you've got a 9-5

it was a twisted sort of role reversal: gunner the one calm and in control, jack the one slipping over his sentences, stammer through huffing breaths and blushes. the thought crossed jack's mind that perhaps this more confident gunner was what happened when you stayed in one place long enough to experience personal growth, but the thought was as fleeting as he was. while he remembered little of his childhood - blocking out anything that wasn't sunshine and rainbows - jack wasn't used to not getting what he wanted. not having to share, even with dom, who would relent easily to jack's more assertive personality. he nearly didn't catch the jeans as they hit him in the hand, belt still looped through the waistband. "you still have that pitcher's arm," he nodded, moving as quickly as he could to shove both legs through their respective pant holes. "you ever thought about getting into coaching? it can be super rewarding, working with kids and all, too .. " and jack stopped himself, because though it would have once been so easy, so natural, he can't bring up wyatt. he would have to be blackout to make a mistake that careless. "thomas and mary'll be at the high school next year," and it's hard to acknowledge - measuring the lifespan of a relationship through an aging pair of siblings. ones that had once hung onto gunner like spider monkeys, pulling at his shirt sleeve's and holding onto his ankles. he's not sure mary would even be extroverted enough to say hi to gunner now. "franklin's coming? shoot, i had some tupperware i was going to give back to him -" like they're peers and not second cousins. the water that appeared in front of his face felt like being bestowed a cure all by a healing god, and he grabbed at it with both hands, too eager. "my tongue's like sandpaper," he offering before chugging nearly the whole thing and panting. "it's." and he felt everything catch in his throat, had to listen for the sound of his own breathing. "yeah, it's you all right." burying his face back in the blanket, jack spoke up, "i don't know what that means." he couldn't tamper the groan that followed. "i'm trying to be cool, here, gunner, but i don't know how to talk to you. i missed you a lot. i know that's not nice but i did."

Try as he might, Gunner was sure his face betrayed the brutal pettiness he felt. It’s not like he’d made things easy for Jack later on in their relationship, but the stuttering and tripping over words still felt new enough that it ached like a prodded bruise. They’d lost so much time together - a dual effort, it wasn’t like Gunner couldn’t blame himself as well, but self-hatred wasn’t anything novel. So he couldn’t help but aim it all towards Jack - a deep hatred that swirled messily with the barest remembrance of desire and most of all, an almost childlike nostalgia. It hurt to hear about how much Jack’s siblings had aged and how his never got to, all because neither of them could stay. Lost in his own guilt and the suffocating knowledge that they’d never get to go back and try it all over again, Gunner could only muster up a slow nod of acknowledgement. “Still can’t stand kids.” Which wasn’t exactly true - he practically considered Franklin family, and had felt the same about Mary and Thomas at one point, if his next words didn’t prove that exact sentiment, “Are they excited?” And he was genuinely curious. Gunner wanted to know about how they’d changed in their time apart. While Jack gratefully chugged down his water, Gunner’s gaze trailed over the droplets that didn’t have time to even make it past his lips, dribbling down his chin and then throat by extension. Jack had always been a bit of a mess - golden boy and well-meaning down to the very thing that made him a human, but metaphorically and physically, all over the place. It’d been endearing at one point, and while still wrapped in his nostalgia-ridden haze, Gunner found himself reaching forward while still hovering in Jack’s space, swiping at a budding drop on his chin. It’s something he’d have done if they were at their best, mumbling all the while for Jack to ‘fuckin’ get it together, Jesus H. Christ.’, scolding to hide the real intentions behind it. He didn’t even have a second to be horrified about what he’d done before Jack was burying his face in the blanket, groaning his frustrations at Gunner like he wasn’t vibrating with his own. “Well. Technically speaking it’s not… mean.” He mumbled, fumbling to gain control of the reins of this conversation and his emotions once more. If he’d been a bit more prepared for this moment, maybe he’d have a fighting chance - but those chances were slim. Gunner was helpless on a good day, and a small part of him would probably always be gone for Jack, as much as he didn’t want to be. “I always miss you.” Gunner scoffed, like he couldn’t believe he’d admit to something even though he knew he would. He was pretty sure he’d said it at least once before to Jack, anyway. “That doesn’t really change the fact that it’s - just me. You -.” For a moment, he wanted to point out that once, Jack had known everything about him. It wasn’t like he’d given himself the chance to change much in those years. If he’d really tried, Jack probably still knew everything that made Gunner fundamentally himself - but that felt barbarically intense. Enough that he pulled a face, flinching and taking a step back, dropping the sentence like a hot plate. “Dunno what I’m trying to say - sorry. I’m just gonna head out, ‘kay?”

