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deran flies home three days before christmas. you don’t live in oceanside anymore, but you’re still in california: up north, where the beaches aren’t as crowded and twice as beautiful; deran comes by himself and he makes a joke about not wanting to spend the holidays with adrian’s parents but you’re fairly certain he was just looking for an excuse to be with his own family for the first time in years. 

to say he is surprised when he steps through the airport lounge to find three little kids waiting there with a WELCOME UNCLE DERAN sign is an understatement. The sign is big and messy, much like your home life— there are hand prints in red and green adorned around the words, crudely drawn christmas trees adorned in glitter and the ‘e’ in deran is written backwards because each kid wrote one of the words and julia is still learning her letters. 

you’ve never met deran before. pope kept you away from his family when the two of you first started dating and, while you’d been offended at first, it was easy to see the level of damage that his childhood had done to his psyche, so you stayed away. it’s been almost a decade since then though and, apart from andrew, deran is the only one alive— so you pull him into a hug as if you’ve known each other for decades before introducing each of the kids: the twins, theo and ethan, who are both six and absolute menaces and then julia, at just four years old, that looks so much like your andrew as she shies away from deran’s greetings. 

“andy told us so much about you.” you say, unable to hide your smile when andrew himself pulls deran into a long hug; you know how hard it is for him to initiate contact and, although it has mellowed out with the children, it still takes a lot for him to stiffly wrap his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders.

“three kids, huh?” deran asks that evening, long after the children have gone to bed. the three of you sit on the back porch of your home, pope and deran side by side while you sit perched on pope’s lap. deran is on his second beer while you and pope share a glass of iced tea— andrew stopped drinking years ago, before the twins, after he finally managed to find a psychiatrist he could trust. 

“four.” pope says, big hands sprawling over your stomach. “her due date’s in may.”

“holy shit.” deran shakes his head, but the smile that curls around the bottle is a fond one. “pope cody, family man. who would’ve guessed.”

“i knew from the day we met.” you say, then, turning a little from your spot so you could look down at your husband. andrew’s head tilts back against the beach chair and you bring a hand up, tucking a stray curl — more grey than ginger, now — behind his ear. “knew it from the moment i saw how good he was with lena.” 

andrew’s face blushes hard, bright red as it always does whenever you compliment him. he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and whatever he’s about to say is drowned out by a loud, whiny ‘daddyyyyyy’ coming from the living room. pope is out of the chair before you can even register julia’s voice, his hands gently cradling your hips to guide you back into his seat before he disappears into the house. 

“he’s happy.” deran breaks the silence the two of you fall into. you bite your bottom lip, watching through the window as andrew throws julia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen pope unclench his asshole before.” 

you giggle, finishing your tea, knees to your chest— as much as your hardening belly allows you to, anyway. the night sky is bright with silver stars above you, the ocean breeze just enough to make it chilly. you know what deran means, you’ve met the uptight, overvigilant version of andrew, but it’s so far in the past you can barely remember what he was like before.

“he’s loved.” you say, eventually. “i think that’s the main difference.” 

“thank you.” deran tells you. you take your eyes from the stars to look at him, blinking in confusion. “for loving him.” 

you don’t know how to answer that. it doesn’t seem like the sort of action that requires a thank you, it’s not the sort of thing you could ever stop and it surely isn’t labor; but you think you understand, deep down, what deran means. pope hasn’t had people love him — truly love him — before. 

“pope didn’t even tell me he has kids.” deran groans when you don’t say anything, rubbing his forehead. “i’m gon’ have to run around the mall on christmas’ eve to get gifts for the damn brady bunch because the motherfucker didn’t warn me.” 

you bark out a laugh. “it’s alright, deran.” 

“no, it isn’t— i can’t have these kids thinking i’m a shit uncle on our first christmas together.”

“i’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for it.” 

“oh, i will.” deran turns his head to you, a small grin on his lips. “did he ever tell you about the permanent marker incident?”

“he did.” you point a finger at him. “and you will not ruin my christmas pictures, sir. go sow all of his leg pants shut or something like a normal brother.”

“what’re we talking about?” andrew says, coming back through the sliding glass door. 

“julia alright?” you ask, getting up just so you can crawl back onto his lap. 

