#gift fic

Your friend Sarah pulls open the door, a grimace that forces itself into a smile once she recognizes you. 

“Hey, come on in.” She widens the door and lets you step inside the house before closing and locking it behind you. “Hopefully we can sneak past my dad without hearing another shouting match.”

Your brows pinch together as she turns to lead you down the hall to her room. “Everything okay?”

“Kinda.” You watch her shoulders shrug. “My mom is asking for more money since my little brother is staying with her while going to college.”

“Hasn’t he been doing that for a couple of years now?” You cringe, hoping you didn’t overstep. 

She laughs half-heartedly. “Yeah, which is why my dad is so pissed off. He was yelling into his phone when I snuck by to answer the door.”

Sarah nods at the open door of her dad’s office. She tiptoes past and you follow her lead. You peek in as you walk by, catching a glimpse of Mr. Kennedy hanging his head into his hands from where he’s propped his elbows up onto his desk. Heart twinging with empathy, you frown to yourself. Not to think rudely of Sarah’s mom, but she’s always been bitchy—from screeching about you two leaving scuff marks from kicking off your shoes at the front door to playing music too loud in Sarah’s room. 

You’re not surprised that she’s trying to finagle more money from Mr. Kennedy; he’s always had a decent paying job, enough to take care of his kids and live comfortably while also giving his ex-wife enough to pay for her own place. She’s always off gallivanting with some rich guy, but now it sounds like she’s in between boyfriends so Mr. Kennedy is having to deal with her money issues. 

All of these thoughts buzz through your brain by the time you and Sarah walk into her room. She collapses down onto her bed with a groan, then flips over onto her back. 

“I was hoping he would go out this weekend, so I could invite Josh over.” She blows out a breath before turning her head to look at you. “He could bring one of his friends over, so you’d have someone to hang out with.”

You wave her off as you collapse down into the bean bag chair she’s had since her eighth birthday. “Eh, last time that didn’t work out so well.”

She raises up and hugs a pillow to her chest while crossing her legs. “Steve was nice. Just kind of boring.”

“Boring? I’m pretty sure he even put Josh to sleep.” You roll your eyes. “Besides what’s to stop you from going out with Josh anyways?”

She flattens her expression before pointing at the door. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe my uptight dad?”

She tosses the pillow at you when you laugh.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You throw her pillow back to her. “Well, since I’m here, you could sneak out. I’ll cover for you. You know he never bothers us when we do our sleepovers.”

“Maybe.” She purses her lips in thought. “We’re not teenagers anymore, so do you really think he’ll fall for that?”

You shrug. “I think so. I know we haven’t really done a sleepover since going off to college and stuff, but we’ve never done anything like it before. So why would he suspect anything different?”

She smiles brightly. “You’re right! Let me text Josh and tell him to park down the street. I’ll just slip out the window and you can cover for me if dad asks.”

You laugh. “Alright, but you owe me one.”

“I’ll take you to lunch tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Sarah climbs out of her window and gives a small wave as she sneaks out of the yard onto the sidewalk. You lose sight of her as she rounds the corner, and you close the window softly making sure not to latch it. Glancing at your phone, you see it’s just now seven, leaving you with hours to occupy yourself before your friend makes it back from her date.

Deciding to grab some snacks and just veg out in front of Sarah’s tv, you leave her room and head to the kitchen. Nearing Mr. Kennedy’s office, you hear him arguing with someone. More than likely his ex-wife, you think, but you don’t want to assume. You slow down to eavesdrop, finding it hard to pass up the opportunity to be nosy.

“No, I’m not. I can’t help if you’re behind on your car payment. You traded in the one I gave you in the divorce. The one that was paid for. You brought it on yourself. No, no—STOP.”

Your heart rabbits in your chest with the sudden change in his tone. 

“Now, listen here,” he growls out, and you have to bite your bottom lip to stifle your gasp. “I am done with this conversation. You will take what I’ve already given you, and you won’t get one penny more. If our son needs help, HE can reach out, not you. Am I making myself clear? Goodbye.”

Your palms are sweaty. You’ve never heard Mr. Kennedy speak in this way, and it’s way hotter than it has any right to be. Waiting for a few minutes, you slowly step past the doorframe. Crossing your fingers, you hope he doesn’t notice you. 

“Oh, hi there, sweetheart, I didn’t know you were visiting.” 

You mentally accept defeat when he calls out to you, but you also notice that he has dropped his strict tone for something more warm and inviting.

“Hi, Mr. Kennedy.” You smile at him, stepping into his office. “Yeah, Sarah and I are having a little sleepover tonight.”

He smiles, highlighting the crows feet at the corners of his eyes and the laugh lines surrounding his mouth.  “Just like old times, huh?”

“Yep.” You smile back, a little nervous flutter in your stomach. 

Standing up, he makes his way to the front of his desk, waving you closer to take a seat. “I haven’t seen you in ages, how’ve you been?”

“Good, I’m doing good,” you clear your throat and take the seat he’s gesturing for you to take.

“Alright then,” he chuckles.

Once you’re sitting down, he braces his hip against the desk’s edge, folding his arms as he looks down at you. You nervously smooth down your skirt.

“Uh, how are you?”

He glances back at the phone lying dark on his desk; his brows pinch together in distaste before smoothing back when he turns to you. 

“Things have been better, but can’t complain too much. I have my health at least,” he chuckles, and it pulls a small laugh from you.

“That’s good!” You have to press your thighs together to keep your leg from nervously bouncing.

He hums in agreement, blue eyes roving over your face before flicking down you body and back up. “Well, I guess I should let you get back to Sarah.”

He pushes off his desk as you stand and you catch a whiff of his smoky cologne; it sends a shiver through you—a low warmth pooling in your belly. Mr. Kennedy’s palm rests on your lower back, guiding you to the door of his office. It’s not necessary, but you soak up the warmth from his palm, heart racing with excitement.

“I’m sure I’ll catch you girls later,” he chuckles, leaving you in the hallway while he heads back to his desk.

Your feet take you further into the house, muscle memory leading you into the kitchen while your brain buzzes with the interaction you two just had. Feeling a little out of sorts, you ignore any snacks and just grab a bottle of water. On the walk back to Sarah’s room, you hear the trill of a cellphone followed by Mr. Kennedy’s voice. 

“Yello, son.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, I know. Uh huh. Well, you’re always welcome to stay here. I know it’s a drive—“

The click of a door signals the end of the one side conversation you were listening in on—leaving you even more curious about the Kennedy family dynamics. Quickly shuffling past the now closed office door, you end up back in Sarah’s room. You make the decision to change out of your clothes into your pajamas—it’s not like you were planning on going anywhere later anyways. 

Flopping down on her bed, you scroll on your phone for a lot longer than you intend (as usual) before deciding to actually grab a snack, this go around, from the kitchen. You make it further than the first time before being stopped; only now, instead of it being the home office, it’s the living room.

“You two having fun?”

Mr. Kennedy’s voice startles you for a split second, making you pause in the open entranceway. Your head pivots and you take in his relaxed posture, sitting on the couch with a tumbler in his hand. He looks loose, like the stress from earlier has melted away—it probably has, you think to yourself while glancing at the glass in his hands.

“Is that a no?” His sardonic tone snaps your gaze up to his face.

“I’m sorry?” You laugh nervously, stepping further into the room. 

“I asked if you girls were having fun?”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Uh, yeah, just like always.”

His lips quirk up into a grin. “That’s good. Why don’t you have a seat next to me? Tell me what’s been going on in your life.”

You fiddle with the hem of your thin shirt and make your way over to the couch and Mr. Kennedy. When you sit down next to to him, he pats your leg. 

“Y’know, you’ve been friends with Sarah so long, it’s almost like you lived here.”

He laughs and you join him with your own nervous giggle.

