just like the meme, causing Bob F to let out a snort of laughter he couldn't quite hold back. Bob R beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter.

Since the squad were still closely monitoring the duo at the bar, Bob pulled up a picture on his phone to introduce his teammates in turn. Words flowed out of him, but in all honesty, Bob wasn't quite sure what all he said. He was hyper focused on how the Other Bob pulled his chair closer to better see the phone screen.

Stillness, it seems, was not a natural state of being for Bob Reynolds. He shifted in his seat, shaking his leg and rocking back and forth in an almost imperceptible way that Bob Floyd hadn't noticed until they were practically pressed against each other. Their legs bumped a few times and the Other Bob's hand brushed his own when he'd point at something in the picture that Bob himself had never noticed before. His heart practically pounded out of his chest any time they touched. If the omega knew what he was doing to him, Bob sure as hell couldn't tell. So he kept talking regardless.

The only thing he specifically remembered saying was mentioning Nat's civilian boyfriend she'd been with for the past year or so. Later, he wondered to himself why he'd brought that up, but all he knew was that Bob Reynolds had seemed tense when Phoenix was brought up and that his smiles and quiet touches came much more frequently after.

"You guys seem really close," the Other Bob said. Bob Floyd risked a glance over at his teammates and let out a relieved sigh seeing they'd moved on from staring to yet another game of darts where Payday and Coyote teamed up against Hangman. From the look of it, things weren't going well for them on that front.

"I mean, yeah. We're around each other what feels like every minute of the day. Can't even use the latrine without the entire unit knowing about it. 'Least, that's what it feels like."

The laugh the Other Bob let out wasn't faked; it was genuine but with something that rang hollow underneath. "I definitely understand that. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a pack, after all."

Now it was Bob's turn to smile ruefully. His eyes dipped to his own hands, watching as if from a distance as his index finger traced the bottom of the glass back and forth, swiping through cool beads of condensation and letting the water break, sliding down his skin and onto the bar counter.

Thoughts lingered on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd left unspoken to anyone but his closest family. They'd welled up before so many times along with a fierce sense of envy so strong Bob had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat - when Maverick finally settled down with Penny and Amelia, when his baby sister introduced the family to her new mates, when Coyote's pack came for a surprise visit on shore leave.

By the time he looked back up, the Other Bob was also following his movements. When he stopped, the omega blinked and looked back up at him, the upturned tilt of his lips distinctly bittersweet. There was an understanding there. A lack meeting another lack, like the holes in their hearts saw through the facades they held up and recognized each other.

So, for once, Bob didn't think through what he said. He just spoke.

"It must be nice to have a pack. A…family."

Several seconds passed before Bob Floyd found the nerve to lift his head up to see the other man's reaction. Would that change how the omega saw him? Would such rank honesty earn him discomfort or even the kind of pity he felt lurking in the eyes of even his closest friends? But, no. The Other Bob didn't give him a sad smile and a pat on the back. He didn't squirm away from the WSO either.

If anything, Bob Reynolds looked confused.

"What?" Bob Floyd found himself asking, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, not caught or even delayed by the ever-present filter he normally pushed all his thoughts through.

"But you have a family."

Before Bob could protest, to say that he meant a non-blood family, a group of people that chose each other willingly, a round of raucous laughter erupted from the direction of the dart board. The Hard Deck might have been emptier than normal, but this was the kind of hooting and hollering that would've drawn the attention of the entire place even during peak times.

Both Bobs immediately turned in their seats to watch as Coyote and Payday knelt on the floor to do push ups as Hangman strutted around like…well, a rooster while the others jeered at the losing duo and cheered them on in turn. From the expressions of chagrin and dread on Javy and Reuben's faces, Bob knew without a doubt they'd be going at it for quite a while.

The breathy laughter to his right drew Bob's attention back to the omega next to him. Bob Reynolds let out a little snort, covering his mouth and practically giggling as if his own noise only tickled him further.

"They do this often?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Bob answered, chuckling to himself as Jake put his boot on Javy's upper back, posing like Captain Morgan on the other pilot. He caught Bob's eye, holding a precise, showy salute and grinning at the WSO. At least until Javy shifted his shoulder forward, purposefully causing the cocky alpha to stumble to catch himself, which only made the Dagger Squad howl with laughter.

"Honestly, it's their fault for betting against Hangman at darts. I swear he leaves his bunk in the middle of the night to practice in the rec hall."

Turning back to the bar, Bob R fixed him with a look that Bob F could only describe as fond.

"There's always at least one troublemaker in a pack," the Other Bob said with a wistful smile. His words were so casual, taking a sip of his soda after like there was no weight to them at all. But they hit Bob Floyd all the same.

As if he was on autopilot, Bob pushed the button to turn his phone screen on, looking at the same picture that had greeted him for years. He could still smell the briny ocean spray lapping against the shore and feel that familiar California sun beaming down on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle in the way that let him know it was time to reapply sunscreen. Some 80s rock he vaguely recognized played in the background, but Bob could barely hear it over the grunts and yells and laughter as his squad loped around the beachfront. After a while, teams and scores and even winners were forgotten, replaced with the pure joy of tackles and touchdowns. Even Bob himself, initially turned off by the excess testosterone and macho posturing, got into it, scoring a goal where everyone cheered like it was a winning one. For once, he'd enjoyed being the center of attention, foisted up into the air by his comrades who chanted his name as he threw his head back, laughing.

Penny'd insisted on taking a photo. She'd said they needed a token, something to remember in the coming days and weeks of training for that mission none of them should've come back from but, by no small miracle, all of them did. The whole squad kept it as their lock screen for all this time. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and packmates got the honor of being their wallpaper, kept safe and secure behind a password. But the Dagger Squad were the first thing they all saw when they grabbed their phones in the morning and the last thing they saw as they went to bed at night.

As the screen went black, Bob Floyd was greeted with his own face. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd seen it in the mirror of the men's room as he looked up from washing his hands. Then he was met with a frown, one he quickly schooled into a neutral expression. It was just another night out, one he tagged along to because he had nothing better to do when Phoenix asked him his plans for the evening. That Bob in the mirror had lines on his forehead and a weariness in his eyes.

This Bob, the one reflected by his phone screen, couldn't be more different. Gone was the grimace, replaced with upturned lips, like the remnants of a smile tugged at his mouth. The lines on his face were still there, of course, but not as deep as they'd been before. And his eyes? Now those were the most different.

Bob Floyd wasn't unhappy. The exact opposite, actually. He was doing the job he loved with a team who both relied on him and cared about him, even if they didn't always notice when he left the table. But there was an emptiness inside of him. A loneliness he was loathe to name. But this Bob looked…lighter. Happier. Somehow more fulfilled. Like a conversation with a handsome stranger had buoyed his spirits in a way he didn't realize he needed until he saw the results himself.

For some reason, he felt the urge to turn and look at this unusual pack. Most of them paid him no mind, not the cowboy and his fancy alpha. Not the mild-mannered beta and his doting omega. And not the female alpha or the showy beta, who were too busy flirting to pay attention. But the greaser - Rocco, he corrected himself - caught his gaze and held it there.

Bob couldn't fight the feeling that this was an important moment, that his new friend's mate was passing judgment on him. Normally, he wouldn't care what some knothead alpha thought of him. His parents had told him long ago that gender is irrelevant to what kind of person you are. You can't blame your mistakes on it or let it encapsulate who you are. But something about that moment made Bob want to be a 'good beta' for the first time in his life. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

When the alpha raised his glass in a salute, a smirk firmly carved into his lips, Bob Floyd let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He lifted his Sprite in turn, toasting this complete stranger for something he didn't quite understand. Maybe he would later.

The Other Bob's voice jerked him firmly back into reality.

Turning to face the omega, Bob mumbled an apology. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, 'so, what's yours?'" Bob R stated, his head tilting to the side slightly, just enough that he had to gaze up through his lashes to make eye contact.

"Mine?" Bob F asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "My what?"

"Your callsign," the Other Bob clarified. "Sorry. I know I'm rewinding the conversation back a few minutes. Before we got distracted by the ruckus."

"Ruckus is a damn good way to put it," Bob said. He glanced back at the head alpha across the room, but Rocco had turned his attention away from the two at the bar.

"So, there's Payback. And Rooster. And Phoenix. What are you? Specs?" Bob R grinned as he said it, visibly proud of himself for coming up with a nickname.

"Uh…not exactly."

Bob Floyd had answered this question many, many times. People responded usually with confusion ('No, your callsign, not your name'), more questions ('Did you…choose that yourself?'), or, even worse, disappointment ('Aww, man. I was hoping it was something cool'). But this response? It was a new one.

"Hmm," Bob Reynolds said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while looking off into the distance. The gesture made his already-thin lips smush together into a solitary line, making it look like he had a comically long frown. The word 'adorable' floated through Bob Floyd's head for the second time that night.

After a few moments of hard pondering, the Other Bob turned to him, releasing his chin as he declared, "I like it."

Bob blinked, saying nothing at first. And when he did speak, it was just one word.

"…What?"

"I like it," the Other Bob said with even more conviction, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own assessment. "It suits you."

Bob Floyd couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was sudden and jarring, like his body had a mind of its own. Like it was pulled out of his lungs by sheer surprise.

Bob Reynolds eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Normally people are disappointed that my callsign is just…Bob. They expect something cooler."

The other man audibly scoffed. "What? Like Hangman? Wow. He must be so cool." He made a quick pumping gesture with his right hand, wordlessly calling the blond alpha a jerk off. "No, Bob is unique. I bet there isn't another pilot with that callsign. There are probably dozens of 'Hangman's. And, after all, you know what 'Bob' stands for, right?"

"If you say 'Baby On Board,' I'm going back to my -" Bob F started, shaking his finger at his fellow Bob.

"No, no," Bob R said, waving away the other man's concerns. "Nothing as lame as that."

"Then what?"

Bob Reynolds grinned.

"Big Ol' Balls, obviously."

When Bob Reynolds said his goodbyes and made his way back to his pack through the slowly emptying bar, he was hyper aware of the phone resting heavily in his right front pocket. He ran his fingers over the glass faceplate, feeling the tiny cracks in the touch screen, the ones Jordan insisted wouldn't be there if he'd just get a proper phone case. If he traced the name of the man he'd spent the last hour and a half with, give or take a few minutes, no one would know. Or even blame him.

The rest of his pack was suspiciously silent as he slid into the oval booth at the far end of the room, the one right next to the door. Everyone had made their way over to the table eventually, nearly filling it up. It wasn't an easy fit like it had been with just his bonded mates where he could stretch out over the worn brown vinyl, resting his head in one of their laps. But the way Miles chirruped happily, wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him close, rubbing their noses together, more than made up for the lack of space.

"You tryin'a get us another beta?" Rhett asked with a grin. He'd long ago taken off the cowboy hat. Now the Stetson decorated the table in front of them, set amidst a veritable field of discarded and half-empty glasses.

At those words, Jordan perked up.

"We could use another beta. William helped get our numbers up, but you damn alphas outnumber us," he said, shooting fake glares at the three at the table who just chuckled in response.

"There are three omegas too," William added, pointing at Rhett, Miles, and Bob himself in turn.

Jordan dismissed him with a simple "psht" sound.

"There is never such a thing as too many omegas," he said as justification. Todd, who never missed an opportunity to cuddle with the nearest omega, nodded his head as if agreeing with some deep, sage wisdom. Rhett nudged him with his elbow, snickering when the alpha pouted at him, exaggeratedly rubbing his side as if dearly wounded.

"Can't disagree with you there," Rocco said, taking a swig of his beer before turning his eyes on Bob. Without even saying another word, Bob could feel his own face growing red. Rocco didn't even have to ask. From the smirk that tugged at his lips, he knew what Bob was thinking possibly even better than Bob knew himself.

As much as they so obviously wanted to, a stern look from Rocco quieted any more questions about the handsome stranger Bob had spent so much time chatting up. Everyone seemed mostly tired (or buzzed), so further talk was minimal, mostly just murmuring to the person next to them.

When William caught himself nearly falling asleep at the table, they collectively decided to call it a night. Miles and Jordan busied themselves organizing the glassware on the table, clean spills and stacking plates to make the night a little easier for the barkeep, while Todd made his way to the register to square up their tab.

It didn't take long before everyone filed out of the bar. Bob tried to catch a glimpse of his military counterpart, but, between his own packmates and the people settling up at the bar, there were too many people in the way. He could have sworn he saw that perfectly coifed hair swiveling to face them as they left, but he couldn't be certain.

The parking lot was mostly silent except for the buzzing of the neon lights in the Top Deck's windows, so any noise the pack made was amplified. From the words they exchanged to the keys jingling in the drivers' hands and especially to the gravel crunching under foot, Bob almost didn't hear Rocco when he started talking.

"Was he nice?"

"Hmm?" Bob answered, blinking and looking up at his mate. Rocco smiled down at him, one of those smiles that made him look devilishly handsome. That smile used to haunt his dreams before Bob had finally admitted his attraction to the alpha, but now it brightened his days and warmed his nights.

"Was he nice? The guy you chatted with."

"Oh? Yeah. Yeah, he was really sweet," Bob said, pushing his hands even deeper into his pockets as the cool night air nipped at his skin. Once again, he ran his fingers over the phone as if expecting it to buzz or ring at any moment. Or maybe he hoped it would.

"Sweet, huh?" Rocco said teasingly. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Bob's, who retaliated by leaning against him. From the way Rocco immediately put his arm around the omega, Bob didn't think he was complaining much.

His next words were quieter, spoken practically into Bob's ear.

"You feelin' better?"

Bob didn't mean to stop in his tracks, but Rocco jerked to a halt next to him, practically getting whiplash from the sudden pause in their walk. He wanted to deny it, of course. To tell Rocco that he had no clue what the alpha was talking about. But, looking up into the eyes of his mate, he knew that lying was useless. Rocco knew he'd been in a rotten mood all day, as much as Bob had tried to hide it.