“blankie went awol, she dropped him in her sleep. ‘s all good now.”

“we were talking about how much of an asshole my big brother is for not telling me there would be kids in the house on christmas. do you have any idea how much cheaper it would’ve been if i bought their presents from home?”

“deran’s going to get revenge on you for making him fist fight all the other deadbeat uncles that are buying kids toys on christmas eve.” 

andrew snorts, a hand running up and down your thigh. “i know where all the permanent markers are in this house.”

“absolutely not.” you waggle a finger at the both of them. “no permanent markers anywhere visible on photos.”

“your woman’s damn bossy, pope.”

andrew grins up at you. “yeah, she is.”

Three years of that constant hollow ache in your chest meant that you were struggling to process the fact that he was stood in front of you. He looked nervous, his hands in his jeans pockets as he looked at you with that intense stare. The one you’d known for as long as you can remember. 

You jump into his arms burying your face in his neck, him doing the same thing as though you could disappear at any second. This had to be a dream but the way he inhales deeply as his hands grip you closer to him makes it feel too real. 

“I missed you so fucking much.” He murmurs against your skin and the shiver that goes through you is very real. He is really there. 

“What…whe…” you’re struggling to get your words out, just staring up at him, unwilling to leave your place pressed into his chest. Your hands are holding his face and the way he nuzzles into your touch is like a punch to the chest. Every time you saw him in Folsom Prison he had kept up the mask you were all too familiar with, the one he has to wear all his life. Around his family, around the people they interacted with but not you. Seeing him soften for you instantly has you tearing up. 

You pull him into your apartment and watch him look around, taking in your new place with a disapproving glint in his eye. 

“When did you get out?”

“This morning.” You’d missed his voice this way, unfiltered, right in front of you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have picked you up!” 

He closes the small gap between you again, this time his hand on your cheek. “Didn’t want you to get your hopes up if something went wrong.” You nod in understanding, Deran had told you how much they’d messed him around in there even if Pope hid everything from you. “Plus I wanted to see the look on your face when you saw me.”

Your hands touch him everywhere, sliding over his chest, arms, shoulders and up to his hair, where those curls you always loved to play with used to be.

“This doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s real.” He grabs your wrist bringing your palm to his mouth, placing a kiss there. “I’m here. I’m out.” His voice breaks slightly on the last word.

You nod and pull him down so that his forehead rests against yours, staying that way, just feeling each others presence. You were his peace, his comfort. If there was a god he thanked him every day that your paths had crossed and that he had at least one thing in his life that made it bearable. No matter what you were to each other. 

He would be whatever you needed. 

And you him.

That’s just how it had always worked with you both. 

He is the first to pull away and when he does it’s with his jaw clenched and that intense gaze looking around your apartment again.

Uh oh. 

You saw him darken with disapproval at the downgrade. With the sheer shock of seeing him you’d forgotten… he shouldn’t even know where you lived now. 

You’d had no choice. Pope had told Smurf to give you money from his cut of everything while he was in prison.

She hadn’t and it hit you hard.

You hadn’t realised just how much he did for you, no matter how much you’d argue and tell him not to. You’d quickly learned that was pointless. He wouldn’t ever see you struggle. He wanted you comfortable and happy. He took great pride in making your life easier, solving any problem before they could even hit you. 

Your oil would be changed.

Tires pumped up. 

Creepy work colleagues would quit out of nowhere.

Groceries in your fridge when you didn’t have time. He sometimes even paid your rent months in advance, you’d only hear about it from your landlord. So when Smurf had stopped sending you money not long after he was sentenced you had in fact struggled. He didn’t know this, of course. You knew he’d be beyond pissed, worry even more about you than he already was and maybe get in trouble. You didn’t want to put it on him. 

So you lied. He had always sent his letters to Deran’s address anyway, over protective to a point that he didn’t want anything going to yours from the prison. You’d check his post box on your way to work everyday. 

Pope had no idea that you had struggled for the last three years. Gotten a second job, kept the one you hated and still hadn’t been able to keep the comfortable apartment you’d loved.

You hadn’t told any of his family. Too proud. Too worried it would get back to Pope. 

“You moved.” His glare fixed on you now but you knew the anger wasn’t at you. Not directly. 