“Well, what’ve you been up? Besides classes,” he waves off the reply on the tip of your tongue. “I mean, you dating anybody? Going to parties?”

Your brows pinch together in thought. Maybe he’s asking to pry into whether you andSarah hit up any of the sorority invites. You shake your head no.

“Not really. I mean, I don’t really like to party so Sarah and I hang out and watch movies and stuff.” You pick at your nails. “And I haven’t dated anyone since high school.”

He nods. “Oh yeah, that boy who chickened out of taking you to prom.”

You cringe internally, embarrassment welling up. “Uh, yeah. So, my life outside of school is pretty boring.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he pats your leg again. “Sounds like you’re being a good girl.”

The words send a tingle down your spine. “Thanks, Mr. Kennedy.”

He smiles, teeth glinting in the low light. “No problem, sweetheart. I just like knowing you’re being safe.”

A warning bell goes ignored in your brain. “Safe?”

“You can never be too careful these days. I hear all kinds of things about dumb little boys and sweet girls like you.”

“Oh,” you frown, angling your body to face him more. “Well, like I said I pretty much just stick to my classes.”

“And that’s good,” he murmurs, eyes dark as they skim down your body. “You’re much too sweet for some dumbass boy. Such a pretty girl deserves a man who knows what he’s doing.”

Your heartbeat ratchets up, nipples pebbling under your too thin shirt at his smooth baritone. Mr. Kennedy’s eyes drop down to your breasts and he grins. 

“I s-should probably g-go,” you stammer out, beginning to rise up from your seat. “Sarah’s waiting.” 

The glass tinks when he places his whiskey tumbler onto the surface. He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you down into his lap, your back pressing against his chest. 

“Fuck, you smell good,” he huffs, nuzzling his face into your hair before trailing his lips across your neck.

“Mr. Kennedy,” you gasp out, disbelief widening your eyes even as arousal makes your body feel heavy.

He moans, hands dropping to your hips to hold you down while he grinds up against your ass. “I know you lied for my daughter.”

Your stomach drops, anxiousness flooding your brain. “I-I don’t—“

“Shhh,” he soothes, shifting his hands until his palms are hot against your bare thighs. “The security cameras went off and I have a tracker on her phone. I know she’s out with her boyfriend.”

You slump back against him, thoughts running circles in your head. “She didn’t think you’d let her go out.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your back. “She’s old enough to know better.”

His fingers dig into the dough of your thighs, spreading your legs wider. “Just like you are. I’ve seen the looks you’ve been giving me.”

He nips the skin below your ear and you shiver in his lap.

“And since she’s gone for a while, why don’t we play house, sweetheart.”

“House?” You mumble, teeth sinking into your bottom lip when Mr. Kennedy lightly traces his fingertips against the skin of your inner thighs. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, low and dark. “I’ll be the daddy and you can be the mommy.”

The fingers of one of his hands glides up the seam of your sleep shorts before cupping your pussy through the fabric. “And daddy wants to play with mommy’s cute pussy all night long.”

You keen loudly, hips bucking up into his hand. His fingers dig into your cunt, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit. The sensitive bud throbs—trapped underneath layers of cotton and aching to be touched. Arousal and trepidation go hand in hand as you writhe in Mr. Kennedy’s lap, letting him touch you in such an intimate way, wanting him to do even more. It feels so wrong, but that only heightens every nerve, making the rush that much more pleasurable.

Mr. Kennedy’s other hand grasps your hip, thumb pressing down on the soft skin. The digit digs into the tender joint and you gasp, rocking your ass down against the bulge underneath you. He grunts, palm grinding against your mound and guiding you into a rhythm that has you both panting.

“You’re already soaking through your panties, aren’t you?” He chuckles, and your chest burns in embarrassment. “C’mon, you can tell daddy.”

“Y-yes,” your breath hitches. “Daddy makes me so wet.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “Is mommy gonna let me play with that cute pussy?”

He moves the hand cupping you through your pajama shorts to slide underneath the elastic band, fingers gliding under your panties until his digits press down onto your clit.

“Ohhh,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the feeling of fingers squeezing together your pussy lips.

“Well?” Mr. Kennedy squeezes your cunt lips in pulses, teasing your clit with hints of  pressure that only make your hole drip more slick.

“Yes, please, please play with my pussy,” you mumble, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder.

“Whose pussy?” He kisses the shell of your ear.

“Daddy’s?” Your voice lilts, a little confused at what he’s asking from you.

He hums and swipes a finger across your bundle of nerves. “No, but I do like the sound of that. Tell me whose pussy I’m playing with, sweet girl.”

“My pussy.”

He clicks his tongue, and you whine when he pinches your swollen bud. “Mommy’s pussy!”

“Good girl,” he coos, fingers petting across your cunt lips and the hood of your clit. “Daddy only plays with sweet mommy’s like you.”

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, brain buzzing with static as his fingers tease your pussy with light strokes of his fingers. It feels like he keeps you there for hours, trapped against him, his hand cupping and squeezing your cunt with only the lightest of touches to your bundle of nerves as he whispers filth into your ear.

“So wet, my fingers are drenched, sweet girl.”

“Mommy likes daddy teasing this soft little pussy, doesn’t she?”

“Imagine what my cock’s going to feel like. Can’t wait to stuff this sweet cunt.”

By the time he pulls his hand free of your clothing, you’re a whining mess, begging him to keep touching you.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, helping you up from his lap. “We’re just going to continue this in my room.”

Your head bobbles with a nod, legs shaky as he guides you with a warm palm squeezing your ass. Thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind—you barely take in the change of scenery while he closes his bedroom door. Your eyes lock on Mr. Kennedy, watching as he sheds his clothes until he’s standing there totally nude. A light dusting of hair covers his chest, but what draws your eye is the blonde hair trailing from his belly button down to the thatch of hair above his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight; his dick is thick and long, uncut tip dripping precum that you want to taste on your tongue. His eyes crinkle with a teasing smile.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

Your stomach flips with nerves, but you quickly slip your own clothes off until you’re just as bare as him. His eyes darken, taking in your teardrop breasts and hard nipples before dragging his gaze down your body like a caress, locking onto the damp curls at the apex of your thighs.

“Aren’t you a pretty little mommy,” he murmurs, stepping into your personal space. 

Mr. Kennedy kisses you. It’s hot and wet and perfect. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before letting go with a soft nip. Whimpering, you cling to him, hands gripping his chest and eagerly kissing him back. His tongue draws yours into his mouth and his groan vibrates your lips. Mewling in your throat, you kiss him sloppily, spit coating your lips and chin, making you feel that much hotter. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in soft circles.

Your mouth drops open in a moan, your own hands reaching out to grab onto his thick biceps. Tugging your nipples with his fingertips, Mr. Kennedy grins down at you, pinching the buds roughly before smoothing his thumbs across your stiff peaks. He pushes you down to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels on the floor in front of you. Ducking his head, he latches onto one of your nipples with a rough suck, leaving the other one free for him to flick with his fingers.

Digging your fingers into his thick hair, he groans at the tug on his scalp. His mouth pulls away with a wet pop and he trails his lips across your chest until he can suckle on the opposite bud. He squeezes and gropes the breast not covered by his face, pinching the wet nipple between his knuckles before tugging it gently.

“God, it feels so good,” you whimper, fingers snagging in his hair and pulling him closer.

He chuckles and pulls away making you whine in protest. “As much as I love sucking on mommy’s tits, think I want to taste something even better.”

You gasp and arch your hips upward, “Oh please, daddy, please lick my pussy.”

“Fuck, how can I say no to that,” he kisses a line from your sternum down to your mound. “Lean back, sweetheart, and let me eat that hot cunt.”

With zero fanfare, Mr. Kennedy shoves his face into your wet pussy, tongue licking into your drippy hole with a rumbling moan. His nose grinds against your clit as his tongue laps at your cunt, slurping against your pussy so loudly it makes you go hot all over.

