An avid procrastinator riddled with anxiety who doesn't know shit about writing đ
Multifandom blog, but mainly focused on everything Lewis Pullman
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Who I Write For:
Any Lewis character (sans Owen) including: Bob Reynolds, Rhett Abbott, Bob Floyd, Rocco Gauthier, Todd Stevens, Calvin Evans, Ben Mears, Miles Miller, William Lee, and Jordan Weaver!
Others: Clark Kent
Requests: I don't do requests for full length fics. However, if you send in any thoughts, I may write a tiny blurb or headcanons!
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Fandom:Â Thunderbolts (MCU)
Rating:Â E (but has a decent amount of f-bombs)
Warnings:Â Reader is mean to Bob at first :(
Relationships:Â Bob Reynolds x GN!Reader
Tags:Â No use of Y/N, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst (that ends well).
Word Count:Â 2,787
Cross-Posted to AO3
Summary:
You have been struggling lately and Bob, as always, tries to help. But your anger and desire to self-isolate take the reins and you end up lashing out by saying things you don't mean.
"And I know, I know, I am what I am. The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb." - Sleep Token, Rain.
Youâve been all over the place with your moods, every day a rollercoaster rising and dropping between feeling okay and feeling like youâve 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.
âYou okay, baby?â Bob asked when he noticed the shift in your demeanor.
âIâm fine,â you replied flatly.
âBabeâŠ,â he said softly, knowing you were lying.
âI said Iâm fine,â 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 couldnât stop feeling this way, anger at all your doubts, your fears, all the unknowns, and anger at yourself. Your self-isolation didnât last long, however, and you felt the bed dip slightly under Bobâs weight as he sat on the edge of the bed by your hips.
âHey. Talk to me,â Bob said softly. He didnât mean to press, but he was. You remained silent, your anger and frustration growing as your mood continued to sink lower. âBaby, please.â
âI donât want to,â 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.
âWhy not?â
âBecause I donât fucking want to! Because nothing matters!â You didnât shout, but your voice was biting. âNothing matters. Nothing will ever matter. Itâll never get better. Itâs all pointless.â
Itâs not the first time youâve said those words, and itâs 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.
Itâs also not the first time youâve 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 werenât 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 youâre doing it when your feelings of concern become a little overbearing.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and softly told him, âyou should leave.â
Those words never ceased to trigger his fear of abandonment and his stomach dropped as he started to panic. âWait. What? Why?â
âIâm hurting you. All I do is drag you down. Me being like this. It hurts you. Hurts your stability.â There was no emotion in your tone.
âMy what? Baby, youâre not hurting me,â he argued.
âJust go,â you told him, not wanting to fight over the matter.
âNo. Iâm not -,â
âI want you to fucking leave,â 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.
âStop!â he said, voice raised, as he stood and started following you as you walked out of the room.
âI said leave!â 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.
âWhat are you doing?â
âWhat does it look like Iâm doing? Iâm trying to get one fucking thing done today,â you spat.
âYou donât have -.â
âI do. I do âhaveâ. It is fucking ridiculous anymore. Absolutely ridiculous that I canât get a single fucking thing done all day. I canât take out the trash. I canât clean. I canât do the dishes. I canât cook. I canât go out. I canât shower. I canât read or write or even listen to music. I canât watch a damn movie. I canât fucking do anything anymore! I am so fucking tired all the time, and I hate it. I canât fucking stand it. And itâs 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 canât. Iâm tired of it,â 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. âDonât you fucking dare touch that bag,â 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. âWhen I open this door I want you to walk out.â
âBaby⊠please,â he begged. He didnât even care if you didnât 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.
âI said get out!â you yelled at him.
Your shouting triggered him to react with the same attitude with which you were treating him. âWhy wonât you just let me fucking help you?!â He yelled, the lights flickering for a moment. He didnât regret the words, but he regretted the way he said them immediately and quickly tried to backtrack. âIâm sorry. Baby, Iâm sorry,â he apologized even though he had absolutely nothing to apologize for - only you did.
He rarely ever yelled like that; in fact, youâve 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. âGet. Out,â you said coldly, holding the door open for him.
He didnât know what else to say to make you change your mind, and he knew you were done arguing, so he gave up. âFine.â
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 didnât tell him to stop. You werenât 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:
âïž: Donât 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 Bobâs 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 hadnât 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: Iâm sorry I was such an asshole. If you donât 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, âI didnât leave. I walked to the end of the street and snuck back in after I messaged you. Knew you wouldnât see me or hear the door if you were in the bathroom.â
âHow did you know I would take them that minute?â
âI know you. I know you give a shit. Even after everything you said,â he explained.
âIâm sorry,â you apologized, now in person. âI donât deserve you. I just keep hurting you.â
âYou donât,â he shook his head.
âYes, I do. Look at how I treated you. Just for trying to help. Iâm such a fucking asshole,â you insisted.
âIâve been an asshole to you, too, before,â he reminded you.
This wasnât the first time youâve been here in the wake of an emotional outburst. Youâve both had your fair share of moments where youâve said things you didnât 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.
âThat doesnât matter,â you said. âIt doesnât make what I did or said okay.â
He shook his head. âNo. But Iâm okay. I know you didnât mean it.â
âDid you?â you asked, âI know you, too, you know. I know I made you panic by pushing you away like that. I know I hurt you.â
He shrugged and sighed, âokay, yeah. Knee-jerk response, you know?â You nodded; you did know. âI donât want to keep going back and forth about it. I donât want you to keep beating yourself up. I donât want either of us to keep feeling like shit. I just want you, and I want to be here to help you. If you donât want to talk just tell me and Iâll try not to be so overbearing.â You were about to argue against his last point but again he didnât let you get a word out. âI was. I know thatâs 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. Iâm sorry for that.â
âYou donât have anything to be sorry for. You were just trying to help,â you told him.
âAnd instead I just made it worse,â he said, hurt evident in his voice as he said the words. He hung his head and picked at his cuticles.
âBobâŠ,â you said softly.
He lifted his head and looked back at you. Another small sigh fell from him. âLook, I mean it. I donât 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?â
âIâm sorry,â you apologized again. âDonât you dare say youâre sorry, too. You did nothing wrong, nothing that deserved that kind of reaction.â
âBabyâŠ,â there was a slight whine in his voice; he was definitely over the conversation.