“Yeah…” You say with a casual shrug of your shoulders as you sit down on the sofa which looked out of place in the run down space, damp in the corners you’d given up on hiding. 

He nodded slowly. The calm way he continued to take in the space made you grimace. Andrew’s anger was explosive, everyone saw that but you could always recognise the build up in a way no one else could.

“When?” His voice was controlled but the dangerous edge was there. He was piecing things together. 

“Does it matter?” You can easily reach his hand from your place perched on the sofa. “Can’t we just enjoy this please?” Your thumb stroking his knuckles. 

He sits down beside you stiffly but leans in like his body instinctively remembers it wants to be as close to you as possible even though his brain is distracted. 

“How long have you been here?” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, he will not leave this alone that much is obvious. At least he didn’t find out while he was still in prison. “About six months after you went in.” You sigh.

Over two and a half years. His eyes snap to yours full of anger and hurt. His family hadn’t only sold his place, they’d put you at risk. The one person he had, the one constant. They hadn’t done the only thing he had asked while he rotted in that cell for them. Take care of you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Your hands find his face again, your fingers going to the spot at the base of his skull, the one that always made him melt. Not now though. He took your safety very seriously. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. It wasn’t your problem. I didn’t want to add to the shit you were already dealing with.”

Something terrifying flashes in his eyes, the look he gets before he does something he shouldn’t but you notice it’s different. Something in him has changed while he was in prison, he seems more unhinged, harder to reach and it breaks your heart. He hadn’t had you, hadn’t had someone there to ground him. 

“You’re not a problem.” His voice is firm but soft, completely opposite to the look in his eyes. “You’re my responsibility. I told Smurf to look after you. That money was yours. I specifically set it aside for you.” 

You melt at the words, you hadn’t known he had done that. Had thought about what would happen to you if he was ever arrested or worse. He felt that responsibility for you the same way you did for him. You had done ever since you found him crying all those years ago in your treehouse. You smile softly at him.

“I figured it out. I’m fine.” 

He looks at you like you’re crazy and stands up abruptly from his spot starting to pace. 

“She cut you off. That bitch.” He was shaking with the suppressed anger and all you could do was put your face in your hands. This has always been inevitable but here was the reason you dreaded it. His relationship with his family was already so toxic, this would only make things worse. 

“She fucking hates you because I put you first.” He snaps as he kneels in front of you, grabbing your hands away from your face. His eyes are wild and you start to worry you’re in over your head. But no, this is still Andrew, your Andrew. “She knows I’ll do anything for you.”

You sigh. Thats exactly why she hated you. She knew that you were the only thing that could stop him being manipulated. If anything happened to you that would be the end of Pope doing any kind of dirty work for her.

That simple fact kept you safe from her schemes.

He already hated her for Julia but he had been too young then. Too confused and scared to stand up to her. 

He’s still holding your hands and his thumbs stroke the back of your hand. You push your hands so that they are stroking up and down his forearms, bigger than when he went in, you notice. 

“She’s a bitch. We know this! She did it out of spite but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going anywhere, Andrew. She hates that.” He leans forward slightly and you scoot forward so his face buries in your neck again. “I’m okay.”

He pulls back his eyes searching yours for any signs of you lying but you keep them steady, strong. You and he had always done this. He was the physical strength you lacked and your were his mental strength when he needed it.

You were okay. You were tired. You had missed him more than you could ever have imagined but he was here now. All the bad shit you’d had to deal with for the last three years melted away.

“You’re not okay.” His hands went to your hips, gripping you tightly. 

“I am. I’m the best I’ve been in a long fucking time because you’re here. So what if I live in a shitty apartment and picked up some extra shifts?! I needed a reality check anyway, you’d been spoiling me.” You let out a short laugh hoping he will at least smile. 

He doesn’t.

“Don’t. You had to work harder. Live worse because of her.” He pulls you closer, sitting back on his heels so that he can bury his head in your stomach. You stroke along his back. 

“I’m fine.” You know it won’t help. Know he can’t see past the fact that you’ve been alone, lived in a dangerous area, just getting by. 

“You’re not.” 

You roll your eyes. There was no arguing with him right now and you didn’t want to, just so happy he was here. That you were touching him.

You were each others person.