He wasn't even sure why he'd been having a bad day to begin with. It could have been a million things. Or it could have been nothing. After all, it's like his therapist always said - depression doesn't always need a reason.

Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd approached Bob Floyd to begin with. I mean, yeah, the guy had his hoodie, the same one Bob R had pulled on as soon as the crisp night air hit his bare arms. If Bob put his nose to it, he imagined he could still smell the beta's scent - clean and woodsy with just a hint of something sharp, like the one that lingered on his clothes the one time Todd had managed to convince him to fly on a plane despite his fear of heights. It was like gasoline or kerosene but not quite. The combination was odd, but Bob found that he quite liked it.

Their connection should have ended there. They'd touch hands as the WSO handed his hoodie back, Bob would think about it all night, and he'd look for the cute beta with big, blue eyes and aviator glasses every time they went to the Hard Deck from then on.

But talking to him just felt so…nice. He was nice. Bob Floyd was the kind of man who made every person he interacted with feel seen. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, he made it clear he was listening, carefully logging little tidbits into some nebulous folder in his mind to reference later. And his life was so different from anything Bob Reynolds had ever experienced, full of dangerous missions, cocky pilots, and apparently some beach football. It didn't hurt that the WSO's eyes kept slipping to Bob's lips, his ears turning scarlet when Bob flirted back with him.

Somewhere in their conversation, the ache in Bob Reynolds' chest eased, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd been in days. And the new contact in his phone just meant this wasn't just a random chat between strangers. Maybe it was the start of something more.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Rocco's words brought him back to reality, back to the cold parking lot where his mate was waiting for an answer. None of the pack's vehicles had moved either. They waited for their alpha to lead the way. Or, more likely, they stayed to make sure nothing was wrong with Bob.

That thought felt like ice water over his head. Abruptly, Bob started walking towards Rocco's car, grabbing the alpha's hand to drag him along. Letting out a grunt of surprise, his mate followed wordlessly.

When they got to the car, Bob turned around to squarely face the other man.

"I'm okay, Rock," he said, meaning those words for the first time in the past week that he'd spoken them. "I'm okay."

Rocco fixed him with a stare, one Bob could never seem to hide from. It was like his alpha could see right through him, reading all the truths etched on his soul that he tried so desperately to keep to himself, not wanting to bother his packmates. After a few tense seconds, Rocco breathed out a little sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Okay," Rocco said. There was no pushing, no trying to get more information out of the omega. And Bob knew he wouldn't. His alpha trusted that he would open up in his own time.

The ride home was full of the regular noises: the hum of the engine, bits of scattered conversation, and a little off key singing.

When they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop inside the garage, Bob didn't even reach for the handle. He knew better by now. Long ago, Rocco had made it a habit to always open the door for his passengers. It was so ingrained into Bob that it took him a few seconds to realize that the alpha didn't move to exit the car.

"I do have one question," Rocco admitted almost sheepishly. He looked almost embarrassed to ask but bursting at the seams with curiousity, like he'd been chewing on his words the entire time they'd driven home."You know I won't press the issue. I don't need to know a damn thing about him until you're ready to talk. But it's kinda killing me. Can I…" His words trailed off, looking to Bob for permission.

When Bob nodded his assent, the alpha asked simply, "What's his name?"

Now that was a question Bob was more than happy to answer. Bob grinned up at his partner, smiling even wider when confusion and even a little bit of dread crossed his beloved's face. It was like he'd told the WSO; there was always one troublemaker in a pack, a fact Bob knew well from personal experience.

So, of course Rocco didn't believe him.

"You're fucking with me," he'd insisted. "There's no way that we went to a bar full of people, and you came out with a crush on the only other Bob in there. What's his name really? James? Tom? Lewis?"

It took pulling out his phone to show Rocco the new contact he'd entered in there just an hour ago, the one with the photo he'd startled the lieutenant when he snapped it so that the WSO more resembled a deer in the headlights than a decorated military officer.

When Rocco groaned in defeat, muttering "goddamnit, Bob" under his breath, Bob Reynolds laughed harder than he'd done in months.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

He thought the only mark or remembrance of your presence at the hotel would be your name inscribed in messy handwriting on the ledger kept in the back office of that raggedy hotel. Just another two names added to a list that would soon be forgotten and stored away once it got too filled. Miles never expected you to be any more than that. But he should’ve known, from the first time you met, that you and Ben would forever change his life.

You seemed like a nice couple. Listening to Miles give his whole speech about the great hotel and all its amenities, kindly asking him questions about room service and if the lobby was free to access. It wasn’t until you wrote your names down that Miles had realized he actually did know you. Well, your husband at least.

“O-oh, you’re Ben Mears? The author?”

Ben cocked a brow, surprised, “You know my books?”

Miles nodded, “Y-yeah, uhm I really liked your last one. Didn’t really think all those reviews about it were too fair.”

Shyly keeping his eyes glued to the wood counter, Miles missed the amused look of curiosity you and Ben shared, Ben’s raised brow or the playful wink you threw at your husband before he looked back up at you, none the wiser.

Ben chuckled, “Well, thank you Miles. You think you can call my publisher and let him know that?”

You lightly slapped his shoulder; Ben acted like he’d been wounded in combat. Miles smiled at you two. He didn’t usually get to see this type of relationship with his customers. Maybe back in the hotel's hay day when the El Royale was known as the place to be, but since the loss of the gambling license, most “couples” that crossed his paths were more correctly described as clients and their entertainment for the night. You two were a breath of fresh air from that.

Miles handed you the key to your room, ignoring the static he felt as your fingers brushed against his, “What brings you to the El Royale?”

Ben hummed, looking a little pained as he uttered the word, “Inspiration.”

Miles’s brows furrowed, eyes squinting as he tilted his head to the side, “Come again?”

Ben sighed, exhausted already at the mere memory of his publisher admonishing him for his last poorly reviewed book, “Well, my publisher has been up my ass about getting a new book out before the end of the year, and uh…”

You cut in, leaning against Ben's arm, “Let’s just say, staying in New York hasn’t been all that… inspiring.”

Miles nearly snorted at your comment. The idea of New York, the state of self-discovery and endless possibilities being so uninspiring that you and Ben had to come here, to this sad, old excuse for a hotel in the middle of the Nevada and California mountains, was comical. 

And just like that, you two were off. Miles sighed in relief the moment you two disappeared into your room. He waited for the call that never came, the call from management to record the comings and dealings of the famed author staying with them for the foreseeable future, but when it never came, Miles actually felt a tad disappointed. Not that he wanted to blackmail you. Christ no, never. You were both so nice to him. He hated doing that to any guest, especially those as kind as you both, but it would’ve given him an excuse to sneak into those back rooms and take a peek. Just out of… curiosity. Yeah, that’s right. Curiosity. That was all. Nothing more.

Miles knew he shouldn’t have. He should have turned back and gone back to his room. But he couldn’t help the curiosity of it. Were you two the type to throw your bags wherever they landed and flop into bed to sleep off the exhaustion of your journey or did you get straight to… business after a long trip? Guess he’d find out soon enough.

The hallway illuminated with light as the two-way mirrors showed the inside of the various empty hotel rooms, all lonely in this great palace, just like Miles felt. Finally, he made it to your room.

The hallways were deathly quiet as he watched you two unpack. You said something that made the author chuckle and throw a shirt across the room toward you. You grinned and threw a pillow from the bed at your husband, who quickly dodged it. In a flash you were being led to the bathroom, presumably to share a shower with your husband. And just like that Miles was alone again.

It was quite a wholesome sight compared to the next time he went back to see you. He knew he shouldn’t have violated your privacy again; he just couldn’t help himself. Yesterday, you had been his only form of genuine human interaction that he’d had in months. Maybe it had been a small, fleeting moment for you, but to him it was everything.

The sun had barely risen when Miles started his rounds around the hotel. He started preparing the coffee for when you two’d inevitably come down for your morning cup of joe when he felt the pull to check those back rooms. He promised himself he’d just take a peek then march back into the lobby and stay there for further notice.

The sight before Miles boosted him with enough adrenaline for him to forgo caffeine for the rest of the day.

Your breasts bounced as you rode your husband, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as Ben had his hands on your hips, not to guide, but support you. The author looked at you like you were an angel cast down from heaven, love behind his eyes as he reached up and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, tugging at your nipple. Miles knew he shouldn’t have, but his finger flicked the switch to his side, and your moans echoed through the wall the moment he did.

“Oh! Ben, yes, yes!” Then as the author brought your nipple to his mouth, you whined, “Just like that – fuck!”

Unable to contain his own moans, Miles had to cover his mouth to drown out the sound as he palmed himself. The expression on his face could only be described as half scared, half aroused as Ben easily flipped you over.

“Shhh, darling,” Ben whispered with a smirk. “Don’t want to wake the neighbors now do we?”

“We’re the only ones in this fucking hotel. Shut up and fuck me harder, Ben.”

The author simply chuckled at your words, “As you wish.”

Your whine of Ben's name as he thrusted into you at a quicker pace nearly made Miles fall over. A wet, squelching sound of his dick slamming into your cunt followed behind every one of Ben's grunts, letting Miles and Ben know just how aroused you were.

You grabbed at his back, nails digging into his skin as you felt the pressure in your belly build, “Ben, m'close!"

Ben growled, picking up pace, “I got you, come on baby, come on my cock.”

Sweat dripped down the hotel clerk’s neck as he watched you moan. Seeing you come undone was the most beautiful thing. The way your eyes fluttered as you felt your orgasm reaching closer and closer, how you threw your head back and let out a strangled whine as you came on your husband’s cock was a work of art. A masterpiece.

Miles could barely hold back his whimper as he watched you cum. Ben handled you with a gentle touch, caressing your face as your back arched off the bed when you landed with an ‘oof’. Instead of Ben continuing on and chasing his own orgasm, he stopped, checking in on you. He pulled you into a deep, languid kiss, muttering the softest ‘you okay?’ 

You nodded, chuckling lightly as Ben pressed another kiss to your sweaty forehead. Miles was astounded at how attuned you and Ben were to each other, like you knew your partner’s next move before they did. When you moved, he moved; it was instinctive, but Miles guessed that must be what it’s like when you’ve found your person. The love of your life. Something Miles never had the pleasure of knowing.

Not with his high school sweetheart who he swapped kisses with under the school bleachers and who he swore he was going to marry when he returned from the war, or the various men he’d slept with on these very hotel beds. No, no they didn’t count. Miles was nothing more than a faded memory or another notch on their belts.

Miles couldn’t look any longer. He ignored the ache between his legs, covered the bulge in his pants with one hand and hobbled toward the exit. Once he got to his room, he’d be able to relive the ache he felt. And if the image of your breast in his mouth and Ben's hand wrapped around his cock was the only image that could make the lonely Catholic boy cum, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. Not even God himself.

---

Time seemed to fly with you and Ben at the El Royale. Usually, the days were dull and mundane, dragging on where 24 hours felt like 48. Miles didn’t think he’d see much of you besides the occasional room service or cocktail at the bar, but you and Ben rarely ever kept to yourselves.

He didn’t remember how it started, but you started sharing meals together almost immediately. Maybe it was when you offered him some pizza after ordering too much or because you ate together at the bar as you swapped stories about life in the Big Apple compared to Miles’s country life back in Indiana.

And then it turned into cooking lessons where you and Ben tried to recreate your mother’s famous chocolate pie. Miles tried to stifle a laugh as he watched you two work. Ben's hair was nearly all white with how much flour you'd thrown at him when ‘he accidentally’ got some chocolate on your face. Miles, in return, baked you both his Nana’s award-winning peach cobbler. 

Ben was almost always in the lobby or patio, pen and notebook in hand as he jotted down idea after idea. The first time Miles saw those glasses perched up on the author’s nose, he nearly stumbled back to the room he came out from. Now Miles wasn’t an idiot; Ben Mears was attractive. He thought so the moment he turned to the back cover of one of his books and read the ‘About the Author’ section and there was Ben posed with his squinted eyes and finger on his chin as if in deep thought. But with those glasses, that collared shirt and the sun illuminating behind him, Miles nearly thought he was in some romance novel.

“You alright there, Miles?”

“Huh? Oh!” Miles jumped when he realized he’d been caught staring. He was grateful Ben didn’t comment on it. The author simply smirked to himself as the hotel clerk’s ears burned red, “Ye-yeah, m’fine.”

That exact interaction happened on more than one occasion. And Ben wore that shit-eating grin each and every time.

But they only really started bonding one night when Miles had woken up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as the memories of gun fire, blood and screams of his fallen comrades shook him awake. He knew he couldn’t stay in bed, so he made his way down to the lobby, sliding on his slippers as he grabbed his robe off the side of the bed.

A few dim lanterns lit up the El Royale at this time of night, but the lobby for the most part was dark and deserted. Well, usually it was deserted.

“Hi.”

“Christ!”

Miles nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face Ben, who was sitting by himself on the lobby couch in the dark, looking quite amused at the sound Miles let out. Ben was lying across one of the couches, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Definitely won’t be able to anymore…” Miles muttered under his breath before walking behind the bar, “Tea?”

The other man shrugged, “If you don’t mind.”

While the kettle was warming up, Miles eyed Ben. He had gotten up and was messing with the fireplace, face scrunched up in frustration that it wasn't doing what he wanted.

“Here,” Miles walked over, taking over so Ben wouldn't break it. If it broke, who knew when management would ever get around to fixing the damn thing, “Let me help.”

Ben smiled at him sheepishly, heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment, “Thanks, sorry.”

Miles just threw him a tired smile, and in a flash, viola! Orange, red, and yellow flames bounced off the walls of the room, “What brings you out here so late?”