âOkay. Okay, Iâm sorry. I just â,â you stopped yourself, knowing you could keep circling this track for all eternity, going on and on about how youâre sorry and how he deserves better and how you donât deserve him. But that wasnât what he was asking for, and after all these months of encouraging him to speak up for himself and what he wants, you couldnât 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 donât 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. âCome here?â You offered it as a question so that the choice to come closer or not was his.
You didnât 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.
âIâm glad you came back,â you said. âI donât want you to leave me.â
He squeezed you tighter, âIâll never want to. And I never want you to leave me.â
âNever. I love you, Bob,â 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.
âI love you, too,â he whispered back and kissed the back of your head.
Pairing: Omega!Rhett Abbott x Omega!Rocco Gauthier.
Summary: The morning after was easy. Get up and leave before they ever awoke... But what was five more minutes with this intriguing Omega Rhett had picked up at the bar?
C/W: Allusions to sex only. A/B/O-verse but very minimal mention.
A/N: written for the song fic prompt for the Lewcest community + this week's Freaky Friday for 'Morning After'. Sort of a Rhett POV of my fic 'Dark Don't Lie, Dreams Come True'.
Rhett has never spent so long angsting. I like to imagine he spent the whole fic looking constipated.
Word Count: 700 words. I DID IT.
The dissapating darkness desperately clung to the balconyâs 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 Rhettâs 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 theyâd knock down was still there. It would only take him only a few minutesâ 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 didnât need to aid his traitorous mind to picture how the greaserâs long hair haloed against the pillow, or to follow the highways of muscle to a welcoming, sleep-enriched smile.Â
Under the setting sun that bruised the evening sky, Rhett had mapped out the strangerâs history with just his tongue and kiss-swollen lips. Ordinarily, he wouldnât 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 heâd been made. It was peaceful. Even his normally restless heart seemed to agree.Â
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 heâd 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.Â
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.
âSâalright, Roâ. Go back to sleep, Iâll be here in the morninâ.â
And maybe, just maybe, heâll stay a while longer.
briefing: late night sleep struggles leads to two men just falling deeper and harder in love with each other.
words: 4.7k
warnings: tooth decaying fluff, light teasing, food mentions, playful banters.
author note: hope you guys like this!! Let me know what you think!
--
Bob wasnât sure what had woken him up.
For a while, he just lay there and stared at the ceiling.
The room was dark, the kind of dark that felt heavier because he wasnât in his own bed. Not unfamiliar, exactly. He had spent enough nights in Toddâs room by now that he knew the shape of it in low lightâthe desk shoved too close to the window, the sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair, the stack of books on the floor that Todd insisted was organized because he knew where everything was.
But it still wasnât his room.
It still smelled like Toddâs laundry detergent and old wood and whatever cologne Todd had used earlier that evening. It still had sounds Bob wasnât 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 didnât like Todd awake.
He did.
A lot.
Todd awake was easy in a way Bob still didnât 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 didnât work.
His brain had already decided it was awake, and once that happened, there was almost no convincing it otherwise. He wasnât anxious, exactly. Not upset. Not afraid. There wasnât 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 Toddâs 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, âYeah, donât do that one.â
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 wasnât 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.
Someoneâs 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 Toddâs 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.
âWhy are you awake?â
Bob raised his eyebrows. âWhy are you awake?â
Todd frowned like that was rude.
âYou left.â
âI was hungry.â
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.
âGrilled cheese?â
âYes.â
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. âI was using that.â
Todd chewed.
Bob waited.
Todd swallowed and said, âYou have more.â
âThatâs not the point.â
âThat is exactly the point.â
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 Bobâs space. âYou came all the way down here to make grilled cheese at three in the morning?â
âItâs not that strange.â
âItâs a little strange.â
âYou followed me.â
âBecause you abandoned me.â
Bob flipped the sandwich. âYou were asleep.â
âI noticed your absence in my sleep.â
âThat isnât possible.â
Todd made a face like he didnât 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.
âDo you guys have tomato soup?â
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.
âDonât,â Bob said.
Toddâs eyebrows lifted. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were about to.â
âI was not.â
âYou absolutely were.â
Todd leaned his hip against the counter. âYouâre making grilled cheese.â
âYes.â
âAnd you need tomato soup.â
âI donât need it.â
âUh-huh.â
âItâs better with tomato soup.â
Todd stared at him like Bob had just admitted to needing a bedtime story.
Bob pointed the spatula at him. âItâs a classic combination.â
âItâs a kidâs meal.â
âIt is not.â
âThat is what they serve seven-year-olds when their parents want to pretend they ordered real food.â
Bob let out a quiet, offended laugh. âThatâs not true.â
âIt absolutely is.â
âItâs comfort food.â
âItâs a childrenâs menu item.â
âTodd.â
Todd was grinning now, fully awake in the most annoying way possible. âDo you want me to cut the sandwich into triangles too?â
Bob turned back to the stove. âI can cut my own sandwich.â
âThat wasnât a no.â
âIâm not dignifying this.â
âDo you want a little apple juice box with it?â
âTodd.â
âMaybe some dino nuggets on the side?â
Bob tried to look annoyed.
He really did.
But Todd was laughing under his breath, all pleased with himself, and Bobâs 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 Bobâs hand around his wrist.
Then back up.
There was a pause.
Todd smiled.
Bob immediately let go.
âStop stealing ingredients.â
Toddâs smile got worse. âOkay.â
Bob did not trust that at all.
Todd backed away, hands lifted in surrender, still grinning. âFine. You want soup?â
âI asked if you had soup.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Bob sighed. âYes. I want soup.â
âBecause youâre eight.â
âBecause itâs good.â
âBecause youâre eight and itâs good.â
Bob pointed the spatula at him again. âCan you please just tell me if you have it?â
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.
âYou have tomato soup.â
Todd glanced over his shoulder. âThat is what you asked for.â
âNo, I know, I justââ Bob looked down at the can again. âI didnât think you actually would.â
Todd set the pot on the stove. âWhy?â
âI donât know.â
Todd gave him a look. âItâs soup, Bob.â
âI know itâs soup.â
âYouâre holding it like itâs evidence.â
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.
âDid someone else buy this?â Bob asked.
Todd paused.
Then looked at him again.