Had been for as long as you can remember and that had adapted over time. That included hooking up as you got older. He had been your first… everything and with him pressed into your torso, on his knees in front of you all you wanted to do was pull him on top of you. No doubt it would be the perfect way to distract him from his anger. 

But it had been three years, even longer since you’d kissed or had sex and so you had no idea how to approach it. 

You had wanted more with him for a long time but he was always scared of losing you. Fucking it up and not having you in his life at all. 

You were too important to him, deserved more. He always had this fucked up idea that one day you would meet someone who did deserve you and when you did he would let you go. But until then he would look after you, take every opportunity to kiss you, touch you, be inside you that you gave him. He was the luckiest bastard in the world as far as he was concerned. 

He also knew deep down he would never be able to let you go. Not really.

He feels your hips shift, the way your breath hitches. He knows you. He slowly leans up, his strong arms either side of you as his eyes, sad, angry and desperate take you in. The rise and fall of your chest, breasts heaving with the lace from your bra peaking out, your lips that he swore had been a constant thought in his mind since he last brushed his against them. He remembered the way he fit so perfectly in between your thighs. He had thought of it in every quiet second he got. Damn even the times he really shouldn’t think of you. There you were.

The moment is broken when there’s a loud bang from the apartment next door followed by angry shouting. You can’t stop yourself from jumping slightly, barely perceptible to anyone who hasn’t had decades to learn and memorise everything about you. His body goes rigid, his grip on your hips tightening as he pushes his chest against you. Letting you know he is here now. You almost cry with relief.

“That happen often?”

You just nod, so close to him that you barely need to move. He sees it. Feels it.

The confirmation hits him like a physical blow. He had seen the tweaker’s when he entered the apartment and now hearing the reality of your situation, it hit him. It wasn’t just the shitty apartment, it was the fear. The lack of security, the shouting matches and drugs. The fact you’d had to navigate it all alone. Sure you were no stranger to violence and drugs having been around him and his family most of your life but he had always shielded it from you as much as he could. 

That shit didn’t reach you. He made sure of it. 

“Andrew…” You can see the anger coiling in him again. “You were in Folsom Prison. I was in a shitty apartment. Stop…”

He stands up and the moment is fully gone. You fall back into the sofa with a heavy sigh.

“Don’t fucking compare it. At least I knew what I was dealing with.” 

You shake your head, the thought of what he might have been dealing with in there kept you up at night, not the noise.

You cringe when the music starts up loudly in the apartment above you. 

His face contorts with an anger you know will linger for a very long time if he doesn’t find an outlet. You really wouldn’t want to be Smurf right now. 

“Pack.” He commands sharply. No room for argument. “You’re not staying here another night. 

“Where are we going?” You ask as you follow him into your bedroom. Not hard to guess which it was as the door was open. He starts looking around the small sleeping area, finding a suit case he throws it on the bed and opens it. 

“They got me a BnB. Didn’t want me at the house.” He says gruffly as he literally pulls the drawers from your dresser, tipping them into the suitcase. A big thing for him to not be folding them, that’s when you know he’s beyond coherent thought as the music gets louder. 

The argument continues next door.

There’s people laughing loudly somewhere down the hall.

You place your hand on his back, softly saying his name but he moves away, his hands up and eyes wild. He’s overwhelmed, freshly out of prison and already blaming himself for things out of his control. You know he was probably being eaten up by guilt. You’re already making a mental list of all the things you’re going to have to work through with him.

So you just nod before helping to pack quicker. None of this was his fault. But you knew he would take the burden.

“I’ll come back for anything you leave. You’re not coming back here.” He says as he zips up the case and you put on your shoes and a jacket. 

“I just need to grab something, I’ll be right out.” You tell him. There’s something else you need, can’t leave but don’t want him to see you get because then he will know… 

Andrew of course just stands there, case in one hand and your handbag in another, staring at you with his head titled down like a moody toddler. 

“Andrew…” 

He just growls your name back at you. You sigh heavily as you grab the small stool and step on it to reach the vent at the top of the wall. You pull it off, feeling his eyes burning into your back. You pull out your jewellery box, put back the vent cover and hop off the stool before turning to face him.

