The text comes in at 1:00 AM. It’s slow in the pitt, and he was thinking about you anyway.

How can I be sure I’m feeling kicks and not the kid falling apart inside of me?

Not his wife, not his girlfriend, not even his baby mama, even though Shen likes to call it that.

You’re his neighbor, 23 weeks pregnant with a baby conceived through artificial insemination, the biological father being sperm donor 18645.

You and Jack always said hello when you saw each other in your driveways. He jumped your car for you once. He always thought you were pretty and had a good sense of humor. It was probably the day you moved in and introduced yourself with a plate of cookies for him that he decided he liked you. 

It wasn’t an all-consuming crush or anything; just recognition that you’re objectively attractive, with other great qualities as well. 

If he had been able to find the time, he would have asked you out on a date before all this happened. You’d been friendly neighbors for a little over two years when you asked him if he knew any good fertility specialists while the two of you took out your trash.

“For you?” he had asked, then immediately cringed because it sounded invasive.

“Uh, yeah. I… I’m going to be 34 this year. Last chance to do it before they classify me as ‘geriatric’,” you joked. “I’m sick of the apps and the stupid pottery classes people take to try to meet people. I want a baby, and I don’t need a boyfriend or a husband to have one, so I’m trying to do that.”

“Oh, well…good for you. Uh, yeah, I know a few. I’ll text you a list?”

You said that was fine, thanked him, then walked back into your house.

Fertility specialist, Jack thought. He’d jizz in a cup for free and steal the equipment from the hospital just to put his baby in you.

Then he thought maybe that was a road he didn’t want to go down. It’d be stupid to imagine himself as the guy who could walk around with the knowledge that he filled you up with his baby, to imagine you begging for Jack to relieve the wave of hormones he knows the second trimester usually brings pregnant women rather than begging him to tell you if every little thing you’re experiencing is normal, to imagine what the baby might look like when the doctor places the newborn on your chest. 

So he went inside and went through his contacts of fertility doctors he knew or knew of in the area and compiled a list that he sent out to you shortly. He even added a few OB-GYNs he liked to the bottom of the list as a show of good faith.

Now you’re pregnant, every question you have goes directly to him, and Jack wouldn’t have it any other way. Somehow, this pregnancy has brought him closer to you, allowing him to get to know you in a way most neighbors don’t. He’s doing nearly everything a father-to-be might do and almost acts as a 24/7 extension of your OB-GYN. If Jack didn’t know any better, he’d be begging you to tell him it’s all a cosmic joke and the baby in your belly is really his.

They’re kicks, he wrote back.

How do you know for sure?

Because we’d be having an entirely different conversation if they weren’t. You’d know.

The typing bubble pops up, then goes away, then pops up, then goes away again.

Eventually, Jack smiles to himself and types, If you’re that concerned, come see me.

You write back that your ETA is 1:18 AM, give or take, and he likes the message.

At 1:25, Lena tells him he has a visitor in chairs.

You’re wearing gray sweatpants and a Steelers sweatshirt, which is doing too good a job of hiding your bump, in Jack’s opinion.

“This is the emptiest I’ve ever seen this waiting room,” you remark as Jack sits in the chair next to you.

Besides you, there are just a few people who appear to be patients’ rides, spread out through the room.

“Yeah. Pretty good night for you and the little one to need me,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You pick up his hand and bring it to your stomach, shoving it underneath your sweatshirt.

Your skin is warm against his cold palm. One who is more inclined to the arts than he is might say that’s some nice symbolism, but he’s a man of science, so he doesn’t think about it too hard.

Jack moves his hand around the globe of your swollen belly, feeling for movement. When the kid finally moves, he can barely feel it, but one thing is for certain.

“Yeah, the kid’s intact, sweetheart. Not falling apart,” he murmurs huskily.

“That’s your official diagnosis?” you ask, practically cooing with how softly you’re speaking to him.

Jack looks from your belly to you and nods. 

“Yeah, I’m diagnosing you and the kid as okay. A little worrying is normal, though. Means you’re already a hell of a mother,” he says, his gaze softening the longer he looks at you.

You sigh and lean into the chair, looking at Jack almost too fondly for being just friends.

He leans forward until his lips are barely touching your ear.

“I can sneak you back there and use the portable ultrasound,” he murmurs in your ear.

When he leans back, you nod, and then he’s standing, offering you a hand to help you out of your chair.

Jack takes you all the way to the back of the E.D.

Shen, Ellis, and the other residents and nurses are too wrapped up in charting and the few cases they have to notice what’s going on.

Jack parks you in one of the exam rooms, then heads to a supply closet for a portable ultrasound machine, thankfully, once again, not drawing any attention to himself.

He comes back to find you with your sweatshirt rolled up, inadvertently revealing the fact that you’re not wearing a bra, baring just the tiniest sliver of underboob to his eyes.

“Intuitive,” he mumbles as he snaps gloves over his hands.

“I’m trying to become your favorite patient you ever had,” you reply, reaching your arms behind your head.

Jack smiles and turns on the machine.

“My favorite patient was a frat guy who got a fork stuck in between his fingers when I was an R3. Guy kept cracking jokes the whole time. He’s unbeatable,” he says, feigning sympathy for you with a frown that’s almost comical. “Plus, this is off the record, so you’re not officially my patient.”

You roll your eyes and keep your eyes fixed on the gel he squirts on your abdomen. 

“I can be funny,” you mumble, your tone almost petulant.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, matter-of-factly, reaching for the probe. “It was situational.”

The probe rubs side to side, then it presses in just a bit, and the room fills with the whooshing sound of your baby’s heartbeat.

“God, it never gets old,” you sigh.

Jack smiles and holds the probe steady, just watching the baby move around inside you.

“Her lungs start working next week,” he says, eyes fixed on the grainy image of your baby.

Your eyes light up at that, and Jack almost melts at the sight when he meets your gaze.

“I read somewhere that babies are viable at 24 weeks,” you say, and Jack doesn’t miss the slight note of anxiety in your tone.

He nods and keeps his eyes on yours. “Yeah, that’s true. You don’t have to worry about that, though. Your daughter looks healthy, and my psychic didn’t say anything about my pregnant friend getting in any tragic accidents.”

You chuckle at that, then sigh.

“I know I did this to myself, literally, but I just… Fuck, Jack, it’s hard doing it alone,” you whisper, bringing a hand up to cover your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m abusing the fact that my neighbor is a hot-shot emergency medicine doctor,” you murmur, lowering your hand.

Jack shrugs and shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d rather you ask me every little question that pops into your head than ask Dr. Google. As long as the kid calls me Uncle Jack in the end, we’ll call it even.”

It’s nowhere near even, but you don’t feel like arguing it, so you nod and take another look at your daughter’s developing form on the grainy screen.

“Thanks for doing this. I know you could get in trouble.”

Jack shrugs again, like it’s nothing.

“I’m the night shift’s supervising attending. No one here is gonna do shit about this, even if they did find out,” he says softly, reassuring you.

You smile, and Jack asks if you’re done hanging out with the baby. When you nod, he pushes the machine away and hands you a tissue to wipe your bump, then watches you slide it over the gel on your skin.

He smiles and offers both of his hands to help you sit up and get off the cot, which you gladly take.

Then he takes off his gloves and tosses them in the trash. “Wait here. I gotta return this machine, then I’ll walk you out.”

You lean against the counter, hand idly rubbing your bump.

God, the number of times you wish you had just asked him to come in a cup for you. You could have done this turkey baster style. Better yet, the old-fashioned way.

Fuck, Jack would be such a good dad. He cares so much about the baby, and it’s not even his. He’s doing off-the-record ultrasounds in the middle of the night just so you can get some peace of mind. 

“Ready?” Jack asks, opening the door and peeking his head in.

You look up, then smile and nod at him.

Jack walks out with you, back to chairs with a hand at the small of your back. You’re surprised that he doesn’t stop there. He walks you all the way to the parking lot where you left your car.

“Y’know, I’ve got a Butterfly ultrasound at home,” he says as you reach into your bag for your keys to unlock your car. “You just hook it up to your phone, and you can check on her whenever you want.”

Your eyes light up.

“Jack, you don’t have to do that,” you say, but he can hear the awe in your voice.

“No, but I’m trying to butter you up so you name her after me,” he jokes.

You let out a soft chuckle and lean against the driver’s door of your car.

“Jacqueline is a nice name,” you hum. “It’s still in the running, I promise.”

“So… I’ll drop off the Butterfly in the morning,” he says. “In the meantime, shut off your phone, trust me when I tell you the baby’s fine, and go to sleep. Yeah?”

You sigh, watching his lips as he speaks, then putting your gaze back on his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Jack looks down at your bump and fights the urge to put his hand there and tell the kid goodbye. It’d probably be weird for him to do that, he thinks.

You don’t miss his gaze flitting to your midsection, but you’re not sure what the right thing to say is, so you stay quiet.

“Thanks again, Jack. It really means a lot. I’ll see you in the morning,” you say, opening the driver’s side door.

“Text me when you’re home. Drive safe,” he replies softly, shutting the door for you once you’re comfortably seated.

As he watches your car disappear from the parking garage, he ignores the longing feeling behind the left side of his ribs that tells him he needs to leave with you, cradle you and your bump in his big, strong, capable hands so he can shield you and her from the world.

You’re just his neighbor who appreciates his knowledge as a doctor.

Nothing more.

//

Two weeks later, Jack gets another text on his night off.

Is it normal to feel this aroused by the eggplant emoji?

He almost drops his phone when he sees the message pop up on his screen. Then another comes.

Sorry if that’s inappropriate. Google wasn’t really helpful.

If this were a patient at the E.D., he’d politely tell you, “It’s natural to feel an increased libido during pregnancy, especially in the second trimester. Use a toy or ask a partner. It’s a perfectly safe activity, even while pregnant.”

But this is you, his next-door neighbor, whom he’s had one too many wet dreams about.

Finally, Jack responds, I told you Dr. Google wasn’t reliable. Anyway, it’s normal. 

Immediately, you text back, Doesn’t feel normal.

He swears his heart is in his throat.

Makes me wonder what other things feel like…

Oh, Jesus Christ…

Okay, either tell me to fuck off or get over here.

You don’t have to tell him twice. In an instant, Jack is shoving his feet into the shoes he left by the front door and crossing the yard to your front porch, where you open the door before he can decide whether to knock or ring the doorbell.

Jack shuts the door behind him, and the tension in the air is so thick, he swears he might start sweating. 

“So…” he says, attempting to bite back a smirk. “What other things were you curious about, sweetheart?”

You huff softly at the teasing lilt to his voice and reach forward, cupping the half-hard erection growing under his pants.

He watches your hand tighten around his crotch and lets out a soft moan, leaning back against your front door.

“Yeah, that was my first guess,” he husks.

“Doctor Google said this,” you say as you squeeze him again, “was the only thing that would make me feel better. Then I thought I should get a real doctor’s opinion, so… Dr. Abbot, is your cock gonna make me all better?” you coo, your breath hot on Jack’s face.

Jack takes a moment to catch his breath and regain his composure, then plants his hands on your shoulders.

“In my professional opinion, I’d say yes,” he replies breathily.

“Yeah? Your cock is gonna make me feel good?” you croon.

He nods profusely and tilts his head back, then looks straight at you.

“Let’s get you on your bed. Want you comfortable,” he says, his face and tone serious despite how turned on he is.

You remove your hand from his crotch and take one of his hands to lead him up the stairs to your bedroom. As you ascend the stairs, you pull your sweatshirt over your head and drop it at the top, baring your naked back to Jack, earning a throaty groan from him.

“Jesus, don’t your tits hurt not wearing a bra?” he inquires as he joins you in your bedroom.

“They don’t really fit too well anymore,” you say, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “I’ve got one that fits, and it comes off as soon as I get home from work every day.”

Jack kneels in front of you before your bed and sets his hands on your thighs.

“Is there anything I should not do? Does anything hurt?” he asks, his tone sweet and concerned.

You shake your head slowly. “Just fuck the shit outta me. Give me as many orgasms as you can. It should be pretty easy, too. I usually come in under five minutes these days.”

Jack’s brows raise, and he lets out a breathy sigh.

“Oh, fuck me, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Uh, okay, I’m clean, but you’re pregnant, and I understand if–”

You cut him off, saying, “Fuck me raw, Jack,” with a low and sultry tone.

You swear he’s growling as he reaches for the elastic of your sweatpants, pulling them down with such speed you’ve never seen in a lover before.

“Get comfortable against the pillows, so I can eat this pussy,” he whispers, yanking down your panties as well.

Now naked and exposed, you do as he says, scooting backwards until your back hits the pillows. You get comfortable, then spread your legs.

He doesn’t waste any time. Immediately, he licks a stripe up and down your slit, slurping up your juices.

It pulls moans and gasps from you as soon as his tongue makes contact with your pussy.

“Oh, God, Jack…”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles against your swollen lips.

Jack keeps licking stripes up and down, then he moves his tongue side to side around your clit, making a swiping motion with his tongue. He sucks on your clit like it’s a Lemon Drop.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so good,” you whine, reaching your hand down to tug at his hair with one hand, while the other starts twisting your nipple.

At the praise, he smiles against your cunt, then goes to push a thick finger inside of you, which has your back arching and your jaw dropping.

“Fuck, shit! Shit, Jack, I’m close,” you moan, more high-pitched than you care to admit.

“Already?” he rasps teasingly against you as he fucks his finger in and out of you in time with his licks to your clit.

“I fucking told you: baby hormones,” you whine, clamping down around Jack’s finger, clit spasming against his tongue.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. You come for me like the good girl I know you are,” he coos against you. “Yeah, that’s right. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

His words are like a spell, and you do exactly as he says, gushing fluid into his mouth and around his finger as you climax with a shout of his name and an arch of your back.

“Yeah, that felt good, huh?” he coos as he laps up your arousal, which is either overstimulating or the best feeling you’ve ever experienced. 

It’s hard to tell.

“I want your cock,” you breathe, reaching for the collar of his shirt and tugging.

Jack sits up on his knees and pulls his shirt over his head. Then it hits him.

“You know about my leg, right?”

He’s pretty sure he’d said hello to you a few times when you were both taking out the trash last summer. He usually wore shorts around that time. You must’ve seen it and remembered it.

It hits you right then, too. You never really thought about it. The first day you saw it, you didn’t even realize what you had seen until later that night. You knew he was in the military before, so it wasn’t a shock to you. Jack’s prosthesis hasn’t ever been anything you needed to really consider before right now.

“Oh… Yes. Yeah, your leg. How do you normally do this?” you ask, your breath finally stabilizing as the atmosphere in the room grows more serious. 

“Usually go for cowgirl or from behind on our sides,” he says softly.

You nod and smile softly. “Cowgirl. I wanna see you.”

For some reason, that really warms his heart. You’re hormonal and would probably rather get fucked in a way that requires you to do less work, but you want to see him. 

Jack leans forward and gently kisses your lips. Your tongues mingle momentarily before he pulls back.

“I normally like taking it off,” he says. “Better range of motion, really, so…”

You nod, and your gaze softens even further. You gently cradle his face and peck his lips.

“Whatever works for you, baby,” you murmur, leaning back so he has room to get himself situated.

Jack pulls his pants and boxers down, revealing both his now half-hard erection and his prosthesis. 

He’s methodical in taking it off, yet it also appears to be done with the same amount of care as when you floss your teeth: important but nearly mindless.

He sets everything on the floor by your bed, then reaches for your hands to help you sit up so you two can switch positions.

Once Jack’s comfortable against the pillows, and he can really get a look at you, wanton and swollen and panting, his cock stands at full attention.

You reach forward and put both your hands on his shoulders for balance, then hover your weeping pussy over his cock.

Jack’s breathing picks up as he watches your arousal drip over his tip. When you begin to sink down on him, he holds your gaze, watching your lips part in pleasure, and your chest heave as you try to keep control of yourself.

When you’re fully seated on his cock, you let out a deep groan and dig your nails into his shoulders.

Jack brings his bottom lip between his teeth as he adjusts to the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart,” he all but grunts.

You let out a breathy whine, squeezing and releasing and repeating at his shoulders as you grow accustomed to how fucking thick he is.

“Fuck, Jack,” you sigh. “Didn’t realize you were so… Oh, fuck…”

He reaches up and grabs your wrists, not moving them away, just gently rubbing his thumbs against your skin.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he rasps. “You’re a fucking dream, I swear to God.”

You furrow your brow, and you can’t seem to close your mouth. You haven’t even started bouncing on his cock yet, and you’re already a mess.

“Those hormones got you all kinds of messed up, huh, baby? Can’t even respond to a compliment because you’re too focused on how good my cock feels inside of you,” he teases, his voice low and rough.

You moan softly and try to speak, but no words come out.

“Cock drunk already? 

At that, you let out a breathy laugh and slide your hands down to his biceps, then you raise your hips, only to lower them again, slowly finding your pace.

As you settle on a moderate yet hard pace, both your and Jack’s moans, and whines, groans, and gasps pick up.

“Fuck, I should’ve asked you to do this 25 weeks ago,” you groan when he brings a thumb to your clit.

Jack whines and throws his head back against the pillows, his hips jutting up into you in response.

“Shit, I considered offering to jizz in a cup for you, sweetheart,” he admits, bringing his head back up and squeezing so tightly on your hips that you know there will be bruises tomorrow.

Your lids suddenly feel heavier at the revelation. You could have had Jack Abbot’s baby inside you this whole time? Sperm donor 18645 didn’t need to get involved?

“Oh, God,” you moan, your climax peaking, overwhelmed by Jack’s admission and his hands on your body, as well as his cock inside of you.

“Oh, is my good girl coming?” he coos, bringing one hand up to your breast, the other busying itself with your clit. “Yeah? That felt good? You like fucking yourself on my cock?”

You regain your composure, though you’re still shaking slightly when you begin rocking your hips against his.

“Want you to come, Jack. Want you to fill me up and show me how you’ll put my next baby into me,” you babble, your voice breathy and high-pitched.

Jack lets out a throaty groan and sits up a bit further, wrapping his arms around you while he ruts into you from below.

“Yeah? Need another baby? Wanna do it the old-fashioned way next time? Greedy much?” he husks in your ear.

You moan and wrap your arms around his shoulder, relishing the way his pubic hair feels brushing against your clit, as well as the hard planes of his abdomen pressing against the taut, swollen skin of your bump.

“She’s gonna need a playmate,” you reply, your voice shaky.

“I’ll give her a playmate,” he promises, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yeah?” you whine, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. “Then do it, Dr. Abbot,” you dare with a whisper.

And that’s all it takes for Jack to blow his load inside of you, hot and sticky and perfect. His orgasm triggers your third, having you gushing all over Jack’s lap.

You lean your forehead against his own and shut your eyes as you try to catch your breath.

“Mm, thanks for the…treatment, doc,” you murmur after a few moments, not quite sure how to act now that the passion has died down.

You’re in your neighbor’s lap, his cock softening inside of you, a sperm donor’s baby in your belly, and the promise of both of you giving said baby a sibling down the line hangs heavy in the air. It’s fucking uncharted territory.

Jack smiles and breathes out a laugh as he leans back against the pillows.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. You can keep refilling this prescription, too, y’know,” he offers.

You furrow your brow. “Seriously?”

He nods. “Look, since you moved in, I thought you were beautiful. You’re funny, too. Smart, easy to talk to. I didn’t think asking my neighbor out was that great of an idea, but you went and got pregnant and made me your personal encyclopedia on pregnancy, and I gotta say, sweetheart, how much time we’ve been spending together because of it… It’s making me forget about how stupid it’d be to date my neighbor.”

You can only sigh and shake your head.

“Jesus, Jack,” you mumble.

“What? Did I read this wrong?” he asks softly.

You shake your head.

“No, no, I just… I don’t know. I totally gave up on finding someone. It’s the whole reason we’re here, appeasing my hormones,” you joke, a hand going to your belly. “You just surprised me.”

“Good surprise?” he asks, laying his hand beside yours on your bump.

You nod and give him a soft smile.

“So where do we go from here?”

With a shrug, your smile widens. “I think you just keep doing that nude yoga by your window every morning, and we’ll go from there.”

You scheming, sneaky woman…

tags: @person-005 p.s. I plan on doing more for Jack Abbot, so if you want to be added to the taglist or my all works taglist, just comment asking!

or or or (and this one, as a ddd girly, had me on my knees) you’re leaning over to clean up some of the dishes during a barbecue you both hosted. your little dress is a bit wet, and usually sammy does the dishes because it’s a total sensory overload for you. shoulders taut, you’re gritting your jaw but you just wanted to help him. and he sees this.

coming up behind you, his tummy pressed against the curve of your back, sammy’s mouth finds that spot on your neck again. “so pretty, my wifey helpin’ me out, huh?” and you giggle and feel heat on your face as you smile.

he pulls back, knowing you’re about to chide “saaaammmy….” at him– all of his buddies are still outside! but sammy takes a quick glance around your cozy home, and turns to see your stressed body & he’s made his choice.

his big hands reach over the sides of your body, cupping your breasts up with a slow lift. instantly, your head hangs low between your shoulders, a shuddering sigh easing into the hot summer air. “oh sammy, ‘s good” “yeah baby? ‘s that helpin?” and he’s sooo proud of himself, just smiling and trying desperately not to make this sexual immediately.

home depot, baseball, gardening…. you gardening. in that tight little dress you’ve got on now. bent over in the dirt, grabby hands pulling at him as he cups your breasts exactly as he does right now; rutting you further and further into the mud as you whine out, “oh my god, sammy… sammy… sammy!”

“sammy!” you smile incredulously, pausing his thrusts against your ass. he swallows, embarassed, a faint kiss to your neck in parting as he straightens up and rests your breasts back down.

“okay, yeah sorry. gotta-gonna, i need… to get away from you.. like right now.” and he’s so panicked, sneakers scuffing as he goes into the bathroom to control himself <3

The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.

You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.

You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.

Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.

Everything was going exactly as it should be.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.

He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.

It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.

One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.

She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.

You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.

He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.

And then he reached you.

You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.

You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.

You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.

It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.

The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.

There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.

You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.

He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.

It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.

You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.

That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.

Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.

He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.

The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.

Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.

You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.

Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.

At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.

“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.

You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.

It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.

But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.

Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.

You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.

You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.

You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.

“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.

You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.

“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.

“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.

He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.

“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”

Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her

“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.

You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.

He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.

“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.

You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.

“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.

“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.

You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.

“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.

Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.

“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.

“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”

“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.

Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.

He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.

Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.

You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.

“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.

You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.

You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.

It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.

Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.

You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.

The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.

She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.

“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.

Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.

“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.

Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.

It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.

The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.

Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.

“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.

“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.

His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.

You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.

“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.

“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.

The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.

You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.

Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.

“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”

“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.

Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.

“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.

Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.

“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”

“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”

You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.

Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.

“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.

“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.

Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.

Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.

You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.

Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.

The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.

Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.

You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.

His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.

She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.

“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.

“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.

It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.

Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.

It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.

“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”

The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.

“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.

He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.

You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.

Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.

That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.

You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.

“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.

He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.

He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.

“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”

It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.

You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.

You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.

You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.

“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”

He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.

“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.

“She wanted to bang you.”

His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.

“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”

“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”

It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.

But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.

He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.

“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”

Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.

“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.

You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.

“What about you?”

Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.

“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.

You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.

You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.

You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.

He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.

“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.

He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.

“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.

You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”

He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.

The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.

Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.

“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.

“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.

He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.

To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.

You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.

So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.

It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.

Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.

You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.

You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.

Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.

You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.

Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.

Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.

“Maybe we could go to the beach.”

The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”

“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.

Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.

“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”

“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.

It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.

You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.

He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.

“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.

“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”

Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.

It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.

He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.

You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.

“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.

“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”

Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.

If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.

The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.

Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.

It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.

He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.

The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.

It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.

You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.

“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.

“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.

“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”

You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.

“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.

“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.

“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.

“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.

He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.

“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”

He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.

“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.

“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.

“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”

“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”

He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.

“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.

“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”

“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.

“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.

You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.

You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.

His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”

You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.

Because of you.

Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.

You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.

“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.

He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.

“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”

Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.

He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.

“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.

It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.

You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.

You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.

“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.

You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.

“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.

“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.

The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.

You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.

Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.

He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.

You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.

“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”

The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.

“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”

“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.

“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.

It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.

“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”

You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.

You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.

He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.

“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”

That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.

“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.

“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.

“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.

“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.

“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.

“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.

He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.

You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.

The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.

“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.

“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.

You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.

“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”

Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.

You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.

Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.

You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.

“Harder.” You whined impatiently.

“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.

He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.

It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.

He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.

Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.

You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.

“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”

He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.

That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.

You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.

Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.

You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.

He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.

“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.

“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”

He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.

“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.

You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.

Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.

“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.

You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.

You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.

And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.

“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.

“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.

“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”

“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.

You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.

It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.

“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.

You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.

“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”

He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.

“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.

You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.

You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.

It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.

Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.

You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.

He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.

The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.

Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.

It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.

You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.

He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.

It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.

You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.

You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.

It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.

There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.

He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.

Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.

He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.

You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.

His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.

It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.

Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.

She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.

“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”

“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.

She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.

“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”

You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.

All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.

It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.

“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.

“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.

You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.

You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.

Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.

He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.

“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”

It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.

His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.

“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.

“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.

You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.

The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.

“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.

He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.

“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.

The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.

“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.

He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.

You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.

His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.

“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.

You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.

Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.

“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.

Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”

“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.

You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.

“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”

It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.

“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”

He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.

You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.

“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”

“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.

“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.

You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.

He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.

His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.

Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.

“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.

“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.

You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.

“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.

He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.

“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.

You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.

“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.

His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.

You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.

“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.

“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”

He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.

It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.

He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.

Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.

“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.

The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.

“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.

It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.

You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.

Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.

“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.

“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered

One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.

You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.

“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”

That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.

His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.

“Uh guys.”

You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.

His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.

“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.

“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”

It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.

“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.

You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.

“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”

Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.

You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.

Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.

“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”

You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.

“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.

Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.

It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.

His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.

The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.

His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.

You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.

You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.

You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.

Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.

Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.

It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.

The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.

It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.

You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.

“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”

“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”

You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.

He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.

It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.

You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.

You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.

“Hey Andrew, come on in,” you're biting your lip, shyly, stepping aside.

He clears his throat.

“Yeah. Hi.”

He suppresses a wince as he averts his eyes. Don't look down.

The thought comes automatically, like every other instinct that's kept him alive this long.

He slips his boots off by the door without you asking as he enters your apartment, looking around as you venture into your room. 

He can’t mistake this, mistake your kindness, for anything more than it is. He can't mistake these moments for more than they were. The two of you bumping into each other in the grocery store aisle over a month ago, then finding your way back to each other. Him driving you home afterwards because your apartment happened to be on the way. Then doing it again the next day. And the day after that. 

Hands brushing as you sit close to one another, grabbing dinner every now and then at some shitty diner, conversations stretching from awkward small talk into comfortable silences, into stories about childhood, books, documentaries, little pieces of yourselves offered up.

There was something blossoming there. A companionship that, to Andrew, already felt far more intimate than simple friendship. Something steady, gentle, so unlike what he had in his life before. Something he'd catch himself thinking about when he was lying awake at night.

He'd accepted nothing would come from this a long time ago, content with whatever small pockets of warmth you offered him, occupying that strange, liminal space between friendship and something romantic neither of you had ever been brave enough to name. That was enough. More than enough, really. More than a man like him had any right expecting.

The fantasies that crept in during the late hours of the night, when the insomnia had settled into his ribs, were his burden to carry. They were his to hold - between him, the four walls of his bedroom, and a brain that insisted on imagining what it would feel like to have you beside him, pressed against him. They stayed there, locked away where they belonged, because Andrew knew better than to mistake his longing for possibility.

Still, he cannot help but wonder, as he walks into your apartment, if you felt an inkling of what he felt towards you. 

Last night, the two of you had been leaning against the front of his truck beneath the night sky, paper bags from the local shitty diner resting between you as you ate greasy fries and burgers. There hadn't been much talking, there never needed to be. The silence between you had slowly become its own language, one Andrew found himself looking forward to more than he cared to admit.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, finally,” you'd said eventually, licking the salt from the fries off your fingers

He’d averted his gaze, nodded.

You crumpled the bag in your hand.

“So... you doing anything?”

Andrew had mentally scanned through the list in his head. No jobs with either of his brothers. Nothing J couldn't handle himself. Nobody was expecting him anywhere.

“M’gonna watch this new animal documentary,” he'd answered after a moment. “Clean the house.”

“So an average day in the life of Andrew Cody,” you’d teased. “You know, I was just gonna relax too.”

Your voice had gone quieter after that. You'd started fidgeting with one of the many rings on your fingers, eyes fixed on the ground instead of him.

“Maybe smoke a bit.”

A pause. Then, almost too softly to hear, “Do you smoke?”

“Weed?”

You nodded, looking up, with something that closely resembled hope. His brain immediately shut it down. No, not hope, just boredom.

“Doesn't do much for me,” he grumbled. 

The words had barely left his mouth before he saw it, the almost imperceptible stiffening of your shoulders. The way your expression stayed exactly the same, but something behind your eyes dimmed, like someone had quietly reached inside and turned the light down.

He knew that look. It was the same one he held when somebody disregarded what he was saying, when they ignored his questions. He hated himself for being the reason for it donning your face. 

He lifted a hand up. 

“But it's been a long time,” he added quickly, the words spilling out, an attempt to get the light back in. “Might actually hit this time.”

“So…” you mumbled, still refusing to quite meet his gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Andrew didn't even think about it, didn’t let his brain stall too much.

“Yeah.”

He bumped his shoulder gently against yours, the contact awkward enough that he almost pulled away again. But he willed himself to stay there, pressed against you for a few seconds, taking in your warmth.

“I'll come over.”

It wasn't something he was used to doing. Showing up at somebody's apartment, spending time together for no reason other than wanting to.

But the smile that spread across your face, and the quiet way you leaned your shoulder against his afterwards, made the unfamiliarity feel worth every second.

Now, he feels not an ounce of that unfamiliarity as he looks around your living room. 

Everything is littered with little remnants of you. Quintessentially you.

The blinds are drawn, leaving the living room bathed in a soft darkness, broken only by the warm glow of string lights draped lazily along the wall. Books are stacked in uneven piles on a ledge, little trinkets crowd every available surface, CDs and DVDs spill from a shelf beside a tiny TV. A knitted blanket lies abandoned on the floor where you'd probably left it after reading.

He picks it up, hands moving before his brain can comprehend what’s happening, and starts folding it. Corners fitting against each other. Once, twice.

He feels your eyes on him as you come back into the room, his cheeks warming under your gaze.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up at you as he puts the now folded blanket down.

You're watching him, mirthfully.

“Nothing, you're just too good to me.”

That makes something in Andrew's stomach flip, he's never been good to anyone. Useful, sure. Reliable, maybe, when things went wrong. Someone his brothers called when they needed a body buried or a problem solved.

But good? The word had never belonged to him.

Yet these days, he seemed to hear it from you more often than not.

You walk towards him, with a neatly rolled joint pinched between your fingers.

"There we go," you murmur, holding it out towards him.

Andrew takes it carefully, your fingertips brushing his for the briefest second before you sink down onto the floor in front of the couch.

He follows without thinking.

The two of you settle shoulder to shoulder, backs resting against the couch, your legs stretched lazily out across the rug. 

Andrew places the joint you gave him between his lips. Your eyes flicker down, and stay there. 

Fuck.

“Lighter, please,” he mumbles out.

You shuffle forward to grab the lighter. Then pause, just for half a second. 

Please, please Andrew, pick up what I’m putting down.

You lean closer to him, cupping the outside of the joint, fingers brushing against his skin as you flick the lighter on. Staring at him, you bring it to where the joint is hanging from his mouth. 

You feel his gaze on you, as you light it up. Continue staring into his eyes as you lean back.

The light frames his face so beautifully, casting flickers that highlight the curve of his cheekbone, the sharpness of his jaw, hazel of his eyes.

Andrew really was the prettiest man you’d seen.

He inhales deeply, before holding it in for a few seconds. He finally breaks eye contact with you as he breathes out the smoke away from your face. 

You force your thighs not to clench at the sight of his lips pursed as wisps of smoke escape. 

Fucking hell.

He passes the joint over to you, nodding his head.

You take it from him, and take a deep breath in. But unlike him, you look right at him as you exhale, breathing smoke just past his face. 

He stays still, his eyes flickering down to your lips before settling back on your face. He says nothing.

To you, it's strangely intimate, the fact that your lips are now touching the very place he had only moments ago, where remnants of him still remain. You know what his lips taste like without ever pressing them to yours. An odd sort of closeness in the absent-minded exchange, in the sharing of something so small that somehow feels impossibly significant.

Moments like these had become almost painfully common between the two of you over the past few weeks, quiet little instances suspended in the strange gravity of whatever this was between you, each one humming with a tension neither of you seemed brave enough to break. Andrew was too guarded, too convinced he was reading into things that were never there. You were too shy, too afraid that it was just the fabrication of your hopelessly romantic brain. 

But then Andrew would do something so completely unlike himself; the softness that occasionally crept into his voice when he said your name, his hand hovering over the small of your back as you crossed the street, his shoulder nudging yours just because he could – and hope would bloom all over again.

You continue to pass the joint between the two of you, back and forth. At one point, your head is dangerously close to leaning completely against his shoulder, your movements slower now, lazy and lethargic, few words spoken, but completely at ease.

You look sideways at him, see his shoulders relaxed, his fingers that have finally stopped twitching. You smile.

Under the slight buzz of the weed, your confidence builds. And before your brain can overthink, the words tumble out.

“Can I try something with you Andrew?”

He looks over at you, then nods slowly.

You place the hand free of the joint on his shoulder, and ask your next question quietly.

“M’gonna have to sit in your lap for it to be comfortable. Can I do that?”

His eyes widen imperceptibly, adorably. A second passes, then two. You wait patiently.

“Yeah,” he whispers out, swallowing harshly. “You can.”

Then you get up on your knees, before carefully slinging a leg over his spread out thighs. His hands stay rigidly by his side, like he’s scared to touch you without your permission.

You feel the heat radiating off him, smell his familiar scent; clean, faintly antiseptic from whatever clinical body wash he always uses, mixed with the unique natural musk of him. So incredibly Andrew.

Your balance tips slightly as you begin to sit down. His palm comes out to steady you.

He freezes the second he grips your waist.

“Can I–” He murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Is this okay?”

You nod, settling down against him fully, feeling the coarseness of his jeans against the back of your thighs.

“It is.”

A shy smile tugs at your lips.

“Can I do the thing I wanted to do now?”

He lets out a quiet, almost breathless, “yeah.” His other hand slides slowly down the outside of your thighs, reaching the elastic band of your knee socks. His hands twiddle with the fabric, almost nervous. You shiver at the feel of his fingertips against your bare skin.

You bring the joint up to your lips, inhaling. His eyes are half lidded as they follow your movements, fingers tightening around your waist.

You lean in close, one hand cupping his cheek. His lips parts open.

You exhale gently into his mouth. He inhales, both of your faces mere breaths apart. Once the smoke dissipates, he speaks up.

“Can I–” he breaks off. “Can I ask you somethin’?”. 

You nod, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. His shoulders tense, eyes flickering uncertainly between yours. 

“Do you… like me?”

You tilt your head, heart stuttering. He finally fucking did it, he crossed the line you were praying he’d cross, because you were too shy to. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I like you very much, Andrew.”

His shoulder sag, jaw relaxing. Both of you move closer towards each other, until your lips brush together, eyes closing. 

“Kiss me, Andrew,” you breathe out. 

And that’s all he needs to hear to finally kiss you.

It’s all encompassing, the taste of him, the press of his mouth, hard, but tender. He whimpers into the kiss. You moan immediately at the sound, sliding your hand into his curls. 

His grip around your waist tightens, moves you further into him until there’s barely any space between you.

Your lips move against each other, sloppily, and you smile against him. 

Andrew can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You’re kissing him.

You.

Your lips are pressed against his, warm and impossibly soft, and for a long second his mind simply… stops. Every anxious thought that’s hounded him for weeks, the constant back and forth, the uncertainty of what the two of you were, falls silent beneath the gentle weight of your lips.

He doesn’t break the kiss as he grabs the joint out of your hands, and pushes further into you. One large hand slips up carefully around your back, holding you securely against him as the other reaches for the joint still pinched loosely between your fingers. He eases you backwards gently, pushing himself forward at the same time until you’re leaning back. 

Your mouths separate for only the briefest second as he stretches just far enough to stub the joint out in the ashtray beside you.

Then he's back.

His forehead bumps yours before his lips find you again, harder this time. 

“Andrew, please,” you beg, the sound sweeter than honey in his head. 

His hands come up to splay against your back and waist, engulfing you with their enormity, their broadness, as he kisses you harder, tongue licking into your mouth. His movements are hurried, desperate, and yours too. Your lips move in tandem as you do a slow roll of your hips instinctively.

He immediately lets out a rough groan, “Feels so- fuck.”

“Yeah baby, that feel good?” you moan as you continue to grind against him. Feeling the friction of his pants against your shorts, and his cock, thick and hard against you under all the layers. 

He nods in reply, staring at your face twisted in pleasure, your half-lidded gaze, the slow roll of your groin against his. 

Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands tighten every time you move, trying to hold on to his last thread of control.

It’s almost too much for him.

He tucks his face in your neck. His palm engulfs the side of it as peppers kisses down the line of your throat between soft moans. 

“Fuck– just like that Andrew, so good to me.”

His hips buck up into you as he whines.

The noise sparks something hot up your spine, and you grip him by his curls, tugging to bring his face back up. You slide two fingers and tap his lips. They part instantly, sealing around your fingers instantly, hot and wet and perfect. 

He groans low in his throat as he starts to suck, slow at first, then deeper, his tongue swirling around your fingers. He pulls you harder against him as your hips grind together.

Andrew loves the feeling of their weight in his mouth. He sucks, messy and desperate, as he looks up at you with those wide eyes. Spit begins to pool in the corners of his mouth, before he leans back, slipping your fingers out.

His voice comes out rough, needy. 

“Can you come like this?”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Yes, please–”

He lets out a noise, half moan, half whimper, and shoves your fingers back into his mouth, sucking harder now, obscenely. And you let him, your whole body rocking in time with his hands, faster now. His eyes glance down at those fucking knee socks. He moans. 

Your forehead presses to his. His breath stutters across your lips.

He can feel the heat everywhere, his underwear soaked with his precum, sticking to his cock, and the friction is worse now, slippery. Your clit catches against the seam of his jeans, and you moan loud. 

Your voice breaks as you whine out, “m’close.”

Andrew groans like it hurts to hear you say that. His grip on your hips changes, firmer, rougher. He needs you to finish before he loses control completely. 

He drags you harder against him, grinding up into you with more pressure, more desperation. 

You gasp, thighs trembling, one hand gripping the back of his neck, fingers slipping out his mouth and trailing down to his chest, leaving a wet trail.

Your name leaves his mouth as he stares up at you in reverence. He can’t believe you're here, nothing short of a goddess, him ready to worship at your altar. 

Pleasepleaseplease. 

He doesn't even realise he's begging you to come until you do, writhing in his grasp. 

And Andrew thinks he’s seeing God. 

Your back arches, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you grind down harder, chasing every last wave of your high. His arms wrap around you like a vice, pressing your bodies together as you shake, melting into him.

“Fuck. Fuck, you’re–” He’s babbling now, his voice strained and low, a wet sound behind his teeth as he rocks up into you once, twice, then stiffens.

His grip tightens painfully on your hips as his eyes close. He lets out a raw, breathy whimper against your mouth as he comes under you, hips stuttering against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, neck taut. His body hums with pleasure, at the release. 

The room falls quiet.

Neither of you say anything, your foreheads resting together as you both pant, trying to steady your breathing.

Andrew slowly opens his eyes, only to see you're already looking at him.

His chest tightens.

You brush a thumb gently across his cheek before leaning forward to press the smallest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Andrew continues staring at your face, memorising every inch, scared that once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, you’ll leave. 

But when you finally lean back, you don't go very far, your hands still resting lightly against his face.

“Before we start– before anything else, I wanna tell you, I don’t do…. casual or any of the things people my age usually do.”

Andrew stills.

People your age.

Right.

You're younger than him. A grown woman, fully capable of making your own decisions, he knows that. But that won’t stop people. They cast him enough looks already, filled with disgust and fear. For you to be associated with a man like him, an older man, a Cody, he knows it won’t stop the sort of names they'd call you. 

And he can't do that to you, he can't let another woman become collateral damage because she got tangled up with this family.

He has to protect you, he has to–

“Hey,” you say, firmly. Your fingers rub at the crease between his brows, drawing his eyes back to yours. “What’s your pretty brain thinking about?”

There it is, that word. Pretty. He’s never considered himself to be that. Not his face, worn and rough around the edges, and let alone his mind, always cluttered with too much noise, too many memories, too many thoughts that refuse to come out the right way. 

But you always listen when he speaks, as though his words are worth hearing, as though the things rattling around inside his head matter simply because they belong to him. With you, he doesn't feel like he has to fight his own brain just to be understood. Around you, the words have begun coming a little easier.

“M’thinkin’...” he swallows, holding your gaze. “Of how I’m so much older than you.”

He pauses. 

“And how m’not good for you.”

His eyes drift away for only a second before finding yours again.

“They’re right about what they say about the Cody’s, about me, y’know.”

His jaw tightens, 

“We’re not… good men.”

You shake your head immediately, a small pout on your face. Andrew hates it, hates being the reason for it. 

“That’s not true,” you begin. Your thumb strokes slowly across his temple. “Whatever you do for work, that's your business. You’ve been nothing but good to me. Always driving me around, never touching me without asking. Always listening to me. For fucks sake, just when you came in, you folded up the random blanket that was laying around.”

His eyes flick instinctively towards the couch.

You smile.

“That’s not something a bad man does.”

The corner of his mouth twitches a little, the barest semblance of a smile. Something warm and molten pools beneath his ribs, hums quietly. Not butterflies, no; you didn't evoke that sense of unease, or uncertainty, the dizzy anticipation of not knowing whether you'll be caught.

This, this warmth, feels nothing like that. This feels quiet. Like the first barefoot step onto floorboards warmed by the morning sun, like finally returning home after being lost. 

You always knew what to say.

Not because your words magically erased the things he'd lived through, or undid decades of believing the worst about himself, but because somehow you always managed to reach the frightened, aching part of him buried beneath it all – the part that had spent his whole life waiting for somebody to look at him and decide he was worth staying for anyway.

“Whatever we do,” you continue softly, “that’s between us, yeah?”

You brush your nose against his.

“Fuck ‘em all.”

He leans in until there's no space left between you, his forehead resting fully against yours, his eyes closing for just a second. Breathing you in, your warmth. Safety. 

“Youre too good to me,” he mumbles out. “Too pretty…”

You shake your head.  

“No. M'perfect for you.”

Your lips brush against his, your breaths mingling. 

“So, you’re mine, yeah?”

He nods immediately, desperately. 

“M’yours.”

Andrew was finally yours. And you were his.

The boy stammers, pales at the sight of the gigantic, tattooed man beside you, and takes maybe a full twenty seconds to stammer out his next words.

“I-I…are you her…”

“Oh yeah, I’m her husband. Fresh outta the psych ward and everything. Now beat it, before I smash your head against the table.”

The boy bolts like Craig set the booth on fire, and you glare up at him.

“I was on a date.”

Craig laughs, like you were genuinely joking. “Not exactly your type.”

“You don’t know what my type is.”

“Pretty sure I do. I shared a wall with your type for most of my life.”

You clench your jaw. “What do you want, Craig?”

He sits across from you, all friendly familiarity, and smiles. “I need your help.”

“I don’t do jobs anymore.”

He raises his eyebrow, and glances pointedly towards Ethan in the corner of the bar, trying to save face by ordering himself another drink.

“I told you, that was a date.”

“C’mon, don’t lie to me. You think I don’t know when you’re working an angle?”

You narrow your eyes a little. “Okay, fine. I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore.”

Craig’s smile falls a little.

Burning rubber in your nose. Panic in your throat. The shriek of the tires drowned out by your own voice as you grab frantically at the wheel.

“Baz what the fuck are you doing? What are you doing? Turn around!”

Baz’s hand darts out, and he slams you back against the seat so hard your teeth knock together. “It’s too late.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We can’t just leave him-“

“We have to. He was too late. You know the rules. It’s him or all of us.”

You’re frantic. Panicked. You even start to yank at your own car door, like you might jump out and run back to the bank on your own two feet, and Baz slams you backwards again.

When he makes it to the house, you punch him in the face before you even get out of the car. He takes it, head whipping to the side like he expected this reaction from you. When you get out, you punch him again. It takes both Craig and Deran to pull you away.

“He’s out of prison, you know.”

You take a sip of your drink. “Good for him.”

“He keeps asking about you.”

Yeah, bullshit. “I’ll bet he does.”

Craig sucks his teeth, and seems to decide to pick a different battle.

“So, it’s a good job. You barely have to do anything. We just need your help with-“

“I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore, Craig. Also, I don’t know if you realize this, but using my ex as an incentive to help you isn’t really boosting my interest.” Ex. Your ex. It still feels so weird to think of him like that.

Because he’s just…Pope. Andrew Cody. The love of your life since you were a teenager. Even when you were together, ‘boyfriend’ felt like too simple of a word to describe what he was to you. It was too intense for such a lame title. Too full of a love so deep it bordered on obsession.

And then it was all over. Just like that.

Craig is making a face. You frown back at him. “What?”

“It’s my job, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, flexes his fingers on his beer. “And it’s good. I’ve worked my ass off at planning it, and Baz is out, so I just…I need it to go well. And it will go well if you help.”

You grip your drink a little tighter. Fucking Craig. Fucking asshole with the terrible decision making skills and good heart. Fuck him for being your friend. For making you care about him. For giving you that look that’s making you feel like-

“Fuck. Fine.” God help you. “Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine.” He grins at you, and you glare back at him. “But I don’t want to see Pope.”

Now it’s Craig’s turn to give you a look. “About that…”

-

Your outfit is so fucking uncomfortable you want to die.

Okay, maybe it’s not the outfit. Maybe it’s the anxiety twisting in your stomach so intensely you think you might vomit in the driveway of the Cody house.

You’ve been here since he went to prison. Since you broke up. Not for long - you haven’t exactly been in the habit of hanging out by the pool or anything - but whether you’re here for a minute or an hour this damn driveway always whips the memory of that horrible day back into your mind more violently than a slap.

-

“Put me down. Put me the fuck down I’m gonna-“

“Jesus, relax!” Baz throws his hands up, angry and defensive and so very punchable right now. Deran’s got you locked against him, feet kicking in the air like you might be able to land a blow if you just try hard enough. “I had to go! He got held up or some shit, and if the cops caught us the whole family would have gone down.”

“You just fucking left him there! We could have-“

“We didn’t have a choice. I made a decision. I saved our asses. We knew this was a risk. It always is.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me.” Baz runs a hand through his hair, and you know he’s heartbroken too but you couldn’t give less of a shit right now. His nose is still bleeding from where you clocked him a minute ago. “Fuck me for making the hard decisions for this family.”

Rage rises up in your throat again, threatening to choke you as you kick harder. “Boo fucking hoo. You left him! You fucking left him and-“

“Calm down.” It’s Deran’s voice now. Deran, who sounds choked up and is still holding you locked in a vice grip. The sound of it makes you look up at Craig, whose eyes are shining with tears, and…

Your feet drop back to the pavement, the sound and sight of the boys’ pain deflating you almost alarmingly quickly, and you pat the arm around you in both comfort and reassurance.

“Okay.” You breathe, shaky, and Baz’s shoulders drop.

“Okay.” He repeats, and the sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth. “Now that we’re all calm, we need to figure out what to do.”

-

He’s in the yard.

Three years later, and he’s just… in the yard. Standing there. Staring at you. And what did you expect? That he would drag himself out of a grave? Appear before you in an explosion of fire and blood?

He looks at you. You look at him. He doesn’t move an inch.

He looks good. Just as beautiful as the day you lost him. You hate him for it.

“Hi.” His voice sounds even lower than it used to. He looks bigger. Like he worked out a lot in prison.

You raise your eyebrows. Something curls deep in your core at the sight of him. Three years later, and you still can’t look at this man without feeling a physical reaction. “Hi.”

-

“You’re bleeding.”

You reach up, swiping the back of your hand over your lip and frowning at the smear of red across your skin, illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off the pool.

“You’re not the only one who can get into fights.”

Andrew Cody looks at you, with those dark eyes that always seems to see through whatever lie you try to  tell him or even yourself, but you meet his gaze with the defiance of a teenage girl who really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Are you…staying here again?” He asks, standing still from his spot beside the pool. You’re on a chair. Your face hurts. Your body aches. You nod.

“Smurf says I can crash for a few days.” In exchange for help, of course. Help with jobs. Connections. Money. You don’t mind. It’s better than being home, or hiding out on the beach again.

He still hasn’t moved. “Are you…gonna stay in Craig’s room? With him?”