“Can’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up with my tossing and turning so….” Ben trailed off, gesturing to himself.

Once the kettle whistled and Miles made himself comfortable on the couch across from the author, it didn’t take long for the two men to start talking. First, it was just about their day, asking what errands the other ran, what plans they had for tomorrow, before turning into what led to them both seeking each other’s company.

“What’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, um,” An explosion. Smoke. Fire. Dead eyes, “Nothing just, I get nightmares from time to time. Bad… memories.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Miles meant by that. Ben had a feeling Miles served the moment he met the skittish man before him. Miles didn’t look like the stereotypical military, with his slouched shoulders and meek demeanor, but that look in his eyes screamed of someone who’d seen and survived things most couldn’t even fathom. Ben was lucky enough to have not been caught up in the draft, but he knew many who weren’t.

Ben bit the inside of his cheek, his voice much more serious than it had been all night long, “The war?”

Miles didn’t need to say anything, just a nod was enough, “W-what about you? What’s keeping you up?”

“Also, a nightmare, well, sort of. My parents died in a fire when I was very young, so I don’t really remember much about it. But when I’m sleeping, I can sometimes still feel things from that night, but it’s all fuzzy.” Ben let out a dry chuckle, shaking the thoughts out of his head, “Guess sometimes things are so bad your brain won’t let you remember them.”

“Well, my brain seems to do the opposite, won’t let me forget. I can still see them. The bodies, the dead eyes. The smell…” Miles flinched, like the memory was physically attacking him, “Can never forget the smell.”

Miles muttered the last part, but then, like a flip had been switched, he blinked, realizing what he’d revealed, not expecting himself to say something so real and personal. Ben looked like he was going to say something, but Miles didn’t want to dive deeper into it, “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, don't apologize-”

“How’s the tea?” Miles said that sharper than he intended. He’s glad his Nana isn't here to slap him over the head for being so rude.

Ben stumbled over his words. “The – oh the tea? Y-yeah it’s good. Nice. Warm. Honey?”

Miles nodded, hiding away from Ben’s pity filled eyes, “Honey.”

A silence fell over them, and Ben looked like he wanted to say more. He knew Miles didn’t want to dive back into the past conversation, but he thought about complimenting Miles on how hospitable he’d been to them since they got here. Or maybe he’d compliment his eyes. They were so blue and so pretty; Ben could get lost in them if he stared for too long. But the blare of Miles’s alarm in his room interrupted him before he could say anything else.

“Oh! Is it nearly 6 already?”

“Huh? Oh... shit it is.” Ben messed with his hair, groaning as he stood up and looked at his watch, “Thanks for keeping me company this morning, or night or whatever.”

Miles smiled, ignoring the fluttering in his chest at how adorable Ben looked with his messy hair and tired eyes, before heading back toward his room, “See you for breakfast.”

Ben watched as he left, unable to deny the fact he wished he could’ve stayed talking to Miles, even for just a little longer, “See you.”

Those nightcaps between the two men continued on nearly every night, a routine of sorts. Sometimes they talked about nothing and everything. Almost every time, without fail, you came up. Ben could tell the other man was fond of you. Miles probably thought the shadows kept the blush across his cheeks concealed, but Ben could tell from a mile away. It made Ben all the more confident that the one-sided attraction you and he had for Miles wasn’t so one-sided after all.

At first Ben thought Miles was only attracted to you. The hotel clerk wasn’t exactly the best at hiding it. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a little too long whenever you came down for your morning coffee, and how he blushed as red as a cherry tomato whenever you teased him. 

The one that always made Ben laugh every time he thought about it when he was watching you look over the engine of your guys’ car. You had taken it upon yourself to give it a once over when it wouldn’t start that morning before calling a mechanic that was going to charge way too much for a simple tow.

Blue eyes watched from behind the room blinds as your head was tucked under the hood of the car. Ben couldn’t help himself from ogling your ass from that angle, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

Ben’s eyes flickered over to Miles, who looked like he was just getting ready to do his afternoon stroll around the property when he saw you outside. Although you were facing away from him, he could tell you were frustrated from the cursing under your breath and how you threw the rag in your hand down on the engine followed by more expletives.

Averting his eyes from your ass and staring at the ground instead, he called out to you, “Car trouble?”

You turned to face him, sending him a strained smile before turning back to the car, “I was going to go into town and pick up a few things and it just… wouldn’t start, piece of shit,” you muttered those last words to yourself. You knew if Ben heard you say that about his beloved MG MGB, he would not stand for it. It was his pride and joy, even though he knew nothing about cars. “Miles… Do you happen to know of any mechanic in town? Maybe someone friendly enough that they won’t charge an arm and a leg just to look at the damn thing.”

Miles chuckled, “Afraid not, ma’am, but I’m sure we can find someone in the phone book.” He heard you mutter a ‘fuck’ before perking up again, “D-do you want me to take a look?”

You nearly jumped for joy at the offer. While you knew some things about cars, you were nowhere near an expert, “Would you? Do you know cars like that?”

Miles shakes his head, “N-not really, but I learned a little bit about them in LBJ.”

You tilted your head to the side, confused, “In what now?”

“Long Binh Junction.” When you still looked confused, he muttered, “In Vietnam.”

“Oh!” You straightened up at that, smile dimming slightly, “You served?”

“Y-yes, but that’s another life now.”

Noting how he seemed to skirt around the subject, you just nodded, “You’re too kind, Miles.”

He took the tool from your open hand, again feeling that static energy, but he didn't acknowledge it and kept his head down “Just helping where I can.”

Looking to make small talk while under the hood of your car, Miles asked, “Does Mr. Mears not –” Miles motioned to the engine of the car, and you couldn’t help but chortle at the mere idea of Ben knowing anything about cars.

“Ben may be gifted when it comes to writing, but cars? Anything to do with any type of machinery besides a pen and paper? He’s hopeless.” You proudly grinned when you heard Miles laugh.

“Oh, I think I see the issue.” Miles took the rag you handed him, wiping his hands clean as he explained, “Needs a new battery, and some spark plugs. Nothing too hard to change if you got the right tools, which I’m sure I got…”

The hotel clerk seemed to forget his words as his eyes moved from your face to the hand on his arm. Your hand was on his arm, rubbing it up and down before giving it a gentle squeeze as you smiled. Miles nearly combusted when you pressed an appreciative kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Miles. We’d be calling every mechanic in the phone book if it wasn’t for you.”

Heat bloomed under the hotel clerk's skin, his entire face turning a light shade of pink that reached all the way down to his neck, “O-of course. Um, d-do you need, um, me to help you to order the parts? Or, or I can help -”

You waved him off, “It’s quite alright Miles, you’ve done more than enough. I’ll get Ben to handle it. If he can’t look at a car, the least he can do is order the parts, no?”

“Right, right.” He stepped back, watching as you closed the hood of the car. His eyes couldn't help but wonder at your dress, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at how it hugged your figure in all the right places. 

Ben hummed in interest as he watched you two bid each other goodbye, not at all missing how the hotel clerk’s gaze lingered on you, completely unbothered by it. You and he had always been different from other couples, more understanding than most.

You shared your bed with a third person only twice before. Both left you and your husband reeling in the aftermath when you learned the other wanted nothing more than to experiment or live to tell the tale of a wild night sleeping with a married couple. Although you didn’t care what others thought, you couldn’t be too upset when your past partners left when they realized you both wanted more.

Pretty soon after your talk under the hood of Ben’s car, you and Miles got really close over your shared hobbies. Miles liked to knit while you crocheted. They were different yet similar art forms. Sometimes you’d read aloud while Miles knit or cleaned around the lobby, stopping every so often to laugh at the dialog the author used or speculate about what you thought was going to happen next.

One time you surprised him. The weather started to get colder, the sun set earlier and the clouds started creeping in closer and closer every day. You noticed that Miles’ clothes seemed too sparse. He mainly wore his work uniform but on more than one chilly night, you found the hotel clerk wondering about the grounds shivering from the cold, his cheeks red as he tried and failed to protect his face from the icy winds.

Miles knew you were making something, but he thought it was for Ben. Imagine his surprise when you gave him a scarf, wrapping it around his neck and sides of his head as you explained why you were giving it to him. Miles thought it was beautiful. It was brown and soft, and so, so warm.

“I don’t know what to say, just, thank you. Thank you so much.”

You laughed as Miles hugged you, “I’m glad you like it.” Before placing a delicate kiss on the man’s cheek. It was the second one you’d given him, and Miles couldn’t believe it. Were you always so affectionate with people you didn’t know? Was this just something reserved for him, because you were friends? Was it… Could it…?

When you pulled back, Miles looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised as his throat went dry. Instead, he just mumbled another ‘thank you’ before holding the scarf close to him. The very next day Miles was dressed in his usual work attire but with one other addition, your scarf.

A couple days later, Miles had a gift of his own for you. Originally, he was knitting the blanket for himself. As the El Royale aged, the insulation in the building worsened and as the colder time of the year drew near and with management giving no indication into upgrading the bedding of the hotel, Miles decided to make a blanket of his own. But when he heard from Ben that you'd been shivering more at night, he immediately knew the blanket was no longer his to keep.

“For you.”

Your eyes widened, a surprised smile on your face as Miles revealed the secret he’d been hiding behind his back. A gasp escaped you as you touched the fabric. It was wool, but not the itchy kind. It was thick and soft, the best thing to wrap around yourself as you sat beside the fire with a book in your lap as it rained outside.

Clutching it to your chest, you beamed at him, “Miles! You shouldn't have. Oh! I love it!”

He rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish smile on his face as you complimented the fabric and his technique, “I know, but… you mentioned being cold at night now that winter's coming, and I, uh, well, I also wanted to thank you for the scarf you gave me.”

Lightly, you flicked his shoulder, ignoring his little ‘hey!’ “You don't need to give me things in return, Miles. That was a gift.”

“I know! I know, but I just…wanted to do something nice for you.”

Miles shrunk away at his confession, eyes glued to the floor. Your heart nearly soared out of your chest at his words. You thanked him again with a hug this time, and Miles couldn't help but bury his head in your neck. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, not wanting the hug to end.

The night Miles knew he was absolutely and unequivocally gone for both of you was a couple of days later. You were going about your usual routine, reading a book in the lobby as Miles sat beside you, this time with his blanket over your lap. 

At first Miles always sat far away enough as to not make you uncomfortable, but in your time together, he went from sitting on the other side of the couch to you being tucked under his arm, a blanket you made thrown over both your laps with your mugs of Chamomile resting on the table.

Your head lulled to the side as you started speaking slower and yawning between your sentences. Then, silence. The thump of the book in your hands falling shut when your hands went limp echoed as Miles felt the added weight of your head in the crook of his neck.

Oh. My. God.

Miles froze. He carefully moved to peek at you before looking straight ahead again. Okay, okay it’s fine, it’s fine. Besides the fact you’re going to be upset at losing your spot in the book when you wake up later, this was all going to be fine. He just needed his heart to stop beating out of his chest as he caught a whiff of your shampoo.

Miles bit his bottom lip as he stared down at you. He just didn’t have it in his heart to wake you, but he knew you’d do much better sleeping in your own bed than the hotel lobby, so he hooked one arm under your legs and picked you up bridal style. He stopped breathing for a moment when you stirred, looking like a deer in headlights until you settled down, mumbling something in your sleep as you snuggled his chest. Breathing a sigh of relief, Miles made sure you were secure in his arms, and carried you to your room.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, just as Miles reached your room, a groggy Ben opened the door, saving him from having to figure out how to knock and make sure you don’t wake up at the same time.

“Oh! Miles! Hey, wha- oh. She fell asleep?”

“Y-yeah,” Miles whispered, checking to make sure you didn't wake up at Ben’s voice, but thankfully all you did was stir before nuzzling closer to his chest. You were going to be the death of him and you didn't even know what you were doing, “I didn't have the heart to wake her up.”

The two men shared a smile before Ben stepped aside to let Miles in. Ben tried to offer his arms up to take you, but Miles shook his head. He’d hate to have you get woken up because he transferred you from his arms to Ben's.  

Miles set you down on the bed while Ben took off your shoes, a tense, yet comfortable silence falling between them. Tense for Miles because he was finally in the room he’d watched you and Ben on that first day you checked in. He avoided the backrooms since that day he saw you having sex. No matter how tempted he was, he wasn’t going to violate your privacy like that again.

The floorboards creaked as Ben got up and snatched up a pair of wool socks from your drawer before sitting down on the bed and bringing your legs into his lap, “Her feet run cold, so she always gotta sleep with her fuzzy socks on.”

Miles chuckled, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, thank goodness too.” Ben rubbed your calves, smiling fondly down at your sleeping figure, “No more getting attacked by her icicles every night and morning as long as she got them on.”

Two sets of blue eyes met and after a beat, stifled laughter filled the room. Miles grinned even wider when Ben told him not to tell you he told him that. Ben's love for you was so obvious and raw and real. Though his heart broke because he knew he’d never experience that with either of you, he was happy for you both.  

“Did you end up finding what you were looking for?”

Ben cocked a brow at Miles, “Whatcha mean?”

While throwing another blanket over your sleeping body, Miles reminded Ben, “You said that when you checked in. That you were searching for something, that something was missing in New York. Did you find it?”

Ben paused, watching as Miles tucked you in. All the instincts in his body told him to lean forward, kiss the man next to him and tell him he was who they were looking for, but he shook his head at the thought. “Yeah, yeah I think we have.”

Finally satisfied that you were comfortable, Miles turned to Ben, “Good.” But there was something different in his eyes when he said it. Something almost… sad.

Ben noticed immediately, concerned, “You okay?”

Miles nodded, avoiding Ben's face as he stood up, “Yeah, yeah, I'm just tired. I’ll leave you be, have a good night.” And like that, Miles rushed out. He could barely hear Ben's response with how quickly he dashed out of there.