“How many break-ins?” That’s all he says but his knuckles are white from the grip he has on your bags. This was exactly what you didn’t want him to know. You sigh knowing if you don’t tell him he’d find out himself anyway. 

“Me? Just the one. I wasn’t here. Some tweakers looking for quick easy cash. They took my laptop. That’s all but I caught on quick and hid all my shit.”

He just stares at you. You know he’s adding it to the catalogue of things he’s missed. Things he wasn’t here to prevent. Things that had happened as a direct cause of Smurf being a vindictive bitch. 

“Out.” Is all he says as he steps to you to grab your hand in his tightly, pulling you to the front door. You lock it and can’t say you feel anything but relief at the thought of never going back there.

You stay close to him and he sense’s the immediate shift. Revels in the way you mould into him, trusting him to handle the world while you navigate through it. It’s an old dynamic, one you both slip back into effortlessly, even after three years apart. He hates that you survived it alone, as resourceful as he knows you can be he hates that it was forced upon you. 

Once you’re in his truck you let the last half an hour catch up with you. You can’t quite believe that in that time he had arrived back in your life and gotten you straight out of a bad situation. He reaches over and grabs your hand as he drives, threading his fingers through yours. 

You know what he needs. He needs to look after you, he needs to fix what he feels is his fault. Most of all he needs you to let him and so you will. 

“The BnB they got me is nice. It’s by the coast. We’ll stay there until we find something more permanent.” 

You want to ask what he means by we but it’s not the time. You both know that and right now neither of you want to think about you both as separate entities. 

You wonder if you ever had been.

“I missed you so much…” You say, your voice quivering. The last three years had been hard. You’d gone from having someone you could call for anything, someone you loved in whatever fucked up way you loved each other to being alone. To feeling like you’d lost a part of yourself. 

He doesn’t reply just clears his throat roughly, you know he’s trying to keep it together. 

“How did you know where to find me?” 

“When an old lady answered your door and told me you didn’t live there anymore I went to Smurfs.” He lets go of your hand to make a sharp turn before reaching over to grab your thigh this time. His fingers digging in slightly. “Wasn’t the warmest welcome home.” You grab his hand in yours. “She told me they’d sold my place and Smurf knew where you’d moved to.” He shook his head but didn’t go into more detail. “Didn’t tell me why though.”

He pulls into a parking spot, breaking hard but his arm moves up across your chest to stop you from abruptly lurching forward in your seat. “Stay there.” He says as he gets out of the car, slamming the door before he locks it from the outside. He disappears into the reception. 

You pull out your phone and see 3 New Messages 

Smurf:

Pope’s out.

You scoff and roll your eyes at the first contact you’d had from her in years. 

Deran:

Heads up. Popes on in his way and he’s PISSED. You moved?

Deran was the only one you’d kept in contact with. Seen him sometimes when you went to grab Pope’s letters but he was a busy guy and you wanted to avoid Pope finding out what was going on with you, so you’d avoided him. 

Baz:

Call me. 

“Fuck off.” You say out loud. You hadn’t seen Baz since Pope was arrested. You’d had a huge argument. You already had a rocky relationship with Baz but when you found out he’d been the one to pretty much leave Andrew behind… you flipped. You fully blamed him. 

Pope opens the passenger door, your case and bag already in one hand. “Come on.” 

You jump out of his truck and follow him to the room. 

It’s set back slightly, behind some trees and the ocean air reaches into the room from an open window. The room is clean, a crisp white and bigger than your whole apartment. Pope puts your suitcase on the floor unzipping it. He starts to fold everything, putting it away in the drawers and you stand beside him, just watching. Knowing better than to try and help. 

He’d only redo whatever you did. 

“Where’s your stuff?” You ask. 

“I’ll go get it later.” He says softly without even looking up. You just nod. 

“Andrew…” You say softly, coaxing him to look up at you, your hand on his bicep.

He doesn’t.

“Hey, handsome…” You use a certain voice. One he recognises no matter what the situation. It’s softer, almost like you would use to comfort a kid and tell them everything was going to be okay. It was one used in private.

You had decided long ago that you wouldn’t ever call him baby. The connotations of the word were negative to you once you realised who Smurf really was. The sickly sweet way she would purr it to Andrew and the other boys turned your stomach. 