You almost laugh out loud. Craig, big and rowdy and often immature even for a teenager, is closest to you in age. He might be your best friend. He definitely has a crush on you, and you’re almost positive that Smurf is angling for the two of you to get together.

“Why? Would that bother you?”

“Yes.”

You look up at him. He looks down at you. Slowly, almost unaware that you’re doing it, scoot over on your chair to make room, and he takes the invitation. Your heart hammers in your chest.

His hand comes up. Fingers brushing over a bruise on your cheek and eyebrows twitching with…

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He doesn’t. “Like what?”

“Like you want to kill someone for me.”

“I do.”

“I know.”

He’s close. His thumb is still brushing over your cheek, and his eyes fall to your lips. You think he might kiss you. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more.

But this…this house, as chaotic and dangerous as it may be, is the only somewhat stable thing you have right now. The only safe place to go when things get too fucked up at home. When your petty criminal of a father takes things too far, or debt collectors come banging on the door. Smurf lets you stay here, and Smurf is always working an angle. You’ve told yourself a thousand times that, in exchange for this, you’ll go along with whatever plan she has for you.

This is not that plan.

And yet, as his face ducks closer to yours, fingers curling in your hair, you wonder what it would be like. To feel Pope’s lips against your own. To feel his body against yours as he lies you down right here on this pool chair. You think, despite his violent tendencies and episodes of something your uneducated mind can only call insanity, that he would be gentle with you. Like he always is. You don’t have much experience with boys, but you think he would make sure that you felt comfortable. He’d probably kiss you through any nervousness, whisper reassurances into your skin as he peels off your clothing, make you feel safe the whole time and-

His lips brush over your own, and you pull back.

“I’ve gotta…go inside.”

He searches your face, and you know that his observant eyes see the want there. Still, he nods, and stays where he is as you pull yourself to your feet.

-

“We should talk.”

You laugh, humorless, and push past him into the house. You don’t get far before you feel his hand on your arm, turning you towards him.

“Let go of me.”

He does, but he tilts his head and furrows his brow in that intense way he has. The familiar sight makes you ache. “We should talk.”

“I think the time for talking passed somewhere around three years ago, Andrew.” You grumble, and he fixes you with an expression so filled with helplessness and pain that you almost crumble right then and there.

You ignore him, and push your way into the house. Craig whistles at the sight of your too-tight dress and heels, and Deran greets you with a familiar smile.

As you start to plan, to prepare for the day ahead, you don’t turn around. You don’t look at Pope. His eyes don’t leave you the entire time, and it’s almost physically impossible to keep yourself from leaning back against him like you have a million times, over the course of a million similar meetings.

But you don’t look at him, and when it’s time to leave, you storm out of the house before he has a chance to catch your arm again.

The job. Focus on the job.

You can do this.

-

You lost your virginity to Craig Cody two weeks after you and Pope nearly kissed by the pool.

You don’t know why you did it. Well, you do. It’s what Smurf wants. It’s what Craig wants. It’s what you should want. You and Craig are well matched. You love him in whatever way you do. He’s your best friend. You know how to keep him in check when he acts like an idiot, and he knows how to make you laugh when the weight of everything feels like it’s going to fucking crush you.

So you had a couple of beers at a party. You grabbed his hand before he could get too wasted. Even for a teenager, he’s already fucking huge. Handsome, too. You know the other girls stare at him. You should feel proud that he follows you like a lost puppy the moment you start tugging him towards his room.

It was awkward. And messy. And nothing like the movies say it’s supposed to be like. You know he tried to make it…special, or whatever. He was gentle. He asked if you were okay between kisses as he laid you back on his unmade bed and helped you out of your clothes. When he pushed in, you’d gasped and clawed at his back, and he’d mumbled apologies into your neck and waited until you nodded that you were okay, but he still moved just a little too fast. A little too clumsily. It didn’t hurt too badly, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant the whole time, but you didn’t feel fireworks or any of the overwhelming pleasure you thought you were supposed to.

When it was over, he’d kissed you, and you’d smiled up at him, and then he’d rolled over and pulled you into his chest and laughed.

“That was awesome.” He breathed, and you nodded. “You’re awesome. Was it…did you?”

“Yeah.” You think you did. There was a minute, somewhere towards the end, when it had felt pretty good. Not the explosion of pleasure you’ve always heard about, but that’s fine.

“Awesome.” He kissed your forehead, and sat up a little. “Wanna beer?”

You’d smiled, heart swelling with affection that should definitely feel more…romantic than it does. But it’s still affection. You still care about him a lot. Maybe this is supposed to be right. “Yeah.”

~

Pope Cody hasn’t looked at you in a week.

Smurf seems more than happy with you sleeping in Craig’s room. With him wrapping an arm around you when you all sit on the couch together. He’s even developed a habit of ducking down and pressing a kiss to your cheek when you’re standing in the kitchen, or before he does a backflip into the pool. It’s fun. You think you can get used to it.

You haven’t had sex again. He’s asked, almost every night, but you’ve always come up with some kind of excuse and he’s always responded with nothing harsher than a disappointed smile. And yet, you both stay up almost all night every night, talking and laughing and playing video games like you always have since the day he first brought you to this house. This family.

But Pope won’t look at you, and you can’t ignore it anymore.

Because he came home from a job with a black eye and bruised knuckles, and now he’s standing in the yard and Smurf’s chastising him for being reckless is still ringing in the air. He didn’t talk. He didn’t argue. He just stared at the pool and refused to look at her. At you.

And now you’re alone with him, and everyone has left to go regroup or party or whatever, and he still. Won’t. Look. At. You.

“Andrew.” You rarely use his real name. He tenses, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Look at me.”

He doesn’t. You snap.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You grab his arm, and turn him toward you, and he pulls it away.

“Stop it.”

“No.” You grab him again, and this time he catches your arm, fingers around your wrist in a vice grip that is firm but nowhere close to painful. His eyes remain on the pavement.

“You haven’t talked to me since I got with Craig.” You say, and his jaw clenches at your words. You can see his cold expression, now, if not his eyes. He’s older than you, but his face still holds the smooth roundness of youth. He’s just as handsome as always. Your heart stutters a little, like it’s supposed to with Craig.

When he still doesn’t answer, you shove at his chest. The sudden movement makes him release your wrist, but he doesn’t budge. “Fucking look at me! Why won’t you at least look at me? Are you seriously this pissed off because I hooked up with him? Stop being an asshole and tell me why you’re acting like this!”

“Because it should have been me!” He finally snaps, finally looks at you, and the sharpness of his voice paired with the intensity behind his dark eyes is enough to nearly make you stumble backwards. “It should have been me. You know it should have.”

He looks almost crazed, now, shoulders hunched and fists clenched and feet moving towards you until you take an instinctive step backwards. The movement doesn’t stop him. He still comes closer.

“You…you let him touch you. And kiss you. And do all of the things I’ve…” he trails off, and your breath freezes in your lungs, “the things I’ve wanted to do since I met you.” His eyes drop to your mouth, back up to your eyes, and he’s close. So close. “It should have been me.”

You don’t move back again. You can feel the warmth of his proximity in the chilly night air. Your voice is too quiet to your own ears. “That’s…not the plan.”

He’s not breathing regularly. His hands are still clenched at his sides. He looks you over, like he’s trying to fight it, before something finally breaks.

“Fuck the plan.” His voice is almost a growl, and you don’t have time to respond before his hand is on the back of your head and his mouth is against yours.

The world explodes.

His lips are warm and rough, demanding and desperate and sending fire through every vein and pore in your body. You choke on a whimper, surprising yourself with the sound, and Pope groans in response as his tongue sweeps its way into your mouth. Your hands fly up, curling in the fabric of his shirt before moving up to his hair like you don’t know how to touch all of him at once. His own hands move down, lips only leaving yours long enough for him to grab the backs of your thighs to lift you against him before he’s kissing you again.

You don’t even register that you’re moving, too caught up in the desperation and the feeling of something hot burning in your core. He presses you against a wall, trails his lips down your throat until you’re gasping for air, before he kisses you again and moves deeper into the empty house.

And then he’s lowering you back onto his bed, crisp sheets smooth against your back, and you barely let him pull away enough to crawl over you before you’re kissing him again with so much need that it’s almost embarrassing.

His rough palms are sliding up beneath your shirt, breath turning shaky at the feeling of your skin against his, and it feels so good you think you might die.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, lips against your cheek, and you nod.

“Please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but the sound of it makes him moan as he pulls your t-shirt over your head and trails his mouth down over your collarbone.

His own shirt comes next. You roll on top of him, and kiss and bite down his chest until he’s tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling your mouth back up to his, rolling you both once more until you’re on your back and your hands are fumbling with his belt, unpracticed and clumsy, until he shushes you gently and reaches down to help you with a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He rasps after a while, and you can barely breathe enough to tell him that you will. You settle for a nod, and his rough palm slides over your stomach, up over your body until he’s cradling your cheek.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers, and the soft words are almost comical with how hard he’s trembling with restraint. With how dark his eyes are, how intense his touch feels. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

You nod, and when you smile he smiles back, shy and nervous behind that starved expression, and that one look alone makes you feel like you’re floating.

It’s nothing like Craig. It isn’t like Pope is a whole lot more practiced, or some kind of sex god or anything, but every movement feels so much more…right. He slides his hand beneath your thigh, guiding it around his waist and watching your face as your bodies join together for the first time, and the noise that pulls its way out of your throat barely sounds human.

His breath comes on a shaky exhale, eyes never leaving yours as he searches your face for signs of pain or discomfort, and when he finally starts to move you feel something coiling so tightly in your stomach it almost hurts.

Every slow thrust, every reverent touch, tightens that coil. Every kiss. Every whispered word against your skin as his fingers catch your own and he presses your joined hands into the pillow above your head.

You reach the edge so quickly it shocks you, free hand clawing at his back as you bite down on his shoulder and fireworks explode behind your vision.

The feeling is so intense that, for a moment, you forget where you even are. You forget your own name. All you know, all you feel, is Pope moving with you. Whispering praise and promises of adoration against your lips and throat. When he follows you into oblivion, it’s with a breathless moan of your name.

After, he holds you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. He traces his hands over your skin. He follows the caresses with his lips. And, when you finally remember how to breathe again, you giggle.

He pulls back from your throat with a raised eyebrow, a smile curling on his own lips, and nuzzles his nose into your cheek. “What?”

“I didn’t…” you didn’t know it could feel that good. You didn’t know anything could feel that good. “I…wow.”

He really does smile, now. He tucks you closer to him, barely letting you go as he pulls you beneath the blankets with him and curls his body around yours. Protective. Possessive, even. “Yeah.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “Wow.”

-

The future Mr. and Mrs. Franklin need to be convincing. Happy. Overwhelmingly in love.

Your heels click against the dock. It takes years of practice and training from Smurf to keep yourself from fidgeting in your expensive dress. Pope’s eyes are on you, burning holes into your head from behind his sunglasses.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know like what.”

“You look nice.”

“Shut up.”

The door to the yacht opens, and you don’t have time to keep the argument going. Pope slides his arm around you, you grin wide, and he tugs you almost too-tightly into his side.

“Welcome!” The woman on the other side of the door is smiling in that fake and familiar way that people do when they’re trying to get a whole lotta money from rich people. “Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, right?”

“Soon to be.” Pope says, all confidence and practiced casualness. He catches your hand in his, the expensive ring glittering obnoxiously on your finger, and raises the back of your hand to his lips. You giggle like an airhead, tilt your head onto his shoulder, and grin up at him.

“Adorable.” The woman says, too emphatically, and you don’t miss the way her eyes rake over your ‘fiance’. You shouldn’t care. This isn’t real. He’s not… yours anymore. And yet, it’s hard to shake off the surge of possessiveness that nearly has you yanking him down and pressing your lips to his.

When she turns to lead you both into the yacht, you try to pull your hand out of Pope’s. He doesn’t let you go. You turn to glare, and he offers you a small smile and a squeeze of his fingers through your own.

Fine.

-

“I’m sorry. He refuses to see you.”

“I…” you blink, shake your head, and tell yourself you heard the guard wrong. “What?”

“Believe it or not, even prisoners have a right to refuse visitation. He said he doesn’t want to see you.”

You blink again. “That’s…that’s not true. That can’t be true.”

“You can try again next week, but in my experience you’ll probably have the same reaction.”

-

You try again the next week. And the next. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. You wait for a phone call. An explanation. You go to Smurf. You go back to the prison.

Six weeks later, he finally fucking agrees to see you.

You nearly rip the phone off of the wall. He doesn’t look right in a prison uniform. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. “What the fuck, Andrew?”

At your use of his name, his real name, you swear you can see something like relief flicker in his eyes, like the sound of your voice is a drug he’s been deprived of for over a month. You’re about to keep talking, or even press your hand against the glass like some lame fucking cliche, the sight of his face lifting something heavy off of your soul.

“Stop calling.” He says simply, and your heart drops to your feet.

“What?”

“Stop calling. Stop showing up here. Stop.”

“I…” what? This isn’t happening. He wouldn’t do this. “What? Pope, Andrew, I didn’t leave you.” That’s almost, almost incriminating. You know that. But it could also mean anything. You’re his girlfriend, after all. He’s in prison. You’ve been trying to see him. You haven’t left him. The last thing they’ll probably assume is that you’re talking about leaving him to be arrested after robbing that fucking bank.

“I know.” He says simply, and meets your eyes. “I don’t care. Leave. Stop coming here. I’m not going to come see you again.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to breathe anymore. This is so fucking wrong and it doesn’t make sense and-

He places the phone on the receiver, stands up, and leaves.

That’s the last time you see Andrew Cody for three years.

-

“And here we have the reception deck. As you can see, the view will be absolutely spectacular, especially when you’re out on the water…”

Four exits. Three cameras. One, two…

“I’m so sorry. Is there a bathroom I can use?” You ask brightly, from where you’re hanging off of Pope’s arm. “Or I’m sorry, the head, right? Like they say on boats.” An airheaded giggle, a practiced bat of your eyes.

The moment you’re around the corner, you whip out your phone and start taking notes and pictures. Exits. Entrance points. Doors to the lower deck where Craig can-

“We need to talk.”

You actually yelp, whirling around and stumbling on your heels before Pope’s arm shoots out to curve around your middle and keep you from falling over.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, wide eyes shooting back towards the hall. “Now? Let me go.”

“You won’t talk to me. I have to-“

“So you’re gonna fuck up the job? They could be here any second. You’re supposed to be distracting them.” He’s lost his fucking mind. Clearly, prison has warped his brain and made him an irrational asshole who-

The click of heels against the hardwood floor. A familiar, professional voice calling out your fake names with too much curiosity and suspicion.

“Fuck.” You whisper, and start scrambling to pull away and hide your phone. “Fuck.”

In one swift movement, Pope snatches the device out of your hand, slides it into his back pocket, presses you against the wall and slams his mouth to yours.

Like always, even after all of this time, the feeling of his lips against your own sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

He kisses you like he hasn’t thought about anything else in the last three years. His lips move hungrily against yours, one large hand coming up to tangle in your perfectly-done hair as his body envelops yours until you can’t think of anything else.

His tongue traces over your lip, and you open for him instinctively until he groans and changes the angle so he can kiss you more deeply and it feels so fucking good you might-

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…interrupt.” A bright, awkward voice breaks you out of your trance, and you gasp as you wrench your mouth away from Pope’s. He doesn’t even turn to the woman, thumb pressing into your cheek as he traces it over your skin like he’s trying to re-memorize the feeling.

It takes a lot more effort than you want to admit to clear your throat and plaster a flustered and embarrassed look on your face. To fall back into the ditzy, wealthy fiance facade. To keep yourself from ignoring her completely and kissing Pope again to chase that euphoric fucking feeling for as long as you can.

“Oh geez. I’m so embarrassed.” You reach up, and pinch Pope’s cheek just a little too hard with one manicured hand, feigning bright affection. “I just can’t keep my hands off of him, you know?”

“It’s so nice to see a couple so…in love.” A tight lipped, professional smile. Another glance at Pope that has irritating possessiveness curling in your chest again. You don’t have a right to feel that way. Not anymore. Not even after…whatever that was. “Would you two like to continue the tour?”

-

When Craig found out, he punched Pope in the face.

Pope punched him back.

When you lurched forward, prepared to jump between them and stop the bullshit macho display, Smurf had stuck her arm out and pushed you back.

“Let them fight. They need it.” She said, voice even, and kept her eyes on her two sons as they wrestled each other near the pool.

“This is bullshit. They-“

“You know,” she interrupts, still not looking at you. “When I took you in off the street, I wasn’t expecting you to stir up so much trouble.”

You freeze, heart stilling in your chest. She could send you back to your family. Your father. Being thrown out on the street would be bad enough on its own, but Smurf doesn’t work that way. If she wanted to really hurt you, she would.

“I didn’t mean to…stir up anything.”

She looks at you now, assessing. “I believe you.” She hums, and pulls her arm back. “Go break them up now, baby. See if you can fix your mess.”

-

“What the fuck was that?”

“A distraction.” Pope’s hands are on the steering wheel. His eyes are on the road.

“And before that? Cornering me in the hallway when I’m trying to gather fucking intel?”

He frowns. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “It’s been three years.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?”

His brow furrows like he genuinely doesn’t understand why you would ask that. “The…U.S. prison system.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not being a dick.”

“Pull the truck over.”

He does look at you, now, and you can see surprise in his eyes from where they’re visible over his shades. “No. Why?”

“I’m walking. Pull the truck over.”

He turns back to the road. One hand drops off the steering wheel, like it might come to rest on your thigh the same way it has in almost every car ride for years, before he catches himself and returns it to its original spot. “You can barely stand in those shoes.”

“So I’ll take them off. Pull over.”

“Just let me talk to you. Please.”

“No.”

His head drops back against the seat, jaw clenching in frustration, and you feel a surge of pride that you still seem to be the only person who can break through his little bubble of stoicism. Yeah, take that asshole. Be as exasperated as you want.

You don’t speak to him for the rest of the car ride.

-

Craig’s nose is bleeding. His feet are in the pool. He’s holding an ice pack to his eye.

“Do you hate me?” You ask, feeling almost childish for the question.

He laughs. Actually laughs, like you just said something ridiculous.

“Nah. Couldn’t if I tried, I think.”

You frown. “Then why did you…”

He shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, and smiles at you. “I mean, he did fuck my girlfriend. I’d be a little bitch if I just let him get away with that.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Well, not anymore.”

“I was never-“

“C’mon. I’ve got a shiner and a broken nose. Don’t hit my ego, too.”

You laugh, and shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”

He holds up his beer in a silent cheers, and there’s nothing but affection in his eyes as he takes a swig. No pining. No longing. Not even hurt or betrayal. Just…affection.

You smile at him, and your heart swells in that way you once tried to convince yourself was romantic attraction.

“I thought Smurf was gonna throw me out.”

He frowns now, and shakes his head. “She won’t. And if she does, Pope and I’ll just come with you.”

You smile again. You know it doesn’t reach your eyes. Craig leans over, and bumps your shoulder with his own.

“No matter what, that asshole’s not gonna hurt you again. You’re gonna be okay.”

“And if Pope ever fucks up, I’ll be here. I know I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, anyway.”

You snort. “Craig-“

“Ego, remember? Lemme have this.”

You poke him in the bruised ribs, and he hisses in pain before he laughs again.

You believe him.

-

When you get back to the house, you lurch out of the car before he can even reach for you. You stumble on your heels, kick them off of your feet in the yard, and storm into the house.

“Woah, hey there Hurricane Lady.” Craig’s grin falls the second he sees your face. “Shit. What happened?”

“Nothing. Here’s the phone. It’s got the pictures. Exits. All of that shit.” You want to snap that maybe Craig could have just done this himself, having gotten himself a job there, but you know that he doesn’t get access to the same places you just did. “I’m off the job.”

“What?”

“She’s not off the job.” Pope’s voice, from the door, makes you prickle.

“You don’t get to decide whether I’m on or off the job.” You whirl, and glare. “You don’t get to decide shit about me. Not anymore.”

“Jesus.” Deran blows out a breath, eyes on Pope. “You didn’t tell her, man?”

“Tell me what?”

“She won’t let me tell her.” Pope looks frustrated. Pained, even. Like he has any fucking right to be.

“Tell me what?!”

“Just tell her.”

“I’ve been trying-“

“Tell. Me. What?”

“He cut you off in prison because the cops were coming after you.” Craig says, and the words shut you up. “They were investigating your involvement. He had to cut ties so you didn’t incriminate yourself.”

Oh. Oh.

‘Pope. Andrew. I didn’t leave you.’

“Can I talk to you now?” Pope’s voice is low, and he’s doing the head-tilt thing, and you swear your lips are still tingling from his kiss.

You stare. He stares back. You open your mouth. Close it.

And then you walk into his room.

You don’t even need to turn around to know he’s following you. You hear Craig whistle the wedding march behind you, and you flip him off over your shoulder.

Pope’s old room is empty. The bed is made like it always was before.

“Beautiful. So beautiful. All mine…”

He whispers the words into the flushed skin of your neck, reverent and laced with gravel as his body moves against yours like it was made to. You gasp his name, and he groans as he moves faster.

Some party rages down the hall. The sounds of it are distant and inconsequential. All you can hear is his shallow breathing. His whispered promises of love between presses of his lips to any part of your skin he can reach. You love him so much it hurts and you’re going to-

You shake the memory off. Clear your throat. When you turn to him, he’s looking at the bed like he’s remembering something similar. Well, there are a lot of memories like that in this house. In the house the two of you shared later. In his truck. By the pool. In the pool. On the beach. At the-

Fuck.

“Talk. You wanted to talk, so talk.”

He watches you. You watch back, tense.

“They were looking for a reason to arrest you. The cops thought they might have identified you on that job a few months before. The one at the dispensary.”

You just keep staring at him. He shifts on his feet. “I couldn’t tell you. They were listening to everything. I figured…it was the only way to keep you out of prison.”

“Three years.”

Guilt flickers across his expression. Something like desperation follows. His fingers flex by his side. “I didn’t know when they stopped investigating you. Just when they stopped asking me questions.”

“Three. Years.”

“I missed you every day.” He moves closer, hesitant, like he’s trying to make sure you don’t bolt. “Every fucking minute. I thought about you all the time. It…it killed me, to walk away like that. I still think about the look on your face. I…” his jaw clenches, and he reaches towards you.

You should pull back. You should slap him, maybe. You know he would let you.

“You risked the job.” You try. Try to find something to cling to your anger. Your hurt. You missed him so much and all of that pain doesn’t just go away with one explanation.

“Fuck the job.” He whispers, hand sliding up over your cheek. “It’s been three years.”

And then he’s kissing you. Rough. Hungry. Desperate in a way that makes your knees threaten to give out because holy shit nothing has ever felt as good as Pope Cody’s skin against yours.

For a moment, you forget. You forget to be angry and hurt and painfully confused in favor of tangling your fingers in his curls and dragging him closer to you. He groans, the sound rough and borderline desperate, and his hands drop to your waist, lifting you clean off your bare feet to spin you both until he has you pinned against the wall.

His chest is pressed against yours. His hand is moving down to the hem of your dress, and you think you can feel his fingers shaking as they skate up over your skin and a shiver falls down your spine.

But it isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. It feels so good that it kills you to pull away. But his fingers are sliding up the inside of your thigh and if they reach their intended destination there won’t be anything in the world that will be able to stop you. To stop him, either, if how hungrily he’s kissing you now is any indication.

Because his kiss doesn’t make up for the hours you spent alone, in the house you once shared, staring at a phone that wouldn’t ring. How humiliating it felt to cry yourself to sleep with your mind filled to the brim with questions that you would never have answers to.

His mouth is gliding over your jaw, down over your throat, and his grip on your waist is so wonderfully tight and his fingers are so close to where you need him so badly it hurts and-

You shove him away, breathless and flushed and almost shaking with hunger, and his dark eyes have never looked so predatory.

“You…you can’t do that.” You whisper, and he looks like he’s about to do exactly that again at any moment. You hold up a hand, warding him off, and force yourself to steady your breathing. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just show up again and kiss me like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He starts, expression filled with a genuine pain.

“You made me think, for three years, that you didn’t love me anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” He moves closer like it’s instinct, and you back up a little more into the wall, and he looks like he’s about to drop to his knees before you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I did it to protect you. I promise. I couldn’t think of any other way.”

You push past him, and walk out the door.

For once, he doesn’t follow.

-

“Where is she?”

You’re not here. You haven’t come since he got out. 