When Miles finally made it back to his own quarters, sitting there alone in the dark, desolate room, he could finally let himself break down at what Ben's words really meant. His hands shook, as he tried to unbutton his shirt, a ragged exhale leaving his lungs when he could finally get it off him. If you truly found what you were looking for, the day would soon come that you two would finally check out and he’d never see you again. That made his heart race, and not in a good way.

He’d like to imagine you’d be indefinite guests here. He had gotten so used to having someone to talk to. You two became the people who helped pass the time when he was polishing the same unused glasses for the hundredth time. There were other guests who stayed when you were there, but neither had the effect on him that you two did. It was like you were a witch and cast a spell on him, keeping him only on you.

Miles shook his head at himself. He shouldn't be thinking this. You and Ben weren't his to keep. To have and to hold. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest, inducing sleep to avoid pain, but no matter how hard he tried, his brain wouldn't shut up. All he saw when he closed his eyes was the back of Ben's car as you and Ben left him, forever. So he did something he hadn't done in a while. Miles thought he wasn't worthy of God's ear for a long time now. Someone who's hurt as many people as he had should not get that pleasure. Nor someone with the same temptations as he.

“Lord,” Miles began, dropping to his knees and intertwining his hands together as he prayed, “I know I have no reason to ask this of you right now, but I need your help. Please, rid me of these urges and wants. I know it’s not right, wanting a man and woman, a married couple, but I can't-” Miles inhaled sharply, nearly collapsing against the edge of his bed as he felt tears brimming his eyes, “Please just stop it. I don't wanna miss them when they leave. Please.”

It almost made Miles chuckle at the irony of it all. He used to pray for a lover who'd love him whole and completely, and yet here he is now, praying his feelings would disappear.

Miles wiped the stray tear from his cheek, sniffling as he got up and settled himself into bed. The cold bed squeaked under him as he pulled one of his pillows into his arm, pulling it under his chin so he had something to hold. Miles liked to think he did this because it brought him some comfort, but really, it was so that way he could sleep, imagining for once, he wasn't going to bed alone.

It was apparent that his prayers went unanswered when your impending departure was the only thing on Miles’s mind all day long. It was all he thought of as he washed the dishes from last night's dinner, cleaned the counters for the fifth time that day and as Miles prepared Ben a drink for their usual nightcap. You two had mostly kept to yourselves today, and Miles hated to admit how much he missed your company. He really wanted to march down to your room and ask if he could come in to just be near you. Whether it be watching TV, listening to the radio or reading a book, he didn’t care. But that would’ve been too much.

He was almost afraid Ben wouldn't come tonight because he had barely seen him, but when the author finally made an appearance, Miles let out a sigh of relief. The usual pleasantries were exchanged between them, before Miles went to get Ben's drink ready and that was when his mind wandered to you. Should he ask for you to join them? He’d really like that. Even though you were probably busy, but he just -

“You alright there, Miles?”

Miles blinked, dropping the spoon into the drink he’d most definitely over stirred as he got lost in his head. Ben sat right across from him, book in hand and glasses perched up on his nose.

The longer the hotel clerk looked at the famed author, the drier his mouth felt. 

Ben looked at him, concerned, still waiting for an answer.

Miles’s voice came out shakier than intended, “O-oh right. Yes, yes, I’m f-fine.”

Ben hummed, putting the book in his lap down and standing up, “I’m gonna miss this place ya know?”

“Oh!?” Christ Miles! Keep your voice at a normal octave.

“Yeah…” Ben trailed off, gazing at Miles with a look so intense the hotel clerk had to look away, “Like I said, finally found that thing I was looking for. Plus, we’ve been getting a bit antsy for a change of scenery. Not saying California isn’t pretty but…”

Miles laughed half-heartedly, before his face turned serious again, “W-when will you be going?” he doubts you’ll be leaving soon. You have to at least give him a two week notice. So he could mentally prepare. He’ll make sure to cherish his time with you both even more. Not that he already didn't, but he’d make sure to remember the sound of your laugh, the smell of Ben's cologne. Maybe he can take one of your pillows, so he can still have something that smelled of you both, until it inevitably disappeared with time -

“Probably in a couple days. At most a week.”

“What!? But that’s so-” Miles cleared his throat, collecting himself. Pull yourself together man! “Sorry, I mean, that’s soon.”

Ben nodded, tapping his finger on the armrest of the couch, “I know…” before he changed the subject, a look flashing across his face that Miles didn't recognize. “Do you dance?”

Miles flashed him an incredulous look, but shook his head, “Not really, no.”

Ben stood up, walking to the dusty jukebox with a sway in his step. The author tapped his foot as he searched for a record to play, before he found the perfect one.

And yet as the record started to play, instead of sitting back down and humming the tune like Ben usually did on nights like this, he walked up to Miles and outstretched his hand.

“Neither do I.”

Miles tried to wave him off, shaking his head when Ben beckoned him over, “O-oh no, I can’t”

“Come on, what’s one dance?”

Miles gave him a look. One dance was asking a lot. That meant Miles would be pressed up against Ben, nose to nose, well, chin to nose since Ben had a couple inches on him, but still, they'd be so close. And what if Miles stepped on his feet? Or what if he'd look so deeply into Miles' soul that he’d realize his feelings for the author? For you? Oh you. What if YOU walked in and thought-

Ben's hand slid over his shoulder, grabbing Miles’s attention. Ben still had that stupid smile on his face,”Comeon, just this once.” 

Miles let out an exasperated sigh, acting as if having the chance to be so close to the man that made his heart skip and head spin was such a chore, “Alright. But if I step on your feet, it’s your own fault.”

“Yesss!”

Miles laughed at his reaction, his stomach doing somersaults as an ink-stained hand wrapped around his smaller, paler hand. Ben held Miles tight at the waist, their hips swaying as the chorus of the song played.

“Is this okay?”

Goosebumps spread up and down Miles’s neck as he felt Ben's hot breath on his skin, “Y-yes, fine. It’s fine.”

“Good, good.” Wooden floorboards creaked quietly under them as they swayed. Miles kept his gaze focused on Ben’s Adam's apple, too scared to look up. And Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the other man, he barely could since he met the man all those months ago. 

Ben was immediately taken with Miles when you met him that first night. You weren't at all surprised as you heard Ben rave to you about how cute the doe-eyed hotel clerk was, gushing about how he blushed and stuttered. Ben always liked to claim he fell in love with you the moment you met, and so far, he’s yet to contradict that statement. And then not even a week later, you were doing the same. Your face hot and flustered as Ben teased you about your crush after he caught you doodling Miles’s face in that notebook of yours. That’s when you knew you had to decide quickly if you wanted to pursue something with Miles or not. And the answer was obvious to you both, and Ben was looking to take that leap for you both.

Ben couldn’t help himself as he blurted out, “You’re beautiful.”

“Ummm,” Miles swallowed, stiffening as his eyes darted from Ben to the floor.

Ben caught on, and started rubbing circles with his thumb on Miles's hip bone, “I don’t mean to offend or make you feel awkward, it’s just, you are. Very beautiful.”

The air went still, something shifting between them. It felt like time stopped as the music playing became nothing but a quiet lull as the two men stared at one another. Miles couldn't stop looking at Ben's crooked smile, memorized. Ben looked like he was in a trance as he brushed the lonely curl out of Miles eyes, cupping his cheek after.

“I-”

Ben leaned forward, placing a delicate, almost tentative kiss against Miles’ lips. Miles’s breath hitched, his brain glitching for a moment before he kissed back. Oh, this was better than Miles could have ever imagined. Ben was so gentle with him, cupping his cheek as he pulled him into a deeper kiss. 

Ben's hands tightened along Miles's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Miles' hands got tangled up in the author's hair, the kiss going from sweet to excited.

Ben's lips were so soft; he tasted so sweet. Then, Miles thought of you. Would your lips be just as soft? Would he be able to taste the flavor of your chapstick as his tongue danced along your mouth? 

Wait…no, this was all wrong.

In an instant, Miles pushed back, “N-no.”

Ben tried, cupping his face again, “Miles-”

“You’re married.”

The sound Miles made nearly broke Ben’s heart. He sounded so broken. So betrayed at Ben for kissing him, for making him a perpetrator in a seeming attempt to commit adultery. If he only knew this was meant to happen. Not exactly of course. You and Ben were going to talk to Miles before you left. To explain your feelings to the man you’d both come to care for far more intensely than you should for only knowing him a few months, but you needed to let him know before you left.

“Yes, but Miles, she, we, we both-”

“No!” Miles snapped, his lip wobbling as he backed away even further from Ben, “I- I need to go. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to, I just, I need to go.”

“Miles!” Ben tried to get him to stop, but the sound of the maintenance door slamming shut was deafening. The author rubbed his face. With all the vocabulary and literacy experience he had, there was only one word he could use to describe this situation he’d just put himself in and what he was feeling as he thought of telling you what he’d just done.

“Shit.”

---

Miles couldn’t hide from either of you for too long.

He stayed in his room in the hour following his outburst, spending most of his time on his knees, praying with his Nana's old rosary. But he knew it was futile, for if he doubted God was listening to him before, he surely wasn't listening now. Not after that kiss. 

And he also felt so bad about how he snapped at Ben. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about it. Ben was the outlier here, but that shattered look in Ben's eyes kept flashing to the front of his mind every time he closed his eyes.

It’d only been a couple hours since his adulterous kiss when he got a call from your room. He debated letting it ring, too scared of confrontation, but the longer that shrill ring of the phone went on, the worse his fear of you storming over and telling him off in person grew. You wouldn’t be mad at him. He knew that. Your husband was the one who kissed him after all, but Miles honestly didn’t know what to expect. 

Miles’s voice only wavered slightly as he answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possible, “Thank you for calling the-the, um El Royale. This is M-Miles speaking.”

“Miles…” you sounded tense, like you just had an argument and were holding in all your emotions. Miles gripped the phone even harder hearing the shakiness in your voice, “Could you be a dear and come by the room when you have a chance? There’s something…” You paused, and Miles wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “Something we need to discuss with you.”

Panicked, “M-ma’am, I swear I –”

“We’ll see you in a bit, Miles.”

Defeatedly, he responded, “O-okay.”

“Great, thank you.”

Miles’s hands shook even worse as he put the phone down. His eyes flickered over to where your room was; all the lines of windows from the empty rooms were pitch black besides yours. Despite the curtains being drawn closed, he could still see the light from inside. 

His fingers twitched as he stared at the door leading to the back rooms. It wasn't right, he knew that, but part of him wanted to know what he was getting into before he left. But a flicker from outside drew his attention. Your curtain opened, and he couldn't tell who was there, but it looked like someone was looking out the window, probably looking for him. 

The walk to your room felt like the most strenuous journey. Fallen leaves and gravel crunched under his shoes, the clouds circling over the El Royale in a way that made Miles sure it was a taunt.  A glimpse into the storm he was walking into. When Miles got to your door, he debated just turning around and hightailing it back to his little shack of a room until your door creaked open.

There you stood, wrapped up in the blankets Miles knit for you, with swollen eyes, like you'd been crying, and with a look on your face Miles couldn’t decipher. A mix of sadness, anger, and something he couldn’t quite understand (hope?) was etched across your face. 

“Miles.” Your voice sounded rough, smile not reaching your eyes. “Thank you for coming. Please come in.”

Miles shook his head, backing away, but you reached out, grip firm but still gentle, and tugged him inside, “Please Miles, we just want to talk.”

He let you pull him in, and the first thing the hotel clerk saw was Ben sitting on the couch, a look of guilt flooding his face. The author looked like a dog who’d just been caught doing something bad and received the reprimand of a lifetime. He tried to send Miles a reassuring smile, but Miles averted his eyes to the floor, shame flooding him all over again.

“Miles-”

“I’m sorry -” He immediately fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain he felt as his bone connected with the wooden floors at the wrong angle. He didn't flinch when he heard Ben’s involuntary gasp or the scrape of the chair behind him, his hand clasped together with yours as he begged for forgiveness, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any distress!”

Your hands shot out, trying to get him off the floor, “Miles please, stand up, you don’t need to -”

“I’m terribly sorry for – I swear I would never -”

“Miles, Miles please! There isn’t anything to forgive. Ben was supposed to wait until -”

“Please don't be mad! I swear - wait, wait, wait…” Miles’s eyes flickering to you then Ben and back to you, “Supposed to wait… for what? To.. to kiss me?”

You nodded, helping the open-mouthed clerk up off the floor onto the edge of the bed, sitting beside him. Ben stayed on the other side of the room, waiting for your okay to move.

Miles looked less stressed but more confused now, “What… I don’t... I don't understand.”

You sighed, rubbing his back, “This isn't how we wanted to tell you. We had a plan in place.” You spoke very pointedly at Ben, who cringed and slumped down in his seat at your tone.

“A… a plan?”

You exhaled, squaring your shoulders up like it’d give you the confidence you needed to confess, “We were going to ask you out properly at least once before we left. Take you somewhere nice now that the car’s fixed. We knew we couldn’t just spring this on you out of nowhere. We thought we weren’t being subtle about it, but maybe we were.”

“So… so you're not mad at me? For the kiss?”

“At you? Heavens no! I was mad at Ben for not acting according to plan…” You trailed off, watching your husband lean forward and face palm himself, “Only slightly.”

Miles looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You… you and Ben… you wanted him? How… Why? Did God finally answer his prayers and give him the love he so sought after? No, Miles didn’t want to dwell on it any longer. You wanted him. Him! He wasn’t going to question it.

“A-all this time - I, I’ve never felt this way before. I didn’t think it was right. Falling for two people, let alone a married couple, but -” Ben moved closer, noticing the shake in Miles’s voice, and Miles immediately leaned into him, “But I have. It’d be a lie to suggest otherwise.”