“Such a messy cunt,” he mutters against your pussy lips. “What a good girl.”

Mewling, your hands cup the back of his neck and you hump his face, smearing your wet cunt against his lips and chin. He groans, hands cupping your ass and holding you against him, letting him lick deeper into your pussy. Grunting like an animal, he eats your cunt like it’s his last meal. You rock your hips against him, dripping slick all over his tongue as he licks and kisses across your pussy lips. Pinning your hips down to the bed, he holds you in place, not allowing you to move at all while he kitten licks the hood of your clit before circling the wet muscle around your swollen bud.

He suckles your bundle of nerves with a hum before pulling back. His face is covered with spit and slick, the sight searing into your brain and kicking up your arousal even higher.

“Mr. Kennedy,” you sigh, tugging him upwards. “Want a kiss.”

“But I am kissing you,” he smothers his laugh into your cunt, kissing across your slick folds. “See?”

You pout, tugging his hair gently. “Please, kiss me.”

Dragging his tongue up your slit, he drops one last kiss to your clit before shifting up your body. Bracing one forearm by your head, he softly grips your neck with his free hand, lightly squeezing your throat. Whimpering, you buck your hips up, grinding your slick cunt against his abdomen before he slots his dick against your wet pussy.

“So sweet,” he murmurs before kissing you.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue and it draws a low whine from your chest. Slanting his mouth, Mr. Kennedy kisses you deeply, tongue plunging past your lips and filling your mouth with spit. It makes your clit throb when you’re forced to swallow his saliva. He moans, rubbing his cock along your sopping wet slit. The head of his cock brushes against your slippery clit and you wrap your hands around his shoulders to give yourself something to hold onto.

“This little pussy is just aching for daddy’s cock, isn’t she?” He finally leans back enough to murmur down at you. “You on birth control, sweetheart?”

“No,” you shake your head as you answer. “I’m not on anything.”

He groans, rutting his cock forward until the tip presses against your hole. “That’s good, so fucking good. You ready?”

“W-what about protection?” The sentence comes out quieter than you intended.

“We don’t need that,” he reassures you, voice saccharine sweet. “Daddy’s and mommy’s don’t use condoms.”

Another warning bell goes off the back of your mind, but the promise of raw, unprotected sex with Mr. Kennedy overrides all your nervousness. 

Nodding, you murmur, “Okay.”

“Good girl,” his praise makes you glad you decided to keep going. “Reach down and  guide me in, show daddy how much you want his cock.”

Dropping one hand between your bodies, you grip the base of his cock and slowly press it against your leaking pussy. He hisses under his breath and you glance up into his face. A grin quirks up his lips and he nods. 

“Just feels good. Keep going.”

Biting your bottom lip, you turn your attention back to your hand. Giving his cock a gentle squeeze, a thrill goes through you to hear him grunt. You notch the tip of his dick at your hole, feeling your inner walls clenching in anticipation. He rolls his hips forward and his cock begins to sink deeper inside your cunt.

Your hand slips away and your head drops down to the pillow with a choked out whine. “Oh, it feels so big.”

“Shit,” he growls, hips jumping and forcing more of his cock into your slick pussy. “I’ll make it fit, don’t worry.”

When Mr. Kennedy finally bottoms out inside your pussy, you’re both breathing a lot harder than before. Your walls flutter and squeeze his dick until he tightens his grip around your throat.

“You better quit that if you don’t want me blowing my load,” his gravelly tone makes your pussy flutter like crazy which in turns makes him tighten his fingers on your neck. “You just can’t help it can you? Mommy’s just feeling too good.”

His mocking doesn’t help anything, and you whine needily. “Please, it’s just too much.”

“Poor pitiful thing,” he coos. 

He pulls his cock halfway out before burying himself inside your squelching cunt— again and again and again. Picking up the tempo, he fucks you at a steady pace, knocking the tip against your cervix and sending lighting bolts of pleasurepain to sit heavy in your core.

“Can’t believe you’re going to let me nut in you without any protection,” he laughs to himself. “Fuck, gonna make me a daddy all over again, aren’t you?”

“N-no,” you stutter brokenly, eyes rolling back when he slips his fingers between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“I’m not mad, sweet girl. I love breeding little pussies like this, all soft and wet.” He groans, fingers circling your sensitive bud. “Can’t wait to see my cum dripping out of you.”

“We can’t.” But you can’t deny the more he talks about it the wetter you get.

“C’mon, don’t you want me to breed this sweet little pussy?” He grunts, cock spreading open your cunt with each thrust. “Just fill you up with load after load.”

You whine, walls clamping down around his thick length. “Mr. Kennedy, I can’t.”

“Aww, yes you can,” he croons, wrapping a calloused hand around your thigh to hike your leg higher, bottoming out in your pussy with each pump of his hips. “You can take it. Take me. Look at how eagerly this soft slippery hole gobbles me up.”

You glance down your body, past your heaving chest and soft belly to see Mr. Kennedy’s cock, glistening in your slick, sliding out from your fluttering pussy. He grips the base and slaps it down on your clit with a wet plap plap plap.

“Ready?” He asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He guides the tip to your drooling hole and slowly pushes inside.

Whimpering, you can’t take your eyes off the way his cock easily sinks inside your cunt—walls greedily clamping down on him as he rocks himself deeper into your clenching heat.

“Yeah, there we go,” he murmurs, head falling back as he luxuriates in the feeling. “Fuck, love this tight pussy. Love stretching you out.”

“Mr. Kennedy,” you gasp and he groans loudly. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you like this daddy stuffing your tight cunt.”

Moaning, your fingernails dig into his shoulders and he grunts at the slight sting, hips pistoning harder into your wet cunt.

“I’m gonna breed this tight pussy,” he whispers down at you, pupils nearly swallowing the blue of his eyes. “Don’t you want to be a real mommy? Hmm? And who better to help you than a real daddy.”

Your walls flutter around his fat cock, more slick coating his length and making each thrust sound obscene.

“I can’t,” you pant, dizzy with the idea of Mr. Kennedy getting you pregnant. “I-I’m not ready.”

“But this little pussy is just begging for a creampie,” his voice is liquid sin in your ear. “Don’t you feel so empty? Let daddy give you a baby, sweetheart. Let daddy fill you up. I won’t let you out of my bed til it takes.”

The visual of Mr. Kennedy breeding you over and over has your legs twitching, body shuddering as your climax hits you hard. Nails scoring down his back, you babble nonsense as your pussy clenches and milks his cock, your orgasm whiting out your senses.

“Please, please, want it, want you to breed me,” you chant up at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Please daddy make me a mommy.”

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, fucking into your spasming cunt with hard, rough thrusts. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you, stuff you so full you’ll be leaking my cum for days.“

He grunts and picks up the pace, hips rabbiting against yours as he fucks his cock deep into your slick walls. Growling out words you don’t catch, he buries himself to the hilt inside your hole, his dick pumping rope after sticky rope of hot cum in your pussy. You can feel his cock throb and pulse, making you keen weakly. Lying together, you both bask in the afterglow and try to catch your breath.

Once his dick softens, he pulls out with a low groan. He shifts to the side to lay back on the bed before pulling you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, and he runs his fingertips up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“I’m not as young as I used to be, but it won’t take me long to go again,” the rough burr of his voice burns low in your belly.

“I don’t mind,” you murmur, tilting your head back to look at him.

He dips his head and kisses you, tongue sliding past your lips. You suck on the slick muscle, throwing your leg over his so you can grind your cum filled pussy against his soft cock.

“Naughty girl,” he chuckles against your mouth.

“You said you’d make me a mommy,” you tease back.

Mr. Kennedy manhandles you onto your back, slotting himself between your thighs. His cock kicks against your messy cunt and he kisses you heatedly. 