âWhat?â
âThe soup.â
âNo.â
Bobâs fingers tightened around the can again. âYou bought it?â
Todd blinked. âYeah.â
âWhy?â
Todd stared at him for a second.
Then, slowly, like Bob was the one being strange, he said, âBecause you like it.â
Bob didnât say anything.
Todd waited.
Bob still didnât say anything.
Toddâs 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.
âRomantic,â Todd muttered.
Bob huffed a laugh.
Todd looked pleased that he had gotten one out of him.
Then he stirred the soup and said, âYou always ask for it.â
Bob looked at him.
Todd wasnât 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.
âYou noticed that?â
Todd shrugged. âYeah.â
Bob swallowed.
He looked at the plate.
Then the stove.
Then Todd.
âHow long?â
Todd frowned into the pot. âHow long what?â
âHow long have you been buying it?â
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.
âI donât know,â he said finally.
Bob waited.
Todd shrugged.
âMonths?â
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 didnât 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.
âOhââ
Todd reached around him and turned the heat down. âYou good?â
âYes.â
Toddâs hand lingered near his waist for half a second before dropping away.
Bob nodded too quickly. âYeah. Sorry.â
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 hadnât.
Bob plated the second sandwich.
Todd turned off the burner under the soup.
Neither of them moved for a second.
Then Todd said, âOh my God.â
Bob closed his eyes. âWhat?â
âYouâre doing the thing.â
âIâm not doing anything.â
âYou are absolutely doing the thing.â
Bob opened his eyes and looked at him. âThere is no thing.â
Todd pointed at his face. âThat. Thatâs the thing.â
âThis is just my face.â
âNo, thatâs your âIâm having twelve feelings and trying to make them nobody elseâs problemâ face.â
Bob stared at him.
Todd stared back.
Bob looked away first.
Toddâs voice softened, but only a little. âBob.â
âItâs nothing.â
âThat has never once been true when you say it like that.â
Bob rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. âItâs stupid.â
Todd immediately made a face. âOkay, so itâs definitely not nothing.â
âIt is.â
âWhat is it?â
Bob looked at the soup.
Todd followed his gaze.
Then looked back at him.
There was a beat.
Another.
Then Toddâs expression changed.
Slowly.
His mouth parted a little.
âOh my God,â he said again, quieter this time.
Bob frowned. âWhat?â
Todd stared at him. âYouâre getting emotional over soup.â
Bobâs face went hot. âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
âIâm not emotional.â
âYouâre looking at that can like it proposed to you.â
âTodd.â
Toddâs 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 Bobâs chest ache.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Todd said.
Bob looked down. âYou bought it for me.â
âItâs soup.â
âFor months.â
Todd set the spoon down.
Then crossed the small distance between them.
Bob didnât 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.
âYeah,â Todd said.
Bob swallowed.
Todd tilted his head slightly. âBob.â
âI know itâs soup.â
âDo you?â
âYes.â
âBecause youâre acting like I carved your name into the moon.â
Bob let out a helpless little laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat and came out softer than he meant it to.
Toddâs 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 wouldnât sound ridiculous.
He didnât know how to say that he still wasnât used to being remembered in little ways.
He didnât know how to say that grand gestures were almost easier to accept because they announced themselves. Flowers, dates, anniversariesâthose 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.
âYou remembered,â Bob said finally.
Toddâs face softened.
Only a little.
Enough.
âYeah,â he said. âI do that sometimes.â
Bob looked down again.
Toddâs hand found his.
Not dramatic.
Not urgent.
Just fingers wrapping loosely around Bobâs, warm and steady.
âYou make it really hard to tease you,â Todd said.
Bob huffed. âYou seemed to be managing fine.â
âI was. And then you got all sweet and tragic about canned soup.â
âIâm not tragic.â
Todd squeezed his hand. âNo, youâre not.â
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. âThe foodâs getting cold.â
Todd did not let go.
âThe food is grilled cheese and tomato soup. I think itâll survive another minute.â
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 Toddâs legs, close enough that Toddâs knees brushed his hips.
Toddâs free hand settled at Bobâs 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 Toddâs thighs.
Todd looked down at him.
âYouâre really worked up over this,â Todd said, but his voice was gentle.
Bob shrugged one shoulder. âA little.â
âBecause I bought soup.â
âBecause you noticed.â
Toddâs 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 Bobâs forehead.
Bobâs eyes closed on instinct.
Todd stayed there for a second, lips warm against his skin.
Then he murmured, âI notice you all the time.â
Bobâs throat tightened.
Todd pulled back just enough to look at him.
Bob opened his eyes.
âThat one might be worse,â he said quietly.
Todd smiled. âYeah, I kind of heard it after I said it.â
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 Bobâs hair back from his forehead.
âYou want to know something really embarrassing?â
Bob narrowed his eyes. âFor you or for me?â
Todd grinned. âFor me, probably.â
âOkay.â
Todd glanced toward the pantry. âThere are two more cans in there.â
Bob stared at him.
Toddâs grin widened.
Bobâs mouth parted slightly. âTodd.â
âWhat?â
âWhy?â
âBecause you keep eating them.â
âI donât keep eating them.â
âYou absolutely do.â
âIâve had tomato soup here maybe three times.â
âFour.â
Bob stared harder.
Todd looked delighted. âSee? I notice.â
Bob dropped his head forward against Toddâs shoulder.
Todd immediately laughed, quiet and bright, and wrapped both arms around him.
Bob stayed there.
His forehead pressed against the soft fabric of Toddâs hoodie.
His hands resting on Toddâs thighs.
Toddâs 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.
Toddâs hand slid up the back of Bobâs neck, fingers gentle.
âHey,â Todd murmured.
Bob hummed.
âYou still want your kidâs meal?â
Bob turned his face slightly against Toddâs shoulder. âI changed my mind. Iâm eating yours too.â
Todd laughed. âRude.â
âYou stole my cheese.â
âI was helping.â
âYou were not.â
âI helped you realize how much cheese you truly needed.â
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.
âThe food,â he reminded him.
Todd sighed dramatically. âFine.â
But he didnât 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.
âTodd.â
âWhat?â
âThe food.â
âI heard you.â
âYouâre not moving.â
âNeither are you.â
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 wasnât 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 werenât 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 didnât 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.