Nudging your nose against his, you asked, “Can I kiss you, Miles?”

He didn’t care that he sounded desperate and needy when he answered you, “Please.”

You closed the gap between you, hands cupping Miles’s cheeks as you finally kissed the man you’d been pinning over for so long. It may be a cliche, but you swore you felt sparks fly as your lips met. Hands gripped your sides tight, like Miles was afraid you’d disappear if he let you go. Like he was so scared that he’d open his eyes and find this was all some cruel dream. That he wasn’t actually here, kissing the woman of his dreams.

It escalated after that. You had told yourselves you wouldn’t, but sometimes instincts took over and all you could do is act. Ben’s cock ached the longer he watched you two, and he desperately needed another taste.

His cock twitched as the shy hotel clerk let out the most adorable squeak when Ben quickly pulled him away, barely letting him breathe before capturing him in another heated kiss. You didn’t let that interruption deter you. As much as you would’ve liked to spend hours kissing Miles, you found yourself littering the neck of the man sandwiched between you two with hickies, sucking and biting wherever you could.

Miles’s breath hitched as hands tugged on the hotel clerk’s belt. A choked cry left him as Ben slid his hand under Miles’s underwear and touched him. It’d been so, so long since Miles felt a touch that wasn’t his there. And Ben wasn’t rough or quick with his movements like how Miles touched himself. He was curious, languid in his movements as his hand stroked him. Miles could’ve cum from just this, you sucking on his pulse point and Ben jerking him off, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to be as close to you as possible when that time came.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

You pulled back, “What’s wrong?”

Ben’s hand moved from his cock, but Miles’s hand stopped him before he could pull away, “Are we moving too fast? Are you okay?”

“M’fine, I swear, more than fine. I just…I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You cooed at how shy he was admitting that. Miles blushed even harder when you gave his cheek another peck, “Okay, let’s go at your pace. Where do you want us, baby?”

“I don’t know, I just- I just want you both, please.”

“Wanna sit on his face, love?”

Miles’s hips jerked forward at that. His face somehow burned even hotter when you and Ben chuckled at his desperation.

“I think that’s a yes.”

You chuckled at Ben before turning back to him, “Want that honey? Want me to sit on your face?”

He nodded, but you shook your head, “Need to hear you say it baby.”

“Yes, please!”

With that, you kissed him again, both you and Ben working quickly to rid Miles of his clothes and then your own. Once the three of you were in your naked glory, you maneuvered Miles onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow. You hovered over the hotel clerk’s face, giggling as you wiped a bit of drool from his chin.

“Ready, darling?”

Miles nodded, licking his lips  as he stared at your pretty pussy.

You tutted, hand coming up and pulling at his hair. You felt a slick rush through your heat at the pathetic whine Miles let out, “Words.”

“Y-yes, please. I'm ready, I'm ready.”

The moment your pussy connected with Miles’s face, he went wild. Gone was the frazzled, shy hotel clerk from before, now in his place, was a man frenzied for the taste of a pussy he had been dreaming of for oh so long. His tongue darted forward, tracing every surface and crevice of your folds. Miles couldn't get enough; you tasted so sweet and you were so wet for him already.

Your fingers found their way into Miles' unruly locks, decimating the presentable, put-together look they’d had as you curled your fingers into a fist and pulled. You moaned, feeling his tongue glide along your slick-soaked folds. A whimper escaped your gritted teeth as his nose bumped against your clit, and it took everything in you to not start grinding against his face to chase after the feeling, “Miles! Yes! Yes! Fuck, do that again!”

And do that again he did. Every bump of his nose against your sensitive little nub had you seeing stars, thighs tightening over his head, but Miles didn't care. He'd happily suffocate between your legs if it meant he got to hear you mewl and whine his name all day.

Ben watched from the side, entranced. He rubbed his clothed cock, moaning quietly as you turned back to look at him, throwing him a quick wink before going back to facing Miles. Ben couldn't ignore the strain in his pants anymore. You just looked so beautiful like this, both of you. If it was possible, he would’ve gotten this moment framed so it could be immortalized. That look in Miles’s eyes as he looked up at you, studying every part of your face, making sure he was pleasing you the way you deserved. The way your mouth opened in an ‘O’, a moan escaping you as Miles’s nose bumped your clit again.

The bed dipped as the author crawled toward you two. Swiftly, Ben grabbed a hold of those slim, pale legs and spread them apart, his mouth watering as Miles's puckered hole fluttered back at him, “So beautiful.” Ben muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against him.

Miles squeaked against you, hole tightening. Ben chuckled, “God you're so cute,” before he spit on his entrance. A desperate, muffled sound escaped Miles as he heard the clasp of the lube and felt two fingers probing at his entrance. He whined, grabbing your thighs even tighter as Ben's fingers entered him. 

You couldn't help but giggle as you started grinding down on his face, “Open him up nice and good, Ben. He makes the most adorable noises.”

“So fucking adorable,” Ben muttered, “Cant wait till i feel him around me.” 

Precum spurted from Miles’s slit when he heard that, and you giggled, cooing at how blown Miles eyes were as Ben began scissoring him open. Every curl and twist of those long fingers elicited moans, each one louder than the last. And the louder Miles was, the more those fingers worked.

Ben made eyes at you, giving you a look that said ‘watch this’ and you quirked up a brow, wondering what he was going to do. And then, Miles jerked, moaning against your sex and eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt Ben ghost his prostate, teasing him. Goosebumps littered Miles' skin when Ben bit down on the flesh of his thigh, legs jerking to the side when Ben did it again with a rougher bite.

It didn’t take long for you to climax after that. You could feel the coil in your belly twisting and turning with every whimper, grunt, and lap at your folds. Miles had a wondrous tongue, keeping you on edge for the longest time, but Miles, feeling overwhelmed with the new, exciting feeling, instinctively wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and sucked. That did you in.

The noise that came from you was high-pitched, almost animalistic as you arched your back, toes curling and thighs clenching as waves crashed through your body, the cry of Miles’s name leaving your lips as your orgasm wracked through you. Thank God the bed had a headboard for you to hold onto or else you would have collapsed entirely on the man under you. Slick gushed over Miles' face, and he didn't care. He kept lapping and sucking on your arousal. 

You whined, “Miles, m’sensitive” and slowly lifted your hips, muscles aching from being in the same position for so long, but before you could get far, you were pulled back down.

Blue eyes glimmered with want, the hands around your thighs tightening as they tried to keep you in place. You laughed, shaking your head at the hazy eyes under you, “Oh, Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.” Another whine from him made you giggle. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, you let him stay there for a little longer before you had to physically pry his hands off you, “Come on baby, let me go. Don't worry, I ain’t going anywhere, just wanna lay down beside you.”

Finally, with sad eyes, he let you go. The moment you were off him, Ben couldn’t help but surge forward, purring against Miles’s lips, “Wanna taste you two together,” before his tongue slipped between those plush, slick-coated lips. Clammy hands wrapped around Ben's shoulders, tugging him closer. They got lost in each other, hands roaming everywhere, grabbing and pulling at whatever they could reach. You watched from beside Miles, feeling a familiar throb in between your legs as precum spurted again from the slit of Miles’s cock and onto Ben’s belly. 

Ben huffed a laugh as he felt that sticky substance on his skin, “Okay, okay, won't keep you waiting any longer.” Miles' chest heaved up and down, eyes only leaving Ben for a second when you took his hand in yours. “You ready, baby?”

Miles had never nodded his head so fast before, “Please, I need to feel you inside me.”

You kept your gaze locked on Miles as Ben's dick hovered over his entrance, not taking your eyes off him when he shut his to brace for the stretch of Ben’s girthy member. 

You studied the beauty of Miles Miller coming undone. How his mouth opened slightly to whine, and how he bit down his lower lip to hold back an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper as Ben finally pushed inside. Tears of ecstasy escaped his iridescent blue eyes, and his lips glistened in the light, coated with his drool and your slick.

Ben's eyes twisted shut as Miles clenched tightly around him, keeping him close, “You feel amazing, so tight.”

After letting Miles get used to the feeling of being stretched wide, Ben finally tried moving. Miles gripped your hand, hissing as Ben pulled out, only to slam back into him. Miles cried out, the bedframe hitting the wall with a thud as Ben found his rhythm fast. 

With a mischievous smile, you started toying with Miles’s nipple, smiling wider when he moaned, squirming and clenching against Ben as you started rubbing his nub until it hardened. 

Miles whimpered through gritted teeth when you wrapped your lips around his nipple and sucked, “Oh my god! Ugh!” 

Not a single coherent sentence left Miles’s trembling lips as Ben hit his prostate dead on, and you sucked and nipped at his chest, just your name, Ben’s, and various “Oh my god!”s, “Please!”s, and “F-fuck, s-so good!”s leaving the man.

It wasn’t long before Miles cried out, his seed shooting out and spilling all over his chest, even reaching the bottom of his chin as the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced ran through him. Sobs wracked his body as he felt pure euphoria. 

You immediately soothed him, petting his hair and whispering words of praise and affection as the last of his cum spurted onto his tummy, “You did so good, Miles. S’good for us. Our good boy.” All Miles could do was whimper as you kissed his fallen tears over and over.

Ben was right behind him, grunting into Miles’s neck as his cum flooded the other man’s ass. He had nearly collapsed on top of Miles but caught himself before he could crush him with his body weight.

Ben pulled out and fell to the other side of Miles. Blindly, Miles reached behind him, searching. Ben intertwined his hand with his, pressing his chest against Miles’ back, "Beautiful. You felt so good, so beautiful. You were amazing, bud.”

Heavy breathing and the smell of sex filled the air as all three of you laid in bed together. You quickly cuddled into Miles chest, peppering his neck with light kisses as you watched him start to doze off.is eyes blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake, but the nerves and emotionally-charged conversation from earlier mixed with the most emotionally intense sex he’d ever had basically drained him off all energy.

You stroked his head, shifting up to give him better access to your chest. You held back a moan when Miles immediately latched onto your breast, his sleepy eyes staring up at you for a moment before they fluttered closed, open, and closed again.

Miles wanted to talk. He wanted to discuss next steps, what this meant. Was this just a fling, or something more? Was he meant to stay or get dressed and shamefully make his way back to his lonely cot in the lonely storage closet of the lonely hotel? But his mind could barely dwell on that, too fuzzy and comfortable with the feeling of your breast in his mouth and Ben’s stubble against his shoulder. Without even knowing, Miles fell asleep.

--

Miles wasn’t used to sleeping with another person. Miles had sexual partners in the past, but none that ever stayed long enough for him to wake up in their arms the next morning. Whether it be the sex worker who entertained him after she was done with her clients or his former dealer, who he used to trade drugs for sexual favors with. They all discarded him like yesterday’s trash after they’d gotten their fill.

It’s why when he woke up face-first in Ben' s solid chest, the author’s heart beating in his ears and your naked body pressed against his back, he didn’t know what to do. The comfortability of the environment was foreign to Miles. He felt so… safe. And that scared him.

Instinct made him panic. What if you weren’t expecting him to be here still? But the things you said last night, about wanting him… was it all just a ruse to get him in your bed? No, no you weren’t like that.

Before Miles could make a break for it and wiggle out of your hold, the arms wrapped around him gave him a gentle but firm squeeze. Blue eyes sleepily blinked down at him, before the author buried his nose in Miles’ hair, giving the top of his head a tiny, good morning peck before he snuggled the hotel clerk further.

Ben’s voice, rough and groggy, cut through the air, “Morning cuddles are the best part of the day.”

“Shut up,” You cut in, eyes closed as you pulled yourself impossibly closer to the wide eyed and no longer asleep hotel clerk, “Let me and Miles sleep.”

You yawned right at the end,and that’s when you finally opened your eyes.

Soft. That’s how Miles would describe you in the morning.

Your eyes were soft. Smile soft. Even the way your hand felt as you cupped his cheek was soft.

“You sleep, okay?”

Miles was going to say yes. Yes, he did sleep fine, how about you. Yes, yes, he slept better than he had in months, hell, years. But instead, he said:

“Did you mean it?”

You hummed, thumb still stroking his cheek, “Mean what?”

“L-last night. Y-you said you -”

Miles averted his gaze, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he felt like a bomb would go off in his chest if he finished the sentence. Ben tutted, cupping the other man’s cheek. Miles looked back up, vulnerable.

“Our feelings for you? Yes, without a doubt.”

“We meant every word, Miles.”

Miles sighed in relief, “Thank god.”

You moved to sit up, and Miles followed. He let out a little ‘oof’ when you suddenly straddled his lap. He opened his mouth to say something when you interrupted him with a kiss, “Do you,” You kissed him again, and Miles gasped against your lips as your exposed cunt rubbed right up against his twitching cock, “Have any guests checking in today?”

Miles shook his head, fighting the urge to pull you down and take you right in front of Ben, “N-no one’s on the books to come until Tuesday.”

“Good,” It’s Ben who spoke this time. The author leaned forward, chin resting on your shoulder as you shared a crooked smile with him, before turning to face the doe-eyed, red-faced hotel clerk, “Means we can have you all to ourselves then.”

And have him you did.

It would be hours until any of you left the bed that day. You explored each other’s bodies, learned what made Miles tick, what had him whimpering and begging for more, while Miles learned just how sensitive Ben’s nipples were and what it took to make you squirt.

Once you were near the brink of exhaustion, you finally stopped, collapsed onto one another as you basked in each other’s embrace. That’s when you asked the question. The question you and Ben had rehearsed over and over on how to ask, and the one Miles had been waiting to hear all night.

“Come with us. I know – we know – you have your own life here, but we don’t want to see you every so often, a few times a year. We want to wake up next to you every day and fall asleep with you every night. We know it might be too soon but -”

“Yes.”