Ironically enough Dante had never truly set foot inside of an aquarium. He’d never been the type, not even as a child, to entertain himself with animals of any kind. Today was a treat and a treasure, as was any time spent with Frankie. Just as he rounded the corner, car parked a short distance away, he laid eyes on the other. A smirk instantly dressed his face as he grew closer, “As I you, sweet Frankie.” he responded with a bite of his lower lip. Dante stood back quietly, watching and admiring at his own pace while Frankie seemed to ponder over thoughts and words. The display was not unfamiliar to him, but he did enjoy the face of focus that took over his dear companion, as if they had far more to say than they allowed themselves to speak.  He didn’t feel the need to fill in the packed silence between them, allowing his gaze to speak for itself because words simply didn’t compare. With a chuckle, Dante followed, reaching down to grab Frankie’s hand and bringing it towards his lips where he planted a kiss right inside their palm. “How are you, darling?” Dante asked, falling into step as they entered the building, “I must admit, this is a first for me.” He let his eyes wander around the place, the smell of fish and dew already thick in the air. “I’m not sure what I’m most excited for, the sharks or you.” Dante turned back to face Frankie, ready to deliver his own compliment now that he’s fully drunk him in. “Although, with how good you look, I fear the sharks don’t stand a chance.”

Struggling to keep their composure, Frankie felt their stomach threaten to all but backflip and leap right out of their mouth. Fingers twitched to squeeze tight and simultaneously let go, ready now to skate across wherever they could reach Dante. They struggled with feeling unsure, where they’d usually leap forward with anyone and everyone, but Frankie at least made an attempt to not bother Dante with any clinginess or too-soon confessions. It wasn’t like he made it easy, though. Any doubts were usually swatted away before Frankie could even lift a finger, Dante already beating them to the punch. Between the delicate kiss to his palm, pet names, and compliments - it was a wonder Frankie didn’t lean in sooner than they did, surging forward to press a less than chaste kiss to Dante’s mouth. Still holding onto his hand, but looping their free arm around his companions waist to tug him in closer, greedy to their core and resolve slipping where it stood. If it weren’t for someone passing by and clearing their throat while doing so - a child gripping onto their hand, staring up at the two with wide eyes - Frankie probably would’ve just accepted the inevitable public indecency charge.

cont. @ncghtshifts

Unlike Stacy, Rosa didn’t have a shower to blame for the full body flush. She was sure it showed in her chest - could practically feel herself grow hot down to her toes, but her chest and neck had always been a dead giveaway of how she felt when it wasn’t clear on pale, freckled cheeks. Everything about Stacy felt dangerously close to taking that first bite of apple from the garden of Eden, and then some. More than just a temptation but something that genuinely made Rosa feel molten-lava hot, satisfied in the comfort. A heat lamp during a breezier night on a patio. She could barely look at him as he drew closer, his words ringing in her head and leaving her brain working syrupy slow. She wanted to blurt out something just as charming, but Rosa had never been described as such - instead, she so eloquently muttered a gentle shut up, fingers flexing over and over again as they grip onto the book for dear life. There’s a pleased grin on her face and the words have no genuine threat behind them, but for the life of her, Rosa can’t think of anything else to say. She can’t remember the last time she’d been so happy and to-her-core satisfied. Not even straight-forward happy, but like something was slipping easily into place. Completed, as insane as it sounded. A terrifying feat, but she struggled to worry over it right then and there. At the mention of his mother, Rosa’s interest is piqued, glancing back over at him with the reasoning that she had an excuse to now, she was allowed to stare. She had such an inescapable interest in Stacy now, had for a while that was coming to a head, any tidbits on his life felt like a gift - though she was more curious about how she couldn’t read his face and tone as he spoke. Should she prod or sweep it under the rug dutifully? She’d never been one to choose the latter, but this was completely new territory - she actually cared about the outcome and Stacy’s feelings, unlike most of the men she’d begrudgingly humoured in the past.

for, @ncghtshifts — ferals ride again!