âWhat?â
Bob raised his eyebrows.
Todd took another bite. âShut up.â
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were thinking loudly.â
âI was thinking that youâre enjoying your childrenâs menu.â
Todd pointed half a sandwich at him. âFirst of all, itâs good.â
Bob smiled.
Todd narrowed his eyes. âDonât look so smug.â
âIâm not smug.â
âYouâre a little smug.â
âYou made fun of me.â
âBecause itâs fun.â
âAnd then made the same thing.â
âBecause itâs good.â
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.
âWhat?â Bob asked.
âNothing.â
âThatâs usually my line.â
Todd smiled faintly. âI know.â
Bob looked down into his bowl.
The soup was cooling now.
Still good.
Still warm enough.
After a moment, Todd reached over and took Bobâs free hand.
Bob let him.
Todd played idly with his fingers, turning Bobâs 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 wouldnât notice until the exact moment it undid him.
Maybe Todd did know.
Maybe he didnât.
Maybe that was part of what made it feel so honest.
âYeah, but now youâre doing it at the soup.â
Bob laughed.
Toddâs thumb brushed over his palm.
Bob leaned sideways until his shoulder pressed more fully against Toddâs.
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 Bobâs knuckles.
Casual.
Sleepy.
Almost absentminded.
Bob closed his eyes.
Todd noticed that too.
âCome here,â he murmured.
Bob opened his eyes. âIâm already here.â
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 Toddâs shoulder while Toddâs arm came around him.
The kitchen was quiet again.
The kind of quiet that belonged only to very late nights and very early mornings.
Toddâs cheek rested against Bobâs hair.
Bob could hear him breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
Familiar.
After a while, Todd said, âFor the record, I also bought that tea you like.â
Bob lifted his head slightly.
Todd kept looking forward, casual as anything.
âAnd the weird crackers.â
Bob stared at him.
Toddâs mouth twitched.
âAnd those ginger candies you pretend you donât eat all of.â
Bobâs chest went warm again.
Todd finally looked down at him.
His expression softened immediately.
âToo much?â
Bob shook his head.
âNo,â he said.
Todd searched his face for a second.
Then nodded once.
Bob rested his head back against Toddâs 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 wouldnât really be.
Not much.
Not with Todd there.
For now, though, it was only them.
The empty kitchen.
The cooling bowls.
Toddâs hand warm around his.
Bob let his eyes close.
Todd shifted beside him and kissed the top of his head.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Todd whispered.
Bob smiled.
âYou bought me soup.â
Todd laughed softly.
âYeah,â he said. âI did.â
Bob didnât answer.
He didnât 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 didnât have to feel terrifying every time.
Maybe sometimes it felt like grilled cheese at three in the morning.
Toddâs shoulder beneath his cheek.
A sleepy kiss pressed into his hair.
And a pantry shelf already stocked with proof that someone had been thinking of him long before he ever thought to ask.
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Summary: You and Ben went to the El Royale in search for inspiration and a change from the hustle and bustle of New York City. There was something missing in your lives in the big apple and you left to go find it. At least that's what you told Miles as you checked in for you indefinite stay. Neither of you expected to find what you were looking for in the shy, caring hotel clerk who checked you in that first day.
Warnings: SMUT, strangers to friends to lovers, threesome, voyeurism (it's Miles duh), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, unprotected p in v, anal sex (between ben and miles), mention of Miles drug addiction, mention of past exchanging's of sex for drug, mention of sex work, angst, Miles is YERNING!!!!, misunderstanding (Miles thinks there's cheating but no cheating around these parts!!!!), mentions of Miles's war past, mentions of past character deaths (Bens parents), Miles's religious guilt and trauma (If i miss any im sorry this was such a long fic)
Word Count: 11.9k (you better be fucking joking)
Note: This absolutely took me out. Took me a month to write and it's finally DONE!! If you notice similarities between this and Change, no you didn't. Thank you to @lalalunascope for dealing with me through all this, this fic wouldn't be what it is without your editing and suggestions!!! Based on this request here! Anyway, off to a meeting right now, excited to see your guys' reaction when I get out!
Masterlists
đPart of my 500 Follower Celebrationđ
The day you and Ben Mears stopped by for your extended stay at the El Royale, seeking supposed âinspirationâ for a new book, Miles thought you both would be nothing more than a happily married couple whoâd end up being the same type of customers heâd seen time and time again. Eat, sleep, and stay in your rooms unless you need some housekeeping from the lowly hotel clerk.
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 shouldâve 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 wasnât until you wrote your names down that Miles had realized he actually did know you. Well, your husband at least.
âO-oh, youâre Ben Mears? The author?â
Ben cocked a brow, surprised, âYou know my books?â
Miles nodded, âY-yeah, uhm I really liked your last one. Didnât really think all those reviews about it were too fair.â
Shyly keeping his eyes glued to the wood counter, Miles missed the amused look of curiosity you and Ben shared, Benâs raised brow or the playful wink you threw at your husband before he looked back up at you, none the wiser.
Ben chuckled, âWell, thank you Miles. You think you can call my publisher and let him know that?â
You lightly slapped his shoulder; Ben acted like heâd been wounded in combat. Miles smiled at you two. He didnât 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 âcouplesâ 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, âWhat brings you to the El Royale?â
Ben hummed, looking a little pained as he uttered the word, âInspiration.â
Milesâs brows furrowed, eyes squinting as he tilted his head to the side, âCome again?â
Ben sighed, exhausted already at the mere memory of his publisher admonishing him for his last poorly reviewed book, âWell, my publisher has been up my ass about getting a new book out before the end of the year, and uhâŠâ
You cut in, leaning against Ben's arm, âLetâs just say, staying in New York hasnât been all that⊠inspiring.â
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.Â
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 wouldâve given him an excuse to sneak into those back rooms and take a peek. Just out of⊠curiosity. Yeah, thatâs right. Curiosity. That was all. Nothing more.
Miles knew he shouldnât have. He should have turned back and gone back to his room. But he couldnât 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 heâd 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 shouldnât have violated your privacy again; he just couldnât help himself. Yesterday, you had been his only form of genuine human interaction that heâd 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 twoâd inevitably come down for your morning cup of joe when he felt the pull to check those back rooms. He promised himself heâd 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 shouldnât have, but his finger flicked the switch to his side, and your moans echoed through the wall the moment he did.