So you settled on handsome. Knowing if there was anything Andrew Cody needed it was a boost in confidence. To know someone found him handsome, attractive, kind. The opposite of all the things everyone told him he was. 

He faltered slightly as he put away the last of the clothing from the case. It still worked you thought as he shifted closer to you, his head dipped. 

He was home. You were his home. No matter where you were. 

In the low lights of the room he turned to you, nose dragging against yours as his hands went to your waist. 

Every time you’d had sex it had been spur of the moment, sometimes drunk, sometimes just a mutual understanding that you needed each other in that moment.

You knew he needed you right now. 

He knew you needed him. 

The air practically crackled with it and his breathing became more laboured along side the crash of the waves outside. Your hand dipped under his shirt to graze across his lower abdomen, just above his belt. 

A silent question you’d both agreed to use over the years.

He nods his head, his face pressing against yours, lips not touching. “Yeah…” He says, a whispered moan. 

You nod back as he starts to undo his belt. When his lips finally brush yours you let out a soft moan of your own before kissing him.

Something snaps in him. Three years of built up tension you assume and he dips to pick you up, one hand supporting your ass and the other fists in your hair, keeping your mouth against his as he deepens the kiss. 

He carries you to the large bed in the middle of the room and lays you back onto it. You work to start undressing him, wanting… no, needing to feel him close. He helps you, quickly shedding his shirt before he busies himself with your jeans and tank top, kissing every inch of visible skin he comes across as he does. He’s panting and desperate and the sound of him has you writhing beneath him. You reach down to finish undoing his belt and as he kisses you he quickly disposes of his jeans before pushing your hands away focusing back on you. 

“Missed this… missed you…” He groans as he pulls off your bra. As he dips down taking your nipple into his mouth you gasp arching into him. He sucks hard as his hand slips in between your legs, sliding through your wetness, to rub against your clit exactly the way he knows you like. 

“Fuck…” You moan and you feel him grin against your breast as he laps at your sensitive nipple. You’re not embarrassed by how wet you are. You hadn’t been with anyone since the last time you’d been with him. Been too busy. Been too sad. Just not wanted to. You were desperate for him. Just as he was for you. 

He begins to kiss down your body, murmuring against your skin like a prayer. 

“Please… need you… thought about this…” Before you can respond he licks along your slit slowly, moaning, clearly exactly where he wants to be in this moment. This is as much for him as it is you.

Your hips roll into him as he devours you like it’s all he needs in the world. Three years without your taste, without hearing the sweet sounds you’re making. His tongue finds your clit pressing against it firmly, sucking gently as he slips two fingers inside you, crooking them just right. 

You’re a whimpering, moaning mess, barely able to string together a coherent thought as you look down and see him buried between your thighs, his strong shoulders and arms rolling as he pushes your thighs apart and back to make more room for himself.

“Andrew…” The edge in your voice is one he would know anywhere, one he thanked his lucky stars he had heard enough to recognise. You were close, already. 

Nothing built up his pride like making you come for him. You’d known that since the first time he’d done it and he looked like he’d just solved the mystery of life.

“I know, sweetheart.” He rasps softy from between your legs, looking up at you with that intense stare, watching you as he sucks on your clit whilst rubbing that sweet spot inside you. He knows exactly what to do to ease you through your orgasm when you begin to clench around his fingers. He groans against your pussy as you come apart and the vibration only sends you higher. 

Your legs are shaking, you moan and pant as he works you through it, not letting up until he feels your body relax ever so slightly. His fingers still working you slowly, his mouth and tongue getting gentler but still sucking and licking softy. 

“Wow…” You gasp and he finally sits up, licking his lips before giving you a slow, crooked smile, the one he didn’t show often, the same one that always got you into trouble. 

He kisses your hip before crawling up your body. “Three years…” He mutters, his face nuzzling into your chest. 

“I know… I know…” You whisper but it’s broken by a moan when his hard cock, wet at the tip slides across your thigh before making contact with your sensitive hole. You stroke his back and he trembles as he presses into you ever so slightly. 

“Ne…need you to look at me…” He whispers and so you do. 

“Take what you need handsome.” You whisper back, your hips rocking into him slightly. A look of pure relief, hunger and… you’re sure of it, love crosses his face as he thrusts forward, filling you in one stroke. 