“Behind!” You shout, gripping tightly onto the stack of boxes you’re lugging. 

They’re filled to the brim with various pieces of merch and piled high. The few people in your way step aside as they desperately try to make room. You look comical, eyes barely peeking out as you crane your neck. You're probably racking up endless safety violations and blowing your back out, but this method has worked for the past nine years you've been doing this job, so there's no point in changing it up now. 

Once upon a time, merch for Bad Omens consisted of you, a hand cart, and a dream. Now, you've got an entire crew of your own to manage a ridiculous amount of t-shirts, hats, and other various goodies. And even though there are more people and more responsibilities, your days feel the same as they did on your first tour. 

You expected things to be different this time, especially given the size of the rooms the band is playing in. Hell, they’re huge compared to the last tour, even. 1,500 capacity venues are something you all have become comfortable with, but 20,000? All those people in hockey arenas just to see a silly little band that all your closest friends are in? It feels unbelievable, especially when you say it out loud. 

Even though there are more fans and bigger venues, you’re still plopping boxes down in piles and counting shirts like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Slinging merch became your career path practically by force. When Bad Omens first began touring, your best friend, Noah, didn’t know anyone else with enough experience. The last thing he wanted was to hand money to someone who could barely count. At the time, you had a few years at Hot Topic under your belt, so to him, it only made sense. 

The rest is fucking history. Somehow, your job is to travel all over the world, sell shirts and socks to twenty-somethings, and sleep on a bus. Reality is weird sometimes. 

Today is the first day of this monstrosity of a tour. And while you'd normally be already setting up at the venue, you’re occupied somewhere else for now. 

Noah’s newest idea is a pop-up shop featuring exclusive pieces available only here, at this storefront rented to the band for the day. So all of the boxes surrounding you aren’t even half of the stuff you’re managing, considering the rest is for the actual merch booths at the show. 

The pop-up won’t open for a few more hours, but the line outside grows longer and more impatient with every passing minute. You can hear fans just behind the locked front door talking softly amongst themselves. Anticipation builds higher for them and for you. While you know there are always hiccups this early on, you want it to be as perfect as possible. 

You plop the boxes down to create new stacks, organizing by the size scribbled in Sharpie on the tops and sides—something you did days before to make this part easier. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that idea as you swivel on your heels to continue working. 

Instead of walking forward, back through the curtains, you bump into something—no, someone. A hard chest that feels far too familiar. You lift your chin, eyebrows creased with confusion. 

“What the—”

Noah looks down at you with a full-tooth smile, a black hat covering his grown-out hair, and a slight tilt of his head. He’s like a curious puppy, interested in your reaction. Your body relaxes as recognition takes over. You didn’t expect him to show up here, especially not with how many fans lurk just outside the makeshift storefront. Hell, it’s a mystery how he even got inside undetected. Did the Superman baseball cap trick actually work? 

You step back instinctively, putting some semblance of space between your bodies, which feels impossible with the number of boxes directly at your heels. Being that physically close to Noah is a long, windy road you don’t want to go down this tour. 

He’s your friend—your best friend, at that. You love him to pieces. There’s not a single person in this world who comes close to where he sits in your heart. And that’s the issue. It’s a really big, 6-foot-3-inch-tall, incredibly hot problem. 

Somewhere along the way, you developed a crush on Noah. Maybe it was early on when you were crammed in a tiny sprinter van, using his bony shoulder as a pillow. It could have been more recent, though. Maybe their first full headlining tour or even that show they played with Linkin Park, where you cried during their entire set. You don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. 

It’s not something you can ever act on. So, you steel yourself and keep going as if you didn’t just get an intense whiff of his cologne—vanilla, citrus, and ash. Yeah, you want to bury your fucking nose in the crook of his neck, but whatever.

“What are you doing here?” You murmur, eyes darting around the room as if anyone here would freak out being in his presence. 

Noah smirks, shrugging nonchalantly when you finally look at him again. “Davis is being a perfectionist, so I told him I'd tag along and make sure everything is right for the first day.”

Yeah okay. You don’t believe that shit for a second. Noah has a specific vision for the layout and execution of the pop-up. And as per usual, he's pretending not to be a diva about it. 

“Don't lie,” you snort, narrowing your eyes. “You were worried we were going fuck the setup.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I didn’t say that!” 

“I can see it in your body language,” you snort. “You’ve got that nervous little shoulder hunch going on.”

“I do not.” He’s suddenly standing two inches taller. 

“Honestly,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. Your muscles are sore from hauling all those boxes, but it feels good to stretch them out. “I’m insulted that you thought I couldn’t handle a little one-day storefront.”

“I think you can handle it just fine,” he says, leaning forward for emphasis as he starts to whisper. “I just don’t know what to expect from everyone else.”

“I hand-picked the entire merch crew. Don’t you trust me?”

It took you close to a month to find people because you were being picky, choosing only from a small pool of people you’d already worked with. Most people you reached out to jumped at the chance to work for Bad Omens. Others already had tours booked for the same time. Regardless, you only chose the best of the best. Noah has nothing to worry about. 

He fixes his posture for the second time in this five-minute conversation. Except now, there’s a seriousness lingering in his dark brown irises. 

“Of course I do,” he states. 

“Then I think we’ll be fine without our boss lingering around.”

“Don’t call me that,” he shudders as his nose crinkles. “Sounds weird coming from you.” 

Your stomach twists. This is the part where he calls you his sister and makes you want to puke. You know this because it happens every single time, like he’s purposefully trying to remind you of your place. 

You throw your arms up in surrender, desperate to cut him off before he has a chance to break your heart. “Alright, alright! Go micromanage someone else.”

You walk, turning your shoulder to get past him. He reaches out, gently places a hand on your arm, and pivots you to look at him again. 

“I came to check on you, asshole,” he blurts out like this level of honesty is the hardest thing he’ll do all day. 

As the two of you have gotten older, Noah has lost most of the softness in his features. When you first met, he had chubby cheeks, noodle arms, and an awkwardness that seeped into nearly every part of his personality. He talked softly, walked with his head down. There was no authority to him, no intimidation. He was your gentle giant. Little by little, that changed. It felt like you blinked and he became someone completely different. A hard-cut jaw, pointed features, muscles for days. Suddenly, he spoke with authority, with a deeper voice that made you swoon. You thought it would be easy to adjust, to make room for the new Noah. But then he cut his hair. You never believed that hair held memories until the first day you saw him without his long locks that you were so used to running your hands through. Since then, it’s felt like every moment you shared as young adults is gone, taken away by sharp scissors. 

You don’t feel like you’ve changed at all. You’re still the same girl wearing band t-shirts you cropped yourself and out-of-style skinny jeans. You’re still the same girl blindly following Noah around and doing all the crazy things he comes up with. You're still the same girl who is hopelessly in love with him. 

And even now, as you stare at him with wide eyes and take in the way his jaw ticks, you feel completely blindsided by him. This random confession from him is too fucking much. The only normal thing about it is his use of an insult. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You always get anxious on the first day,” he whispers. You don't mind if people hear him, but it's considerate of him to try to keep it private. 

And he's right. You always do. You instantly think back to every single time you threw up or had a panic attack at the start of a tour. The first time you ever worked for Bad Omens, you spent thirty minutes in a dingy, incredibly dirty bathroom puking your guts out. The guys never let you live it down, especially because it happened a few times. One time, you had such a bad panic attack that the venue’s medics made you sit in their designated area and get checked out. It's always embarrassing, and you don't want it to happen again. 

You’ve gotten better at keeping yourself calm. Plus, you're so focused on working hard to get this right that you don’t even feel any nerves right now.  

Forcing a smile, you reach out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m fine.”

Repeating the words makes your statement less believable. Noah stares at you, eyes tracing over your face. Joke's on him. You’re way better at lying than he is. Hell, you’ve been keeping a secret for years.