Monty was in a state of undress - but that wasn’t anything new. Monty thrived whenever they were in a state of undress, really. Usually with someone who would appreciate it more, and one could argue Fraser did, even if it killed him, but in a far more intimate setting. Though, in Monty’s eyes, and heart of hearts, what was more intimate than sweltering together in a studio? Shirt off long ago and shorts rucked up so that they could hardly pass for anything decent, the beginnings of a smirk appeared on their features. They’d been incredibly patient, waiting for this exact moment, where Fraser would finally break and complain and whine. They already had to readjust themselves in their flimsy excuse for bottoms before even acknowledging him. “And if I did?” They asked, eyes flitting to the expanse of skin Fraser had exposed, inadvertently or not. “Since when do you protest against what I get off on?” Smirking, Monty groaned while stretching out from where they’d been lain out on the studio’s floor, graceful as always in everything they did. Elegant and languid as possible with it too, hoping Fraser stared at lithe and stringy, strong muscle the way Monty stared at his. They weren’t ashamed or bashful about it - but half the game was the fact that they weren’t meant to acknowledge it. “C’mere,” they demanded, waving Fraser closer, now sat up on the floor, “I need my back stretched out, then you can leave, you big baby.” Emphasising what they meant, Monty made grabby hands in his direction - hoping he’d understand the implication, to press the soles of their feet together and hold hands while pulling and pushing. It was how they almost always ended their practice sessions together, and that always ended the exact way Monty wanted it to. “It’ll be worse, come July. August. What’ll you do then? Quit? Because you can’t take a little heat? Is that your new specialty? I’ve become quite familiar with it.”

"i do?" levi snorts. he can't quite believe it, grateful or not, but after a moment of looking at the floor he looks back up at cassie and inclines his head. "thanks."

Mercy didn’t know what to do with it - Rowan’s tenderness. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to on the best of days, but he’d witnessed it. Recognised it when mothers stroked the cheek of a wailing child trying to soothe them, a couple in the honeymoon stages incapable of keeping their hands off of each other. Sometimes touch didn’t elicit a reaction equivalent to jabbing a bruise to see if it still ached. But Mercy had never seen Rowan be particularly gentle with anyone - it wasn’t common in their line of work, but she wasn’t hardened yet. Past a point where there was no hope of returning to something that could resemble human, that Mercy knew. Lived through it every day. So it was new - to him, to see it from Rowan, but it still made sense somehow. Finally, the rationale slipped into place like a final puzzle piece that’d gone missing under the couch weeks ago. It’d worked each loophole, jumped through hoops, and practically led the Spanish Inquisition of his brain, but once it’d given into concrete evidence, it was easy to accept that he was allowed to breathe and melt into Rowan’s touch. A touch that was insistent and lingered, fingers still wrapped in his hair even when he leaned back to look at her, cupped his face and held a warmth there that made his skin feel blistered and raw, but the additional pain was grounding. “Don’t worry about me.” It was more demand than coddling. It wasn’t something Mercy could just accept, her care, her touches, a tenderness that still stung, now her worry too. It made him itch. It made him yearn. His chest felt as if it’d begun to cave in with such a blatant need for Rowan that he couldn’t stop pawing at her like some pathetic puppy. There wasn’t a real hope of stopping when all she did was fuel the fire. “Ludo.” Rowan had been around him a handful of times, but Mercy couldn’t remember if they’d ever actually interacted. His mouth still tingled where she’d kissed him, less than a second and it was all he could focus on. The shoulder they’d just fixed was still stiff, so he could merely tug her forward with three fingers, two rendered useless. It would’ve been embarrassing if he wasn’t still capable of tugging her closely enough that she had no choice but to end up in his lap. “I don’t want you talking to him. He’s a fucking cunt and he’ll fuck with you the first second he gets the chance.” For the moment, she still had her hand by his neck, still somewhat caressing his face. Mercy was pingponging between focusing on that, on the way his lips still felt lonely now, his anger at the hypothetical that she may one day even be in the same room as Ludo again. His brain working on overdrive and struggling to latch onto those past rationales again, mirroring her hold and cupping her face. This time last year, he would’ve kissed her then and there because it just made sense to do it - he wanted to, why wouldn’t he? But now there were other factors involved. He could indulge in her touch, but humouring anything real between them was a step Mercy was far too self-destructive to take. “Say it.” Repeating his earlier insistence, because it’d worked for them last time, but this felt more serious. If his arm had fallen right off, he would’ve kicked it to the side and moved on, taken on the inconveniences like he did every other one. But this was about Rowan now - Mercy cared about this outcome.