âOh! Ben, yes, yes!â Then as the author brought your nipple to his mouth, you whined, âJust like that â fuck!â
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.
âShhh, darling,â Ben whispered with a smirk. âDonât want to wake the neighbors now do we?â
âWeâre the only ones in this fucking hotel. Shut up and fuck me harder, Ben.â
The author simply chuckled at your words, âAs you wish.â
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, âBen, m'close!"
Ben growled, picking up pace, âI got you, come on baby, come on my cock.â
Sweat dripped down the hotel clerkâs 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 husbandâs 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 âoofâ. 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 âyou okay?âÂ
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 partnerâs next move before they did. When you moved, he moved; it was instinctive, but Miles guessed that must be what itâs like when youâve 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 heâd slept with on these very hotel beds. No, no they didnât count. Miles was nothing more than a faded memory or another notch on their belts.
Miles couldnât 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, heâd 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 wouldnât 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 didnât think heâd see much of you besides the occasional room service or cocktail at the bar, but you and Ben rarely ever kept to yourselves.
He didnât 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 Milesâs country life back in Indiana.
And then it turned into cooking lessons where you and Ben tried to recreate your motherâs 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 âhe accidentallyâ got some chocolate on your face. Miles, in return, baked you both his Nanaâs award-winning peach cobbler.Â
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 authorâs nose, he nearly stumbled back to the room he came out from. Now Miles wasnât 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 âAbout the Authorâ 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.
âYou alright there, Miles?â
âHuh? Oh!â Miles jumped when he realized heâd been caught staring. He was grateful Ben didnât comment on it. The author simply smirked to himself as the hotel clerkâs ears burned red, âYe-yeah, mâfine.â
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 couldnât 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.
âHi.â
âChrist!â
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.
âCanât sleep?â
âDefinitely wonât be able to anymoreâŠâ Miles muttered under his breath before walking behind the bar, âTea?â
The other man shrugged, âIf you donât mind.â
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.
âHere,â 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, âLet me help.â
Ben smiled at him sheepishly, heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment, âThanks, sorry.â
Miles just threw him a tired smile, and in a flash, viola! Orange, red, and yellow flames bounced off the walls of the room, âWhat brings you out here so late?â
âCanât sleep, and I didnât want to wake her up with my tossing and turning soâŠ.â Ben trailed off, gesturing to himself.
Once the kettle whistled and Miles made himself comfortable on the couch across from the author, it didnât 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 otherâs company.
âWhatâs keeping you up?â
âOh, um,â An explosion. Smoke. Fire. Dead eyes, âNothing just, I get nightmares from time to time. Bad⊠memories.â
It didnât 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 didnât look like the stereotypical military, with his slouched shoulders and meek demeanor, but that look in his eyes screamed of someone whoâd seen and survived things most couldnât even fathom. Ben was lucky enough to have not been caught up in the draft, but he knew many who werenât.
Ben bit the inside of his cheek, his voice much more serious than it had been all night long, âThe war?â
Miles didnât need to say anything, just a nod was enough, âW-what about you? Whatâs keeping you up?â
âAlso, a nightmare, well, sort of. My parents died in a fire when I was very young, so I donât really remember much about it. But when Iâm sleeping, I can sometimes still feel things from that night, but itâs all fuzzy.â Ben let out a dry chuckle, shaking the thoughts out of his head, âGuess sometimes things are so bad your brain wonât let you remember them.â
âWell, my brain seems to do the opposite, wonât let me forget. I can still see them. The bodies, the dead eyes. The smellâŠâ Miles flinched, like the memory was physically attacking him, âCan never forget the smell.â
Miles muttered the last part, but then, like a flip had been switched, he blinked, realizing what heâd revealed, not expecting himself to say something so real and personal. Ben looked like he was going to say something, but Miles didnât want to dive deeper into it, âSorry, forget I said anything.â
âNo, don't apologize-â
âHowâs the tea?â Miles said that sharper than he intended. Heâs glad his Nana isn't here to slap him over the head for being so rude.
Ben stumbled over his words. âThe â oh the tea? Y-yeah itâs good. Nice. Warm. Honey?â
Miles nodded, hiding away from Benâs pity filled eyes, âHoney.â
A silence fell over them, and Ben looked like he wanted to say more. He knew Miles didnât want to dive back into the past conversation, but he thought about complimenting Miles on how hospitable heâd been to them since they got here. Or maybe heâd 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 Milesâs alarm in his room interrupted him before he could say anything else.
âOh! Is it nearly 6 already?â
âHuh? Oh... shit it is.â Ben messed with his hair, groaning as he stood up and looked at his watch, âThanks for keeping me company this morning, or night or whatever.â
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, âSee you for breakfast.â
Ben watched as he left, unable to deny the fact he wished he couldâve stayed talking to Miles, even for just a little longer, âSee you.â
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 wasnât so one-sided after all.
At first Ben thought Miles was only attracted to you. The hotel clerk wasnât 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.Â
The one that always made Ben laugh every time he thought about it when he was watching you look over the engine of your guysâ car. You had taken it upon yourself to give it a once over when it wouldnât 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 couldnât help himself from ogling your ass from that angle, and it seemed he wasnât the only one.
Benâs 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, âCar trouble?â
You turned to face him, sending him a strained smile before turning back to the car, âI was going to go into town and pick up a few things and it just⊠wouldnât start, piece of shit,â 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. âMiles⊠Do you happen to know of any mechanic in town? Maybe someone friendly enough that they wonât charge an arm and a leg just to look at the damn thing.â
Miles chuckled, âAfraid not, maâam, but Iâm sure we can find someone in the phone book.â He heard you mutter a âfuckâ before perking up again, âD-do you want me to take a look?â
You nearly jumped for joy at the offer. While you knew some things about cars, you were nowhere near an expert, âWould you? Do you know cars like that?â
Miles shakes his head, âN-not really, but I learned a little bit about them in LBJ.â
You tilted your head to the side, confused, âIn what now?â
âLong Binh Junction.â When you still looked confused, he muttered, âIn Vietnam.â
âOh!â You straightened up at that, smile dimming slightly, âYou served?â
âY-yes, but thatâs another life now.â
Noting how he seemed to skirt around the subject, you just nodded, âYouâre too kind, Miles.â
He took the tool from your open hand, again feeling that static energy, but he didn't acknowledge it and kept his head down âJust helping where I can.â
Looking to make small talk while under the hood of your car, Miles asked, âDoes Mr. Mears not ââ Miles motioned to the engine of the car, and you couldnât help but chortle at the mere idea of Ben knowing anything about cars.