“Okay,” he nods. “You’ll be there tonight, right? You’re not going to hide away in your hotel room?” 

By there, he means the start-of-tour party. It's a tradition that was once just the group of you getting drunk in the van and has now morphed into crew and industry professionals sipping wine and talking softly. 

You’ve been staying at the band’s designated hotel for two days now, opting to fly in early to sign off on merchandise orders, approve the rental space, and get your ducks in a row. You also have had plenty of time to curl up under the pristine white sheets and mentally prepare for the next month. It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fucking fine. 

You drop your hand, rub it absentmindedly against your jeans, and flash Noah something between a smile and a grimace. 

“I’ll be there.” 

~~~

Five minutes into this party and you’re already staring longingly at the exit. Promising Noah you’d be here was a big mistake. 

Matt worked with management to have the hotel’s bar reserved for the night. It’s massive and really extravagant. The dimmed lights don’t hide the bright white walls trimmed in gold or the deep emerald green of the chairs and booths. The bartops are a cool gray concrete that makes you snort at the sight of them. 

The party’s attendees stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in all black and covered in tattoos. The hotel staff is friendly enough, even though you surely aren't their typical customers. None of you belong here, and it's funny to think that someone attached to the band has enough money for an open bar at a place like this. 

You scan the room as you lean against the counter and sip on a glass of lemon water. Everyone is already here, and most are familiar faces. At this point, more than half of these people are far more your family than any of your blood relatives. The few new faces are refreshing to see, holding their drinks close to their chests and keeping to themselves. 

Your closest friends are in a huddle, standing together and chatting casually. You immediately notice that one particular person is missing, but you try not to think about it as you watch them laugh and sip their drinks. Folio has a beer while Jolly’s nursing a glass of something—bourbon maybe? They all look freshly showered and somewhat comfortable, opting for dress pants and t-shirts. They didn’t pass along the memo because you’re in a dress. It's black and simple, nothing flashy or crazy, but you still feel out of place. Your free hand tugs at the hem, attempting to pull it further down your thighs. 

“No alcohol for you tonight?” A voice made of sweet honey breaks you out of your concentration. 

After your quick moment with Noah at the pop-up, you barely saw him for the rest of the day. Once you could trust your staff with the checkout line, you headed to the venue to check on the merch booths and make sure they were set up correctly. You did inventory, spoke with the venue’s merch manager, and even found some time to answer emails. Most of it went smoothly, but you were busy. And so was Noah. You didn’t even get to wish him good luck before Bad Omens’ set. You just had to sneak away and watch part of it from the sound booth. 

It's bittersweet, this growth, this level of success. Back in the good old days, you would put out a cardboard sign that read, "Go watch the set with me and buy a shirt after!” and then you'd catch the band’s performance from side-stage. You'd mess with Noah in between songs, hand him water or beer or whatever else you had on hand. Now, you feel so far away. You can't reach out and grab hold anymore. There's so much space between you. 

Not seeing him all day means you've had plenty of time to stew. To think long and fucking hard about his earlier actions, the way he looked at you with a concerned softness that made you melt. You know he cares about you. Fuck, you know he loves you. It's just not exactly in the way you've always hoped for. 

Thinking about it now makes you feel stupid. How did you let yourself fall for someone who could never feel the same? Your blood boils as you turn to face Noah. 

“No vocal rest for you?” You bite back with a grin. 

When you see him, the air is knocked right out of your lungs along with your smirk off your face. He's in a new jacket. It's somewhat denim blue, almost grey in this light, but not quite. Silver grommets and buckles adorn the collar, and it ends right at his waist, hugging him in all the right places. A mental image of him wearing it will be burned into your brain for the rest of your sad life. He’s paired it with a simple black t-shirt underneath, black dress pants, and black boots. 

If he notices you gawking, he doesn't show it. He just quirks an eyebrow. 

“Why would I go on vocal rest when everyone's here to talk to me?”

“Oh wow. Someone’s got a big head.” You roll your eyes as you search open-mouthed for the straw of your drink, and take a sip when you find it. 

“That’s what they tell me.”

You sputter, eyes widening while you cough up your water all over the front of your dress. 

Noah cackles as he reaches over the bar for a stack of napkins, haphazardly pressing them to the spot in an attempt to help. He’s only making it so much worse as his hands push firmly against your breasts. You stammer backward, pressing yourself against the counter. 

“I’m good,” you squeak as you take the napkins from him. “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?” He asks, still laughing. 

“You just surprised me.”

“I can still do that after ten years?” 

He takes a step back, tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and rocks on his heels slightly. It’s a habit from the past, something he used to do when he felt uncomfortable. It’s one of the many things you picked up on over the years that instantly gave away his mood. Maybe he has changed as much as you thought. 

“You don't even know half of it,” you say as you blow out an exaggerated breath. 

“What?” Noah blinks.

You wave him off. “Nothing.” 

“Don't be like that,” he tuts, rolling his eyes. “You're being weird. Just tell me.”

Your blood boils. How dare he call you weird when he’s the reason you’re on edge? 

“Can you stop?” You snap. 

Noah recoils, his entire body curling inwards like he just pressed his palm against a burning hot stovetop. He opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it. You know he doesn’t want to push you any further. 

“You just—” you straighten up. “You're impossible, you know that?”

“I haven’t done anything,” he murmurs, voice full of confusion and something else—pain maybe. Did you hurt him with your attempt to put up your walls? Has he seen right through it? 

You’re mad, pissed even. He hasn’t done anything? For the past ten years, he’s made you fall in love with him. He’s kept you at arm’s length, turned you into the most loyal best friend, and made you feel so utterly helpless every time he has flashed a genuine smile your way. Fuck, there’s a laundry list of things you can blame him for. How can he not see what he has done to you? 

“Are you okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You slam your drink down on the bar behind you and step close to him, putting all your weight on your toes to meet his eye. Damn him for being so fucking tall. 

“You came to the pop-up even though there were hundreds of fans outside just to make sure I wasn’t having a panic attack. And I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day.”

“Yeah? So? That's what friends do,” Noah says matter-of-factly. God, he’s infuriating. 

“Is it?” You challenge. “Because that’s what I keep telling myself. That it was just you being nice. That you would have done it for anyone on the crew. And yet, no matter what I do, my brain reminds me that it could mean something else. Something more.” 

Noah’s lips press into a thin line, and you swear, if you squint, you can see sweat beading at his hairline. He doesn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare. So you keep going.

“But I think that there’s no way there could be something more. Because you constantly remind me that I’m just your friend. That it would be gross to see me any other way. And it just sucks, Noah. You know that? It really fucking sucks.”

“Why?” He croaks. 

“Why what?” 

“Why does it suck?”

You laugh. Actually, it’s more of a cackle. It’s filled with anger, frustration, and years of a crush that come tumbling out as you throw your head up and stare at the ornately decorated ceiling. 

“Don’t fucking laugh,” Noah spits. When you point your chin down and look at him, you can see pieces of his facade cracking. His lips are downturned in the slightest pout, eyebrows furrowed, body completely still.

“You know why it sucks. You just want me to admit it,” you whisper.

“I'm trying to understand.” 

You feel like an animal backed into a corner, ears pointed inward, and tail down between your legs. You know the blame can't be on Noah when you've put yourself here. But now you have to admit a secret you never thought would see the light of day. You don’t really have a choice. He's already watching you fall apart at the seams. There’s no way he doesn’t know something. 

“Every time you do something nice for me, it just makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

And there it is. Out in the open, evaporating into the stale air. This is absolutely not where you expected to say it, but it tumbled out, and now it's done. There's no going back. 