The first thing Abel had noticed about Freya was that she was so witty, he felt like he was stumbling through every conversation with her. Abel was smart, but she was smart - and sharp. He was desperate to nic his fingers on all of her edges. But then she hadn’t actually been so cutting after all. She was really just… smart and sharp. Naturally, that quick, comedic, and observant. It didn’t take long to pick up that she had to be, raised in a way that it became impossible not to be, but she’d adapted and turned it into what could’ve been some pathetic weakness into her biggest asset. There was so much more underneath, a softer and loving side to her that Abel still craved all the time. He was charmed, and that feeling of deep set endearment never really left, even when he attempted to wipe their slate completely clean. “She should give it to you, or it’d be a waste of a dress.” Matter of fact, and as much of a compliment as Abel was willing to give without showing just how affected he was by her appearance. They were always playing that game, Abel attempting to gather himself and give her baseline compliments as to not - scare her away, truly show his colours and how much he wanted her, even if she wasn’t trying. And then she was casually calling him sexy, which - wasn’t new, but still left him flustered either way. Before they started dating, during, after now, even if she was just teasing. Abel could only press his lips into a tight line, though he was sure his amusement still showed, grin appearing nonetheless and ears turning pink. “In my defence, I genuinely - did not expect this place to be so fancy. It’s new! All it said online was that it was a family owned Italian place, my first thought had been diner.” He insisted, taking a sip of his own wine. As she rattled off, Abel wondered if that’s how this looked to her. A Pretty Woman situation - it must’ve been. They’d gone this long without entering territory even close to this again. It probably was out of nowhere, and Abel was to blame for that, knew it was his move to right the wrongs he’d created, but it was nerve wracking, especially where Freya was involved. With anything serious, she was easy to scare. It’d taken an arm and a leg to convince her to trust him the first time, and after he’d broken it so gloriously, Abel knew it’d be almost impossible to do again. But she was worth it - it wasn’t a question of whether she was worth it or not, but whether he was. “Dom is far more elegant than you give him credit for!” His way of pushing past the topic they were meant to talk about a bit longer, just for a few more seconds. Before he was setting down his glass of wine, hand gliding across the table but never reaching, merely tapping a finger against the spot right in front of Freya’s hand. He wanted to reach for hers, hold it, but it was still uncharted territory, and he needed to speak to navigate it. “I’m not trying to Pretty Woman you - to clarify. I’m -...” Clearing his throat, more nervous than he’d been in a long time. “I’m okay, except that. I miss you - all the time. And this wasn’t intended to be anything more than an excuse to see you, and that’s all it has to be. We’re friends, and I want that over not having you in my life anymore. Which is to say that... this could also be a date, but - I recognise… that’s a big ask. Of you, and for me, as well. You probably don’t trust me at all. And I considered the possibility that you’re seeing someone else. But I’d like to at least try, if you’d give me - another chance, let me explain some things to you. Even if I don’t deserve it. I’m not above begging.”

Danny didn't like roller skating. He didn't like any wheels that spun into motion - not skates or heelys or - skateboards. Bikes. Cars. Toy cars strapped to his feet. Really, the only circular thing he liked were the candy eyeballs he ordered from the deadstock store - expired in 1987. Well. What did they know? They tasted fine - like the 80's, if he had to think of a taste. But alas - Tommy liked roller skating, apparently. Which was fine by Danny - clad in all neon to match the hallway that surrounded him, hand - painted swirls over the jacket his mom had affectionately bought him from Value Village. "Aw gee - how'd you see me?" Neon paint was streaked over his eyes, bleeding into them a bit - the whites of his eyes seeming pinker and pinker by the minute. Maybe that was why they were burning. No matter. Danny ambled forward - an awkward shuffle - up to the DJ booth, casting a wide but tragically non - neon smile towards the Rockin' and Rollin' patrons - none who looked pleased to see him. No matter. Tommy liked him plenty - that was what brothers were for, right? "Temporary Secretary by Paul McCartney. Right classic. Makes me cry every time just thinking of it. Temporary! Secretary! Temporary! Secretary! Temporary -" Off - tune croons that seem somehow louder than the music actually playing.