âBen may be gifted when it comes to writing, but cars? Anything to do with any type of machinery besides a pen and paper? Heâs hopeless.â You proudly grinned when you heard Miles laugh.
âOh, I think I see the issue.â Miles took the rag you handed him, wiping his hands clean as he explained, âNeeds a new battery, and some spark plugs. Nothing too hard to change if you got the right tools, which Iâm sure I gotâŠâ
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, âThanks Miles. Weâd be calling every mechanic in the phone book if it wasnât for you.â
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, âO-of course. Um, d-do you need, um, me to help you to order the parts? Or, or I can help -â
You waved him off, âItâs quite alright Miles, youâve done more than enough. Iâll get Ben to handle it. If he canât look at a car, the least he can do is order the parts, no?â
âRight, right.â 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.Â
Ben hummed in interest as he watched you two bid each other goodbye, not at all missing how the hotel clerkâs 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 didnât care what others thought, you couldnât be too upset when your past partners left when they realized you both wanted more.
Pretty soon after your talk under the hood of Benâs 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 youâd 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 Milesâ 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.
âI donât know what to say, just, thank you. Thank you so much.â
You laughed as Miles hugged you, âIâm glad you like it.â Before placing a delicate kiss on the manâs cheek. It was the second one youâd given him, and Miles couldnât believe it. Were you always so affectionate with people you didnât know? Was this just something reserved for him, because you were friends? Was it⊠Could itâŠ?
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 âthank youâ 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.
âFor you.â
Your eyes widened, a surprised smile on your face as Miles revealed the secret heâd 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, âMiles! You shouldn't have. Oh! I love it!â
He rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish smile on his face as you complimented the fabric and his technique, âI 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.â
Lightly, you flicked his shoulder, ignoring his little âhey!â âYou don't need to give me things in return, Miles. That was a gift.â
âI know! I know, but I justâŠwanted to do something nice for you.â
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.Â
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 itâs fine, itâs fine. Besides the fact youâre 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 didnât have it in his heart to wake you, but he knew youâd 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 couldnât 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 donât wake up at the same time.
âOh! Miles! Hey, wha- oh. She fell asleep?â
âY-yeah,â Miles whispered, checking to make sure you didn't wake up at Benâs 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, âI didn't have the heart to wake her up.â
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. Heâd hate to have you get woken up because he transferred you from his arms to Ben's. Â
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 heâd 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 wasnât 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, âHer feet run cold, so she always gotta sleep with her fuzzy socks on.â
Miles chuckled, âOh yeah?â
âYeah, thank goodness too.â Ben rubbed your calves, smiling fondly down at your sleeping figure, âNo more getting attacked by her icicles every night and morning as long as she got them on.â
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 heâd never experience that with either of you, he was happy for you both. Â
âDid you end up finding what you were looking for?â
Ben cocked a brow at Miles, âWhatcha mean?â
While throwing another blanket over your sleeping body, Miles reminded Ben, âYou said that when you checked in. That you were searching for something, that something was missing in New York. Did you find it?â
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. âYeah, yeah I think we have.â
Finally satisfied that you were comfortable, Miles turned to Ben, âGood.â But there was something different in his eyes when he said it. Something almost⊠sad.
Ben noticed immediately, concerned, âYou okay?â
Miles nodded, avoiding Ben's face as he stood up, âYeah, yeah, I'm just tired. Iâll leave you be, have a good night.â 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 heâd never see you again. That made his heart race, and not in a good way.
Heâd like to imagine youâd 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.
âLord,â Miles began, dropping to his knees and intertwining his hands together as he prayed, âI 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 itâs not right, wanting a man and woman, a married couple, but I can't-â Miles inhaled sharply, nearly collapsing against the edge of his bed as he felt tears brimming his eyes, âPlease just stop it. I don't wanna miss them when they leave. Please.â
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 Milesâs 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 didnât care. But that wouldâve 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? Heâd really like that. Even though you were probably busy, but he just -
âYou alright there, Miles?â
Miles blinked, dropping the spoon into the drink heâd 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.Â
Ben looked at him, concerned, still waiting for an answer.
Milesâs voice came out shakier than intended, âO-oh right. Yes, yes, Iâm f-fine.â
Ben hummed, putting the book in his lap down and standing up, âIâm gonna miss this place ya know?â
âOh!?â Christ Miles! Keep your voice at a normal octave.
âYeahâŠâ Ben trailed off, gazing at Miles with a look so intense the hotel clerk had to look away, âLike I said, finally found that thing I was looking for. Plus, weâve been getting a bit antsy for a change of scenery. Not saying California isnât pretty butâŠâ
Miles laughed half-heartedly, before his face turned serious again, âW-when will you be going?â he doubts youâll be leaving soon. You have to at least give him a two week notice. So he could mentally prepare. Heâll make sure to cherish his time with you both even more. Not that he already didn't, but heâd 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 -
âProbably in a couple days. At most a week.â
âWhat!? But thatâs so-â Miles cleared his throat, collecting himself. Pull yourself together man! âSorry, I mean, thatâs soon.â
Ben nodded, tapping his finger on the armrest of the couch, âI knowâŠâ before he changed the subject, a look flashing across his face that Miles didn't recognize. âDo you dance?â
Miles flashed him an incredulous look, but shook his head, âNot really, no.â
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.
âNeither do I.â
Miles tried to wave him off, shaking his head when Ben beckoned him over, âO-oh no, I canâtâ
âCome on, whatâs one dance?â
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 heâd 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 Milesâs attention. Ben still had that stupid smile on his face,âComeon, just this once.âÂ
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, âAlright. But if I step on your feet, itâs your own fault.â
âYesss!â
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.
