𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 - requested - part 2 of soft
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pairing · John Logan × Garrett!Reader
warnings · explicit 18+ · established relationship · sex in the very much forbidden house · getting caught · garrett graham's worst nightmare · brother trauma · happy ending
format · part two - requested
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There is one rule. One golden rule.
Garrett has had a big many feelings about me dating his best friend, and he has worked through most of them, eventually, but the one thing that has remained solid with no budging. Not in the house.
He has said it at dinner. He has yelled it through the house. He once said it to Logan in the team group chat, in all caps, under a photo of the house captioned NEUTRAL TERRITORY. My brother is nothing if not committed.
So obviously we are breaking it.
In our defence, the house is empty. Garrett is out until at least six, Dean and Tucker are God knows where, and Logan got me alone on the couch with that look on his face, the one that always gets me into trouble. Rules are very hard to remember when Logan is kissing down my throat with his hands already up under my shirt.
“We have time,” he says against my collarbone, walking us back until his legs hit the couch. “Hours. Whole house to ourselves.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Last time we got interrupted by Tuck wanting tacos. Different situation.” He pulls my shirt over my head, tosses it somewhere, and looks at me like he still cannot believe he gets to. “Six o’clock. Earliest. He told me himself, said he’s gone all afternoon.”
I could point out that Garrett says a lot of things. I do not, because Logan is already unbuttoning my jeans.
We get the rest of our clothes off in the messy, half-laughing, half-frantic way we always do when we think we are on a clock, and he pulls me down on top of him, my knees bracketing his hips, his hands sliding up my thighs.
“Like this,” he says, and it is not a question, his voice already gone rough. “Wanna watch you.”
I reach between us and guide him, and we both make a sound when I sink down onto him, his fingers go tight on my hips. For a second I just stay there, full, his forehead tipped against my sternum, both of us breathing.
He is not quiet, he never is, a stream of dirty words and encouragement coming out of him as I find a rhythm, his hands guiding me, his eyes dragging between my face and where we are joined like he cannot decide what he wants to look at more.
“God, look at you. That’s it. Just like that, baby, you take me so well.”
I plant my hands on his chest and ride him harder and he groans, his head dropping back against the couch cushions.
“Quiet,” I gasp, half laughing. “The rule.”
“House is empty.” His hands flex on my hips, helping me move. “Make all the noise you want. Nobody to hear you but me.”
It builds fast, the way it always does when we are like this, reckless and racing the clock. I can feel it gathering low, his hips driving up to meet me now, his thumb finding my clit, ragged praise spilling against my skin. I am close. He knows it, chasing it with me. “Come on, right there, that’s it, let me feel it.”
And then his body goes rigid underneath me.
Not the good kind. The wrong kind. His hands clamp on my hips, stilling me, and his eyes are not on my face anymore. They are fixed on a point past my shoulder, gone wide and white and horrified, and his mouth opens and what comes out is not my name.
I have never moved as fast as I move in the next half second, and I never will again.
What follows is not something the human brain is built to process, so I will report it the way I remember it, in fragments.
My brother in the middle of the living room, keys still in his hand, home because of course he is, it is his house.
The exact moment his face understands what it is looking at.
The sound he makes. I have known Garrett all my life and I have never heard it before. It falls somewhere between a scream, a sob, and a balloon deflating.
“MY EYES. MY ACTUAL EYES.”
Logan has somehow already got the throw blanket up over both of us, a feat of reflexes I would be impressed by if I were not currently trying to astral-project out of my own skin. Garrett has spun to face the wall, both hands clamped over his eyes, which is when I register that he is still talking and has possibly never stopped.
“There is a RULE. There is one rule. I made it so easy. I gave you one rule, Logan, and you pick the COUCH. The COMMON couch. The one I SIT on. The one we watch the GAME on.”
“We thought you were gone till six,” Logan starts, strangled, and Garrett talks straight over him.
“Can you leave?” I manage from somewhere under the blanket, mortification sitting on my chest like a parked car.
“Can I leave. In my own.” My brother makes the sound again. “I came back for my WALLET. I was gone. I was clear of the building. I have to go back out there and look people in the eye now, with this. With this in my BRAIN.”
“I gave you my BLESSING.” He is addressing the wall, deeply betrayed. “I stood in that kitchen and I said, out loud, he’s a good one. I VOUCHED for you, Logan.”
“I’m still a good one,” Logan offers, weakly.
“GOOD ONES DON’T BANG THEIR- I can’t even say it, I’m going to be sick.” He starts fake heaving.
He grabs his wallet off the side table with his eyes squeezed shut, feeling blindly for it, and knocks three other things onto the floor in the process. He does not open his eyes once. He points in our general direction on his way to the door, still not looking.
“New rule,” he says, hoarse. “New rule. You text me. Before. Every single time. A warning system. I am implementing a colour code.”
“We are not doing a colour code,” I say.
“GREEN MEANS I CAN COME HOME.” And he is gone, the front door slamming hard enough to rattle the windows, his voice floating back muffled and anguished. “I’M BURNING THE COUCH. OBVIOUSLY. I CAN NEVER SIT THERE AGAIN.”
Then Logan, beside me, still half under the blanket, starts to shake. For a second I think he is having some kind of medical event, and then I realise he is laughing, silent and helpless, his body shaking with it.
“It is not funny,” I say, and then I am laughing too, both of us wrecked with it, face down in the couch cushions so nobody calls the police.
“He’s going to make a spreadsheet,” Logan wheezes. “You know that, right? There is going to be a spreadsheet.”
“There is going to be a family meeting.”
“Worth it.” He pulls me into him, both of us still shaking with it, his mouth finding my temple, my cheek, the corner of my smile. “So worth it. Even that. Even him.” He is grinning against my skin. “Your idiot brother handed me everything I ever wanted and he is going to spend the rest of his life pretending he regrets it.”
I tuck myself into his chest, his heart still going hard under my cheek, and I picture Garrett out there somewhere right now, trying to act like a functioning person with what he has just witnessed, and I start laughing all over again.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. One text, from my brother, sent from what I can only assume is the driveway.
- we are NEVER speaking of this. the colour code starts tonight. green means come home. -
Worth it. Every single bit of it.
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