You blinked, not expecting him to sound so sure. You thought Miles would need time to think, you were asking him to risk it all, leave his home and everything he knew. “R-really? Are you -”

Miles pulled you down and kissed you, his damp forehead pressing against yours as he muttered against your swollen lips, “Yes. No question about it. There's nothing for me here. I've been wanting to leave for so long, but never had any reason to, but you…” Ben reached up and wiped Miles’s teary eyes, “You’re reason enough.”

Never in his seven years, 10 months and 15 days of service here at the El Royale did Miles ever think he’d be able to escape the clutches of the wretched hotel. Escaping the rooms that brought him so much guilt as he remembered the people he helped blackmail, to break free of the lonely hallways he’d called home for so long. He chucked his orange blazer on the floor of the hotel lobby along with his name tag, not caring that the hotel would remain unmanned without him here. That was management's issue now, not his.

Now he was packed up in your car, his duffle and satchel nestled neatly between your suitcase and Ben's own duffle bag. The author was at the wheel, a boyish smile on his face as his hand squeezed the former hotel clerk’s thigh. You yawned and stretched out your arms like a cat before curling into Miles’s side, head tucked under his neck as you got ready for one of many road trip naps. The fit was a little snug in Ben's car, but it was comfortable enough.

“Here,” Ben tossed Miles the map from the glove compartment, “Mind being my navigator for the next couple of hours?”

Miles shook his head with a grin and opened it up, “Where we headed next?”

Ben smiled, “Well, while we may have found what we were missing in life in Nevada, or were we technically in California,” Miles blushed and smacked Ben’s shoulder, you sleepily mumbling for him to stop at the same time, “I still have to do some research.”

“I thought you said you found the inspiration you were looking for already?”

Ben ruffled Mile’s hair, while Miles just giggled before leaning his head against Ben’s shoulder, “We found what we were missing, but my book, that's a different story. And I figured no place better than to go home.”

Miles cocked a brow, “And where’s home exactly?”

Ben grimaced slightly, “Jerusalem’s Lot up in Maine. Haven’t been there since I was nine, and it’ll take us a couple days, but I have a feeling it’s the right place to be.”

Miles studied the map, his fingers gliding along the highway that'd take you all from here to Maine. There was so much of the country he called home he'd yet to explore, and now, despite the uncertainty, he could, and it was all thanks to you. With an emotional, but optimistic tone of voice, he put the map down and grabbed your hand with one and Ben's thigh with the other, “Well, let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

You squeezed Miles’s hand, nuzzling further into his side, “Yeah baby.”

Ben nodded, smirking as he pressed the button to turn the radio on, “You bet.”

Miles and his new partners in crime had no idea what was ahead of them. He was leaving everything he’s known for the past decade behind for a couple he’d known for less than four months, and slowly falling for ever since, but what was life without risk? It was time for him to take the leap and find out what life had in store for him, away from that little desolate hotel in the middle of nowhere. Now he could find his new home, with you both.

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You’ve been all over the place with your moods, every day a rollercoaster rising and dropping between feeling okay and feeling like you’ve hit rock bottom. It was exhausting. Yet, through it all, Bob stayed by your side. He knew what you were going through on a personal level, and besides that, almost a year had passed since you and him officially started dating, so by now Bob was familiar with your own highs and lows. Regardless of how he himself was feeling during your lows, he always tried his best to be there to help you. But sometimes, when it got bad enough, you would try to push him away.

Today was one of those days.

You had started off okay. Not exactly content, but not low either. You felt just shy of neutral. That was until, out of nowhere, the low gripped you by the ankle and pulled you back down into it. You grew silent as the ache festered and grew into a pit within you - your own inner void waking up and trying to consume you.

“You okay, baby?” Bob asked when he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “I’m fine,” you replied flatly. “Babe…,” he said softly, knowing you were lying. “I said I’m fine,” you snapped back.

You stood up and headed to the bedroom, leaving Bob alone on the couch. Crawling into bed and burying yourself beneath the blankets, anger welled up inside you: anger at life, anger at how you couldn’t stop feeling this way, anger at all your doubts, your fears, all the unknowns, and anger at yourself. Your self-isolation didn’t last long, however, and you felt the bed dip slightly under Bob’s weight as he sat on the edge of the bed by your hips.

“Hey. Talk to me,” Bob said softly. He didn’t mean to press, but he was. You remained silent, your anger and frustration growing as your mood continued to sink lower. “Baby, please.” “I don’t want to,” you told him. As much as you loved him you wanted him to leave you alone; really, you wanted the whole world to leave you alone. “Why not?” “Because I don’t fucking want to! Because nothing matters!” You didn’t shout, but your voice was biting. “Nothing matters. Nothing will ever matter. It’ll never get better. It’s all pointless.”

It’s not the first time you’ve said those words, and it’s not the first time Bob has comforted you through moments like these. Unfortunately, you and Bob often enough swapped roles. Some days he was the one hurting and you were the one offering your support, and some days, like today, it was you who was doing the hurting and him who was trying to do the supporting.

It’s also not the first time you’ve snapped at him like this. When the pain got too deep, and the desire to self-isolate got too strong, when you wanted to push everyone away - a subconscious form of hurting yourself - you could bite. But so could Bob when he felt the same way. It was something you both struggled with but were trying to work on. But right now you weren’t trying to work on anything, and Bob, despite all his good intentions, was making it worse with how he was pressing you to talk. He knows you hate it, and he hates it when you do it to him, so you both try to be mindful about giving each other space, but sometimes you both fail to realize you’re doing it when your feelings of concern become a little overbearing.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and softly told him, “you should leave.” Those words never ceased to trigger his fear of abandonment and his stomach dropped as he started to panic. “Wait. What? Why?” “I’m hurting you. All I do is drag you down. Me being like this. It hurts you. Hurts your stability.” There was no emotion in your tone. “My what? Baby, you’re not hurting me,” he argued. “Just go,” you told him, not wanting to fight over the matter. “No. I’m not -,” “I want you to fucking leave,” you cut him off as you pushed yourself up and moved around him to get out of bed, trying to put distance between the two of you. “Stop!” he said, voice raised, as he stood and started following you as you walked out of the room. “I said leave!” you repeated.

After making your way to the kitchen you pulled out a garbage bag from under the sink and started to take the full bag from the garbage can. You were trying to be productive as well as to distract your mind. Bob stopped only a few feet from you and watched, puzzled.

“What are you doing?” “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to get one fucking thing done today,” you spat. “You don’t have -.” “I do. I do ‘have’. It is fucking ridiculous anymore. Absolutely ridiculous that I can’t get a single fucking thing done all day. I can’t take out the trash. I can’t clean. I can’t do the dishes. I can’t cook. I can’t go out. I can’t shower. I can’t read or write or even listen to music. I can’t watch a damn movie. I can’t fucking do anything anymore! I am so fucking tired all the time, and I hate it. I can’t fucking stand it. And it’s never getting better. It just keeps staying like this. I should be able to do all of those things. Basic. Fucking. Things. And I fucking can’t. I’m tired of it,” you ranted as you tied off the bag and started for the front door, pushing past him as you went. At the front door you stopped and placed the bag down for a moment as you slipped your shoes on. “Don’t you fucking dare touch that bag,” you snapped, knowing he would try to grab it and take it out for you. When you turned around, your order having barely finished leaving your mouth, you saw his hand was already reaching for it. “When I open this door I want you to walk out.” “Baby… please,” he begged. He didn’t even care if you didn’t want to talk to him about how you were feeling anymore; he just wanted you to stop rejecting him and telling him to leave. It was killing him. “I said get out!” you yelled at him. Your shouting triggered him to react with the same attitude with which you were treating him. “Why won’t you just let me fucking help you?!” He yelled, the lights flickering for a moment. He didn’t regret the words, but he regretted the way he said them immediately and quickly tried to backtrack. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologized even though he had absolutely nothing to apologize for - only you did. He rarely ever yelled like that; in fact, you’ve only ever heard him do so once or twice before this moment. It happened so seldom that you were still surprised by how shrill his voice becomes when he yells. “Get. Out,” you said coldly, holding the door open for him. He didn’t know what else to say to make you change your mind, and he knew you were done arguing, so he gave up. “Fine.”

Phone already in his pocket, he grabbed his keys and wallet from the table by the door and put his shoes on. You made your way out to the garbage bin, letting him walk out behind you. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his can of nicotine pouches, and popped one of the white rectangles into his mouth, tucking it between his lip and his gum with his tongue, as he walked out and closed the door behind him. You saw him put the can back in his pocket as he passed you. The hurt and regret were kicking in as you watched him go, but you didn’t tell him to stop. You weren’t even mad at him, just at yourself, but you were subconsciously hurting him to hurt yourself. After tossing the bag into the bin you headed back inside and sat on the couch to wallow in your regret and sadness.

Your phone pinged not even 5 minutes later. Fishing it out of your pocket, you read the notification on the home screen: ☀️: Don’t forget to take your meds.

You sighed, the hurt worsening. Despite the way you had just treated him, Bob was still looking out for you. Without replying you stood up and tucked the phone back in your pocket. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge you headed into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet where your meds resided on the bottom shelf and Bob’s on the shelf right above it. The sight of his meds sent another pang of pain through you. You knew he dealt with the same things you did, and yet you had treated him the same way you had the garbage you tossed out moments ago. You knew how badly he was hurting now, and that it was all your fault. Pushing the thoughts aside you grabbed the pill bottles that belonged to you and headed into the bedroom. You popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them down with a sip of water before you climbed back into bed and once again wrapped yourself in the blankets. You felt like you wanted to cry, but you were now too numb to.

---

Alone under the covers you had no idea how long you had been lying there staring at the wall. All you knew was that with every passing second the emotional pain grew stronger. In your misery you had hurt Bob and now the regret and shame of it mixed with the other emotions that you had been struggling to deal with. You wanted him back - wanted him there with you. Reaching under the covers you pulled your phone from your pocket, his last message still sitting there on the lock screen as you hadn’t cleared the notification. It served as an indicator of how much time had passed. The message was sent almost 40 minutes ago, though it felt like hours had passed.

Unlocking the phone you pulled up the messages app and texted him: I’m sorry I was such an asshole. If you don’t want to come back I understand, but I wish you were here right now.

You hit send.

Not even a minute later the bed was once again dipping under his weight as he sat back down at your side just as he had earlier. Before all the mess you had caused.

You pulled the blanket down and turned your head to see Bob sitting there. Surprised at how quickly he had arrived, you opened your mouth to question how he got back so soon, but before you could ask, he anticipated your question and answered, “I didn’t leave. I walked to the end of the street and snuck back in after I messaged you. Knew you wouldn’t see me or hear the door if you were in the bathroom.” “How did you know I would take them that minute?” “I know you. I know you give a shit. Even after everything you said,” he explained. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, now in person. “I don’t deserve you. I just keep hurting you.” “You don’t,” he shook his head. “Yes, I do. Look at how I treated you. Just for trying to help. I’m such a fucking asshole,” you insisted. “I’ve been an asshole to you, too, before,” he reminded you.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve been here in the wake of an emotional outburst. You’ve both had your fair share of moments where you’ve said things you didn’t mean and pushed the other away only to, after a bit of a cool-down, apologize for doing so. Was it healthy? No. It was the result of observing and unwittingly ingraining the toxic behaviors performed by parents with no emotional regulation. Emotional control is hard to learn when you were never taught it in the first place as you were growing up and the behavior you both had learned, though you had both become aware of it, was still something hard to break free from. At the start of the relationship it would happen several times a month as you both tried to navigate your attachment styles, insecurities, fears, and both of your struggles with your own psyches. But, since then, it was occurring less often now that you had both been working on it; this had been the first time it happened in the last seven months.

“That doesn’t matter,” you said. “It doesn’t make what I did or said okay.” He shook his head. “No. But I’m okay. I know you didn’t mean it.” “Did you?” you asked, “I know you, too, you know. I know I made you panic by pushing you away like that. I know I hurt you.” He shrugged and sighed, “okay, yeah. Knee-jerk response, you know?” You nodded; you did know. “I don’t want to keep going back and forth about it. I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up. I don’t want either of us to keep feeling like shit. I just want you, and I want to be here to help you. If you don’t want to talk just tell me and I’ll try not to be so overbearing.” You were about to argue against his last point but again he didn’t let you get a word out. “I was. I know that’s what did it. As I was walking I replayed the whole thing in my head. I was being too pushy. I should have given you a little space. I could - I should have just sat with you and not kept asking you to talk. I’m sorry for that.” “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You were just trying to help,” you told him. “And instead I just made it worse,” he said, hurt evident in his voice as he said the words. He hung his head and picked at his cuticles. “Bob…,” you said softly. He lifted his head and looked back at you. Another small sigh fell from him. “Look, I mean it. I don’t want to keep talking about this. It happened. I want it to be over. I want it to be like before this happened. I just want to be here with you. Okay?” “I’m sorry,” you apologized again. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, too. You did nothing wrong, nothing that deserved that kind of reaction.” “Baby…,” there was a slight whine in his voice; he was definitely over the conversation. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I just –,” you stopped yourself, knowing you could keep circling this track for all eternity, going on and on about how you’re sorry and how he deserves better and how you don’t deserve him. But that wasn’t what he was asking for, and after all these months of encouraging him to speak up for himself and what he wants, you couldn’t just ignore him and give in to your own compulsion to over-apologize. Dismissing him would only reinforce what he had internalized growing up: that his wants, his needs, and his voice don’t matter. All of those things were the opposite of what you were trying to help him realize - you wanted to help him learn that he does matter. So, as hard as you found it to do so, you put your own impulses aside to listen to what he wanted. “Come here?” You offered it as a question so that the choice to come closer or not was his.