“She doesn’t really come around anymore, man.” Craig shrugs, like it’s casual, like your absence isn’t digging a hole into Pope’s soul even as he sits here by the pool and you should be here but you’re not and he fucking hates it. He should have apologized to you ten times over by now. You should be here with him.

“She comes around every now and then. Watches Lena. Grabs a beer with me on Tuesdays and surfs with us if we ask nicely.” Craig leans back, and Pope fights the urge to lean forward and beg for more information. “She doesn’t talk to Baz, though. I think the most I’ve seen them interact is her flipping him off or some shit.”

Yeah, sounds like you.

“So, you gonna talk to her?”

Yes. Of fucking course he is. He’ll be on his knees begging the second you’re in the room.

But you don’t come. You don’t show up at the house anymore. You changed your number, and he can’t call you. Despite what Craig said, it’s almost like you’ve made yourself into some kind of ghost, too far away for him to reach anymore.

When he was in prison, he would fantasize about the day he got out. In most of those fantasies, you were waiting for him at the house. In a good few of them, you weren’t wearing much clothing, but that part can be easily attributed to how long he went without seeing you.

Nevertheless, you were there. And he would take you into his arms, and you would smile and tell him you understood why he had to do what he did, and everything would be perfect.

But now, he has to track down your new house. On the beach, and not too far from his new place, but he doubts you know that.

He watches through your window and doesn’t even register that it might be a little fucked up of him. He makes sure you get home safe. Waits until he sees you climb into bed and flick off your lights, and often spends a good long while imagining all of the times he would be right there with you. How he would tuck you into his chest, and the two of you would have whispered conversations like you were still teenagers living in Smurf’s house and trying not to be overheard.

He doesn’t go to the door. It’s not the right time. Not yet. It isn’t like it has to be perfect, but… but it’s been three years. Three years of torture and an isolation that almost killed him. That may have killed a part of him, somewhere deep down where even he can’t reach. As badly as he wants to stand on your porch and beg and plead for you to understand, to love him again, he isn’t sure he would be able to handle you slamming a door in his face. He’s not sure he would be able to let you, and that thought alone almost frightens him more than anything else.

Not yet. The job. When Craig brings you in on the job, that’s when he’ll see you. Talk to you. Make you forgive him.

Just…not yet.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t keep an eye on you, until then.

-

The effort it took to get Ethan the Finance Bro to talk with you after Craig ruined it the first time is almost making this particular job too much of a pain in the ass.

It’s a little tricky to balance the work you have to put into the boat job with your own plans, but your own jobs are a little less complex than the ones enacted by the Cody boys. Less reward, sure, but it’s safer and easier. Find out a few things about Finance Bro Ethan’s rich dad, get access to an account or two, make a couple of unnoticeable transfers, and bing bang boom. You can afford rent and to fix your car, and maybe even a nice pair of shoes while you’re at it.

He’s jumpy. You have to smile a little more brightly at him, hold his hand across the table and bat your eyelashes as you insist that your friend from before is just terrible at making jokes, and he’s finally relaxing enough to-

His eyes trail up over your shoulder, and stop.

“Leave.” And that’s Pope’s low, furious voice. It is dripping with danger.

Ethan looks at you. Back at Pope. You smile, wide and sweet, and refuse to turn around. “Ignore him.”

“Do that, and I’ll cut your ears off.”

Son of a bitch.

“He’s joking.”

“Three.”

Ethan starts to scoot out of the booth.

“Don’t.” You say, jaw clenching and smile still forcefully bright.

“Two.”

And he’s gone. Just like that. Out the door and ruining your plans completely.

“Fucking Codys. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get him to talk to me again?”

“Who was that?”

“I had to bend over backwards to keep him from being terrified after Craig’s bullshit. This bra is so uncomfortable. You fucking-“

His hand comes down on the back of your chair, and he leans closer to you with a deadly and dark expression. You don’t flinch. You don’t even come close. In all the time you’ve known him, in all of his scariest moments, he’s never come anywhere close to harming you. The possibility simply doesn’t register in your mind. “Who was that?”

You look at him, deadpan. “My boyfriend.” It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you may as well piss him off a little.

It works. His jaw clenches, and he leans a little closer. “I’m serious.”

Fine. You give up. “He was a mark. I’m on a job.”

“You’re already on a job.” Pope’s frown deepens, angry eyes moving up to the door again. “That guy was staring down the front of your shirt.”

“That’s kind of the point.” You glance down at your low cut top, at the aforementioned uncomfortable bra, and when Pope does the same you can see something twitch in his jaw. Feel his hand tighten imperceptibly on the booth behind you before he looks back up at your face.

“We’re leaving.”

“No, you’re leaving.” You correct, irritated, and move to turn away from him.

He catches you, turning you back towards him with a look so intense it makes your heart drop. “Come home with me.”

You pause, knocked off-kilter by his proximity and the desperation in his gaze. He looks…dangerous. Like a man in a desert who has been deprived of water for too long, and is starting to lose it enough to follow that water to a bar and ruin her weeks of work.

And yet, it’s annoyingly difficult to care. Not when it would be so easy to bring your hand up, curl your fingers in the soft curls on the back of his neck, and pull his lips down to yours. So, so easy, and yet…

You start to move back, and his hand catches your chin, thumb sliding over your jaw in that familiar and devoted way that always makes your toes curl a little. He saw it. He saw the hesitation. The want in your expression matching his own, and he’s too far gone to let it go.

“Come home with me.” He repeats, soft and close enough that his nose nearly brushes your temple. “We can do jobs together. Like we used to. You don’t have to…do this.”

You spent so long being a team. Being with him. Every job, every move, it was all with Pope and the Codys and while you can do these smaller jobs alone perfectly fine, you want…

Him. God, you want him. Not just sex, either. Though after three years and the way he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him, you’re having a hard time not jumping his bones in the middle of this bar. You want to wake up with him in the mornings again. You want to watch him wash the dishes in that particular and concentrated way he has. You want to sit on the beach with him at night, and talk about everything and nothing until the sun peeks over the horizon.

His nose skates down your cheek. The noise of the bar fades away. Your eyes flutter closed as if of their own accord, head tilting to the side, and he makes a low noise as his fingers leave your face to move down your arm.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, lips pressing against the line of your jaw, and your next breath comes as a shaky exhale. His hand slides around the curve of your waist, and the angle of his body above yours is intoxicatingly overwhelming. He kisses your jaw again, a little higher, a little closer to your ear, and you melt. “I’ll apologize a thousand fuckin’ times, okay? Just come home with me. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

Your body relaxes beneath his, and you feel his mouth trailing over your skin like he couldn’t give less of a shit about the rest of the world around you. It’s so familiar. So nice. So warm and-

Goddammit.

“Stop.” You push on his chest, and he moves back with a genuinely pained expression. “Stop it, Pope. You just fucked up a month of work for me. I’m not going home with you.”

The look on his face would break your heart, if there was anything left of it to break.

You don’t say another word.

You just leave.

-

The girl sleeping on the couch is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

Craig brought you here a few hours ago. Said something about you taking on three guys by the beach who were trying to rough him up over weed money. You hit the biggest one with a baseball bat. They knocked you out before Craig could take them down.

Smurf hadn’t said much when Craig walked in, eyes bright with lingering adrenaline as he’d placed you on the couch, but she’d seemed impressed when Craig had explained what happened. She’d told him to leave you on the couch for now, and to make sure you didn’t get any blood on her furniture. Your face is bruised. Your sneakers are dirty. You’re wearing a flannel that’s way too big and has holes in it.

“I think she’s been sleepin’ on the beach.” Craig says, brow furrowing a little as he looks down at you. You’re so still you could be dead. Pope wonders what color your eyes are, and then wonders why he wondered that.

“Junkie?” He asks, and resists the urge to brush the hair out of your eyes. Like Julia, maybe. Maybe you know her, wherever she might be right now. Maybe you already have that connection to him. Maybe…

Craig shakes his head. “Nah. Not a junkie. I dunno if she’s homeless, either. I just kinda see her around sometimes. She pickpockets tourists. Seems good at figuring out which ones are the L.A. douchebags.”

Pope frowns. Your face twitches a little, but you don’t wake.

“She’s hot.” His younger brother observes, and Pope’s frown deepens. “And badass. You shoulda seen her, dude. She went at them like a fuckin’ demon. She doesn’t even know me.”

You look so angelic, curled in on yourself on the couch with sand in your hair and dirt under your fingernails, that he finds it hard to believe.

Hard, but not impossible. Because there’s something about you, and the bruises on your face that look so much like the ones that often adorn his own, that screams…fighter. Survivor. Protector.

And he hasn’t even spoken to you yet, but there’s something else there. Something deep down and warm and intrinsic that he can’t exactly pinpoint but certainly can’t ignore.

His.

-

When you wake up, he’s watching you. He knows he probably shouldn’t be. He probably looks creepy, or whatever everyone says, but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the rise and fall of your breathing. The way your face twitches every now and then in sleep. The way your hair spills over the couch cushion. He wants to brush it away, but he’s afraid to wake you.

Your eyes flutter open. They’re beautiful.

And those beautiful eyes move dazedly around the room before they land on him, and widen. You bolt up, and hiss in pain as whatever injuries you sustained in that fight no doubt scream in protest.

You look at him. Look around. Look back at him.

Carefully, he passes you the baseball bat from his room. Craig said you had one before. You’re in a strange new place. It might make you feel safe.

You close your fingers around the handle, and watch him like a hawk as you pull it over to you.

“Where am I?” He likes the sound of your voice. Even cracked with sleep and shaky with nerves, it sounds as pretty as the rest of you.

“My house.” He says simply, cocking his head to the side. “Craig brought you here.”

Craig is passed out in his room down the hall. You took a while to wake up. You frown, and rub your head a little.

“Why did you do it?” The question leaves him before he can think, curiosity lying heavy in his chest. People in Oceanside don’t just help other people like that. Not when it could put them in the same state you ended up in.

“Three to one didn’t seem like fair odds.”

Pope takes this information, and holds it close to his heart. Keeps it there like a flame he’ll never let go out.

You sit in silence for a minute before he speaks again.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

You look up, surprised, and your lips quirk upwards just the smallest bit.

“Sure.”

-

The knocking is loud. Very loud. Angry, even.

When Pope opens the door, there you are.

Fuck, it’s like you don’t even know how beautiful you are. He’s always been surprised by that. Sure, you use your looks and pretty smiles to work people on jobs, but when that persona is lowered and you’re just…you, the sight of you could make him drop to his fucking knees.

“You fixed my door.”

He’s shirtless. It’s early. Your eyes drop down to his chest before they fly back up to his face, and he is two seconds away from yanking you into the house and taking you right here in the front hall.

Shit. Three years. Three long, long years of nothing but his hand and memories of you. He’s devolved into a fucking animal. All he can think about is ripping that t-shirt off of you. Of lifting you onto the table right here and dropping to his knees, hearing the noises he can pull from you when he buries his face between your-

“You fixed my door.” You repeat, angrier now, and he furrows his brow as he forces himself out of the fantasy.

“Yeah.”

“Pope, you don’t know where I live.”

His brow furrows a little more.

“Fine, I haven’t told you where I live.” Oh, that’s what you mean. Right.

“It was creaking.”

“How many times have you broken into my house?”

Seven. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Andrew.”

You should know better than to say his name. His real name. The sound of it shoots something molten through his veins, and his hand tightens on the doorframe.

“We’re broken up. You can’t break into my house.”

“We’re not broken up.” The fact comes easily. Simply. There’s no plea behind it. No question at all.

“We’re broken up. You broke up with me.”

“No, I didn’t. I said stop coming around. I didn’t break up with you.”

“Whatever you did, it was three years ago.”

“And you’re not in prison.” He wants to ask why you’re not getting it, but he knows that you do. Even if most wouldn’t, you know how he thinks. You’re just being deliberately obtuse because you’re angry. But he’ll spend the rest of his life apologizing to you, if that’s what you need. “I’m out. We still love each other.”

“You don’t know that I still love you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me you don’t.”

You open your mouth, like you just might try it, before closing it again and trying another tactic. He’s always found it…cute. The way you try to deflect your feelings like this. And he’ll never try to pretend that he doesn’t love how easily he can call you on it. There are two things in this world that Andrew Cody is absolutely confident in: jobs, and you.

“You fucked up my job.”

“You hate those jobs. They bore you.”

Your eyes narrow, and you’re gorgeous when you’re angry. “I don’t have a backup plan anymore. I need the boat job to go well.”

You’re stalling. You don’t want to leave. “It will.” He raises an eyebrow again. Your eyes drop back down to his bare chest, and it sends a thrill through him. “Want some breakfast?”

“No.” You’re still standing here, and he knows you too well to let you leave just yet. The tension crackling through the air, emanating from you and directing itself at him, is so fucking obvious it almost makes him grin.

“Coffee?”

You hesitate. Frown. “Fine.”

And with that word, you cross the threshold, and kiss him.

-

Your first job with the Cody family went well. Really well.

Smurf shocked all of them by inviting you in, building up her tests of your skills and your loyalty to the family until she suddenly just…made you a part of it. Sat you down at the family meeting with them and told you what your part in the job would be.

Baz protested. Deran was quiet. Craig, however, was thrilled. Pope is pretty sure his brother likes you a little too much, and he hates the way it makes jealousy and possessiveness curl black and vile in his throat. He hates the way Smurf seems to assess this. The way she watches you keep Craig in line and encourages the two of you to spend time together.

But you did well. Really well.

And then, after dinner, you disappeared.

Pope found you up the street, sitting on a small curve of beach and watching the moon like you were greeting an old friend. He’d hesitated to join you, like he might be interrupting, but…

“Hi.”

Shit. “Hi.”

“Wanna sit down?”

Yes. So fucking badly. He’d do anything in the world to just be close to you. “Do you want me to?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitates. You look back at him, illuminated by moonlight and so gorgeous it stops the breath in his lungs, and pat the sand beside you.

He sits, and you rest your head against his shoulder. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you…okay?” Do you expect him to function correctly right now? Do you expect him to be able to string a thought together? You’re so warm. So soft. He doesn’t have experience with this kind of thing.

“Oh yeah.” You hum, fingers curling in the sand beneath you. “I mean, if you’re asking if I’m upset about you holding an unloaded gun to my head while I pretended to freak out, don’t worry. I’m fine.” You mean it. Smurf would be impressed.

He could cover your hand with his own, right now. You might even let him. You might let him curl his fingers around yours, and even flip your palm to rest it against his. Your soft skin against his rough callouses, pillowed by the sand beneath you…

“So what’s wrong?”

You hum, and he feels it vibrate through his shoulder. “I don’t know. Smurf, the job, everything just feels like it’s going too well.”

“Too well?”

“Things change. They hurt when they change. It’s too…good.” He starts to say something, though he isn’t sure what, before you continue. “That’s why I like coming out here, though. I like looking at the water. It’s why I slept on the beach when things got too shitty at home, you know?”

He turns his head, and it brings his face so close to yours that he almost chokes. You don’t even look up, just keep watching the waves crash on the beach as you continue.

“It sounds kinda cheesy, but the ocean is so…big. And no matter what’s going on with me, no matter how bad things seem, it makes it all feel smaller, you know? All that ocean, everything going on beneath the surface, and whatever bullshit’s happening to me just feels…inconsequential. More manageable, I guess.”

Oh God. Fuck. He loves you. He loves you so much.

His hand, knuckles still bruised from some fight he got into earlier this week and already so much bigger than your own, covers yours. You stop picking at the sand, but you don’t pull away.

“I’ll always be here.” He murmurs, some part of him terrified that you’ll jump away from him. He means it. He really does.

And you mean it too, when you turn your palm and slide your fingers through his, and murmur back. “Thank you.”

-

It’s a fucking whirlwind.

You don’t know what possessed you. What you were thinking. Just that you are magnetized to this man, and he’s standing there looking at you like he knows every thought in your head and like he loves you more than anything in the world and you can’t spend another second without his lips against your own.

He meets you just as hard, hand coming up to grip at the hair at the base of your skull as you walk him backwards into his house. You realize, vaguely, between the blur of lips and teeth and desperate hands, that you haven’t even seen the inside of it yet. Even now, it’s weird for there to be any aspect of Pope’s life that you don’t know about.

The tour, however, is going to have to wait. Because Pope has you pressed against the counter and you barely have time to gasp his name before he’s lifting you onto it, tugging your shirt up over your head and tossing it aside before ducking down to trail desperate kisses over your neck. You tangle your fingers in his hair, and pull his mouth back up to yours, biting down on his lip until he groans and reaches down to start tugging your pants over your hips.

“Bedroom.” You manage, somewhere between a choked moan and a drag of your nails down his muscled back that has him sinking his teeth into your throat.

“Three years.” He replies, the words a starved growl, as he rips your pants and underwear down over your legs. All you can do is nod your understanding and drag his mouth back to yours, hands leaving his face to reach down and tug his sweatpants over his hips.

He pulls back, just enough to press his lips to your ear, and you can’t help but whimper when he murmurs his next words.

“Tell me you want this.”

You curl your fingers in his hair, pull him closer to you, and barely manage to gasp out a soft confirmation of “I want this, Andrew” before he’s pushing into you and it is everything you’ve missed for too long and it feels so good you might fucking die.

You gasp, and hold him tighter, and he breathes a shaky exhale into the hollow of your throat as he goes very very still.

You make a soft noise, needing more, and he understands immediately because he knows every inch of you better than he knows himself.

“Three years.” He murmurs again, hoarse and apologetic as his hands grip the counter on either side of you. You realize what he means through the haze of lust, and a bubble of laughter tears its way out of your throat. The sudden movement makes him hiss, cursing softly against your throat as his hands fly up to grip your hips. You clamp your lips together in an attempt to stop your giggling, and when he pulls back to look at you he starts laughing too.

And then, still smiling, he kisses you slow and deep, and begins to move. The moment he does, all humor flies out the window, and you gasp as you lock your legs around his hips and scramble for purchase against his back.

It’s fast and desperate, like he really and truly can’t help it, and it is absolutely perfect. Fuck, it’s everything you have ever needed in your entire life and more. You cling to him, wrapped in his arms and burying your face in his neck to try to muffle cries that might wake the entire Strand. He doesn’t stop, but his grip tightens as he adjusts his movements to grind deeper, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back from his shoulder until you can feel his ragged breaths against the shell of you ear.

“Yeah?” He whispers, hoarse and smiling and already wrecked as the force of his movements makes stars explode behind your vision. Then, closer, his nose against your temple and his grip almost bruising on your skin. “Yeah?”

You just nod, and hold on for dear life as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, and he follows right after you with a choked moan of yours.

For a moment, you both just try to catch your breath, wrapped in each other’s arms with your legs shaking and Pope’s shoulder warm against your forehead. He kisses the side of your head, soft and loving, and huffs a laugh into your hair as he pulls back to press his lips to yours.

“I missed you.” He whispers, and you’re smiling too.

And then, without warning, he hoists you into his arms and starts walking.

“Where are we going?” You ask, still laughing, still smiling, still blissed out beyond words.

He kisses your forehead, your cheek, and kicks a door open. “Bedroom.”

-

Once the initial violent desperation has faded, Pope takes his time with you. He works you apart piece by piece, like he’s relearning every inch of your skin. He kisses every new scar. Every familiar freckle. He makes you forget every word that isn’t his name, tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it, and you do the same to him. In the confines of his room, in this new house on the beach, you forget about every morsel of pain you’ve felt in the past. Every tear you’ve shed. Every lonely moment.

At some point, when he’s trailing slow kisses up the inside of your thigh and your fingers are tangled in his curls, you manage to come back to yourself for half a second.

“We’re not back together.” You murmur, and he looks up long enough to raise a dark eyebrow at you.

“We’re not.” You repeat, and he gives you another look, this time with both eyebrows, before nudging your thigh further aside. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t need to, because in the next five seconds you completely forget how to form coherent thought.

-

The sun is setting by the time you’re both too exhausted to continue. A few minutes ago, you broke apart long enough to make your way to the shower, where you’d lasted about five minutes before he’d slipped in behind you. You managed to hold back long enough to shampoo each other’s hair before lathering off had turned into kissing beneath the stream, which had turned into…well, into you pressed up against the wall, his chest against your back and his teeth buried in your shoulder as your fingers clawed against the tile and your vision turned white for the umpteenth time today.

Now, his fingers card through your still-damp hair, and you wonder vaguely if you’ll ever walk again.

“Holy shit. We haven’t done that since…” you trail off, brain as mushy as your muscles seem to be, and you feel Pope’s proud smile against your forehead.

“Three years and forty nine days.” He supplies, and you can’t hold back your giggle. “Day after the jewelry store job.”

“Right.” Christ, it really is a miracle that you survived three years apart when you used to go at each other like coked out bunny rabbits. “Forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.”

You swat at his chest, and he tucks you closer to him, tilting your chin up to press his lips to yours.

-

For the first time in three years, you wake up in Andrew Cody’s arms.

And he’s asleep. He’s soundly, completely asleep. He’s always been a light sleeper, but despite that there are certain circumstances that have been known to knock him out like a log.

He’s completely out now, arms wrapped tightly around you and deep breaths tickling the top of your head.

There was always so much chaos in your lives. So many things that could go wrong at any moment, so many risks taken every single day. There was Smurf’s manipulations, Craig’s irresponsibility, Deran’s tendency to disappear and worry everyone, Julia being gone, and Baz…well, Baz being a raging douche most of the time. All of it was always so much, but right here, right like this…this was always where you felt safest. All of the insanity would always be a million miles away, blocked out by the circle of Andrew Cody’s arms.

Which is probably why it feels like a physical stab to your chest when you carefully wiggle out of them.

He grunts, one arm reaching out as if searching for you, but he doesn’t wake.

You allow yourself one moment to stare at him. One long, aching moment. He’s so beautiful in the moonlight that he almost hurts to look at.

And then you slip on one of his tshirts, wiggle into your jeans, and disappear out the door.

You don’t bother pulling your shoes back on, letting the sand cushion your feet as you wander down the beach, and listening to the waves crash against the shore.

He’ll wake up soon, and he’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll pull you back into his arms and the two of you will sit on this beach like you used to. Watch the waves and the stars like you used to. You’ll talk, and he’ll apologize, and he isn’t very good with words but you’ll understand him and you’ll forgive him. Just like that.

You’re not ready for that.

So you pull out your phone, and dial the only other number you have on speed dial. The only number besides Pope Cody’s.

“Where the hell have you been?” Craig shouts into the phone, mirth lacing his voice even through the tinny speaker.

You glance down at Pope’s t-shirt. Plain white. Too big for you. Soft and draped over your body like a flag with his name on it.

Oh well. “You’re gonna give me a whole lotta shit for it.”

He laughs, and you hear a bottle clink somewhere on the other side of the phone. “So why’re you callin’ me?”

“Cause I’m crazy, I guess. Or an idiot.”

“Or both.”

You hum, and bend down to scoop some sand into your palm, letting it trickle between your fingers as it falls back to the earth. You’re confused, and still hurting, and your heart aches heavy in your chest. In moments like this, you’ve always wondered what it would be like to have one of those girl best friends in rom-coms. The kind who would split a bottle of wine with you on the couch and talk for hours about boys with you. That must be nice. You wonder if they really exist, somewhere where life is normal.

Well, you don’t have that. You have Craig Cody.

“I’ve gotta go off grid for a minute.” You say, and trail your eyes back towards Pope’s darkened house. You have minutes before that light flicks on, and you cave. “Wanna get drunk?”

Craig blows out a long breath, and you can almost see him raising his eyebrows and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Sure. Where are you?”

-

Pope hasn’t seen you in three days.

Deran is the one who called him, frustrated and concerned and grouching about you not being able to handle your liquor.

“It’s weird, dude. The balance is gone. She’s not talking him out of shit anymore. They’re just kinda ramping each other up.” He hears the clink of bottles. Shouting in the background. Maybe, somewhere, your laughter. “Whatever you did, come fix it. Because your girlfriend is doing body shots on my bar and I’m not about to get shut down because those two are acting like fucking idiots.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He’s already grabbing his keys. You fell asleep in his arms, for fucks sake. You spent the entire day letting him whisper apologies and promises of love into your skin. He thought you were good. It felt like everything was back to normal, and then you were just…gone.

Sure, there was a moment where you insisted you weren’t back together, but when that sentence is quickly drowned out by “Oh God oh God Andrew please don’t stop” it’s a little hard to let the words sink in.

He’d searched the beach for hours. Called your phone even when it became blatantly obvious that you’d turned it off. He went to Craig’s house, and his brother wasn’t there. You didn’t take your car when you disappeared. He’s been worried sick about you and now you’ve been on some kind of bender?