Even though Danny should’ve fit in - no more neon than the walls, clothes maybe even a bit duller - he still stood out. It was like it was in their DNA, forced to stick out like a sore thumb even in the most radical environments. It was something Tommy had learned to appreciate, more by force than anything. They’d grown up in such a way that they had to become resilient, only encouraged by their mother to continue to be as uniquely themselves as possible - her words. Looking back, Tommy maybe should’ve said something, but if they were nothing but their mother’s disciples at the end of the day and her word was law. “Your eyes - that’s pretty cool but that’s, like, non toxic, right? It’d suck for you to go blind at a time like this.” Like there was a convenient time to go blind. Once Danny had approached - awkwardly, like he’d never walked a day in his life - Tommy reached for the top of his head, pulled it down so he could plant a kiss on the top. Danny had been significantly taller since he was 14, but Tommy had never been mad about it, found it fitting. While Danny hollered out Temporary Secretary, Tommy tried to scope through the miniscule selection they had on the DJ desktop. Try as he might to expand their music library, but Rockin’ and Rollin’s manager was a stickler. Almost half of their Spotify liked songs were Jonas Brothers. “Uh… can you choose something a bit more teeny boppy? These people - they just don’t really have taste, Danny. And then I tried to use Lara’s Spotify account the other day, all she had was House music and Kim Petras. The glitz and glamour of this job have significantly diminished, let me tell you.”

will shrugs. "sorry." he stops staring. he is entirely capable of following direction, even if he kicks walks on the way there.

if he'd been awake longer than a few mere minutes, jack might have made some sort of effort to calm gunner's rabbiting heartbeat. instead, he felt it echo in his own chest, like gunner being so close scared him. it had never before but .. maybe something changed when jack was gone. maybe his body could tell. looking at gunner was almost disorienting, like everything shifted into extreme sharpness when he did. "i'm just sleeping!" he snapped back, pushing the blanket he hugged off his legs before realizing he was in his boxers (the white ones with the hearts that his dad bought him every christmas). immediately he yanked the blanket back, eyes darting from gunner to the space his legs had been exposed back to gunner. "i did not just mean to flash you. oh my god." had gunner been right that seeing each other could only spell bad news? why, then, did jack still want to kiss him? feel like he had every right? "do i?" and he looked as hurt as he felt, pulling the blanket up to his chin, gritting his teeth. "i'm sorry, i'm so rude," and he scooted against the other side of dom's couch, finally relenting space for gunner to sit, as though that was the only thing keeping him a safe distance away. "sit. i'll just. hang out right here in this exact spot until dom gets back. and then i'll put my pants on. and we can forget that they were ever off. yeah?" he was blushing, stumbling over his own words. jack was never so knocked off his game. was he still high from the tab the night before? dreaming?

All Gunner could do, when Jack tried to come to a stand to reveal he was in nothing but his boxers, was stare - stupidly. A few years ago and he probably would have had an honest to God heart attack. But he felt far from scandalised now - that happened, when you’ve already seen each other naked, Gunner reasoned. Yet for a fleeting, futile moment, he was actually sad that he felt so numb to the whole situation, that he actually felt nothing. Nothing more than maybe a momentary swoop in his stomach, because he still had eyes and his brain knew what was objective. Jack was attractive, he’d always been attractive, even when Gunner tried to deny it for the sake of preserving whatever heterosexuality he tried to cling to desperately. Instead he just felt a little put out - it was hefty business, protecting your emotions from harm they had already familiarised themselves with, and Gunner hadn’t expected that he’d need to anytime soon. Leave it to Jack to swoop in just when he’d somewhat started to get things in order. “Relax,” he demanded, though he didn’t feel all that calm himself, “it’s fine.” With a quick glance to their surroundings, Gunner spotted Jack’s pants easily - somehow across the living room, but he didn’t feel like getting into logistics. Scooping them up, he tossed them at Jack quickly, before heading towards the kitchen on the opposite end of the hall, raising his voice so he could be heard. “He’s bringing Franklin by. Put your pants on so you don’t traumatise the kid.” Reappearing with a glass of water, Gunner held it out to Jack. He recognised the effects of a hangover on just about anyone, but it felt like deja vu, playing this out with the blond. Jack wore his ailments on his sleeve, right beside his emotions, though they had the habit of looking identical to each other. It was nauseating, that Gunner still recognised them like they were his own, even now. “Seriously - can you relax, please? It’s… it’s just me.”