You didn’t need to elaborate on what you meant; he understood. Bob got up onto the bed, carefully climbing over your body to get to his side of the mattress. Lifting the blanket he slid under it and then pressed his chest against your back, pulling you close to him. He wrapped an arm and a leg over you, tangling your bodies together and holding you tight against him.

“I’m glad you came back,” you said. “I don’t want you to leave me.” He squeezed you tighter, “I’ll never want to. And I never want you to leave me.” “Never. I love you, Bob,” you whispered and entwined your fingers with his. You pulled his hand up to your face so you could kiss the back of his hand, as it was the only part of him you could reach. “I love you, too,” he whispered back and kissed the back of your head.

The dissapating darkness desperately clung to the balcony’s bars, their inky shadows reaching out towards the bed in echoes of old, decaying bull pens. Last night, they had kept the world at bay. Now they caged Rhett’s body as the distant sun rose before he did for once.

The heavy dust had settled over the broken bannister like pure, virgin snow over the great plains. If he left now, the only proof of his existence would be the faint trail he had left upon it as he tracked the omega up the stairs. He remembered how the steps had creaked under his boots, interrupting their dance until his back had met the wall, and long fingers roped him back by the belt. The painting they’d knock down was still there. It would only take him only a few minutes‌ to fix it. Perhaps just a few more for the stairs, too.

But that was a fool's thought. That was how Rhett used to think. Sore bones sat up straight. His phone flashed 05:00. It was a routine as instinctive to him as it was for the cuckoo to fly south at the first sign of change, or for the bull to buck when the door closed behind him.

The body behind him stirred.

Rhett went deathly still. Well-worn excuses were locked and loaded, but a gravelly snore, purred into the pillow, held him at ease. His body received the order to stand, to follow the trail of clothes out the door and hit the open road once more. Yet, the city at rest really was beautiful in its own alien way. Not that it could compete with the prettier sight behind him. The cowboy didn’t need to aid his traitorous mind to picture how the greaser’s long hair haloed against the pillow, or to follow the highways of muscle to a welcoming, sleep-enriched smile. 

Under the setting sun that bruised the evening sky, Rhett had mapped out the stranger’s history with just his tongue and kiss-swollen lips. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even stick around long enough to call it a one-night stand, yet he had spent the midnight hour committing him to a memory that he would surely let wither and die along with the rest of them. Each bone that never healed straight, every knife wound that engraved his flesh had made it tougher for each and every slight against it. It should have made Rocco twice as callous as his skin. Looking down at his own body now, for all the omega had scratched and pawed, not a mark was on the cowboy. But he could still feel his body holding onto the phantom promises vowed into his neck, and the sweet nothings drowned into the waves of his hair.

05:10 his phone warned.

Outside, the pigeons cried, and the starlings wailed. Inside, Rhett took a sip from the glass Rocco had left for him. Closing his eyes, he forgot the phone. Even the birds faded into the background as he listened to the injured turtle mosey around its enclosure before settling down under the makeshift home he’d been made. It was peaceful. Even his normally restless heart seemed to agree. 

It was then he realised the body behind him had stopped breathing. The moment dragged until it thinned out like the surrounding air.

As it disappeared into the rearview mirror, Rhett had promised Wabang that he’d never be stuck in one place again. When it was gone, the open road before him was the prettiest sight he'd ever seen, he could lean into the wind and tell himself he was free. Now the sweltering, oppressive urban breeze slid in like a thief through the window and bade him back under the covers with a quiet hush. 

Those blue-lit dancing eyes that first held him from across the bar followed him down from behind securely shut lids. Finally, Rocco breathed again and wove his arm through his, not pulling him back; instead, he brought himself closer and chirruped lowly into the valley between his shoulders. Rhett laced their hands together, tighter than any knot.

The softest whisper of his name called to Rhett more than the cheering, thunderous crowds of the rodeo. He pressed a kiss to Rocco's palm.

“S’alright, Ro’. Go back to sleep, I’ll be here in the mornin’.”

It still smelled like Todd’s laundry detergent and old wood and whatever cologne Todd had used earlier that evening. It still had sounds Bob wasn’t used to.

The faint creak of the hallway.

A door closing somewhere downstairs.

Someone coughing once through the wall.

A burst of muffled laughter from somewhere far enough away that it was probably outside, maybe on the porch, maybe from one of the other houses on the street.

The frat house was quieter at night than Bob had expected, but it was never actually quiet.

Beside him, Todd was asleep.

Very asleep.

Bob turned his head slightly.

Todd was sprawled on his stomach, one arm bent under the pillow, the other thrown out like he had been reaching for Bob at some point and had given up halfway through. His hair was a mess against the pillow, soft and ridiculous in the dim light. The blanket had slipped down around his waist because Todd somehow slept like he was always too warm and too cold at the same time.

Bob watched him for a moment.

He liked him like this.

Not that he didn’t like Todd awake.

He did.

A lot.

Todd awake was easy in a way Bob still didn’t fully understand. Loud when he wanted to be. Amused by most things. Too charming for his own good. Too good at noticing when Bob was drifting too far into his own head. He had this way of making space for himself in a room without demanding that Bob fill it with him.

But Todd asleep was softer.

Younger, maybe.

Or just unguarded.

Bob exhaled carefully.

He tried closing his eyes again.

It didn’t work.

His brain had already decided it was awake, and once that happened, there was almost no convincing it otherwise. He wasn’t anxious, exactly. Not upset. Not afraid. There wasn’t one single thought circling sharp enough to explain it.

He was just awake.

Restless.

Hungry, maybe.

That thought made him open his eyes again.

He lay there for another minute, debating.

Then, as carefully as possible, he eased the blanket away from his legs.

Todd stirred.

Bob froze.

Todd made a soft, grumbling noise and shifted his face deeper into the pillow.

Bob waited.

Nothing.

Still asleep.

He slid out of bed, moving slowly because the floor in Todd’s room had one very specific board near the door that creaked like it had a personal vendetta. Todd had pointed it out the first time Bob stayed over, mostly by stepping on it, waking up half the hallway, and then whispering, “Yeah, don’t do that one.”

Bob avoided it now.

He found his sweatshirt on the chair and pulled it on over his T-shirt, then padded barefoot into the hallway.

The house felt strange at this hour.

During the day, it was all movement. Voices, music, doors opening and closing, someone yelling from downstairs, someone else yelling back. Even when it wasn’t chaotic, it felt full.

Now it felt hollowed out.

Sleeping bodies behind closed doors.

Empty cups abandoned on side tables.

A pair of sneakers in the middle of the hallway that Bob had to step around.

Someone’s hoodie was balled up on the banister.

He moved quietly down the stairs, one hand trailing along the railing.

The kitchen was empty when he reached it.

Thank God.

Not that he disliked Todd’s friends. Most of them were perfectly nice. A few of them were a little too much before noon, but that seemed like a personal flaw rather than a crime.

Still, Bob liked the kitchen better like this.

Dim.

Still.

Lit only by the weak yellow light above the stove and the bluish glow from the microwave clock.

3:17.

That seemed about right.

He opened the refrigerator and stood there for a moment, letting the cool air hit his face while he considered his options.

Leftover pizza.

Eggs.

Some kind of pasta in a container with no label, which he immediately decided against.

Cheese.

Butter.

Bread on the counter.

That was enough.

Grilled cheese.

The decision settled something in him.

Small task.

Simple steps.

Bread, butter, cheese, pan.

He could do that.

He found a skillet after opening three wrong cabinets and only making one questionable clattering sound. Then he set everything out on the counter and got to work.

Butter softened against the bread.

The pan warmed on the stove.

Cheese peeled away from the stack in neat, square slices.

Bob moved slowly, carefully, like the whole house might wake up if he breathed wrong.

The first sandwich had just started to sizzle when he heard footsteps.

He glanced toward the doorway.

Todd appeared a second later.

Or maybe emerged was the better word.

He looked like he had been dragged out of sleep by force.

His hair stuck up on one side. His hoodie was crooked, one sleeve pushed halfway up his arm, the other swallowed over his hand. His eyes were barely open, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at Bob.

Bob stared back.

Todd blinked slowly.

“Why are you awake?”

Bob raised his eyebrows. “Why are you awake?”

Todd frowned like that was rude.

“You left.”

“I was hungry.”

Todd shuffled into the kitchen without another word.

There was something deeply unfair about Todd, even when he was half asleep. He should have looked ridiculous, and he did, a little, but mostly he looked warm and familiar and so much like himself that Bob had to turn back to the stove before his face did something embarrassing.

Todd came up beside him, leaned heavily against the counter, and looked down at the pan.

“Grilled cheese?”

“Yes.”

Todd nodded.

Then reached around him and stole a slice of cheese from the open package.

Bob looked at him.

Todd folded it in half and put the entire thing in his mouth.

Bob stared. “I was using that.”

Todd chewed.

Bob waited.

Todd swallowed and said, “You have more.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

Bob sighed, but he was smiling before he could stop himself.

Todd noticed.

Of course he did.

He always did.

His mouth curved, lazy and pleased, and he leaned a little closer into Bob’s space. “You came all the way down here to make grilled cheese at three in the morning?”

“It’s not that strange.”

“It’s a little strange.”

“You followed me.”

“Because you abandoned me.”

Bob flipped the sandwich. “You were asleep.”

“I noticed your absence in my sleep.”

“That isn’t possible.”

Todd made a face like he didn’t care what was possible.

Bob shook his head and focused on the pan, but he could still feel Todd beside him. Warm. Sleepy. Watching.

After a few seconds, Bob glanced toward the cabinets.

“Do you guys have tomato soup?”

Todd went very still.

Bob closed his eyes for half a second.

He already knew.

He knew from the silence.

He knew from the way Todd slowly turned his head.

He knew before he even looked at him.

When Bob opened his eyes, Todd was staring at him.

“Don’t,” Bob said.

Todd’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

Todd leaned his hip against the counter. “You’re making grilled cheese.”

“Yes.”

“And you need tomato soup.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s better with tomato soup.”

Todd stared at him like Bob had just admitted to needing a bedtime story.

Bob pointed the spatula at him. “It’s a classic combination.”

“It’s a kid’s meal.”

“It is not.”

“That is what they serve seven-year-olds when their parents want to pretend they ordered real food.”

Bob let out a quiet, offended laugh. “That’s not true.”

“It absolutely is.”

“It’s comfort food.”

“It’s a children’s menu item.”

“Todd.”

Todd was grinning now, fully awake in the most annoying way possible. “Do you want me to cut the sandwich into triangles too?”

Bob turned back to the stove. “I can cut my own sandwich.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“I’m not dignifying this.”

“Do you want a little apple juice box with it?”

“Todd.”

“Maybe some dino nuggets on the side?”

Bob tried to look annoyed.

He really did.

But Todd was laughing under his breath, all pleased with himself, and Bob’s mouth kept trying to betray him.

Todd reached past him and stole another piece of cheese.

Bob caught his wrist this time.

Todd froze.

Bob looked at him.

Todd looked down at Bob’s hand around his wrist.

Then back up.

There was a pause.

Todd smiled.

Bob immediately let go.

“Stop stealing ingredients.”

Todd’s smile got worse. “Okay.”

Bob did not trust that at all.

Todd backed away, hands lifted in surrender, still grinning. “Fine. You want soup?”

“I asked if you had soup.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Bob sighed. “Yes. I want soup.”

“Because you’re eight.”

“Because it’s good.”

“Because you’re eight and it’s good.”

Bob pointed the spatula at him again. “Can you please just tell me if you have it?”

Todd rolled his eyes as if this were a tremendous burden.

Then he walked to the pantry.

Bob expected him to search. Expected cabinet doors, maybe a muttered complaint, maybe another joke about juice boxes.

Todd did not search.

He opened the pantry, reached for the second shelf, and pulled down a can almost immediately.

Then he turned and tossed it to Bob.

Bob caught it against his chest.

Tomato soup.

For a second, he just looked at it.

Todd had already turned away, opening another cabinet for a pot.

Bob blinked.

“You have tomato soup.”

Todd glanced over his shoulder. “That is what you asked for.”

“No, I know, I just—” Bob looked down at the can again. “I didn’t think you actually would.”

Todd set the pot on the stove. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Todd gave him a look. “It’s soup, Bob.”

“I know it’s soup.”

“You’re holding it like it’s evidence.”

Bob loosened his grip.

A little.

Todd opened a drawer and rummaged for the can opener.

Bob watched him.

There was something casual about the way Todd moved. Like the soup had always been there. Like this was normal. Like Bob asking for it at three in the morning was no different than asking where the cups were.

“Did someone else buy this?” Bob asked.

Todd paused.

Then looked at him again.

“What?”

“The soup.”

“No.”

Bob’s fingers tightened around the can again. “You bought it?”

Todd blinked. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Todd stared at him for a second.

Then, slowly, like Bob was the one being strange, he said, “Because you like it.”

Bob didn’t say anything.

Todd waited.

Bob still didn’t say anything.

Todd’s brow furrowed slightly, but then the sandwich hissed in the pan, and Bob quickly turned back toward it before it burned.

Because you like it.

The words were so simple.

So obvious, apparently, to Todd.

Bob flipped the sandwich onto a plate.

His chest felt weird.

Not bad.

Just tight.

Warm, maybe.

Too full all at once.

Todd took the can from him and opened it, still looking mildly confused, then poured the soup into the pot. It slid out with a soft, unpleasant sound that made Todd grimace.

“Romantic,” Todd muttered.

Bob huffed a laugh.

Todd looked pleased that he had gotten one out of him.

Then he stirred the soup and said, “You always ask for it.”

Bob looked at him.

Todd wasn’t even looking back. He was standing at the stove in his crooked hoodie, stirring tomato soup at 3:25 in the morning like this was simply something that happened.

“You noticed that?”

Todd shrugged. “Yeah.”

Bob swallowed.

He looked at the plate.

Then the stove.

Then Todd.