“You did something.” Deran doesn’t seem to be grasping the gravity of this situation. Everything was fine. Why are you still upset? “They haven’t done this kind of shit since you dumped her in prison.”

“I didn’t fucking dump her.” He needs to focus on not breaking too many traffic laws, but he senses a few irritated comments coming his way. Annoyed as Deran may be right now, he fucking adores you almost as much as Craig does, and Pope can hear genuine worry in his tone.

“You should probably look up the definition of dumping, dude. Telling her to fuck off and not talking to her for three years is pretty-“

“Just tell me if she’s okay.” The words come out harsh. A snap of anger in the quiet car.

“Just get here.” The phone clicks off, and Pope almost throws it out the window.

-

Everything is nice and fuzzy, and you’re having a very fun time.

You don’t have anywhere near Craig’s tolerance, nor his penchant for anything stronger than alcohol and weed, so this ‘bender’ hasn’t exactly consisted of you partying straight through like he has. In fact, it took until tonight for him to pull you off of his couch and tell you to stop wallowing and have fun.

And you had listened. Oh boy, had you listened.

You started at Craig’s house, letting him amp you up and remind you to get angry between shots of tequila.

“Holy shit, just say it. Say it already!” Craig stands, waving the shot in front of your face before shoving it forward. “Are you mad? Sad? C’mon, quit bein’ such a closed book! Who the fuck is that helping?”

“I’m angry!” You take the shot, down it, and sputter.

And then you smash the glass against the wall.

“There she is!” Craig shouts, enveloping you in a drunken hug, and you let the rage build in the safety of your friend’s arms as you start to giggle like a fucking lunatic.

“Gimme another.”

He whoops, lets you go, and grabs the bottle.

And then you went to the Cove, and drank margaritas and let Craig convince you to get angrier. Angry because Pope left you. Because it hurt so bad it felt like a piece of you had broken off, and angry because he showed back up and brought all of that pain with him and just expected it all to be better.

And eventually, you ended up in Deran’s bar, hammered and laughing and trying to remember why you were mad in the first place.

That is, until Pope Cody shows up.

You’ve seen him look scary before, with that furrowed brow and those shark eyes, but now he looks downright murderous.

That’s okay. You can be angry too. You are angry.

“We’re leaving.” He says, simply, wrapping an arm around you before you shove him off.

“Nuh uh.” You step back, and his frown deepens.

“Dude, lay off. She’s just blowin’ off some steam-“

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Pope stands too close to Craig. Looks way too angry. He doesn’t get to be mad. He broke your heart. He left you alone.

“What’re you doing?” Craig, larger than Pope and already too drunk and coked out to think rationally, matches the furious energy. “You think you’re cool just walkin’ in here and making her go home?”

Something twinges in your drunken mind. Tells you to step in. To stop this.

But you’re too late.

“Maybe I’m sick and tired of pickin’ her up off the floor because you did some shit to make her bawl her fucking eyes out.” Craig shoves Pope. Hard. “Seriously man, what’s the fuckin’ matter with you? You think she deserves this shit?”

Pope punches him in the face.

You just stand there for a moment, drunk and shocked, and it takes a good moment of them brawling and shoving each other into the bar before you realize that you should get in the middle of this.

Someone, some guy who was flirting with you a while back, tries to grab you and pull you away. You slam your elbow into his face, and he releases you long enough for you to leap onto Craig’s back, yanking him away from Pope just in time to feel your back slam into the corner of the bar hard enough to make you lose your grip.

You fall back, feel something smash beneath you, and groan as a bolt of agony shoots through your body. Fuck. Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark.

The fight stops. The bar goes quiet.

Hands pull you up, slurred apologies spilling past Craig’s lips in a panic as he sets you on your feet and looks down at you with a horrified expression. You’ve had worse, sure, but the bruise isn’t gonna be pretty and you know damn well he’s gonna feel guilty about it tomorrow.

You look up at him, reach up to pat his chest…

And puke on his shoes.

You hear him mumble a quiet “oh, fuck” before he’s shoved aside, and Pope is there. Pope, who is scooping you up into his arms without a word and carrying you out of the bar.

“Sorry.” You mumble, and he doesn’t respond, but he squeezes you a little more tightly to him and that feels like enough.

He places you down in the passenger seat of his truck, and presses his lips to your forehead before he moves to the drivers side.

You’re suddenly very, very exhausted. You thunk your head against the window, and close your eyes as the engine starts.

You feel Pope’s hand on your leg, warm and comforting and familiar.

It feels like home.

-

“Look who finally decided to come home.”

Your father’s voice is nails on a chalkboard. A skin-prickling, hatred inducing rasp that makes your entire body tense.

“This isn’t home.” You drop your keys on the counter. It’s not home. It never has been, but now that you have a real home the difference has never been more obvious to you.

You left your home tonight. Left the warmth of Andrew Cody’s arms. He hadn’t woken, as exhausted after the job as you were, but he’d hummed sleepily into your neck and tried to squeeze you closer as you’d wiggled your way out of his embrace.

Your father scoffs, and doesn’t look up from the TV. “You think that place is home? You whore yourself out to that psycho Cody and now you can’t give half a shit about the guy who raised ya?”

It’s your turn to scoff. You don’t answer. He keeps going.

“You think that crazy kid loves you? You think you’ll get to leave and run off into the sunset with him? The ticking time bomb ain’t gonna love you. None of ‘em are. I know Smurf. She’s keepin’ you around because that shithead prefers to fuck you over going berserk and killin’ everyone in the house. They don’t give a shit about you. They use you. S’all you’re good for, anyway.”

That hits you. Harder than it should.

No. No, he’s wrong. He’s an asshole, and he’s wrong. Andrew Cody loves you more than life itself. There’s no question there.

…Right? It’s not like you even know what love is, being raised by this of shit. And Pope’s love is…obsessive. You don’t mind it. You like it, actually. But-

No. Fucking no. You’re not letting him get in your head. You can’t.

Because there’s Craig. And Deran. And even Baz, sometimes. Smurf likes you, and she most certainly sees you as a pawn, but… but Craig is your best friend. Craig laughs at your jokes. Hugs you so tightly your ribs might crack sometimes. Stays up to talk to you for hours by the pool.

And Pope loves you so much that it consumes him. Even you can’t doubt that. The way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like he’ll never be able to get enough. His shoulders relax when you enter the room. His smile is the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. You even wake up to him watching you sleep, sometimes, tracing his calloused fingers over your skin with his eyes half-open like he’s fighting sleep just so he can look at you a little longer.

And the last time your father took things too far, the last time you came back with bruises…

You’d spent an hour talking Pope down from coming over here. You’d spent longer convincing Craig and even Deran to stop fucking encouraging him to, to stop insisting that they’ll help him end this asshole.

That’s love.

And that gives you the strength, the courage, to move over to your father and lean one hand on the back of the couch, glaring daggers into his eyes.

“The only reason you’re still alive, is because of me.” It sounds like a fucking growl, so angry and unlike you. “Don’t forget that.”

Your father just smiles, like you’re wrong and he knows it. You want to punch him. You want to prove him wrong, and let Andrew kill him.

You walk out the door, instead.

-

He sits you on the edge of his bed, and it’s just like before. Like every time you’ve been drunk or even sick since you were kids. He kisses your cheek, asks if it’s okay, and when you nod he pulls your t-shirt up over your head, quickly replacing it with one of his own. Your pants go next, and then he tucks you beneath the blankets of his bed and brushes your hair from your face.

He hesitates to pull his own shirt off, wonders if you might be too drunk and upset to want him near you. You never have before, but he’s realizing pretty quickly that before is more removed from the present than he expected it to be. Three years in prison, daydreaming every day about coming home to you and explaining why he did that he did and having you forgive him right away was…well, a daydream. He may have been able to lose himself in the fantasy of your unconditional love and forgiveness for three years, but you were here. Alone. Wondering what you did wrong and missing him on a level completely separate from his. He didn’t experience any of the confusion. The lack of understanding. The pain that comes with that.

You reach out, and push the hem of his shirt up. He pulls it over his head, a slave to your needs and whims, and helps you unbuckle his pants until he’s sliding into bed beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“You’re mad at me.”

You tilt your head into his hand, and nod.

His heart breaks, eyes softening and hand smoothing over your cheek as he leans closer and presses his forehead against yours.

“Why?” He asks, a genuine desperate pain cracking the word as it leaves his throat. “I thought…I thought we were good.”

You make a soft noise, and lean against him a little more.

He whispers your name, presses a kiss to your cheek, and inhales deep, trying to memorize your scent.

“I’m not good at this. You always tell me.” Another kiss. Fingers curling in your hair. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make you stop hurting.”

You curl a little closer.

“You left me.” You finally whisper. “You promised you never would, and then you left. I worried about you for three years.”

He pulls you closer. Feels tears prickle in his eyes and guilt churn in his stomach.

“I went to the beach, and it didn’t feel better, because you weren’t there.” Your fingers curl against his chest, right over his breaking heart. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. For three years.”

Fuck. “I’ll never stop loving you.” If he holds you any more tightly, it might hurt the bruise on your back. He’s gonna fucking kill Craig for that, accident or not. “Never.”

And then, quietly, almost a whisper as you drift off but just loud enough for him to hear it and almost die right there, “…I don’t know if I believe you, anymore…”

-

The boat job goes well. Really fucking well. Save for Marco cutting a woman’s fucking finger off, everything goes off without a hitch.

And you’re proud. Really fucking proud. Craig was always capable of this kind of thing if he just applied himself, and here you all are. Richer than before and still riding that all-too-familiar adrenaline high.

“Geez, Pope really did a number on you.” You reach up now, poking lightly at his black eye. He flinches, and huffs out a sheepish laugh. You saw this coming when you decided someone would have to beat Craig up, and Pope volunteered a little…emphatically. But still.

“Pretty sure he’s got some pent up anger.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes scanning over you. “How’s your back?”

You cringe, and resist the urge to rub the still-bruised area. “It’s fine. The hangover was worse.”

Craig looks like he’s about to turn you around inspect the injury himself, but one glance over your shoulder to where Pope is no doubt glaring from across the bar is enough to make him cave with one last guilty look. He’s apologized maybe a hundred times for the mistake, and you’ve forgiven him every time. After all, he didn’t mean it, and you’ve definitely had worse. “Damn, how bad?”

Your head is pounding, and you just barely managed to make it into the bathroom before the rest of last night’s tequila expels itself from your stomach.

Not five seconds later, you feel a large hand curl in your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail while another palm rubs small circles on your back.

“Oh, the humanity.” You whimper, pulling back to lean against the wall. You flinch at the movement, and give Pope a miserable look. “Christ, did I get hit by a truck last night?”

“You broke up a bar fight.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“It was…between me and Craig.”

You frown, and try to piece the fuzzy memories together. “Did you kill him?”

“No. He fell back against the bar with you on his back, so I’m going to.”

Ah, that’s where the pain is coming from. You look him over, shirtless and beautiful and achingly familiar, but…

“Have you slept?”

He frowns, and looks like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. “No.”

Ugh. This is stupid. Bad idea. You should leave. You are not together anymore. You will not-

“Okay. My head hurts. You need to sleep. Back to bed, big guy.” You reach out, and make grabby hands at him, just like you’ve done a million times before. Every time you were hungover, every time you were sick, or even one time when you just twisted your ankle trying to dive into the pool.

His smile is so full of adoration and relief that it nearly makes you cry. He doesn’t hesitate, moving to scoop you into his arms with a soft grunt of “c’mere…”

He lays you down, and you pull him with you, tugging the covers around you both before tucking yourself into his chest and reaching up to scratch your nails lightly over his back in the way that’s always made him melt.

“I love you.” He murmurs, warm fingers brushing through your hair. “I’m sorry-“

“Shhh. Go to sleep.” You press your lips to his shoulder, and feel him shiver a little at the feeling. “Head hurts, and you need to sleep.”

He takes a moment to speak, but then he nuzzles his nose into your hair and drops his arms down to pull you closer to him. “Okay.”

“I’ve had worse.” You smile, and clink your beer against Craig’s. “Thanks, though. You did fucking amazing today.”

Your friend’s smile, despite the damage to his face, lights up the entire room. “Fuck yeah I did. You did, too.”

“Aw, shucks.” You grin, and it’s just like before. Just like when you were kids, riding the adrenaline high together and laughing your way through the car chases and the gunfights despite Pope and Baz and even Deran’s concern. You nudge him, and smile a little wider as you gesture towards the door. “Renn’s here.”

He turns, and the way his eyes light up makes your heart swell impossibly more. That, right there. That’s how you look at Pope. How he looks at you. That little spark behind his eyes is exactly what he’s always deserved.

“You two back together?”

“Nah. I mean, I dunno. Maybe. We’re…you know.”

You clink your beer against his, and meet his eyes. “Just don’t fuck it up again, okay? You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink.”

His eyes trail behind you, to where Pope is most certainly still watching you, and he raises a pointed eyebrow.

You scoff. “Shut up.”

-

That’s the problem with good things. They always end.

You’re at the bar, sitting beside Pope like you have after a thousand jobs, and despite your conviction to keep your heart safe you can’t help the way it melts when his hand covers yours, large fingers threading through your own.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You hum, and lean into his side despite yourself. It was a pretty big day, after all, and nothing sounds better than curling up in bed with him and sleeping until noon tomorrow.

You open your mouth to agree, feeling his thumb trace lightly over your knuckles, and-

Your phone dings. A specific ringtone. One that makes you feel like an anvil has been dropped into your stomach.

“I’ll be right back.” You murmur, and when Pope’s brow furrows you lean forward and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. Not quite a kiss, but close enough that his hand squeezes yours one last time. “Just gotta go to the bathroom, first.”

You leave before he can follow.

-

“You look like shit.” You greet the old man in the alley with a frown, crossing your arms and standing a good few feet back. He does. Your father, piece of shit that he is, has probably pissed off a debt collector or two again, judging by the bruises on his face and arms. You have no sympathy for the man who once left similar marks on you.

“Heard your psycho boyfriend is outta prison.” His retort makes you grit your teeth. “Still sluttin’ yourself out to the Codys?”

“What the fuck do you want this time?”

“Just an exchange. Heard about that boat robbery today.” Fuck. “Wouldn’t be too great for good ol’ Dope’s probation if someone were to put in an anonymous tip, would it?”

“Pope had nothing to do with that.”

Your father smiles, all stained teeth and greedy eyes. “Shouldn’t be a problem, then.”

“Fuck you.”

“How ‘bout we make a trade? I don’t gotta call nobody, and you help cover my debt.”

You want to kill him. You hate him so much it makes you feel sick. “Like I said, fuck you.”

You turn to walk inside, and the move is a mistake. Fingers close too-tightly on your wrist, and before you know it you’re being slammed against the alley wall with your arm twisted agonizingly tightly behind your back. You bite hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, and remind yourself to breathe through the pain.

“Thought I raised you better than that.” The fingers on your wrist feel like they’re going to snap it in half. You want to bite something back, preferably something poetically sarcastic, but you can’t let your voice betray the pain you’re in. All these years, and you hate that he can still hurt you. “You got three days, kid. Sure you can spend enough time on your knees to get the money out of the crazy one. Maybe the cokehead, too.”

He lets you go with a shove that makes your cheek scratch against the wall, and you turn to glare defiant daggers as he walks away.

-

“Where did you go?” Pope’s dark eyes are curious, almost innocent as he reaches up to pull you closer to him by your hips.

You move back a little, and his brow furrows with concern. “I need my cut.”

“Yeah. You’ll get it when we-“

“I need it now.”

He stands, and you step back when he looks you over, but you’re too late. He knows you too well.

His hands are on your waist, tugging you close to him, and his fingers fly up to the scrape on your cheek. Down to pull up your sleeve, exposing angry red marks in the shape of fingerprints.

“Where is he?” He asks, voice dripping with danger, and you try to pull away but he just grips you more firmly. His grip is gentle, and you know he would let you go in a second if you asked, but he’s not letting you run from this. “Is he here?”

“Not anymore.” His fingers are curling around your arm, pulling it up to inspect your wrist. His eyes are almost black, and his jaw is clenched so tightly you’re worried he might crack a damn tooth. “Hey, Andrew. Look at me.”

His eyes don’t leave the bruises on your arm. “I should have killed him.”

“Beating him half to death caused enough problems.” Piece of shit that he is, your father has one too many connections in Oceanside, and the damage control from when Pope snapped on him years ago nearly got all of you arrested or killed.

It’s been proven safer to just give him what he wants, and try to keep it as secretive as possible, lest Pope or even Craig try to pound him into the pavement again.

Speaking of which, Pope is still holding you too tightly. You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Let’s…” God, you’re supposed to keep up with this ‘not together anymore’ thing, but “can we just go home?”

He melts. His eyes soften, and his arms slide around you to pull you closer to him. You feel his cheek against the side of your head, his hand sliding gently up over your back, and you melt too.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Split lip. Black eye. Ringing ears.

God, everything hurts. That asshole really did a number on you this time.

Bruised if not cracked ribs. A slight limp from where your leg hit weird when you were tossed across the floor. An aching arm that was grabbed a little too hard.

“Holy shit.” Craig. Craig’s voice, as familiar as your own.

“I got hit.” You worked on this lie. Practiced it the whole limping walk down here. “…by a car.” As bad as it is this time, it might be the only thing that’s believable.

“You’re a shit liar.” Now you know that’s not true, but your friend is already by your side, holding you up and helping you walk into the house. “I’m gonna kill him.”

You’ve definitely got a black eye. Your lip is swollen and bleeding. It’s becoming more exhausting to take stock of your injuries than it would be to note what isn’t hurting.

“Don’t. Just…don’t.” You wince on a step, and when Craig huffs and tries to scoop you up you swat him off.

“Fuck that. You look like you’re about to keel the fuck over.” He frowns, concern lacing every one of his features. “You’re not going back there.”

“I hit him with a fuckin’ frying pan.” You mumble, knocking your head against his shoulder. “So I figure I’m not welcome back any time soon.”

“Smurf is gonna shit.” He mumbles, and leans you back against the kitchen counter to inspect your face. “Fuck, Pope is gonna blow a gasket, dude. How are you gonna explain this to him?”

“I don’t know.” You mumble, reaching up to push the hair out of your face. All you want to do right now is see him. To be held by him and to maybe even just lay down in his twin bed and feel him tuck you into his arms. You’ve been with him for a little over a year, now, and it still feels like you’ve been dating for a week. Like your relationship is just one never ending honeymoon phase. Even these last few days, helping your father out with his bullshit scam, you’ve missed him so much it’s almost concerning.

Fuck.

“Beer, please.” You mumble, and when Craig hands it to you you take a moment to rest the cool glass against your bruised cheek. “I don’t know. I’ll tell him I got in an accident.”

Craig’s answer is immediate, lifting your arm to show the bruises in the shape of fingerprints dented into your skin. “Yeah, real fuckin’ believable.”

You pull you arm back, panic rising in your throat. “Okay. I…give me a sweatshirt.”

“He’ll just take it off.”

“Fuck.” He’s right. You shouldn’t have come here. You should have hidden out on the beach for a few days like you used to, and waited for some of these injuries to fade. Fuck. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Fat fuckin’ chance.” Craig grabs you, more firmly than usual, and keeps you still against the counter. “You think I’m gonna let you walk outta this house while that asshole is still breathing? Look, I ain’t Pope, but I’m not gonna let you into a situation where you could-“

You sense him before you see him. You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Get. Away. From. Her.”

Shit.

“Shit.” Craig releases you, and takes three large steps back like he might be attacked by a mountain lion.

Pope is on you in a second, one large hand cradling your bruised face, and in a moment you can see in his eyes that he’s not entirely there. That line in him has snapped, like it has on those nights you’ve found him in the yard, distant and empty and staring at the moon. When you’ve pulled him from fights, and he took a minute to even remember your name. Took him longer to remember his own.

“Please.” You whisper, reaching up to slide your fingers through his hair and force him to look at you. “Please be okay about this.”

He doesn’t answer you. He just moves his hand over your face, looks at you with those murderous eyes, and presses his forehead against yours.

“Where is he?”

“Pope. Andrew. Please.” Your heart cracks on his name, and he grips you more tightly. “Please, just take me to bed.” You turn his face to yours, squeeze your eyes shut. “I just wanna go to bed.”

And he does.

One hour later, he leaves that bed. You don’t open your eyes. Keep your breathing slow and steady as you feel him kiss your forehead, then your cheek, sliding his fingers through your hair like pulling away from you is physically painful.

But he does, and you feel him stand. You hear him leave.

And you let him.

Two hours later, he walks through the door of Smurf’s house with blood on his knuckles and sweat on his brow.

You’re waiting for him in the hall.

You look down at his hand. Back up to his eyes.

“Is he dead?” Your voice is quiet. He doesn’t look guilty, but he doesn’t look away from you, either.

“No.”

You just nod, and move forward to slide your hand over his cheek. He leans helplessly closer to you.

“Next time you do that,” you murmur, guiding his lips down to your own as his swollen knuckles curl against the back of your borrowed shirt, tugging you closer to him, “take me with you.”

He releases a shuddering breath, and his kiss is so full of love and devotion that it buckles your knees.

-

A warehouse is a cheesy place to meet. The fact that the asshole brought backup makes it worse. Granted, you brought Pope, Craig, and Deran with you, but…well, they’re more here for emotional support. And because they wouldn’t let you come alone.

When you got home, you told Pope everything. The threats, the money you’ve sent him, the amount of time he’s still been able to keep you under his thumb despite how hard you’ve worked to break away…

To your surprise, he hadn’t snapped. He hadn’t stormed out of his house to find the old man. He’d…

He’d kissed you. He’d wrapped his arms around you, tilted your head back, and kissed you.

You make a muffled noise against his mouth, eyes flying open in surprise before fluttering shut as your body melts into the embrace before your mind can even catch up.

When you finally break for air, still confused but certainly unable to complain, you blink your eyes open again.

“What was that for?”

He just kisses you again. Slow. Warm. Wonderful. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” He whispers, lips moving down to your jaw. Your neck. “I’m sorry you had to be so fuckin’ brave on your own.”

“Andrew, I…” this is a much different reaction than you were expecting. You haven’t mentally prepared for it. Your mind is still on the defensive.

He shushes you. Pushes his hands up under your shirt to trace them over your skin. “I love you. You don’t wanna be together? That’s okay. We can do whatever you want.” He kisses the hollow of your throat, scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat that has him tightening his grip on you. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not dealing with this alone.”

You’re not alone. He’s not going anywhere. Never again.

You believe him. You really, really believe him.

“Take off your clothes, please.”

He smiles against your collarbone, and trails his nose up your throat until his lips are hovering over your own. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You’re already tugging at his shirt, already pulling him down to kiss you, and he meets you with a hunger that feels like a satisfied craving. “I love you. I trust you.” The words are murmured between kisses, “now please take off your clothes.”

“Christ, it’s like you think you’re Tony Soprano or some shit.” You grumble, feeling surprisingly petulant despite the intensity of the situation. Your father has connections, sure, but you grew up with Smurf Cody. The comparison between the way he operates and what you’re used to is absolutely insane.

Your father is a drunk, and an asshole, and he thinks he’s tough shit. You happen to know what it looks like to actually know what you’re doing. Shocker, that you’re the one who makes the actual fucking money. Even less shocking that he makes most of his income leeching off of you.

Well, not anymore.

“I told you to come alone. You brought your fuckin’ guard dog.”

“Yeah, you’re one to talk.” You gesture to the man beside him, the wall of muscle holding the gun and glaring at you like this is a gangster movie and he genuinely believes himself to be the most badass character. “Did you give your Steroid Humunculus his pay already, or is he gonna be banging on your door in a week looking for it?” You’re guessing the latter, if past experience is anything to go by.

“Enough.” Your father snaps, like he has any authority at all. It makes you furious. “Tell the psycho to leave.”

“Call him a psycho one more time, and this time it won’t be him who beats you to a fucking pulp.”

“Are you threatening me, you little shit?”

“Like father, like daughter.”

“I should teach you a fuckin’ lesson-“ he starts toward you, only to back up when Pope steps forward. His jaw ticks, fury flashing in his eyes, and you hear the click of something loading in the cavernous room.

It all happens so fast.

In all the times this kind of thing has happened, all of the times he’s made threats, it’s always been diffused. He’s always held up a gun, maybe loaded it, and said some bullshit until money was tossed his way.

This time, he brought the wrong backup. And that backup panics.

The man raises the gun, and aims it at Pope.

You move before you think, jerking instinctively in front of him and pushing him back, already beginning to move towards the money to end this bullshit. They always point the gun. Always shout a threat. Always shut up when they see the money and-

And then the gun goes off.