âIs this okay?â
Goosebumps spread up and down Milesâs neck as he felt Ben's hot breath on his skin, âY-yes, fine. Itâs fine.â
âGood, good.â Wooden floorboards creaked quietly under them as they swayed. Miles kept his gaze focused on Benâs Adam's apple, too scared to look up. And Ben couldnât take his eyes off the other man, he barely could since he met the man all those months ago.Â
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, heâs 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 Milesâs face in that notebook of yours. Thatâs 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 couldnât help himself as he blurted out, âYouâre beautiful.â
âUmmm,â 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, âI donât mean to offend or make you feel awkward, itâs just, you are. Very beautiful.â
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.
âI-â
Ben leaned forward, placing a delicate, almost tentative kiss against Milesâ lips. Milesâs 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.Â
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?Â
WaitâŠno, this was all wrong.
In an instant, Miles pushed back, âN-no.â
Ben tried, cupping his face again, âMiles-â
âYouâre married.â
The sound Miles made nearly broke Benâs 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 youâd 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.
âYes, but Miles, she, we, we both-â
âNo!â Miles snapped, his lip wobbling as he backed away even further from Ben, âI- I need to go. Iâm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just, I need to go.â
âMiles!â 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 heâd just put himself in and what he was feeling as he thought of telling you what heâd just done.
âShit.â
---
Miles couldnât 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.Â
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.
Itâd 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 wouldnât be mad at him. He knew that. Your husband was the one who kissed him after all, but Miles honestly didnât know what to expect.Â
Milesâs voice only wavered slightly as he answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possible, âThank you for calling the-the, um El Royale. This is M-Miles speaking.â
âMilesâŠâ 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, âCould you be a dear and come by the room when you have a chance? Thereâs somethingâŠâ You paused, and Miles wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. âSomething we need to discuss with you.â
Panicked, âM-maâam, I swear I ââ
âWeâll see you in a bit, Miles.â
Defeatedly, he responded, âO-okay.â
âGreat, thank you.â
Milesâs 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.Â
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.Â
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 couldnât decipher. A mix of sadness, anger, and something he couldnât quite understand (hope?) was etched across your face.Â
âMiles.â Your voice sounded rough, smile not reaching your eyes. âThank you for coming. Please come in.â
Miles shook his head, backing away, but you reached out, grip firm but still gentle, and tugged him inside, âPlease Miles, we just want to talk.â
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 whoâd 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.
âMiles-â
âIâm sorry -â 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 Benâs involuntary gasp or the scrape of the chair behind him, his hand clasped together with yours as he begged for forgiveness, âIâm sorry I didnât mean to cause you any distress!â
Your hands shot out, trying to get him off the floor, âMiles please, stand up, you donât need to -â
âIâm terribly sorry for â I swear I would never -â
âMiles, Miles please! There isnât anything to forgive. Ben was supposed to wait until -â
âPlease don't be mad! I swear - wait, wait, waitâŠâ Milesâs eyes flickering to you then Ben and back to you, âSupposed to wait⊠for what? To.. to kiss me?â
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, âWhat⊠I donât... I don't understand.â
You sighed, rubbing his back, âThis isn't how we wanted to tell you. We had a plan in place.â You spoke very pointedly at Ben, who cringed and slumped down in his seat at your tone.
âA⊠a plan?â
You exhaled, squaring your shoulders up like itâd give you the confidence you needed to confess, âWe were going to ask you out properly at least once before we left. Take you somewhere nice now that the carâs fixed. We knew we couldnât just spring this on you out of nowhere. We thought we werenât being subtle about it, but maybe we were.â
âSo⊠so you're not mad at me? For the kiss?â
âAt you? Heavens no! I was mad at Ben for not acting according to planâŠâ You trailed off, watching your husband lean forward and face palm himself, âOnly slightly.â
Miles looked like he couldnât 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 didnât want to dwell on it any longer. You wanted him. Him! He wasnât going to question it.
âA-all this time - I, Iâve never felt this way before. I didnât think it was right. Falling for two people, let alone a married couple, but -â Ben moved closer, noticing the shake in Milesâs voice, and Miles immediately leaned into him, âBut I have. Itâd be a lie to suggest otherwise.â
Nudging your nose against his, you asked, âCan I kiss you, Miles?â
He didnât care that he sounded desperate and needy when he answered you, âPlease.â
You closed the gap between you, hands cupping Milesâs cheeks as you finally kissed the man youâd 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 youâd disappear if he let you go. Like he was so scared that heâd open his eyes and find this was all some cruel dream. That he wasnât actually here, kissing the woman of his dreams.
It escalated after that. You had told yourselves you wouldnât, but sometimes instincts took over and all you could do is act. Benâs 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 didnât let that interruption deter you. As much as you wouldâve 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.
Milesâs breath hitched as hands tugged on the hotel clerkâs belt. A choked cry left him as Ben slid his hand under Milesâs underwear and touched him. Itâd been so, so long since Miles felt a touch that wasnât his there. And Ben wasnât rough or quick with his movements like how Miles touched himself. He was curious, languid in his movements as his hand stroked him. Miles couldâve cum from just this, you sucking on his pulse point and Ben jerking him off, but he didnât want that. He wanted to be as close to you as possible when that time came.
âWait, wait, wait!â
You pulled back, âWhatâs wrong?â
Benâs hand moved from his cock, but Milesâs hand stopped him before he could pull away, âAre we moving too fast? Are you okay?â
âMâfine, I swear, more than fine. I justâŠI donât wanna cum yet.â
You cooed at how shy he was admitting that. Miles blushed even harder when you gave his cheek another peck, âOkay, letâs go at your pace. Where do you want us, baby?â
âI donât know, I just- I just want you both, please.â
âWanna sit on his face, love?â
Milesâs hips jerked forward at that. His face somehow burned even hotter when you and Ben chuckled at his desperation.
âI think thatâs a yes.â
You chuckled at Ben before turning back to him, âWant that honey? Want me to sit on your face?â
He nodded, but you shook your head, âNeed to hear you say it baby.â
âYes, please!â
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 clerkâs face, giggling as you wiped a bit of drool from his chin.
âReady, darling?â
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, âWords.â
âY-yes, please. I'm ready, I'm ready.â
The moment your pussy connected with Milesâs 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 theyâd 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, âMiles! Yes! Yes! Fuck, do that again!â
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 wouldâve gotten this moment framed so it could be immortalized. That look in Milesâs 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 âOâ, a moan escaping you as Milesâs 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, âSo beautiful.â Ben muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against him.