“How long?”

Todd frowned into the pot. “How long what?”

“How long have you been buying it?”

Todd stopped stirring.

Not because the question was important to him, Bob realized.

Because he genuinely had to think about it.

That made it worse.

Somehow, that made it much worse.

Todd leaned against the counter, spoon still in hand, eyes narrowed slightly like he was trying to remember a date.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

Bob waited.

Todd shrugged.

“Months?”

Bob stared at him.

Todd went back to stirring.

Months.

Bob turned that over in his mind.

Months of Todd seeing tomato soup at the store and putting it in his cart because Bob liked it.

Months of Todd keeping it in the pantry without saying anything.

Months of Bob asking for it and Todd teasing him and acting like he was ridiculous while still making sure it was there.

Bob didn’t know what to do with that.

It was soup.

It was just soup.

A cheap can in a messy frat house pantry.

And yet.

Todd had noticed.

Todd had remembered.

Todd had made room for Bob in a place that was already so full of other people and noise and mess.

He had stocked something Bob liked because Bob liked it.

Not for credit.

Not for praise.

Not as some grand romantic gesture.

Just because.

Bob looked down.

The second sandwich was burning.

“Oh—”

Todd reached around him and turned the heat down. “You good?”

“Yes.”

Todd’s hand lingered near his waist for half a second before dropping away.

Bob nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Todd narrowed his eyes.

Bob focused very hard on the sandwich.

He rescued it before it got too dark, though one side was definitely more toasted than the other. Todd, thankfully, did not comment. He just kept watching him with that look on his face.

The one Bob knew too well.

The one that meant Todd had noticed something and was deciding whether to let Bob pretend he hadn’t.

Bob plated the second sandwich.

Todd turned off the burner under the soup.

Neither of them moved for a second.

Then Todd said, “Oh my God.”

Bob closed his eyes. “What?”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You are absolutely doing the thing.”

Bob opened his eyes and looked at him. “There is no thing.”

Todd pointed at his face. “That. That’s the thing.”

“This is just my face.”

“No, that’s your ‘I’m having twelve feelings and trying to make them nobody else’s problem’ face.”

Bob stared at him.

Todd stared back.

Bob looked away first.

Todd’s voice softened, but only a little. “Bob.”

“It’s nothing.”

“That has never once been true when you say it like that.”

Bob rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s stupid.”

Todd immediately made a face. “Okay, so it’s definitely not nothing.”

“It is.”

“What is it?”

Bob looked at the soup.

Todd followed his gaze.

Then looked back at him.

There was a beat.

Another.

Then Todd’s expression changed.

Slowly.

His mouth parted a little.

“Oh my God,” he said again, quieter this time.

Bob frowned. “What?”

Todd stared at him. “You’re getting emotional over soup.”

Bob’s face went hot. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not emotional.”

“You’re looking at that can like it proposed to you.”

“Todd.”

Todd’s teasing smile came back, but it was softer around the edges now. Less sharp. Less amused at Bob and more fond in a way that made Bob’s chest ache.

“You’re ridiculous,” Todd said.

Bob looked down. “You bought it for me.”

“It’s soup.”

“For months.”

Todd set the spoon down.

Then crossed the small distance between them.

Bob didn’t move.

Todd stopped in front of him, close enough that Bob could see the pillow crease still faintly marking his cheek. His hair was still a disaster. His hoodie was still crooked. He looked warm and tired and impossibly dear.

“Yeah,” Todd said.

Bob swallowed.

Todd tilted his head slightly. “Bob.”

“I know it’s soup.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re acting like I carved your name into the moon.”

Bob let out a helpless little laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat and came out softer than he meant it to.

Todd’s expression changed again.

He noticed that too.

Of course he did.

Todd always noticed.

Bob looked at him and tried to explain it in a way that wouldn’t sound ridiculous.

He didn’t know how to say that he still wasn’t used to being remembered in little ways.

He didn’t know how to say that grand gestures were almost easier to accept because they announced themselves. Flowers, dates, anniversaries—those things came with instructions. They said, this is affection. This is attention. This is something you are allowed to understand.

But this?

This was Todd walking past a shelf and thinking, Bob likes tomato soup with grilled cheese.

This was Todd buying it.

Putting it away.

Never mentioning it.

Never asking Bob to notice.

Just making sure it was there.

That kind of care got under his ribs before he had time to defend against it.

“You remembered,” Bob said finally.

Todd’s face softened.

Only a little.

Enough.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do that sometimes.”

Bob looked down again.

Todd’s hand found his.

Not dramatic.

Not urgent.

Just fingers wrapping loosely around Bob’s, warm and steady.

“You make it really hard to tease you,” Todd said.

Bob huffed. “You seemed to be managing fine.”

“I was. And then you got all sweet and tragic about canned soup.”

“I’m not tragic.”

Todd squeezed his hand. “No, you’re not.”

Something in his voice made Bob look up.

Todd was smiling at him.

Not laughing.

Just smiling.

It was worse, somehow.

Bob looked at him for another second, then shook his head and tried to step away. “The food’s getting cold.”

Todd did not let go.

“The food is grilled cheese and tomato soup. I think it’ll survive another minute.”

Bob gave him a look.

Todd ignored it.

Instead, he backed up until he reached the counter, then hopped onto it with the easy confidence of someone who had been told not to sit on kitchen counters his entire life and had learned nothing from it.

Bob watched him.

Todd spread his knees slightly and tugged Bob closer by the hand.

Bob went.

Of course he went.

He stepped into the space between Todd’s legs, close enough that Todd’s knees brushed his hips.

Todd’s free hand settled at Bob’s waist.

Then the other.

Bob stood there for a second, not quite sure what to do with himself, even though this was familiar now.

Todd touching him.

Todd pulling him close.

Todd making space for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Bob rested his hands lightly against Todd’s thighs.

Todd looked down at him.

“You’re really worked up over this,” Todd said, but his voice was gentle.

Bob shrugged one shoulder. “A little.”

“Because I bought soup.”

“Because you noticed.”

Todd’s thumbs moved lightly against his waist.

Back and forth.

Barely there.

Bob could feel it through the sweatshirt anyway.

Todd was quiet for a moment.

Then he leaned forward and kissed Bob’s forehead.

Bob’s eyes closed on instinct.

Todd stayed there for a second, lips warm against his skin.

Then he murmured, “I notice you all the time.”

Bob’s throat tightened.

Todd pulled back just enough to look at him.

Bob opened his eyes.

“That one might be worse,” he said quietly.

Todd smiled. “Yeah, I kind of heard it after I said it.”

Bob laughed softly.

Todd looked pleased with himself again, but not smug.

Just happy.

Warm.

Awake now in the yellow kitchen light with the whole house asleep around them.

He reached up and brushed a piece of Bob’s hair back from his forehead.

“You want to know something really embarrassing?”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “For you or for me?”

Todd grinned. “For me, probably.”

“Okay.”

Todd glanced toward the pantry. “There are two more cans in there.”

Bob stared at him.

Todd’s grin widened.

Bob’s mouth parted slightly. “Todd.”

“What?”

“Why?”

“Because you keep eating them.”

“I don’t keep eating them.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’ve had tomato soup here maybe three times.”

“Four.”

Bob stared harder.

Todd looked delighted. “See? I notice.”

Bob dropped his head forward against Todd’s shoulder.

Todd immediately laughed, quiet and bright, and wrapped both arms around him.

Bob stayed there.

His forehead pressed against the soft fabric of Todd’s hoodie.

His hands resting on Todd’s thighs.

Todd’s arms around his shoulders.

For a moment, the kitchen faded into background noise.

The cooling pan.

The weak stove light.

The hum of the refrigerator.

Someone shifting upstairs.

Todd’s hand slid up the back of Bob’s neck, fingers gentle.

“Hey,” Todd murmured.

Bob hummed.

“You still want your kid’s meal?”

Bob turned his face slightly against Todd’s shoulder. “I changed my mind. I’m eating yours too.”

Todd laughed. “Rude.”

“You stole my cheese.”

“I was helping.”

“You were not.”

“I helped you realize how much cheese you truly needed.”

Bob lifted his head.

Todd was already looking at him, eyes soft and amused.

Bob kissed him.

Just once.

Quick and quiet.

Todd smiled against his mouth like he had won something.

Bob pulled back before that could become unbearable.

Todd made a small disappointed noise.

Bob ignored it, mostly because he liked it too much.

“The food,” he reminded him.

Todd sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

But he didn’t let Bob go immediately.

Instead, he pulled him in again and kissed his temple.

Then the side of his head.

Then his cheek.

Bob started to smile despite himself.

“Todd.”

“What?”

“The food.”

“I heard you.”

“You’re not moving.”

“Neither are you.”

Bob paused.

That was unfortunately true.

Todd looked extremely proud of himself.

Bob stepped back before Todd could say anything else, turning toward the stove and hoping his face wasn’t as warm as it felt.

Todd hopped down from the counter behind him.

Together, they finished the meal.

It was not graceful.

Todd poured soup into two bowls and spilled a little onto the counter. Bob cut the sandwiches in half. Todd looked at the halves, looked at Bob, and very seriously asked why they weren’t triangles. Bob told him he could starve.

Todd laughed hard enough that Bob had to shush him, which only made him laugh more.

Eventually, they ended up sitting on the kitchen floor with their backs against the lower cabinets because Todd claimed the chairs were too far away.

They were six feet away.

Bob didn’t argue.

The tile was cold beneath him, but Todd sat close enough that their shoulders touched. Their knees bumped occasionally. Todd dipped his grilled cheese into his soup like he had not just spent ten minutes mocking Bob for wanting exactly that.

Bob noticed.

Todd caught him noticing.

“What?”

Bob raised his eyebrows.

Todd took another bite. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

“I was thinking that you’re enjoying your children’s menu.”

Todd pointed half a sandwich at him. “First of all, it’s good.”

Bob smiled.

Todd narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug.”

“You’re a little smug.”

“You made fun of me.”

“Because it’s fun.”

“And then made the same thing.”

“Because it’s good.”

Bob laughed quietly and dipped his sandwich into the soup.

Todd watched him for a second.

Then nudged him with his shoulder.

Bob nudged him back.

They ate in comfortable quiet for a while.

Outside, the world was starting to shift.

Not sunrise yet.

Not really.

But the black at the windows had softened into something less complete. A faint blue had started to gather along the edges of the sky, barely visible through the kitchen window above the sink.

Todd finished first because Todd always finished first, then set his bowl aside and leaned his head back against the cabinet.

Bob took a slower bite.

Todd looked at him.

“What?” Bob asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s usually my line.”

Todd smiled faintly. “I know.”

Bob looked down into his bowl.

The soup was cooling now.

Still good.

Still warm enough.

After a moment, Todd reached over and took Bob’s free hand.

Bob let him.

Todd played idly with his fingers, turning Bob’s hand palm-up, tracing one line, then another.

Bob watched him do it.

He wondered if Todd knew.

How much of this he did.

How often.

Little touches.

Little notes.

Little things bought and remembered and tucked away somewhere Bob wouldn’t notice until the exact moment it undid him.

Maybe Todd did know.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe that was part of what made it feel so honest.

“You’re thinking again,” Todd said.

Bob’s mouth curved. “I’m always thinking.”

“Yeah, but now you’re doing it at the soup.”

Bob laughed.

Todd’s thumb brushed over his palm.

Bob leaned sideways until his shoulder pressed more fully against Todd’s.

Todd shifted immediately to make room for him.

Like he had been waiting.

Like, there was always room.

Bob finished the last of his sandwich and set the plate aside.

Todd lifted their joined hands and kissed Bob’s knuckles.

Casual.

Sleepy.

Almost absentminded.

Bob closed his eyes.

Todd noticed that too.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Bob opened his eyes. “I’m already here.”

Todd tugged him anyway.

Bob let himself be pulled.

It was awkward on the floor, but they managed. Todd shifted, and Bob leaned into him, and eventually Bob ended up with his head against Todd’s shoulder while Todd’s arm came around him.

The kitchen was quiet again.

The kind of quiet that belonged only to very late nights and very early mornings.

Todd’s cheek rested against Bob’s hair.

Bob could hear him breathing.

Slow.

Steady.

Familiar.

After a while, Todd said, “For the record, I also bought that tea you like.”

Bob lifted his head slightly.

Todd kept looking forward, casual as anything.

“And the weird crackers.”

Bob stared at him.

Todd’s mouth twitched.

“And those ginger candies you pretend you don’t eat all of.”

Bob’s chest went warm again.

Todd finally looked down at him.

His expression softened immediately.

“Too much?”

Bob shook his head.

“No,” he said.

Todd searched his face for a second.

Then nodded once.

Bob rested his head back against Todd’s shoulder.

Outside, the sky was getting lighter.

Not bright.

Just enough that the window had turned gray-blue instead of black.

Soon, the house would wake up.

Someone would come downstairs and find dishes in the sink. Someone would complain about the smell of grilled cheese. Someone would ask why they were on the floor, and Todd would probably say something ridiculous, and Bob would pretend to be embarrassed even though he wouldn’t really be.

Not much.

Not with Todd there.

For now, though, it was only them.

The empty kitchen.

The cooling bowls.

Todd’s hand warm around his.

Bob let his eyes close.

Todd shifted beside him and kissed the top of his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” Todd whispered.

Bob smiled.

“You bought me soup.”

Todd laughed softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

Bob didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Todd knew.

That was the dangerous thing about him.

The wonderful thing.

He knew.

And as the first pale light of morning slipped into the kitchen, Bob sat there against him, warm and full and quietly ruined by a can of tomato soup, thinking that maybe being known didn’t have to feel terrifying every time.

Maybe sometimes it felt like grilled cheese at three in the morning.

Todd’s shoulder beneath his cheek.

A sleepy kiss pressed into his hair.