-

You wake to an empty bed.

Your first instinct is to reach out to the space Pope usually occupies, hand sliding over the cool sheets like you might be able to pull him out of thin air. It’s not morning, and the house is silent. If there was some kind of emergency, he would have woken you.

Huh.

The mystery doesn’t stay a mystery for long. You shuffle into the yard, and there he is.

Naked. Staring at the moon.

He seemed fine last night. Well, as fine as Pope Cody can be. A little more quiet, maybe. A little clingier than usual, and that would be saying something, but fine.

“Hey, handsome.” You hum, casual and sleepy, and move to stand beside him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t break his eyes from the night sky. “What are we looking at?”

“Everything.” He murmurs, absent, and you can already tell that he isn’t here. Isn’t entirely inside his own head. That’s alright. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. At least he’s not smashing anything with a hammer.

“Sounds like a lot.” You move to stand in front of him, lifting your hand to brush your fingers through the soft curls on the back of his neck and turn his gaze down to yours. “How ‘bout you just look at me instead?”

When his eyes meet your own, still hazy and distant, his breath catches in his lungs. His hand moves up, guiding yours so he can press his cheek into your palm like the touch is some sort of coveted blessing. You smile, soft and gentle, and bring up your other hand to mirror the first and cradle his other cheek.

“You’re an angel.” The words come out as a reverent whisper. He’s not trying to flatter you, not trying for pretty compliments, but rather stating a fact. Like he often does, when he’s in this state.

“Not quite.” You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, and you feel a shiver travel through his entire body. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

Large hands hover over your waist, and his eyes don’t leave you. “Can I…touch you?”

You nod, and bring his forehead down to rest against yours as his arms slide around you, tugging you against him as calloused fingers trail up beneath your sleep shirt, the touch just as familiar as the rest of him.

“Will you come to bed with me?” You ask softly, moving your own hands down to smooth over the skin of his chest. “I’m not an overly jealous person, but I’d prefer to keep this view for myself. Don’t wanna share with the neighbors.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

“Tell me that again in the morning when I remind you to take your meds, okay?”

He follows you back inside, and allows you to pull him back into bed with you. Allows you to pull the covers up around you both as he envelops you in his arms, and trails his lips along your hairline as he whispers soft words against your skin. You can’t make them out, but you wonder from his tone if they might be some kind of prayer.

“I love you.” You murmur, and his arms tighten around you. “Every part of you. You know that?”

“I don’t deserve it.” He whispers, and you pull back to look at him.

“You do.” You kiss his nose. His cheek. “You really, really do.”

-

For a moment, you think a car might have backfired somewhere nearby.

It’s not like you don’t know what a gun sounds like. Fuck, with your childhood, you could recognize the sound faster than your own voice. And yet, in this moment, your mind can’t seem to keep up. Can’t seem to process exactly what just happened.

You feel like you got punched in the stomach. There’s an intense, knock-the-wind-out-of-you pressure, and then…

Your hand comes up to the point of that pressure, to the dull burn, and comes away red.

“Fuck.” Your father breathes, and then he starts shouting. “Fuck! You idiot! What the fuck did you do?!”

You’ve heard that voice before. When he’s lost an exceptionally lucrative bet. When a deal has gone wrong. That’s the tone of a man who is losing his meal ticket, not even close to the tone of a concerned father.

You didn’t even get to do your little speech. Your whole ‘fuck you, I owe you less than nothing and this is the last time you’re getting a cent from me’ speech. You were kind of looking forward to it.

Your whole body feels a little numb. When your knees finally give out, warm arms wrap around you before you can collapse.

“No. No no no no no!”

Now that…that isn’t concern either. It’s worse. So much worse. It’s the realest and most raw fear you’ve ever heard.

There’s too much blood. Fuck. So much blood. It’s spilling out between your fingers faster than should be possible. Vaguely, you remember when you were small, and the faucet broke at whatever house you and your dad were squatting in at the time. You were so scared of his ire, of him blaming you for the burst, that you’d tried to hold it together with your small hands until your entire body was soaked.

Andrew Cody is gathering you into his arms, lowering you to the ground, and the pain is starting to slice it’s way through the shock and it is absolutely fucking overwhelming.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Look at me. C’mon, y-you’ve gotta look at me.”

Your father is still yelling at the guy who shot you. Screaming about the money. Not about you. The sound is loud, cutting through the ringing in your ears, and Andrew’s arms tighten around you.

“Close your eyes.” The words are murmured by your ear. Soft and warm and gentle despite the chaos. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” He rarely calls you that. This must be bad.

When you do, you hear a gun fire, and the shouting stops.

Your eyes fly open, and you try to turn towards the sound of two bodies hitting the floor, but Pope is there before you can move, dropping a gun to the pavement and cradling your face in his hands.

“Don’t look at that. Look at me. Look at me, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”

He shouts for Craig. For Deran. Everything is still in a sharp, dizzy sort of focus.

-

“Holy shit. What happened?”

Craig is hunched over the toilet. There’s a bottle of tequila on the floor.

He turns his face towards you, hair messy and cheek resting against his arm. “Go away.”

“Nah.” You’re already sitting beside him, tugging his hair into a ponytail and tying it off.

“M’a fuckup.” He mumbles. “Jus’ a…drunk idiot. Deran said.”

You hum, and rub a soothing hand over his back. “Definitely acting like one.”

“See?” He tilts his head miserably back into his arm. “Even you say it.”

“Shut up. You know that’s not what I’m saying.” You move over to the bottle, and take a swig before throwing the rest into the trash. “Hey, look at me.”

He does. He looks like he might have been crying.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, you know that?”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not lying.”

He looks at you now. Really, really looks at you. “You gotta stop seein’ the best in me.”

“Too late. You done puking?”

He grunts, and you reach down to help him stand with a significant amount of effort and bitching that he weighs a million pounds.

And you get him into bed, and even tuck him in, and before you leave to go back to Pope’s room he catches your wrist.

“I love you.”

You stop, and furrow your brow.

“Not in like, a weird way. M’not tryna fuck you or anything. I don’t even know how…” he frowns, and releases you to rub a hand over his face. “I dunno how to say it.”

Your heart swells, in that familiar way, and you laugh a little as you move over and sit on the edge of his bed. “I think you’re telling me I’m you’re best friend.”

“Well, obviously. S’more than that, though. You don’t…you don’t think I’m a fuckup. You actually like me.”

You think back to that kid on the beach, surrounded by three angry assholes and fully prepared to stand his fucking ground. The kid who you were knocked out defending. Who didn’t think twice before he brought you back to his home. To the only safe space he knew. Who brought you into his family.

Who loved you like you loved him, and wasn’t sure what it meant. Who assumed, as teenagers do, that it might be romantic. Who didn’t think twice when he realized that it wasn’t romantic, and still pushed his pride aside and kept on loving you. And even now, budding your own ways into adulthood together, he’s drunk and still trying to put into words that he loves you platonically.

“You have the biggest heart.” You say, honest and raw, and his hazy blue eyes fill with tears again. “Even if you can be an idiot sometimes.”

He swipes his hand over his eyes, and tries to hide a sniffle. He looks young like this. He’s only in his early twenties, sure, but he looks younger than that. Vulnerable in a way only you ever really get to see.

“Promise you won’t go anywhere.” He mumbles, like he’s nervous to say it.

He smells like puke, and he’s sweaty, but fuck it. You hug him, making sure to flop down on top of him a little so he groans miserably before he wraps a large arm around you to pat your back.

“Can’t get rid of me if you tried, jackass.”

-

Craig is freaking out. He’s in the back of the car, where Pope is still holding you, and he’s freaking out.

Oh, no. That won’t do, will it? You take care of them. You always do. You keep Craig level-headed, and you keep Andrew from freaking out. Or…or is it the other way around? It’s concerningly difficult to think. You feel like you’re floating.

“Almost there. Almost there. Don’t leave me, okay?” God, Andrew Cody’s voice is the best thing you’ve ever heard. You want to sink into it, but he’s shaking and you can hear tears in his voice and you’re supposed to fix that.

“Drive fucking faster!” Craig is pushing on your stomach too hard. It hurts. You wheeze, and he doesn’t let up. “Deran, the IV isn’t working. It’s not working, she’s too fuckin’ pale.”

He’s covered in blood. You can’t see Pope, but you think he is too. Everything is tainted a horrible shade of red, and it’s getting really hard to think.

“M’here.” You try, scratchy and raw. “M’here. You’re okay. Don’t…be a dumbass.”

“Fuck. Fuck, don’t die. Please don’t die. Look at me, okay? Look at me.” You try, but Pope is whispering near-nonsense into your hair and trembling so hard it’s almost starting to hurt more than the pressure on your stomach. Still, Craig brushes the hair from your face, and you can see tears tracking their way down his cheeks. “They’re all dead, okay? All those assholes are dead. You’re not going with them, you hear me? You’re not going with them.”

There’s shouting. There’s panic. It’s all fading. Pope’s lips are warm against your skin, and the sound of his voice is soothing and…

-

“I love you.”

The words are whispered into your hair, so soft that you almost don’t hear them through the haze of sleep. But you’re awake, now. He doesn’t know it, but you’re awake.

You blink, and feel his fingers trace slow, warm patterns over the bare skin of your back.

“I love you.” He whispers again, just as low and just as quiet.

You shift, and he goes very, very still.

“Hi.” You whisper, pulling back, and he looks fucking terrified.

“…Hi.”

“You just said you loved me.”

“I…thought you were sleeping.”

You reach up, and turn his face to yours. Feel soft curls between your fingers.

“How long have you been telling me you love me when I’m asleep?”

He’s silent. He doesn’t look away.

“Andrew?”

“…a while.”

You smile, and the way his eyes spark at the sight makes your heart melt. “I love you, too.”

His hand flies up almost too fast, cradling your cheek and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone as he stares into your eyes with an intensity that makes your blood tingle in your veins. “You do?”

“Yeah.” How could you not? How could he not know? “Of course I do.”

-

A sharp sting brings you back, this time. You think someone might have hit you.

“Fuck, thank God. You looked like…shit, okay. Pope, let her go. You’ve gotta let her go, man.”

“Where were you?” He’s whispering against your cheek, and he’s out of his mind. Shit, he’s really out of his mind. His arms are still around you, and he’s speaking like he used to when things got really bad. When whatever was in his mind snapped, and it would take you hours to bring him back to you. “Where did you go? Don’t go. Take me with you.”

Every instinct, every cell in your body, tells you to fight. To stay here. To be here with him. To make this better.

But you’re losing time, and he’s not letting you go.

“Don’t touch her.” Lips on your temple. Your cheek. Arms tight around you. “Don’t touch her. Don’t take her away.”

You try to speak, but convulse instead. The sight of it seems to trigger something, and Craig starts to yank you out of Pope’s arms in such a panicked rush that you whimper as another bolt of agony fires through you.

Andrew holds you tighter. Your mouth tastes like copper. You feel blood trickling past your lips.

“Fuck it. Fuck it. Deran, hold him down.” Craig says, and he’s still crying and you should fix that, before he reaches forward and slams Pope’s head against the window. The arms around you go limp as he loses consciousness, and then you’re being lifted out of the car.

“I got you. It’s okay.” You choke out a soft noise, grab at his arm, and he just tucks you closer to him. “Pope’s okay, too. Everything’s gonna be fine, yeah? Just…just don’t die. Please, please don’t die.”

You’re so tired. You want Andrew. If you’re going to drift into oblivion, he should be here. But…

-

When you open your eyes, it’s to a cracked ceiling and a heavy, distant pain in your stomach.

You feel the drugs in your system. Blurred and heavy and warm. Tijuana. They managed to get you to Tijuana. And you’re alive. Bullet wound in the gut and all, and you’re alive.

Andrew Cody is beside you, head resting on his hands like he may have been living up to his nickname and praying. When you stir, he does too, red-rimmed eyes blinking open and looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world. There is so much relief in his gaze that the sight makes you feel dizzy.

“Hi.” You murmur, hoarse, and reach up to tap gently at the side of his head. “Are you here?” You remember his mumbled words against your skin. The way he needed to be knocked out before he would let you go. He can go so far away, sometimes. But he looks like he’s here now. He looks like he’s your Andrew.

He nods, and catches your hand to press his lips to your palm. His breath shudders on a silent sob.

“I thought…I thought you were-“

“I think we should get married on the beach.” You cut him off with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “S’that okay?”

He looks at you, at your stomach, and back at your face like he’s trying to judge how full of painkillers you are. “You wanna get married?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Not an ounce of it. “But you’re on-“

“I know. Still want to. I can ask you again when I’m off them, if you want.”

“I think you should.” He murmurs, but he’s smiling. It’s a small, hesitant thing. Like he was pretty sure, not too long ago, that he would never smile again. Like he’s already re-learning the expression.

“Mm.” You squeeze his hand, and lean your head back against the pillows. “You wanna marry me?”

“Since I first met you.”

“Softie.” You turn your head, and furrow your brow a little. “You never asked, though.”

“I planned it.” He admits, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “Bought a ring.”

“When?”

“Five years ago.”

You raise your eyebrows, and say again, “you never asked.”

“Never found a perfect time.”

“Mm. Sorry for stealing your thunder then.”

He squeezes your hand, and brings it up to his lips so he can trail kisses over your knuckles. He looks back up at you after a moment, and his dark eyes are so beautiful. “I killed your father.”

Those four words should definitely make you feel something. Anything. Instead, you just feel a surge of love for the man before you. “Okay.”

“I’m glad I did it.”

“I know.”

And, like he just can’t help it anymore, he moves forward and presses his lips to yours. You kiss him back, and wrap your arms around his neck even as the movement makes you wince. Worth it.

“Can we get married now?” You ask, the words muffled by his lips, and he smiles down at you.

“When the drugs wear off.”

You frown, and shrug. “Okay. Can we go home?”

“When they say you can.”

Hm. “Can we have sex?”

He laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Go to sleep.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Promise I will be.” He kisses your cheek. “For the rest of your life.”

“I like where this is going.”

“I’ll never leave you again.”

“Keep talkin’, Cody.”

“When we get home, I’ll stock the fridge with that ice cream you like.”

“Take me now.”

The love in his eyes is so beautiful, so pure, so raw, that you know without a doubt that those eyes alone were worth living for. “Go to sleep.”

-

You and Pope rent a house in Tijuana for a while. There’s no need to go back to Oceanside. Not yet. Smurf doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t fight it. It wouldn’t be great optics, after all, for her son’s girlfriend to be recovering from a bullet wound while her father, whom Pope has nearly killed before, was recently found dead in a warehouse.

He fusses over you endlessly. He barely lets you stand on your own, even when you’re fully capable of doing so. You wake up to him watching you sleep more often than ever, and he barely spends more than a minute not touching you.

It’s nice. Really nice. Kind of like a honeymoon before the honeymoon. Just with less sex due to an annoying bullet wound, and a little more crankiness from you than usual due to both of the former issues.

But you stay up all night on the beach, talking until the sun rises and making out like teenagers. You try to make breakfast, burn it, and get to ogle him from your spot on the counter as he makes it for the both of you. You plan for the future, count down the days until your wound is healed, and just…enjoy being happy. No jobs, no strings, no stress.

A little over a month later, you wake him up by rolling on top of him, the familiar pain in your stomach reduced to much less than a dull ache.

His eyebrows raise before his eyes even open, a sleepy smile curling on his lips as his hand trails down your back and your lips move to press teasing kisses down his neck.

“Good morning.” You hum, and he seems more than happy to return the sentiment. “I officially think I’m healed enough for…strenuous activities.”

He makes a low noise, and kisses you slowly. Hungrily. You grin, triumphant and happy, and feel his hands come up to shift you on top of him, sitting himself up against the wall and-

And pulling back.

You actually whine, chasing his lips with your own, but he holds you firm with a smile so wide it’s almost silly.

“I have another idea.”

“It’s been over a month, Andrew. I challenge you to name one thing better than sex right now.”

His smile grows impossibly wider. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants, mischief sparking in his sleepy eyes like he was hoping you’d say something like that, and…

And pulls out a ring.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on the little diamond in his palm. It’s simple. Beautiful. Perfect.

“Bought a new one.” He says, hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face.

You grin. He grins back.

“You make a compelling argument.”

He kisses you, and you kiss him back.

You were never shocked by the knock on your door, no matter how late or how randomly placed in the middle of a boring week.

The sun would be set, dishes washed and put away in their respective places, and your feet still lingering near the doorway as you waited for the inevitable sound of knuckles against wood.

It had been a few days since the last time you heard it so you knew it was becoming overdue, skin slightly prickling as you waited and waited in your front hallway far too patiently. You felt a bit foolish for standing there for so long, in a slight trance whenever you thought about who was coming.

Thirty minutes of you hovering passed before you were sighing and retreating to your room.

Your feet froze in place when the noise echoed from behind you, making your chest tighten and a surge of adrenaline hit you so hard you felt a bit dizzy when you hurriedly spun back around and made your way to the entry again.

Sammy looked melancholy when you pulled the door open, hand raised in a fist like he was about to knock again. His shoulders deflated when he saw you and you figured it must be in relief considering the way he was surging forward and pulling you in.

You sighed when he tucked his forehead down against your shoulder, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. You rubbed up and down his back softly, your other forearm securely pressed to his side reassuringly as you both swayed from the force of the embrace.

It took awhile for him to let you go, you had to coax him back just enough for you to be able to walk.

He followed you fully into the living room with a distant look on his face, sitting down on the cushion and getting a panicked expression when you made a move to walk away.

“Relax.” You say as softly as you can, pressing your hands against his shoulders to keep him sitting. “Just going to get some water for you.”

He didn’t look too pleased by it but he let out a breath and settled back against the cushions long enough for you to go to the fridge and fill him up a glass.

It was pointless considering he ignored it once you came back, barely getting his fingers around it before he was setting it down on the coffee table in favor of wrapping his hands around your middle and bringing you down to sit in his lap sideways.

You sighed but leaned against his chest and let him tuck against your neck again, breathing you in deeply and holding you so tight you felt a little dizzy.

“Bad day?” You kept your voice quiet but it was enough for him to hear you and pick up his head, eyes full of hurt that was reflecting off the dim lighting in the room.

“Couldn’t have been worse.” He answered honestly and you gave him an empathetic look, running your hand over his jaw and feeling the way he rest against it and shuts his eyes. “I needed to see you.”

“Did you even go home?” Your eyebrows furrow and he looks at you again, the guilt on his face making the answer obvious. “Sammy we talked about that. She goes crazy if you don’t at least stop by.”

You never would shy away from talking about Tammi because there was no point. She was the main thing you thought about when you were with him, his wedding ring currently pressing against your waist and the knowledge of his wife hanging over your head like a weight.

You admittedly had very little empathy for the woman.

You’d gone to high school with both of them but you’d known Sammy a few years before. You were always drawn to him, even before you could even really understand what that meant.

You just wanted to be around him, a young and sweet boy with an adult like patience that you didn’t get to see at home. He was always extra kind to you when you came to school tired or bruised, sharing his lunches and then pressing soft kisses to the side of your mouth once you got a bit older.

He’d been stricken with Tammi the moment he had seen her as you entered high school, fixated on her loud voice and extreme personality.

There was no other option than to watch him fall in love with her and then watch him lose that lightness he always carried trying to keep her happy.

What started as soft complaints on the phone after a shift turned into meeting up on his breaks to have lunch and absorb all his worries silently. Then he started to come over late into the night, something Tammi had forbid a few years ago.

She had tried to pretend to be civil with you when you were teenagers although grimacing at your kindness whenever you greeted her or made an attempt to bond. It was clear she didn’t like that Sammy had a girl best friend and she drew the line firmly once you were all adults.

There was no longer a need to try and seem friendly because Sammy was wrapped around her finger both metaphorically and legally in the form of the metal band she rarely wore.

He had called you a few years back to tell you that he couldn’t be around you anymore unless it was a group setting, absolutely no alcohol could ever be involved and he was definitely not allowed at your house.

It had sent you in a bit of a spiral, wondering if Tammi was just being as insane as she always was or if she had somehow seen deep down into the hidden part of you that had loved Sammy since you were practically children. And if Tammi knew, did that mean he did too?

“I dealt with her all day on the phone.” He was complaining softly and bringing your attention back to the present, still sneaking around and crossing boundaries just enough to make your head spin.

You never talked about it but his big hands would run over your waist, pulling you far too close to be friendly and taking deep breaths of your hair and skin like he was addicted to it.

Sometimes you caught him looking at your lips when you spoke, eyes a little distracted and then embarrassed when you’d clear your throat to try and get his attention.

You tried not to think about how Tammi would react to you being in his lap right now, holding his jaw and leaning down to kiss his cheek softly in comfort as he complained about her for the hundredth time.

“What’s she upset about now?” You know you’re playing into it, feeding the flame that never seems to burn hot enough to actually make him recoil.

He’ll talk about it endlessly and you can tell he really wants to leave her but he always goes back home at the end of the night with his tail between his legs.

“I mentioned your birthday.” He sighed and then gave you a look when he saw the automatic frown. You’d had plans with him for your birthday, beyond excited when he invited you out to dinner but you figured you should have known it was too good to be true. “She didn’t want to come but then she found out she wasn’t even invited and she lost her mind.”

“I don’t want to go at all if she has to be there.” You say immediately and you feel a little guilty for being so selfish with his time but you decide you deserve it considering the way she acts around you.

Admittedly you also just want him all to yourself and you know he won’t give you the same amount of attention if she’s around because it’ll without a doubt piss her off.

“I know sweetheart.” He breathes out and you hate the tone of his voice, the premature disappointment like he knows there’s no solution to the problem already.

And the petnames always break you, another old habit he had abandoned years ago that seems to be making an appearance more and more often lately.

“It’s fine.” You run a hand through his hair and he blinks tiredly up at you. You don’t want to add to his ever growing stress even if your throat feels tight at the let down. “I’ll see if Alex can come instead.”

You felt Sammy tense underneath you and his hands tighten around your middle. You stopped rubbing his hair in favor of sighing and resting harder against his chest, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

Sammy had always been the same way, patient and gentle to a fault. The only thing that really seemed to set him off was sharing you with other people.

He could tolerate your girl friends, he’d easily encourage you to go out and have fun and listen to your recaps the next morning while he drove to work. Guys, however, were a completely different battle.

You remember one of your first ever fights, only starting after you told him and your other friends that you finally had your first boyfriend. It had taken you until your junior year of high school to be over Sammy enough to move on, accepting by then that him and Tammi were more solid than you realized initially.

He’d been quiet the rest of the day and then pulled you to the side before you could walk home, lightly pressing you back against a tree and slightly interrogating you about the boy you were seeing.

It felt like a fresh memory, the butterflies in your stomach when you saw how serious he was and how wanted you felt as he told you that you deserved better. Sammy was jealous, there was no point in denying it and you knew you weren’t being delusional just because you had feelings for him.

He spent the next fifteen years getting the same expression whenever you talked about a guy or brought one to group cookouts, his glare fixated on a hand around your waist or the way you’d softly kiss the guy in thanks when he brought you a drink.

You knew Sammy found the same comfort in you that you got from him but that was the first real time you considered that Sammy might feel something more for you too.

Alex had started at your office a few years ago and just like always, Sammy had gotten that serious expression as soon as you started mentioning him casually. One of your mutuals friends had joked over drinks a month or two ago that you should make a move and Sammy immediately excused himself to stomp his way up to the bar.

Now his big hands were softly kneading into your side like you were a stress ball, staring past you to instead burn holes into your coffee table.

“Don’t do that.” You attempt to scold him but it comes out overly fond, a soft teasing whisper that makes him slightly scoff in amusement.

“I’ll figure it out.” He says a bit sternly and you give him a long disbelieving look. “I mean it. Don’t go out with him.”

“That’s not fair Sammy.” You try to be more serious so he can really understand but you can almost see the way your words fall on deaf ears.

He’s turning his head so he can press soft kisses on your skin, one laid against your cheek and then moving further until his lips are against the side of your mouth. It’s torture for you but you’re a willing participant, letting your eyes close and your body relax so he has no reason to stop.

And he doesn’t, peppering you in affection like he’s trying to erase the memory of Alex himself.

You feel his hands rubbing from your sides to your back, sliding under the hem of your tank top to rest on your shoulder blades like it’s a completely normal way for two friends to be touching.

You’d never deny Sammy anything but especially when it involved him fawning over you like this. You almost wanted to push it further, talk more about Alex and really exaggerate the nature of your relationship just to see how much it took for Sammy to decide he needed to lay a real claim on you.