Noah's face morphs, dozens of emotions wiping over his features. He lands on something that makes your heart break: indifference. His lips curl, and his eyes almost look vacant, like he's trying to find it within himself to care. You want to throw up. No, you want to bang on his chest and scream in his face. Say something. Please. Just let me down gently. 

When he doesn't move an inch or mutter even a sound, you decide you can't stand here any longer. You shake your head and stammer forward, shoulder colliding with Noah's as you walk past him and through the doors. You frantically search for the bathroom, practically running into it when you finally see the sign. 

You don't head for a stall. Instead, you clutch the sink, knuckles going white instantly. Tears cloud your vision as you stare down at the granite countertops. 

What have you done? You're going to lose your best friend over some stupid crush. Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself? 

You squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself cry. At least for a few minutes. Time blurs. 

After a small pity party, you pick your head up to check out your reflection in the mirror. Except you're not alone. The most familiar silhouette, one you could recognize in the pitch-black darkness, stares back at you from the entryway. Noah. He's not wearing the jacket anymore, as if your words made his skin too warm. 

“You can't be in here,” you say as you turn around to face him. 

“I don't care.”

“Well, I do,” you sniffle, stepping forward and putting your hands on him. One goes to his chest while the other grips his shoulder. You push and shove, but he doesn't budge. “Someone could see you.”

“Let them.”

“Noah, please, just go.”

“No,” he says sternly, like it's that easy. Plain and simple. Like your entire life doesn't depend on how delicately you handle this. 

“No?” You repeat. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Why did you say that you love me and then run off?”

You bristle, straightening out your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. Even though your hands aren’t on him anymore, you can still feel his warmth sizzling against your fingertips. 

“I shouldn’t have even told you.”

“Well, you did,” Noah says with a huff. “I just want to understand.”

He's already said that once this evening, but it hurts more to hear it a second time. 

“What is there to understand? You don’t love me back, and I have to find a way to live with that.”

Noah’s shoulders slouch as if there’s too much weight bearing down on them, as if your admission is far too heavy. Now that you’re really looking at him, there’s so much pain etched into his face that it makes your heart ache. 

“Of course I love you,” he whispers.

“I know, Noah. As a friend. You don't have to remind me.”

“When did I say that?” He asks, throwing his hands up. 

“You say it all the time! You call me your sister or say that you’ll always see me as your best friend. And trust me, it’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it. I understand.” 

“No, you don’t understand anything,” he laughs coldly. 

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve spent all this time deciding how I feel and not letting me get a word in. If you had let me, I would’ve already told you.”

Your body goes cold. “Told me what?”

Noah steps forward hesitantly. In the sterile white light of the bathroom, you can see the dimensions of colors in his irises. They're no longer dark brown. No, they're ivory and honey and ember. They're almost as beautiful as he is. And right now, he looks practically ethereal with a softness to his face that reminds you of ten years ago. 

“That I feel the same way. That I love you too, that for the past ten years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss that look off your face.” 

This cannot be happening. You're dreaming. You fell and hit your head, and this is a hallucination. There's no fucking way Noah feels the same way you do. 

You open your mouth, promptly close it, then open it again. You're fucking speechless. You probably look like a fish out of water. 

“All ten years?” You finally whisper. 

Noah’s eyes go half-lidded, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “That’s the part you're holding onto?”

No, you're holding onto all of it. In fact, you’re never going to let this moment go. 

“I just…” You swallow hard. “I don't believe you.”

It's the cold, hard truth, but it stings coming up your throat. 

Noah softens. All of him. His eyes turn into round saucers, mouth parting open on a sharp, steadying inhale, and shoulders rounding out. 

“No?” He asks. 

You don't speak. You just shake your head. He takes the opportunity to step closer until your bodies are mere inches apart. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, instantly warming your entire body. You didn't even realize you were shivering. One thumb reaches up and brushes away a few stray tears. 

“I have loved you since the day I met you. And I know how fucking cheesy that sounds, but I don’t care. It’s true. I have spent every day since trying to change how I feel, but no matter what I do, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t change. If anything, I’m just falling harder.”

“Why haven’t you said anything?” you murmur.

“For the same reason as you, probably. Because I was scared. Because I didn’t want to lose you. Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life, right beside the band. I thought I could lie and pretend my feelings away for the sake of keeping you in my life and not overcomplicating things. But I just fucking can’t. I love you.” 

“Noah…” 

“I know,” he hums, offering you a lopsided smile. “It took us a long time, huh?” 

You should answer him, tell him all about when your feelings started, and laugh about this. But you don’t. Instead, you snake your arms around his, grab his face with both your shaking hands, and kiss him. Hard. 

He freezes, body locking up and eyes widening, but only for a second, just long enough for him to realize what’s happening. When he does, he drops his hands from your face and snakes them around your waist, kissing you back with an intensity that almost knocks you off your feet. The moment your lips press against his, fireworks light in your stomach and take off in your chest, leaving sparks to fizzle out in your throat. 

It's deep, passionate, everything you've ever hoped for. 

Before you can relax into it, Noah’s already moving, lifting you off your feet by his grip on your hips. Your eyes widen, and you scramble, throwing your hands out to your sides. They meet cold, slightly wet granite. 

“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly. 

“Making you closer to my height,” Noah explains, sliding you further onto the counter. 

“We can’t do this here!” You look around, eyes wildly searching the bathroom for any signs of other people. There’s no door to listen out for since this is a fancy hotel with an open corridor that leads straight in. “Let’s go back to my room.”

Your room is on the fifth floor, and from what you understand, it’s far enough away from most of the crew’s rooms that sex noises won’t raise any suspicions. You’re not really one to hook up with people while on tour, but Noah has a distinct enough voice that anyone who knows him will be able to point him out immediately. 

“No,” he says simply, stepping even closer to you. His body presses against the edge of the counter, and he forces your dangling legs apart to slide in between them. Leaning forward, his mouth presses against your neck, peppering it with kisses. 

You squirm in a feeble attempt to push him off, but it’s no use. He’s much bigger than you, and he’s on a mission. 

“Noah,” you whimper. 

“I want you now,” he growls, voice low, rough, and full of need. 

It makes you shiver and ultimately, give in, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to your mouth. He kisses you back hungrily, tongue pushing against your lips to force your mouth open. You oblige, letting him in with a heady whine. His tongue explores, tracing over your teeth before it dances with your own tongue, fighting for control. 

You don’t expect to win. You’ve known Noah for ten years, and everything about him has always screamed dominant and controlling until now. He yields for you, melting into the kiss, letting your tongue push against his. 

You pull back, chest heaving.

“You want me now?” you ask, repeating his earlier words. He looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and glazed over. 

“So fucking badly,” he answers. 

“Then take me. Right here.” He moves, leaning in to take your mouth again. You tut teasingly, putting a hand on his chest to push him back. “Oh no, big boy. If you’re going to make our first time be in a bathroom, you’re going to do it my way. On your knees.” 

Noah blinks, sucking in a surprised breath, but he listens just as well as you expect him to. He looks breathtaking on his knees, his gaze up at you, awaiting further instructions. You smile softly at him and press your palms against the countertops to slide forward. With how tall Noah is, he lines up perfectly with where you want him. 

An hour ago, you felt out of place in your dress. Now, you’re thankful you decided to wear it as you hike it up over your hips. Your panties are on full display now. They’re simple, a black and lacy thong. 