Miles squeaked against you, hole tightening. Ben chuckled, âGod you're so cute,â 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.Â
You couldn't help but giggle as you started grinding down on his face, âOpen him up nice and good, Ben. He makes the most adorable noises.â
âSo fucking adorable,â Ben muttered, âCant wait till i feel him around me.âÂ
Precum spurted from Milesâs 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 âwatch thisâ 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 didnât 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 Milesâs 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.Â
You whined, âMiles, mâsensitiveâ 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, âOh, Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.â 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, âCome on baby, let me go. Don't worry, I ainât going anywhere, just wanna lay down beside you.â
Finally, with sad eyes, he let you go. The moment you were off him, Ben couldnât help but surge forward, purring against Milesâs lips, âWanna taste you two together,â 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 Milesâs cock and onto Benâs belly.Â
Ben huffed a laugh as he felt that sticky substance on his skin, âOkay, okay, won't keep you waiting any longer.â Miles' chest heaved up and down, eyes only leaving Ben for a second when you took his hand in yours. âYou ready, baby?â
Miles had never nodded his head so fast before, âPlease, I need to feel you inside me.â
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 Benâs girthy member.Â
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, âYou feel amazing, so tight.â
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.Â
With a mischievous smile, you started toying with Milesâs nipple, smiling wider when he moaned, squirming and clenching against Ben as you started rubbing his nub until it hardened.Â
Miles whimpered through gritted teeth when you wrapped your lips around his nipple and sucked, âOh my god! Ugh!âÂ
Not a single coherent sentence left Milesâs trembling lips as Ben hit his prostate dead on, and you sucked and nipped at his chest, just your name, Benâs, and various âOh my god!âs, âPlease!âs, and âF-fuck, s-so good!âs leaving the man.
It wasnât 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 heâd ever experienced ran through him. Sobs wracked his body as he felt pure euphoria.Â
You immediately soothed him, petting his hair and whispering words of praise and affection as the last of his cum spurted onto his tummy, âYou did so good, Miles. Sâgood for us. Our good boy.â All Miles could do was whimper as you kissed his fallen tears over and over.
Ben was right behind him, grunting into Milesâs neck as his cum flooded the other manâs 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 Milesâ back, "Beautiful. You felt so good, so beautiful. You were amazing, bud.â
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 heâd 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 Benâs stubble against his shoulder. Without even knowing, Miles fell asleep.
--
Miles wasnât 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 yesterdayâs trash after theyâd gotten their fill.
Itâs why when he woke up face-first in Ben' s solid chest, the authorâs heart beating in his ears and your naked body pressed against his back, he didnât 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 werenât 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 werenât 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 Milesâ hair, giving the top of his head a tiny, good morning peck before he snuggled the hotel clerk further.
Benâs voice, rough and groggy, cut through the air, âMorning cuddles are the best part of the day.â
âShut up,â You cut in, eyes closed as you pulled yourself impossibly closer to the wide eyed and no longer asleep hotel clerk, âLet me and Miles sleep.â
You yawned right at the end,and thatâs when you finally opened your eyes.
Soft. Thatâs 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.
âYou sleep, okay?â
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:
âDid you mean it?â
You hummed, thumb still stroking his cheek, âMean what?â
âL-last night. Y-you said you -â
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 manâs cheek. Miles looked back up, vulnerable.
âOur feelings for you? Yes, without a doubt.â
âWe meant every word, Miles.â
Miles sighed in relief, âThank god.â
You moved to sit up, and Miles followed. He let out a little âoofâ when you suddenly straddled his lap. He opened his mouth to say something when you interrupted him with a kiss, âDo you,â You kissed him again, and Miles gasped against your lips as your exposed cunt rubbed right up against his twitching cock, âHave any guests checking in today?â
Miles shook his head, fighting the urge to pull you down and take you right in front of Ben, âN-no oneâs on the books to come until Tuesday.â
âGood,â Itâs 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, âMeans we can have you all to ourselves then.â
And have him you did.
It would be hours until any of you left the bed that day. You explored each otherâs bodies, learned what made Miles tick, what had him whimpering and begging for more, while Miles learned just how sensitive Benâs 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 otherâs embrace. Thatâs 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.
âCome with us. I know â we know â you have your own life here, but we donât 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 -â
âYes.â
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. âR-really? Are you -â
Miles pulled you down and kissed you, his damp forehead pressing against yours as he muttered against your swollen lips, âYes. 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 youâŠâ Ben reached up and wiped Milesâs teary eyes, âYouâre reason enough.â
Never in his seven years, 10 months and 15 days of service here at the El Royale did Miles ever think heâd 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 heâd 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 clerkâs thigh. You yawned and stretched out your arms like a cat before curling into Milesâs 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.
âHere,â Ben tossed Miles the map from the glove compartment, âMind being my navigator for the next couple of hours?â
Miles shook his head with a grin and opened it up, âWhere we headed next?â
Ben smiled, âWell, while we may have found what we were missing in life in Nevada, or were we technically in California,â Miles blushed and smacked Benâs shoulder, you sleepily mumbling for him to stop at the same time, âI still have to do some research.â
âI thought you said you found the inspiration you were looking for already?â
Ben ruffled Mileâs hair, while Miles just giggled before leaning his head against Benâs shoulder, âWe found what we were missing, but my book, that's a different story. And I figured no place better than to go home.â
Miles cocked a brow, âAnd whereâs home exactly?â
Ben grimaced slightly, âJerusalemâs Lot up in Maine. Havenât been there since I was nine, and itâll take us a couple days, but I have a feeling itâs the right place to be.â
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, âWell, letâs make the most of it, yeah?â
You squeezed Milesâs hand, nuzzling further into his side, âYeah baby.â
Ben nodded, smirking as he pressed the button to turn the radio on, âYou bet.â
Miles and his new partners in crime had no idea what was ahead of them. He was leaving everything heâs known for the past decade behind for a couple heâd 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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I come with a request for Ben and Miles where reader and Ben are on a trip and staying at the el royal and take an interest in the manager đ
Kinda like hat reynolds rhett miles and reader fic but just with Ben and miles
And can it be the prompts: Morning cuddles are the best part of the day.â And âoh no theres only one bed what shall we doâ that last on is meant to be like teasing cause obviously itâs a hotel thete are tons of beds