He wasn’t yours so by default you couldn’t be his, that ring pressing against your hot skin an endless reminder of your situation.

“I know and I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and quiet like he truly meant it and part of you thought that he might.

You didn’t think his selfishness came with any malicious intent but it was still there, still pulling him towards your door after a fight with his wife and making him touch you in that confusing intimate way.

You didn’t go out to dinner with Alex for your birthday, you couldn’t stomach the thought even if Sammy hadn’t been so upset by it.

Instead you ended up sitting across from Tammi, trying to ignore her glare as you did your best to make small talk. You’d invited a few other friends so it felt less like third wheeling but you still had to make a point to not look at Sammy for too long.

She had a perfect view of your face from this angle and you knew exactly what she would see. The way your eyes softened when they met his and the obvious longing in your gaze when it was directed at her husband.

Sammy was staring holes in the side of your face anyways, maybe thinking he was being more subtle about it than he actually was. His ankle was crossing yours under the table every few minutes and you had to routinely send him a small glare to get him to stop.

You took the opportunity for a smoke break as dinner transitioned to drinks, placing your order and making your way outside before anybody could object. You figured you were leaving them to awkward small talk, your other friends barely knowing Sammy and unable to tolerate his wife, but you needed to breathe.

It wasn’t really possible considering the door was pushing open almost as soon as it shut behind you.

You sighed softly when you saw Sammy coming out into the small dark alley but you didn’t object when his hands were sliding over your sides, back and forth for a few seconds before resting on your lower back and pulling you closer.

“You’re not having a good time.” He said softly, not a question but a statement.

“How could I?” Your eyebrows furrow in frustration as your palms wrap around his biceps. “Your wife is glaring at me everytime I speak at my own birthday dinner and you’re trying to play footsie under the table.”

He frowns and you feel bad for how harsh you’re being, especially when he’s brushing your hair behind your ear and softly kissing your jaw a few times. He knows exactly how to unravel you, lower those walls and keep you melting against him.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin so he picks his head up and his nose brushes yours. “I just wanted to see you and she wouldn’t let me go without her.”

“It’s fine, she’s actually not being that terrible.” You sigh and it’s the truth. Tammi hadn’t said much of anything which was almost scarier than her making snappy or inappropriate comments. You felt like she was observing you closely, noting your every micro expression. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that though.”

You didn’t need to clarify because you both knew what you were talking about, the same look he was giving now as his head tilted slowly in amusement.

More than longing, something deeper and heavier. You would have thought you imagined it a few years ago but you knew better now and you were more than aware of the fact Sammy wanted you in some capacity.

“Can’t help it. You look so beautiful tonight.” His voice had dropped and he leaned back down to kiss your skin again, this time a lot closer to your mouth than before.

You sighed and leaned further against him, trying to ignore the heated sensation in your stomach when he lightly guided you backwards so you were against the wall. His hands stayed on your lower back for the most part but he occasionally moved them to rub against your waist and hips, leaving you a little dizzy as he kissed down your neck.

“Sammy.” Your voice was breathy and he hummed against your skin in question. “This is so unfair.”

Normally that was enough to pull him out of it, sober him to the fact that you were getting hurt by his actions. He either didn’t register your complaint or maybe didn’t care, thinking he could make it up to you if he kept going.

You couldn’t deny him this, not when his big hand was rubbing up your back and his mouth was moving softly across your neck towards yours.

You were holding onto him tightly and trying to keep the breathy noises to a minimum, getting harder when he was shuffling even closer and fully pressing you against the brick behind you.

It was brief when his mouth finally pressed against yours, only a fleeting second before he was moving past it to kiss the other side of your face.

He tensed suddenly like he had only just now realized what he was doing so you prepared for the coldness that would hit you when he backed away. Instead, there was suddenly a lot more warmth as he pecked your lips again softly.

He pulled back for a few seconds, chest slightly heaving as he looked down at you in question. You thought he was an idiot for that because you’d never dream of objecting to this, even if it was so risky and stupid to be doing something so damning right outside the building his wife was inside.

“Unfair.” He mumbled, repeating your words as he kissed you lightly again. “Unfair is you wearing this outfit when I can’t touch you.”

His hands tightened against the fabric like he was emphasizing and this time you were less surprised when he kissed you. It lasted a little longer than a brief peck, just enough time for you to move your mouth against his before he was pulling back again.

“You can touch me.” You insisted softly, wondering if you told him what he wanted to hear he’d maybe keep kissing you. “You can always touch me.”

It worked, enough for him to really press against you and let you kiss him back. You’d gone nearly two decades without kissing eachother despite the tension floating over your heads and it was obvious in how filthy it got so quickly.

You were both eager and desperate, gripping anywhere you could reach and refusing to come up for air as you kissed him deeper and deeper.

You made no objections to his tongue smoothing into your mouth, tangling it with your own and savoring the sound he made at the taste of you. You’d never crossed this line despite the little things you did potentially being worse, the intimacy of the way you moved around each other almost comparable to the heat you felt now.

Sammy was insatiable now that you’ve broken the illusion that you were able to be just friends, tugging you closer and closer and licking into your mouth like he was starving.

It took a long few minutes for either of you to pull back and even then, he was still surging forward to kiss you softly like he was afraid to let it end. You understood the fear, stomach twisting at the thought of him gaining some clarity and regretting what you did.

Sammy was a good man despite how it may seem in his desperation and he wasn’t the type to cheat on his wife, no matter how cruel and detached she was.

“We fucked up.” You breathed it out in anticipation, assuming if you got to it before he could then the upcoming rejection would land better on your already damaged heart.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowing surprised you, fully expecting him to agree with you and let you chalk it up as a stupid mistake you could forget. Instead he was shifting closer again so you weren’t able to look away from him even if you wanted to. “No we didn’t. It was my fuck up all those years ago when I married Tammi.”

You had to get some space from him then or you wouldn’t be able to breathe, softly pushing at his chest and being beyond thankful that he easily moved backwards and let you shift away from the brick wall.

“That is so shitty of you to say.” You wanted it to come out more frustrated so he would really let it process but you just sounded tired.

He looked like he wanted to object, maybe apologizing judging by the way his face softened with guilt. Luckily the door was opening then, one of your closest friends stepping out into the alley and giving you a scolding look when she saw the way his fingertips were grazing your waist and the swollenness of your lips.

“You should come in.” She said it softly but you knew she’d be scolding you once you left the restaurant, subject to your Sammy fueled rants for years now. “I’ve got your drink ordered.”

You gave her a thankful smile that didn’t reach your eyes and she turned her stare towards Sammy, hardening as she scanned over his guilty stance, a hand rubbing over his mouth.

“And your wife is looking for you.”

You both tensed up at the obvious call out and you followed quickly behind her when she went back inside so you didn’t have to deal with his reaction to that targeted comment.

It was instinct to avoid Sammy after that even though it tore your heart out of your chest. You figured you might as well get it over with because he clearly had no plans to leave Tammi any time soon and you weren’t going to magically get over him after you spent the majority of your life following him around like a helpless fawn.

His calls went unanswered on your own phone and some others, your friends reaching out to let you know he’d been getting ahold of them too so he could ask where you’ve been.

You ignored the knocks on your door, putting a pillow over your ears and trying to keep your crying quiet enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you.

There was the obvious defect in your plan, the fact that Sammy knew you better than anybody possibly could.

He stayed away for a few days and you thought it had worked, he’d finally given up and manage to read your silent message that you couldn’t do this with him anymore.

Instead he was sitting on your porch when you got home from work two weeks later.

You were coming home late, you’d stopped at your nearest library and then the liquor store to give you two distractions to get through the night with, so you figured he must have been sitting for a while.

You let out a sigh at the end of your walkway and he was shooting up off the cement, eyes full of that annoyingly sweet hope and hesitation as he stepped aside to let you pass him by.

He was standing behind you as you unlocked the door and you spent the time it took to get your key in the doorknob trying to build up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself, but all you could manage was to lightly hold the door open for him behind you.

You could hear it shutting and locking as you set your bag down in the kitchen, the obvious sound of the glass bottle clicking against the counter making him raise an eyebrow.

“You’re avoiding me.” He spoke softly as you kicked off your shoes, lingering near your doorway and watching your every move as you followed your usual routine after getting home and made yourself comfortable like he wasn’t even there.

“Wow amazing conclusion. Congratulations detective Bryant, you figured it out.” You felt slightly bad for how cold your voice was, so out of character for you that you knew it must be throwing him off.

He proved that when he was moving closer and lightly touching your hips to get you to stop wandering around, your breath hitching as you looked up at him and the pure desperation on his face.

“Please don’t do that, let’s talk about this. I get enough of the passive aggressive shit from-“ He cut himself off with a deep sigh, lips pursing so he didn’t say it even though you typically didn’t avoid the topic.

“From your wife.” You finished it for him, eyes cold as you glared at him. “You can say it Sammy.”

“I just don’t understand. It’s never been an issue before.”

You pushed him away from you at that but he was persistent, following you as you walked closer to the couch and grabbing you again. You felt his fingers digging slightly into your hips as he tugged you backwards against him, your back hitting the softness of his stomach as he crowded your space.

His chin hooked over your shoulder, large fingers splayed across your belly button to keep you in place against him.

You naturally settled backwards, sucking in a deep breath as his familiar scent instinctively calmed your nerves. You were suddenly very aware of how hard the two weeks without him were, the longest you’d gone in a long time being apart from each other.

“You’re an idiot if you think it wasn’t an issue for me.” You’re whispering now, afraid if you speak too long he’s going to be able to pick up on the undeniably heartbreak in your voice.

“Let me fix this.” You can feel him moving his mouth closer and you mentally brace for the impact, still feeling unprepared for how good it feels to have him softly kissing up your neck as he starts to rub your stomach and waistband. “I hate when you’re mad at me. It’s eating me up.”

You let him continue for a few seconds before you’re spinning around, seeing the disappointment and light panic on his face before he realizes you just want to face him, his entire body relaxes as he holds your lower back.

Your hands go to his cheeks, pressing on the soft skin and feeling the light stubble he’d built up in your absence.

“There really isn’t a way you can fix it Sammy.” You say honestly and his face falls, lips parting like he wants to object. “Other than the obvious.”

There’s no need for him to say it, you can tell by the look in his eyes when you add that on that he can’t give you the answer that you want. It feels so far out of the realm of possibility that you don’t even feel disappointment, much less resistance when he’s ignoring your suggestion completely in favor of leaning in to kiss you.

It’s different than the kiss you shared at your birthday dinner, lacking the heat and desperation as you soaked up the small amount of time you had before you got caught.

Now it’s slow and deep, much more like the first kiss you’d always imagined with him.

His hands are so gentle as he rubs up your sides, keeping you tight against him as your mouths move together like you’ve done this a thousand times. You can’t help but mentally compare this kiss to the way you’ve seen him be with Tammi, feeling a bit smug at how obvious the difference is.

There’s no awkwardness between you, no stiff and routine hard press of lips like you’re checking it off a to do list.

He’s clearly wanting, craving almost as he pulls you impossibly closer and tilts his head to make sure the kiss doesn’t stop or lose its rhythm.

You’ve missed him so much and you’re such a fool in love that you don’t even think about stopping him and asking him for real answers.

Instead you’re softly licking into his mouth like the needy teenage version of you that used to fantasy about this, soaking up the soft hum he lets out at the feeling before he’s matching the action. You’re playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as your tongues tangle together and you go with him easily as he backs you up towards the couch.

It takes landing in his lap for you to sober back up, pulling back from the kiss just enough to catch your breath.

His eyebrows pull together when he sees the hesitation on your face so you hide in his neck so he can’t keep looking at you, wanting to spare his feelings even though you can quite literally feel your heart suffocating in your chest.

He’s warm underneath you and smells so overly familiar that you could cry, staying with your chin resting on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a brief moment so you can pretend you’re in a different timeline with him.

Maybe you’re still fifteen and laying in his bed together, holding hands on rides home from the beach when your moms aren’t looking. Or you’re twenty four and it’s the first time him and Tammi break up, his sullen frame taking up space on your couch until you quietly pad out there and insist he come to bed with you instead.

You think about being in your fifties, a reality where he never met Tammi and instead spent the rest of his life with you. It felt like the world you were supposed to be living in, just you and him like it always used to be until the love eventually built up into something real, something that came with growing grey hairs together and building a family.

He seems to know what you’re thinking, possibly going down the same list of all the missed chances. His hand runs through your hair on repeat like he’s trying to soothe you and you don’t understand why until you realize that you’re crying.

You try to go back to avoiding Sammy after that but it’s impossible.

You can’t bring yourself to stay away from him and each late night conversation ends up the same now that you’ve crossed that line, your mouth pressed against his and his hands all over you.

He’s nearly insatiable even though you can tell that he still feels terribly guilty over the entire thing. It’s like he’s just as powerless as you are, unable to keep your distance for each other despite how awful you’re both being.

Currently he’s with you in your kitchen, two months after your birthday and two months of sneaking away to get to have him for a brief moment. He’s completely lost in the taste of you, mouths moving together slowly with his hands under your shirt and tracing patterns on your spine.

His fingers feel calloused but you remember when they were smooth and youthful, remember loving him before the lines on his face appeared or the light ash colored strands of hair you occasionally saw when he was under the sun.

You were growing old with Sammy despite it not being in the way you wanted.

You’re kissing him back because of course you are, holding tight to his biceps and letting yourself get swept up in the way he feels pressed against you. It’s deep and almost filthy if it wasn’t for how romantic it all seems, the lights in the kitchen dim and some slow jazzy song playing from your radio in the living room.

“You have to know by now.” He’s whispering as he kisses down your neck and you sigh at the feeling, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side to give him full access. “Tell me you know how I feel about you.”

“Sammy.” You’re meant to sound like you’re warning him, not wanting to hear him talk about feelings in these circumstances, but it comes across breathy and wanting.

Clearly he thinks so too because he lets out a low groan, letting his hands leave your shirt until he’s got them pressed against your back pockets. He tugs you closer and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling of him touching you like that, immediately soothed by the way he’s still kissing your skin carefully.

He’s not leaving any marks even though you’re not the one who needs to worry about that.

“You’ve got to go.” You say back and he lets out a frustrated breath even though he clearly knows you’re right judging by the way he stops kissing your neck in favor of resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You’ve been half distracted by his phone vibrating on the counter behind you for the last thirty minutes, no question in your mind about who is relentlessly trying to reach him.

“Did you not go home today after work?” You ask him softly, touching his jaw until he’s picking his head back up to look at you. “You know you have to stop doing that.”

“I can’t take it.” He says back and your shoulders deflate with light frustration. “It’s endless arguing with her.”

“You know I get what she’s like but I’d be pretty pissed too if my husband wasn’t coming home on top of your already long hours.” You’re trying your best to talk some sense into him but it’s easy to he distracted when he’s back to touching you.

He’s rubbing up and down your back, dipping under your shirt again and smiling softly when you shudder at the feeling of his skin on yours. You smack at his forearm when you catch sight of the near smirk and he does his best to school it although the efforts don’t do much.

“It would be different if it was you.” He says quietly and you tense up before he can elaborate, already knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “If you were my wife.”

“But I’m not your wife.” You snap as soon as the word leaves his mouth and he lets out a frustrated breath.

He’s kissing you again like he thinks that will make you forget the truth of your situation and it nearly does, kissing him back eagerly because you’re never sure when it’s going to be the last time you get to.

You’re interrupted by the phone buzzing again and you pull back to lean against his chest, hiding your face in his neck and trying to ignore how good it feels when he rubs your sides in comfort.

“Go home Sammy.” You whisper and you look up in time to see his face fall, eyebrows furrowing in hurt when you lightly push against his chest to get him to back away from you.

You use the small space between your bodies to leave the kitchen, his footsteps following you into the living room. You let him pull you back, hands on your hips and then your stomach when your backs against his chest.

He kisses the back of your neck and then the side of your head, soft and parting before he’s letting out a deep breath and backing away from you.

You lean against the front window as you watch his headlights pull out of your driveway, blinking a few times before he turns to fully leave your street and head back to his house, back to reality.

The thought plagues you when you get into bed by yourself, daydreaming of the version of your life where he wouldn’t have to leave each night. You let yourself think about having your own ring on your finger, his things on the empty bed side table and his hands on you as you fall asleep.

You know it’s not healthy and, quite frankly, you know it makes you a terrible person.

Your friends tell just as much when you finally break down and tell them everything, crying about the night he kissed you and confessing that you’d spent almost every night with him pressed against you and making promises he can’t keep.

“He’s an asshole.” Cathy is stern with her tone, stirring her coffee in pointless circles and fixing her glare on you and your upset face. “I can’t believe you’re putting up with him still.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Victoria is quicker to be sympathetic although pouting in your direction. “He clearly loves you and just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

The topic of love makes your stomach turn a little and you try not to think about it after you leave your brunch, ignoring his calls for a few hours even though you’re well aware it will end with him knocking on your door.

There’s no surprise when it happens but you try to hold your ground with him, turning your head to the side when he tries to greet you with a kiss. His lips press against your cheek instead and then downturn into a frown.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks softly as you walk to your bedroom, sitting down on the foot of the bed and blinking at him when he stops in your doorway.

“No Sammy.” You breathe out even though you’re not sure that’s true, not really able to put a label on how you feel about him right now. The love that sits heavy on your chest muddies everything else around it. “I’m just tired.”

He’s coming closer and then going down to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs as he stares up at you almost pleadingly. It’s such a vulnerable position that it makes you a little sick and you grab at his arm to try and tug him back to his feet.

He takes your hand and holds it instead so you can’t pull at him, kissing your knuckles briefly.

“I want to fix this.” He whispers and you feel teary almost immediately. “I can’t lose you because I’m being selfish. I’ll do whatever you want me to do but I can’t leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” You say back, voice small and defeated. You wish the statement wasn’t as true as it feels, the thought of not having him at all being so much worse than the twisted relationship you’re stuck in. “But I want that all the time, I want you to just be here. I want to have a home with you Sammy.”

“I love you.” He says it quietly and he’s said it before, in passing or casually when he hangs up the phone, but it lands a lot different now.

Realistically, you’re not at all surprised by the confession. You know Sammy, regardless if you can have him the way you want or not, you know him better than anybody and you knew he wouldn’t be doing something like this if it wasn’t because of something genuine like the same love you have for him.

The kind of love that makes you awful and selfish, devoted in a twisted way and blind to the consequences if it means you can have a few more hours together.

He’s standing up finally but only to gently push you backwards until you’re laying on the bed, climbing over you so he can kiss you softly as you melt against the comforter.

“I love you so much. It should have been you.” He’s murmuring the confessions between kisses that are getting deeper and deeper with each minute that passes. “I’m so sorry that it wasn’t you.”

“I love you Sammy.” You say back and it shocks you how easily it rolls off the tongue, the weight of it feeling a little lighter in your chest now that it’s out there.

He’s kissing you more feverishly after you say it, tongue pressing against yours as you make a soft pleased sound.

He’s holding himself up above you but you wish he wouldn’t, wish he would just press the full extent of his weight down on you until all you could feel was the softness of his stomach and his chest rising and falling. You want to feel his heartbeat racing like yours is and what it’s like to be completely his for a moment.

Sammy’s kisses are feverish and he finally does press against you, pulling your leg to the side so he can slot between them and lower himself down right where you need him.

You’re softly breathing, a bit shy when he starts to take off your clothes and then fully flushed when he’s kissing your chest and whispering how beautiful you are. You’d spent a lot of years imagining what being touched by Sammy would feel like but you hadn’t even came close to the euphoria, the undeniable thought that you were finally complete after being so empty.

He made love to you the first time, it was slow and gentle and nearly bringing you to tears when he told you how beautiful you were and how much he’d wanted this.

You felt good with him, like something had settled in your chest after rattling around for a long time. Everytime he said that he loved you seemed like it was the first, sending a warm rush through your blood that made you shiver.

It was more desperate in the weeks after, kisses turning rough and almost angry when he’d come over smelling like Tammi’s perfume or leave early because she wouldn’t stop calling him.

You felt like it became an outlet between you but you didn’t necessarily mind, a large part of you having fantasized about this version of him too. You liked when he got rougher with you, hands moving you around to his liking and fucking you harder whenever you purposefully brought up his wife to try and get under his skin.

Sammy and you didn’t fight with each other, you would get into tense conversations because you were both hurt, but you’d never fight. This was the closest thing you had to it, bruises on your hips and his back so scratched up he had to avoid taking off his shirt the next week when he went to the beach with Tammi.

He was good to you, always double checking after if it was something you enjoyed. He made you swear over and over again that you actually liked it and weren’t just doing it because he did, only stopping when you got embarrassed and had to bluntly admit that you were really into it.

You were into him, obsessively and all things about him. Tammi had gotten on him to eat more healthy and it nearly made you sick, the thought of him changing in any way outside of his own wants making you dizzy.

And you didn’t feel insecure about how much he loved you back because despite the obvious issue, you knew that he truly did.

His hands were never off you, rubbing your thigh while you watched a movie or kneading your stomach while he kissed the back of your neck at the kitchen counter. He liked to run you warm baths, sitting in the room with you while you soaked just so he could hear about your day at work.

You sometimes wondered how much of this he was doing for Tammi. A part of you accepted that it was probably just as much as he did for you because that was just the type of man he was, but you selfishly let yourself enjoy being spoiled by his affection.

You didn’t go a day without flowers even if he wasn’t able to come and see you, he sent coffee to your work before you even got there, and he’d travel across town on his lunch break just to come and eat with you.

There wasn’t a night that you didn’t cry in bed and wish things were different. You’d stopped talking to your friends about because you were getting paranoid about the possible judgement in their eyes, unable to explain what it felt like to love somebody so much that you’d disregard your character for them.

But you did love Sammy that much.

So much so, that when he was coming over on Christmas Eve with an arm-full of gifts for you, you didn’t hesitate to pull him inside and kiss him until he lost the chill in his cheeks.

He disregarded the boxes in the entryway, lifting you up and bringing you to your bedroom before you could even greet him properly.

“Stay the night.” You breathed against his mouth and he tensed up a little ontop of you, brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a perfect view of your eyes and expression. “Wake up with me on Christmas morning. I’ll make us breakfast and we can open our presents by the tree together.”

You both knew what you were describing, a clear cookie cutter image of a husband and wife in your heads as you spoke.

He was hesitating, looking like he was unable to deny you despite how difficult the circumstances were. You weren’t just asking him to stay with you for the holiday, you were giving him a clear choice between the two of you.

Tammi wouldn’t be able to forgive him not coming home on the night before Christmas and you’d never forgive him for leaving. You were sure of that now, even though you felt so happy just to look at his conflicted face that you weren’t sure where you’d put all that love if he did leave.

You were happy to even be an option to choose from and that understanding almost made you crawl out from under him just to get some space.

Maybe he saw the pain in your eyes at the idea or maybe he came to the conclusion all in his own, but either way, he was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips before letting one linger on your temple.

The first week went by in a blur of sex and meals together, of mornings spent at the lake and late nights spent out at the porch, sitting on Jack’s lap with your feet propped up on Robby’s thigh. It was good. Sure, sleeping with two of your father’s friends hadn’t been what you wanted out of your summer break, and obviously when Jack and Robby offered to watch you for the summer they never expected that to entail sex, or whatever this was. A carefully ignored mess. 

You tried to ignore the careful way Jack positioned your head atop his chest at night, swore it was casual when Robby helped you dress in the mornings, with careful hands and meandering conversation. They tried to ignore the way you slipped into their lives, the way you could perfectly fit into their routines. But it was easier if you didn’t bring feelings into it, it was just for the summer, after all, and Jack and Robby were busy, and too old for you, and your dad’s friends. It was for the better. Better not to wonder whether they felt it too. 

So you bottled up your feelings. A well kept secret has no consequence, that’s what you told yourself as you sat on the kitchen island, watching them make you breakfast, stealing kisses every time they spun around to check on you. Morning became midday, then early afternoon. You moved from the kitchen to the living room without bothering to do the dishes or clean anything. So you sat on the couch in between their bodies, your head on Jack’s arm and your feet on Robby’s lap. IEasy, domestic, but you didn’t bother trying to label it, instead you picked a movie to watch. 

Jack held the remote, scrolling through the netflix catalogue until you stopped him, making him put on some stupid rom-com they both pretended to hate. Robby rubbed your ankles and calves absentmindedly as he stared at the television. Okay, sue him, it was entertaining! 