Noah lets out a hungry groan at the sight. “Fuck, baby.” 

You flash him a sinister smile as you shimmy the panties off your hips and down your legs. Noah moves before you can say anything, practically ripping them out of your hand and shoving them into the pocket of his dress pants. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Did I say you could keep those?”

“Try to take them from me,” he challenges with a tilt of his head.

You laugh, pointing your chin up toward the ceiling for a moment before looking back down at him. 

You never thought you’d be here: propped up next to an expensive sink in a public hotel bathroom with Noah, of all people, on his knees, seconds from worshipping you. 

“You want to waste time playing around?” You ask. “Or do you want to taste me?” 

Pure greed flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, simply because he doesn’t need to. You both already know how he feels. Instead, he leans forward, places a hand on each of your inner thighs for leverage, and feasts. His tongue presses flat against your folds and laps at them repeatedly, humming low in his throat like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You throw your head back, eyes s queezing shut as pleasure wracks through your veins. Noah focuses his efforts, moving his mouth to surround your clit. He flicks at it with his tongue, and you jolt, body sliding forward. You didn’t know shiny, pristine granite could be so slippery. You feel the pulsing pleasure for only a moment before Noah wraps his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks at it, changing the sensation to something completely all-consuming. Your mind swirls, body tensing. 

You want to savor this, live in this moment for as long as you can. But the reality of where you are means you don’t have much time. You snake your hands through Noah’s hair and tug. He looks up at you, mouth hanging open and chin glistening with your juices. God, he looks so fucking hot like this, on his knees for you. 

“Fuck me, pretty boy,” you demand as you drop your hands. 

He scrambles off his knees and back to his feet, already working at his belt. He barely pushes his pants down his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. In any other circumstance, you’d laugh at how ridiculous he looks. But right now, you don’t care because you’re too busy staring at his hard cock, thick and long and absolutely perfect.

Living in vans and buses with him means you’ve inevitably seen it before, but this is different. This is all for you. 

Noah grabs at your hip with one hand and pulls you further off the counter, using his other hand to position his cock against your entrance. He inhales just as he pushes in, exhaling the moment he feels your tight pussy clench around him. The stretch feels immaculate, the slightest sting radiating through your core, making you hiss. Noah shushing you lovingly as he finds a rhythm. 

It’s fast, messy, and desperate, like he’s making up for lost time. You always imagined your first time with Noah to be passionate, slow, and full of love, which is the total opposite of what you’re experiencing. Well, except for the love. Right now, it’s tangible. You can’t even begin to question if he feels the same way because it shows in the way he’s holding onto you tightly and watching you intently, like you’re going to disappear if he so much as blinks. 

The pace is punishing. Noah’s cock drives into you over and over again, winding you up with every thrust. You’re unraveling, and you know he is too. One of your hands grips his back, fingernails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The other slides down between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing fast circles into it. You whine, but it mixes with Noah’s own moan at the feeling of you tightening around him. 

“God,” he groans, lust-filled eyes meeting yours. “You feel perfect.”

The compliment sends a wave of heat over you, starting at your toes and focusing on your center. It makes you clench again, resulting in Noah’s rhythm stuttering. You giggle, getting a devious little idea to move your hips and match his pace. Your bodies writhe in tandem, meeting in wet squelches that echo and bounce off the white-tiled walls. You’re not even trying to be quiet. And honestly? You’re surprised no one has come in and gotten you two in trouble. Maybe the noises are what’s keeping them all away. 

Noah tenses, forcing your focus back to him. 

“Are you close?” You ask breathlessly. 

“Mhm,” he hums. “Are you?” 

God, are you? Your body is practically screaming for it as your toes curl and your skin tingles. 

“Yeah,” you nod as you pick up the pace of your fingers against your clit. “Cum for me, sweet boy. Show me just how much you love me.”

And he does. Noah groans, heady and loud. His body strains for a moment, going completely straight, before he collapses, practically toppling over. You can feel his cock twitch as his cum pumps inside of you. 

And that’s what sends you over the edge. You lean forward, head knocking against his as your muscles lock together. Usually, it’s a gradual feeling. This time, it happens all at once, crashing over you in a wave of pleasure that pulls you under and leaves you a whimpering mess. 

Noah takes his time and lets you settle back down before pulling out. You feel so empty when he’s gone, and you realize just how fucked you truly are. Now that you know how good this is, you’re going to be all over him, begging for it every single day. You don’t know how you’re going to get through this tour. 

Noah steps back to give you space as he pulls his pants back up and tucks his spent cock into them. You slide off the countertop, and your legs wobble as you feel like a baby deer, struggling to find your balance. For a moment, you and Noah stare at each other, soaking in the reality of what just happened.

It’s Noah’s giggles that break the silence. He sounds downright giddy, using a hand to cover his mouth and stifle it. 

“I love you,” he declares again. God, you’re never going to get tired of hearing him say that. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, unable to hide the smile that pulls all the way to your eyes and makes the corners of them crinkle.  

“I’ll leave first,” he says as he fixes his clothes, pulling his shirt down to straighten it out.

“Okay,” you breathe. 

Noah pauses, taking in the sight of you, properly fucked and completely in love. He blows out a breath as he shakes his head like he can’t quite believe that you feel the same. 

“Meet me at your room in ten minutes,” he instructs. You nod in agreement before he turns on his heels and strolls on out. 

You watch him leave, eyes focused on his broad shoulders until he disappears from your line of sight. Then, you take a second to compose yourself, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress as you pull it back down. You don’t bother turning to face the mirror because you know exactly what you’ll look like. Instead, you just take a deep breath, pick up your chin, and walk out. 

The first person you see is Folio, leaning up against a wall across from the bathroom entrance. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Oh fuck,” he says in a hearty laugh. “Jolly owes me a hundred bucks.”

Rules:

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Eddie wanted to hang out with dogs all day. And one cat. He does one cat every now and then, even though it’s a spicy cat, because the owner is lovely and she pays fucking well.

But that’s neither here nor there, it’s two dog Wednesday, and Eddie is using his squeegee to scrape the last of the wet clumps of fluff from the inside of the bath before he disinfects it, and then he’s done. Home time for Eddie.

Home time means kicking back in his little yard with his acoustic. He’s been making ice coffees at home, working his way through all the flavors of oat milk he can get his hands on. He found a pistachio syrup he’s pretty excited about.

Eddie’s business might be successful and his bills might be paid, but he’s not coffee shop ice coffee successful.

At least, not every day. So, yeah, coffee at home, in his yard, playing his guitar until it cools down enough for him to take Guen for a walk. He might get the little kiddie pool out for Guen, he likes that, when they play with the hose.

It’s because he’s so absorbed in these thoughts, Eddie will tell himself later, that he makes the noise he does when he turns around. Because Eddie turns and squeals and drops his squeegee and actually nearly shits himself with fear.

Because there’s a god damn wolf in his shop. Fucking thing is taller than Eddie’s hip at the shoulder. It doesn’t move though. Just stands, watching Eddie, with it’s tail gently wagging. Eddie knows dogs; this one is alert but chill right now.

Which is good, because Eddie is clutching his chest and dragging air like he’s just sprinted a mile.

“Jesus Christ,” he finally manages to get out, “you scared the absolute shit out of me.”

The dog tilts it’s head to the side, listening. Because of course it’s a dog. There’s no fucking wolves just wondering around the city. And okay, it’s a massive dog, and it’s markings are...a little wolf like. Mostly dark, a lovely brown coat, white under the muzzle. Little pale cream circles just inside and above each eye, giving the illusion of little eyebrows over each golden yellow eye.