You both cry out, finally together again. His arms are shaking as he holds himself above you, not from exertion but because he’s so desperate, because it feels so good and he’s already so close. He’s home. He moans your name quietly, just for you. 

He stays still and you grind up into him. “It’s okay… don’t hold back.” You tell him. You want this to be completely about him, especially after what he had just done for you. 

He groans loudly, trembling all over, he pulls out slowly then slams back in. Over and over again. It’s desperate, his hips moving erratically as he buries his face in your neck, mouth warm on your skin.

Three years of wanting. 

Three years of waiting. 

Three years of trying to convince himself that friendship was enough.

His hand reaches for yours, threading your fingers together while his other grabs one of your thighs to wrap his arm around it and lift slightly higher to get even deeper. His pace quickens and the slight change of position makes you cry out, your pussy clenching around him so tight he can barely think. 

“I… can’t…” You know what he’s trying to say. Know there was no way he was going to last much longer and you moan watching him come apart.

“Come for me…” You gasp as he buries himself deep inside you, his hot thick release coating your walls. He shakes and practically whimpers as he grinds into you, your pussy milking everything from him. 

“Fuck… fuck…” Is all he can say in-between your name. 

When he finally calms, still inside you, your sensitive pussy is still fluttering around him and you reach down to his ass, pulling him in, wanting him to stay right where he is. 

“Love you.” You whisper in his ear before kissing his face. 

You said it to each other often. Always distinctly making sure not to say. I love you. 

Your friendship was too deep, too long to not be able to say it. He says it back, a quiver in his voice and you feel wetness on your shoulder that you know isn’t sweat. 

He can’t help it. After three year of hell he was back with you. The one person who made him feel truly loved and accepted for who he is, flaws and all. A tear escapes the corner of your eye too, you turn to wipe it on the pillow as he slowly pulls out of you with an unhappy groan before lying beside you, his head on your chest. 

This is what you had always done for him. Held him when he fell apart, been there for the ugly parts nobody else cared to be there for. Without conditions. Strong for him mentally when he couldn’t be. He holds onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Got you…” He says. 

“Aways…” You kiss the top of his head, your hands continuing to stroke where ever they could reach comfortingly. 

After a few minutes you smile. “I pictured that differently. I imagined making it all about you.”

You feel him smile softy, his fingers tracing your ribs. “It was about me. It was about us.”

“It felt like it was about me.” You laugh. “I am not complaining by the way.”

“I thought about doing that. Must have thought about doing that to you everyday I was in there.” He wanted to add that he’d thought about it everyday since you first let him touch you, maybe before then but he didn’t.

“Really?” You say somewhat shyly. You don’t get shy with him, not about this stuff but the thought that he’d been thinking about you in that way all that time made butterflies flood your stomach. “I wasn’t with anyone else. While you were gone…” 

He stills beneath you. “You didn’t?” He asks almost disbelievingly. He knew you didn’t have a boyfriend or anything, you’d have told him, like you had in the past. Years ago now. A bastard who he couldn’t afford to think about right now while the anger was still bubbling under the surface. He assumed you might have found someone, even casually in the three years. He kisses your chest, not willing to think about what this meant. Why it made him feel so good.

“Didn’t want to.” You said simply. 

You never push. The situation you’d been in all these years worked. So you didn’t push it. He was everything you ever needed, when you needed it but being without him for three years had you wondering. 

Could you do this forever?

You knew he has issues, more trauma than you would ever be able to understand keeping him connected to his family but you weren’t sure you’d make another three years without him. 

His thoughts were threading with yours, your fingers threading through one another's at the same time as you both imagined a future.

One where he was safe. You were both safe. No jobs. No prison sentence hanging over his head. No Smurf… maybe kids with his curls… him cutting the grass and fixing the kitchen sink…

You fell asleep eventually. The thoughts of the future coming back to you in a fog as his lips kiss your forehead, his fingers brushing back your hair from your face but then the click of the door shutting brings you back to reality. 

He’s going to the Cody house. Probably to confront Smurf. You sigh heavily and pull the pillow he had briefly been on closer to make sure you remember. 

This wasn’t a dream. 

After three long years.

He is home.