But then the movie reaches its climax, and he’s fully invested in the breakup and the characters getting back together, and he’s thinking you’re not much different from the little college girl in the film, except instead of finding a hunky, rich, boyfriend your age you’re sleeping and going out with your dad’s friends. And it’s not your fault, but his. He’s been careless, stupid. Jack doesn’t see it yet, but he will: they can’t keep this up, it’s not sustainable, it’s not good for you. 

He’s getting dizzy, thinking of RA’s and dorm rooms and all the life you’ve got ahead of you, as he pushes your legs off his lap and gets up from the couch with a soft “Excuse me, sweetheart.” 

“Mikey, you okay?” You turn around, tilting your head to the corridor, but he’s already gone upstairs. To the balcony, you presume. He’s been going out there to smoke lately, instead of laying in bed beside you he just gets up after sex— without even kissing or cleaning you up— and he goes outside. You can always count on Jack to clean and cuddle you, but sometimes you would like it if it was Robby. 

“Hey,” Jack taps your thigh softly, “I’ll go check on him. Don’t worry your pretty little head about him.” 

And just like that you were left alone on the couch, with a movie you were only seldom watching. The main character stared right at you. At least someone here can afford to be in love. 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

Jack made his way up the stairs and into the balcony on the guest room that had been Robby’s room until he began sleeping at Jack’s room, right beside you. 

The screen door to the balcony was open, and Jack slowly made his way outside. 

“Robby, what has gotten into you, man?” Jack rested his arms on the railing, looking down at the backyard, at the pool you’d swam in just a couple days earlier. 

Robby sighed, stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t— Jack, this has to stop.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack almost whispered, trying to keep his volume down, trying to keep you away from any argument. Sweet girl like you didn’t deserve to worry.

Robby laughed once, humorlessly. “Come on, Jack. We're two grown men passing a girl back and forth like we're twenty again.”

“She’s an adult, stop acting like she can’t make a decision when it’s you who clearly can’t.” 

Robby shook his head, hands tensing around the metal of the railing. “That’s not—” 

“That is exactly what this is. You don’t want to run away this time, or you do, but you don’t know how to. You actually like this.” “Fuck you. I’m going to bed.” 

Jack followed Robby around the room, watching as he got ready for bed, as he laid down to sleep in the room he had barely set foot in during the week. 

Unbeknownst to them, you were padding up the stairs, ready to issue an apology, ready to get yelled at by Robby or to cheer him up. Ready for anything except the words that left Jack’s mouth then. 

“Can’t you not ruin this one thing, brother? Let yourself be happy for once…It’s summer, it’s fun…” 

Right. Sure, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected either of them to voice it out loud, not so crudely at least. Just summer fun could be translated into just summer sex, and that meant absolutely no feelings. You felt tears prickling at your lashline, you needed to sleep this off. But not in Jack’s bed, no, because it smelled like him, and you couldn’t deal with that now, and then he’d come in and lay beside you and the tears just wouldn’t stop. You had to lie down on your childhood bed and cry about missing your mom. About your dad. About graduating. About high school friends you no longer spoke to. About growing up. Those were normal things to cry about. Not two middle-aged men who'd be gone by August. God, what the fuck was wrong with you? So you made your way to your room, feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. 

When Jack finally left Robby’s room, angry and sad, scared for you and what the future entailed, he found you weren’t sitting on the couch where he’d left you. “Sweetheart?” He called out for you. No reply. Must’ve gotten tired. So he trudged up the stairs as quick as his body let him, made his way to what had become his room, expecting to find you sprawled out on the bed, scrolling on your phone, but you were nowhere to be found. 

For half a second he assumed you’d gone to Robby’s, to cheer him up or console him, and that you’d probably fallen asleep there, your head tucked beneath his chin, the way you'd fallen asleep every night that week.. That’s when he heard noises coming out of your room. Were you sniffling? Crying? 

“Hey kiddo, are you awake?” He knocked on the door. 

“No. I’m asleep. I am so asleep right now, I might not wake up in a week. Go away.” You yelled. 

Jack rested his forehead against the door. You had gotten in a mood before, usually with Robby, when he got too controlling, but it was never like this. Usually, when you got like this, it was over something small. Robby had been too stern, you'd gotten stubborn…then someone apologized, someone made pancakes or drove into town for ice cream, and by bedtime you were laughing again. But you were crying, telling him to go away like he’d hurt you, and Jack was confused. 

“Did I do something?” 

“We’ll talk in the morning. Go away, Jack.” 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

You woke up the next morning to the smell of pancakes and a coldness in your bed you hadn’t felt in days. Your eyes stung and your heart hurt, and you were owed a conversation. 

As you got up you rehearsed what you wanted to tell them: You’d overstepped, you were sorry, they had every right to want to leave. If they wanted to leave you could always call your dad and figure something out…without telling him you had been having awesome threesomes with his closest friends. But there was a part of you that wanted them to like this as much as you, that wanted them to apologize and explain it had all been a misunderstanding. But you were not Cinderella, and if you were it was well past midnight for you, the fairytale was over. 

So you gathered all your courage, which wasn’t much to begin with, and you trudged downstairs. “Morning.” You groaned, trying to sound well rested. 

“Morning sweetheart,” Jack smiled at you as you walked downstairs. “Hungry? Pancakes will be done in a minute, go give Robby a big good morning kiss.” 

You sat at the kitchen island, arms crossed over your chest. “Hm. Don’t wanna.” 

Jack wanted to ask you what changed, he wanted to know why nothing was going according to plan, why everything was crumbling around him. Before he could speak, and frankly make a fool of himself, you spoke. 

“I am sorry.” You said, taking a shaky breath. 

Robby looked up from his mug. “What are you apologizing for?” 

“I got carried away,” You turned your head to look at him. “I…know it was supposed to be summer fun, I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you think?” 

“It’s what Jackie said last night, in your room.” You mumbled, staring down at your lap, consumed by a sudden shyness. 

Robby’s chest felt tight, dangerously so. He couldn’t let you see him like this, worried. Worried about you, about what this meant. So he got up from the table and mumbled “I’m going for a smoke.” 

“Sit down.” Jack’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkened with anger. 

“No, I won’t. I’m going outside…need a smoke.” And he was waving a hand, non committal gesture with a pack of marlboros in his hand before he went out to the backyard. 

Jack sighed and reached into the cupboard for your favorite mug, the one chipped at the handle, and filled it up with coffee, just the way you liked. He slid it across the island and you thanked him with a polite smile. 

“You and I gotta talk, lil lady.” He slid a plate across the table for you and crossed his arms. 

“‘M sorry for snooping…” 

Jack sighed and moved to sit beside you. He had to clean up his mess and Robby’s, but that was okay, he was good at that. “Look, it’s not— it isn’t what you think. You know Robby, he’s…he gets in his head and he can’t get out. I was just trying to wake him up.”

“But you were right. Both of you. I mean…there’s no way this is sustainable…and the summer will be over soon, and you’ll go back to work, and I’ll go back to school and—” 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t keep seeing each other.” He cut you off before you could spiral, his hand grazing your knee, moving up your thigh when it wasn’t faced with a scoff or resistance. 

“Yeah, like my dad will be okay with that.” You rolled your eyes, but you were already blushing, trying to hide a smile, and Jack knew it wouldn’t be hard to get you back. 

“Sweet thing, I was not planning on telling him. Don’t think Robby would want that either.” He winked at you, playful, trying to close the distance you had so carefully put between you. 

Jack watched your shoulders drop ever so slightly. Good. You were listening. You hadn't shut him out completely. 

He felt like it was his turn to open up, to say something meaningful! After all, your father had granted him access to a very private aspect of your life: the benders, the revolving door of young men and strong drinks that kept you afloat during holidays and semesters alike. He suspected it had something to do with needing to be cared for, and people only care when you are in your most vulnerable state, which for you was drunk at a club. You wouldn’t need the benders anymore if you hand him and Robby, they could care for you. 

“I am also scared.” Jack stated, his hold on your thigh tightening. “Not like Robby, not of the same things, anyway…I just worry. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you: your degree, your first apartment, your first job…I already did all of that, and I can’t help but feel like I can’t give you all you need.” 

“Jack…” You leaned closer to him, not yet closing the distance, just letting him know he could bare his heart to you. 

“It’s true, I…I’ve buried my wife, I’ve buried friends…I’ve got baggage, things you shouldn’t be concerned about just yet. But, unlike Robby, I am letting you decide whether to stay or to go.” He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

You realized what he meant, he wanted you to take the leap, to end things. He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t. But you wouldn’t either, you wouldn’t chicken out of the best thing you’d had in years. 

“Okay, so I’m staying. For now. We can figure things out after the summer, right?” 

“Right.” Jack leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead.  

You finished your breakfast with Jack so close your knees kept brushing beneath the island. Neither of you acknowledged it. Every now and then his thumb would absentmindedly stroke circles into your thigh beneath the countertop, grounding you whenever your thoughts threatened to spiral back into the night before. He made sure your coffee stayed warm, stealing your mug to top it off before you could even ask. When he noticed you'd picked around the fruit, he wordlessly speared a strawberry with his fork and held it out until you rolled your eyes and took a bite. The silence was no longer uncomfortable. It was softer now, interrupted only by the hiss of butter on the stove and the scrape of forks against ceramic plates. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, catching the dust floating lazily in the air, warming the hardwood floors beneath your bare feet. It felt almost unfair that the kitchen could look exactly as it had yesterday morning, as if nobody had cried themselves to sleep.

Jack watched you over the rim of his coffee mug, the corners of his mouth tugging upward every time he caught you staring back.

“You have a staring problem.” Jack said, finally meeting your gaze. 

An easy laugh bubbled out of you, “I do not.” You sighed, cleared your throat. “I should go find Robby…I deserve an explanation from him.” 

Jack nodded and let you step away from him, not without stealing a kiss from you first. His lips lingered on yours for a second too long before he pulled away with a soft “Go on.” Then you bounced off to find him. It wasn’t too hard, he’s a man of habit after all, he was either on the balcony or in the backyard. 

The late-morning sun had already chased away the coolness of dawn. The grass tickled your bare feet as you crossed the backyard, the smell of chlorine mixing with freshly cut grass and cigarette smoke. Somewhere behind you, you heard Jack humming to himself as he washed the breakfast dishes, the familiar clink of plates carrying through the open kitchen window. 

He sat on the edge of the pool with his pants rolled to his calves, one foot lazily skimming the water. You lowered yourself beside him, quietly and slowly as if he was a wild animal you couldn’t afford to scare. “Hi…”

“Hey, sweetheart…you should go back inside, Jack needs company.” 

“And you don’t?” You kicked at the crystalline water, not hard enough to splash, just hard enough to watch the ripples and waves hit your calves back. 

“I am not good at this.” He sighed before taking a drag from his cigarette and passing it to you. 

You took the cigarette gladly, it was his version of a truce, a way to approach you. “Me either. I’ve never had a boyfriend.” You mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“Jesus,” He shook his head. “You’re making this even harder…” 

“Oh, don’t give me that, Michael! You knew I was young the first time you put your dick in me, I don’t—” 

“I know! I know, okay? My fucking bad.” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. 

You sighed, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to fall. Busied yourself with kicking your feet around the water and taking long drags of his cigarette. 

“At first it was easy. You were this college kid staying with us for the summer. Cute, mouthy, always getting yourself into trouble.” His eyes stayed focused on the ripples on the water. 

“And now it isn’t?” You passed the cigarette back to him.

“It’s not that…It was supposed to be easy to leave too, but you make it awfully hard, kid. And I don’t know how to stay.” You closed the distance between you to rest your head on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mikey…”

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

Somehow, by lunchtime, you'd found your way back to them. Back between their bodies on the couch, at the kitchen island, on the porch swing—wherever one of them sat, the other made room for you. And by nightfall you were writhing between Robby’s thighs, his hands pawing at your body as Jack lowered himself between your legs. 

Jack pressed kisses to your inner thighs, biting softly. You were sure soft bruises would bloom there the next morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“I’m sorry, sweets,” Another kiss, inching closer to your aching cunt. “You forgive me?” Jack leaned on his elbows and looked at you through his lashes. He looked almost boyish like that, with flushed cheeks and a crooked smile. And you wanted to answer, wanted to say you did forgive him, but there were so many hands and lips on you, it was making you dizzy. 

“Jack asked you a question, baby…” Robby’s hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your head toward his. You smiled weakly and looked back at Jack. 

“I do…’s okay, Jackie.” You whined and tilted your hips up to his face, impatient. 

Although he put a hand to your hip to still your movements, he descended between your thighs like a man starved. You felt the slow, deliberate, drag of his tongue through your folds. Testing, mapping. Robby watched from behind you, his warm chest was pressed against your back, you felt the rise and fall of it, his deep and shallow breaths. Robby exhaled sharply behind you, his arms tensing slightly around your torso at the sight of Jack between your legs. 

Jack circled his tongue around your clit and sucked lightly, one of his hands stayed anchored at your thigh to keep you spread, the other snaked up your body to rub soothing circles at your hip. The wet squelches of his lips against your damp skin reverberated around the room.

His mouth stayed busy, kissing, licking, nipping at your cunt, “Feel good?” He mumbled against your skin between licks. 

His breath, warm and damp, and the tenderness in his voice made you squirm. Jack chuckled, he’d take that as a yes. And he was pushing his index finger inside you, grinning at the way you pawed at Robby’s thighs and arms, scrambling for purchase. Loud moans leaving your lips as he pushed in a second finger. 

Jack worked you open with practiced ease, hitting that spot inside you that made you arch your back into Robby's chest. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, unraveling all the tension from the previous night as Robby caught your lips with a heated kiss, spit dribbling down your chin. 

But you didn’t last long like that, because Robby was pulling you up from your waist and positioning you on all fours in front of him, a big hand stretching out to grip your hair and pull your head up, arching your back. You whined at the sting when he pushed his cock in you, but it didn’t take long for you to adjust and meet his thrust with some of your own. 

And Jack was sitting on his knees in front of you, eyeing you like a predator watches prey, stroking himself over his boxers before your hand shot out to pull them down his thighs. You met his gaze as he dragged a thumb over his leaking tip before swiping it across your lips teasingly. You took his thumb in your mouth, sucking at it like it was his cock. You released it with a loud pop and went straight for his now fully hard and leaking cock. 

Trying to hold yourself up when Robby’s thrusts made your whole body shake while grabbing at Jack wasn’t easy, but you managed to give his leaking head a couple kitten licks before taking him into your mouth until his tip hit the back of your throat. 

Robby still held your hair in one of his hands, so he bobbed your head up and down Jack’s shaft. His rhythm was unrelenting, making spit and precum gather at the corners of your mouth and dribble down your chin to your breasts. Jack was getting closer, you could tell because of how quiet he’d gotten, only panting and groaning above you; and because of the way his cock twitched in your mouth. 

“You’re doing so good for us.” Jack groaned out, a hand coming up to caress your cheek. 

And Robby’s thrusts turned jagged, more like grinding against your ass than actual thrusting, losing rhythm as his orgasm built. The hand in your hair tightened, pressing your nose against Jack’s pubes. Your gagging and choking offered just the right pressure to make Jack cum down your throat. He pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva and cum connecting you.

You whined at a particularly hard thrust from the man behind you and he pushed your head down to the mattress. “There she is…you’re so tight, angel.” His thighs were trembling, hands grabbing at your hips hard enough to bruise before he was filling you up, panting at the back of your neck. 

You laid limp on the bed for a second, somewhat aware of the movement around you, Jack and Robby cleaning themselves up, then you. Strong arms wrapped around you and laid your body atop Jack’s chest. 

“You okay, sweets?” Robby asked, brushing sweat slick hair away from your face. You nodded in response, a dopey smile on your lips. 

“You’re a big girl, use your words.” He tapped your cheek hard enough to make you pay attention, but not enough to sting. 

“I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but when you met his gaze you felt a strange uneasiness, like he’d left things unsaid. “Why are you being weird, Mikey?” 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

The next morning you woke up in Jack’s bed, tucked against his chest, his arm heavy around your waist. Robby's side of the bed was cold. At first, you thought nothing of it. He was probably out on the balcony with a cigarette, or downstairs making coffee before either of you woke up. He'd always been awake first. But when the house stayed in complete silence for an hour longer you shook Jack awake with unease. 

“Jack.” You whispered against his ear. 

He only grumbled in response and pulled you closer until your cheek hit his chest. 

“Jack!” 

“Hm? Baby, it’s still too early…go get Robby, bother him instead.” And he was back to snoring loudly, fast asleep before you could complain.You slipped out of bed, tugged one of Jack's old T-shirts over your head, and padded barefoot into the hallway. You started on his balcony, where you were met with an empty ashtray, recently cleaned. No fresh pack of marlboros sitting beside it on the railing. 

“Mikey?” you called softly, but got no answer. The house was completely quiet except for the faint echo of the noises Jack made as he got up. 

So you ran downstairs to the kitchen, it smelled faintly of dish soap from the night before. Every cupboard was shut, every chair pushed neatly beneath the island. No Robby humming under his breath while the coffee brewed. 

“Robby?” You made your way to the living room, then the yard…Nothing. 

Your chest tightened as you ran to check the porch, the garage, the driveway. Robby wasn’t there, and neither was his truck. You told yourself he’d probably gone into town for cigarettes or for coffee to appease your racing mind, but when you opened the door to Jack’s bedroom, gasping “His truck’s gone, but…but he probably just went into town for something…” And he was sitting up on the bed with a sour look on his face. 

Mumbling “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” And turning his phone around to show you a text message from Robby. I thought I could do it, I can’t. Sorry. 

And you were throwing yourself on Jack’s lap, tears streaming down your face, because it was over, and Robby was back to being mean, and this time he actually was ignoring you, fully leaving you. He’d said it was hard leaving you, but it hadn’t taken him much to do it. 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

The end of Jack's sentence gets cut off as you lift his scrub top up, nuzzling your face against him. Feel the slight pudge of his stomach against your forehead, lick the silver of grey hair leading down. Just grabbing it and biting softly, leaving little red marks.

Jack groans roughly above you but doesn’t stop you.

“Please Dad, wanna make you feel good,” you mumble as you lick a strip up his stomach.

He lets out a moan when you say that, hands finally coming up to grip your hair, pulling your face off him.

“Yeah? My dirty girl just wanna make her Dad feel good?”

You nod.

“Okay sweetheart. Just for a little bit, yeah?”

You smile, mumbling out a thank you daddy as you pull on his scrub pants.

“Off, please.”

“Whatever my princess wants.”

Your cheeks warm and you giggle, taking his pants and boxers off as he lifts his hips. His cock, tip leaking and red, slaps up against his stomach.

Your mouth waters at the sight. As soon as you take his prosthetic off, you grab him by the base. Looking up at him, you purse your lips and spit.

“Fuck, you filthy girl,” Jack moans as you start stroking him, getting him wet.

You let out small whimpers of your own as you watch your small hands, barely tapping around him, move up and down. Wanting him in your mouth so, so bad.

But you know you need to ask your Dad for permission first.

“Can I put him in my mouth now, please?”

Jack smirks, rubbing your scalp.

“Yeah baby. Know you like having your mouth stuffed.”

You finally bring your head down, licking his tip before pulling him into your mouth. He groans as he feels your warmth.

“Fuckkk, just like that. Slowly, sweetheart.”

You moan against him, cheeks hollowing as you take him in deeper. Spit leaking out the corners of your mouth. Eyes closing as you taste him, inhale his musk.

Jack keeps moaning out little praises as you suckle at him.

Using that mouth so well, baby. Atta girl. Doin’ so well for Daddy.

Just when he’s about to come, he pulls you off. Ignores your whines.

“Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes, wet and red, make contact with his.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans as he grips his cock by the base. “Just stay like that for Dad, yeah?”

You nod dumbly.

He slaps his cock against your cheek. You moan.

“So fuckin’ horny for your Dad you couldn’t even wait for him to shower.”

He pouts mockingly as he slaps you with his cock, again. His precum leaves a small line of slick on your cheek.

You whimper.

“M’sorry, just needed you. Please, let me-“

“No,” he barks when he sees your hands lifting up to grab him again. “Keep them behind you.”

You put but listen to him.

“Atta girl.”

He starts stroking his cock against your cheek, wet sounds filling the room.

“Because you couldn’t be patient,” He begins, “you’re not getting Daddy’s cum in your mouth.”

Your brows furrow as you pout.

“What? No, Dad please just let me-“

“Shut up,” he groans, stroking faster, your stupid whining turning him on more.

“Fuck just- just sit there while I-“ he breaks off into a moan when you bring your tongue out to lick his tip.

“Please Dad, please let your daughter taste your cum.”

“Fuck!”

Jack knows he’s going to burn in hell as those words bring him closer to the edge, make him stroke his cock even faster. He’s a sick, sick old man.

“Keep your tongue out for me- fuck just like that. Atta girl,” he babbles, forgetting his earlier words as your pink tongue greets him. Drool drips to the floor as you keep your mouth open for him.

“I’m gonna- fuck! Sweetheart, I’m- m’coming-“ he groans loudly, drops of his cum splattering onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, spurts of his spend keep spilling out, some of it dripping down your tits.

“Swallow,” he pants roughly. “Swallow your Dad’s cum.”

Yeah, he thinks as he sees you moan as you taste him, he’s going to hell.

The end of Jack's sentence gets cut off as you lift his scrub top up, nuzzling your face against him. Feel the slight pudge of his stomach against your forehead, lick the silver of grey hair leading down. Just grabbing it and biting softly, leaving little red marks.

Jack groans roughly above you but doesn’t stop you.

“Please Dad, wanna make you feel good,” you mumble as you lick a strip up his stomach.

He lets out a moan when you say that, hands finally coming up to grip your hair, pulling your face off him.

“Yeah? My dirty girl just wanna make her Dad feel good?”

You nod.

“Okay sweetheart. Just for a little bit, yeah?”

You smile, mumbling out a thank you daddy as you pull on his scrub pants.

“Off, please.”

“Whatever my princess wants.”

Your cheeks warm and you giggle, taking his pants and boxers off as he lifts his hips. His cock, tip leaking and red, slaps up against his stomach.

Your mouth waters at the sight. As soon as you take his prosthetic off, you grab him by the base. Looking up at him, you purse your lips and spit.

“Fuck, you filthy girl,” Jack moans as you start stroking him, getting him wet.

You let out small whimpers of your own as you watch your small hands, barely tapping around him, move up and down. Wanting him in your mouth so, so bad.

But you know you need to ask your Dad for permission first.

“Can I put him in my mouth now, please?”

Jack smirks, rubbing your scalp.

“Yeah baby. Know you like having your mouth stuffed.”

You finally bring your head down, licking his tip before pulling him into your mouth. He groans as he feels your warmth.

“Fuckkk, just like that. Slowly, sweetheart.”

You moan against him, cheeks hollowing as you take him in deeper. Spit leaking out the corners of your mouth. Eyes closing as you taste him, inhale his musk.

Jack keeps moaning out little praises as you suckle at him.

Using that mouth so well, baby. Atta girl. Doin’ so well for Daddy.

Just when he’s about to come, he pulls you off. Ignores your whines.

“Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes, wet and red, make contact with his.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans as he grips his cock by the base. “Just stay like that for Dad, yeah?”

You nod dumbly.

He slaps his cock against your cheek. You moan.

“So fuckin’ horny for your Dad you couldn’t even wait for him to shower.”

He pouts mockingly as he slaps you with his cock, again. His precum leaves a small line of slick on your cheek.

You whimper.

“M’sorry, just needed you. Please, let me-“

“No,” he barks when he sees your hands lifting up to grab him again. “Keep them behind you.”

You put but listen to him.

“Atta girl.”

He starts stroking his cock against your cheek, wet sounds filling the room.

“Because you couldn’t be patient,” He begins, “you’re not getting Daddy’s cum in your mouth.”

Your brows furrow as you pout.

“What? No, Dad please just let me-“

“Shut up,” he groans, stroking faster, your stupid whining turning him on more.

“Fuck just- just sit there while I-“ he breaks off into a moan when you bring your tongue out to lick his tip.

“Please Dad, please let your daughter taste your cum.”

“Fuck!”

Jack knows he’s going to burn in hell as those words bring him closer to the edge, make him stroke his cock even faster. He’s a sick, sick old man.

“Keep your tongue out for me- fuck just like that. Atta girl,” he babbles, forgetting his earlier words as your pink tongue greets him. Drool drips to the floor as you keep your mouth open for him.

“I’m gonna- fuck! Sweetheart, I’m- m’coming-“ he groans loudly, drops of his cum splattering onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, spurts of his spend keep spilling out, some of it dripping down your tits.

“Swallow,” he pants roughly. “Swallow your Dad’s cum.”

Yeah, he thinks as he sees you moan as you taste him, he’s going to hell.