People will breed for literally anything these days, appearance wise.

Eddie pulls his headphones off, “okay so, you got anyone with you big boy?” He’s a boy, Eddie can see without any further investigation that it’s a boy. Eddie crouches, holds out a hand, waits.

The dog comes to him easily, sniffles his fingers and then gives them a single gentle lick. Eddie stands again, lifting his hand above the dogs head, “Jesus, you are massive aren’t you?” But he waits a second, letting his hand hover, waiting to make sure there’s no reaction before letting his fingers meet the soft fur on top of the dogs head.

He immediately leans into Eddie’s touch, eyes sliding closed and tail starting to really wag, “oh you are such a good boy, aren’t you.” The dog tilts his head, guiding Eddie’s hand to behind it’s ear. The second Eddie really starts to scratch, the back leg gets going, “oh is that the spot, yes it is isn’t it. Such a good boy!”

Eddie hears the door go this time, since his headphones are off. He could have sworn he flipped the sign to closed, but maybe not, “got to see who that is,” he tells the dog, but just as Eddie goes to move, a woman appears in the doorway, she must have just let herself past the front desk, which, okay, rude.

She looks frazzled as fuck, pink and sweaty, or possibly pink and sunburned, with the heat. Her choppy ginger hair is sticking up all over the place, sticking to the sweat on her neck and forehead. Her tote bag looks packed to over flowing and awkward as fuck to carry, and in the other hand she’s got a pair of sneakers. Definitely not her sneakers, Eddie figures fast, considering he can see the sandals on her feet and those sneakers are several sizes bigger.

She’s wearing jean shorts and a white blouse with little flowers on, and she looks one hundred percent done, “for fucks sake Steve, you can’t just run off like that,” she’s a little short of breath. The dog hasn’t moved away from Eddie, but he is looking back over his shoulder at the woman. His tail is still wagging, but it’s a little subdued now.

“Your dog is called Steve?” Is all Eddie can really think to say. Who would name such a majestic creature Steve?

“Oh he’s not my dog,” she tries to wave her hand dismissively and realizes she’s encumbered by the stuffed full tote, “he’s my friend Steve’s dog.”

Eddie blinks slowly.

“Your friend Steve, named his dog...Steve?”

The dog sighs. It’s loud enough that Eddie looks down at the dog instead. It lets it’s tongue flop out of it’s mouth; it looks like it’s grinning.

“Well, uh.” She finally seems to realize how fucking batshit that is. “No, obviously, Steve just calls him Dog. I call him Steve.”

“You have a friend called Steve, and you also call his dog, Steve?”

Eddie stares at her. She stares back. All Eddie can think is that is rapidly becoming the fucking weirdest interaction he’s ever had.

“Well I mean...I call the dog Steve, and then my friend Steve Human Steve, so it’s not confusing.”

“Right,” Eddie can feel himself nodding, “makes total sense.” It does not make sense. It makes no sense at all.

Dog moves, and Eddie is going with Dog because it’s still, somehow better than Steve and they both watch as he stands at the bottom of the ramp that leads into the dog wash. He wags his tail a little more, looking at the woman again.

“Oh no, like fuck am I hanging around while you get a fucking wash and blow dry-”

Dog whines, and he puts one foot at the base of the ramp.

Eddie looks between them, waiting. He doesn’t know why he’s waiting really. This is his shop. Oh yeah, this is his shop, “I’m actually closed for the day now, he tells Dog. And then he realizes that’s fucking insane and reverts to speaking to the human person in the shop, “so you can book him in for an appointment if you’d like.”

Dog whines. He puts his other front paw on the ramp.

The woman sighs, deeply, “he says he’s closing, we have to go.”

Dog huffs. And then just fucking, sits. He just sits down. It occurs to Eddie that Dog looks like a hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle. He looks back to the ginger woman who just, shrugs, really unhelpfully.

“Look man, you can wash the dog or we can stand here forever,” she looks at the dog, hissing at him, “because he’s a complete fucking dick,” and then turns back to Eddie, a tight smile on her face.

Eddie looks back at the dog, then at the woman. “I’ll be charging time and a half for this.”

She just shrugs, “I don’t give a fuck, I’m not the one paying for it. Charge double.”

Eddie blinks at that, not one hundred percent sure what she means, because Eddie is getting paid, “I charge up front.”

“Fine,” and she turns back and heads through the doorway into the front of the shop, and Eddie hears the little swinging door which means she gone back around the front of the desk.

“Okay,” he tells Dog.

The woman’s name is Robin, and the reason her tote is full to bursting is because she has a set of clothes stuffed in there. She tumbles them out onto the desk, rooting through the pockets of some jeans until she turns up a wallet. She pays cash. It’s not her wallet; Eddie briefly catches sight of the drivers license, and it’s definitely a picture of a dude, even if Eddie doesn’t catch any details.

“How long is thing going to take?”

“Uhm,” Eddie thinks, “he’s double coated so drying will take a while, but he looks in really good condition so brushing shouldn’t be an issue, couple of hours? Maybe a bit longer, it’s hard to tell with new grooms.”

“Okay. No worries I guess I’ll just,” she indicates the front door, “be back in a bit?”

“Sure, sure. There’s a place a couple of doors down that does really good ice coffees. And muffins.”

“Ideal, you’re fucking buying me lunch!” She yells as she heads out the door. Eddie just stands there for a long minute, processing. Mental illness seems the most obvious reason for what just occurred, but Robin seemed nice enough, so Eddie’s just...going to do his job, and not worry about shit that isn’t anything to do with him.

Dog is exactly where Eddie left him, “is your friend okay? She seems kind of...unhinged? But like, just a bit?”

Dog huffs, but he stands again, taking another step up the ramp. Eddie puts a hand out, “wait,” he tells Dog firmly. Dog listens. Eddie’s not surprised really, he seems really well trained. “I just got to disinfect in here, just in case,” Eddie explains before spraying down the tiled sides and large shower tray at the bottom of the bath. He then scrubs and rinses before pulling out the moveable barrier, “okay, up you go.”

Dog walks in like he’s done this a million times before, and Eddie mixes up two canisters of shampoo. He looks Dog over, sighs, and makes up a third. Dog is fucking huge.

Dog is also very easy to work with. He lifts his paws easily for Eddie, he stands still and doesn’t fuss at all during the wash, leaning happily into Eddie’s touch the whole time. He stands patiently pliant when Eddie slides the snug ear protect band over his head. Dog doesn’t even react to the dryer. “It’s a good job you’re easy, you know,” Eddie tells him, Dog tilts his head, like he can understand what Eddie’s saying, “Wednesday is my afternoon off, I usually go home now.” Eddie feels a little bad, “I bet Guen is wondering where I am.”

Eddie’s on alert, as he always is with a new dog, because you just never know. But Dog is perfect, he never shows any sign that he’s getting tired or stressed out. He does tug a little when Eddie trims his nails, which really only needed a tiny bit off anyway. He never whines, never fusses. Eddie shows him the clippers and he sniffs them, but otherwise doesn’t react, “okay big guy, just going to tidy up these fluffy feet,” and Dog doesn’t move an inch while Eddie works. He stands perfectly when Eddie holds up each foot to shave out his paw pads.

“Okay, I’ve got blueberry breeze and cotton fresh,” Eddie holds up his two current dog safe colognes letting Dog sniff both. He nudges the hand with the blueberry breeze. “Good choice,” Eddie sprays him down, stepping back. He really is a lovely dog, and Eddie has done a good job, even if he does say so himself, “you look incredible.”

Dog’s tongue hangs out of his mouth, and he still looks like he’s grinning, “okay handsome, hold still,” Eddie pulls out his phone, taking a couple of pictures. The he lowers the table and Dog hops off, “okay, hopefully your mad friend will be back in a minute, and I can actually finally go home.”

Dog whines, just quietly, pressing his head into Eddie’s hand for more fuss, “you like that, huh? You are a very good boy you know. And the most handsome boy, yes you are. Even if your owner has given you a dumb name. I can’t believe he calls you Dog.”

Eddie fusses Dog for another minute, and then Eddie hears the door go and he figures that must be Robin, “okay big boy, time to go.”

Dog stands on his hind legs, front paws resting on the counter, and he’s refusing to leave even though Robin is holding the door open for him.

“Uhm,” Eddie says, “do you get this a lot or..?”

“Honestly, you’d be surprised,” she says, coming back to the counter.

I actually don’t think I would, Eddie thinks but carefully does not say. He did charge time and half for this one, after all. And it’s not like it was hard work.

“So can we book him in again?”

Dog makes a quiet boof, just a whisper of a bark, and Eddie doesn’t feel like he has much choice but to pull out his diary, “well I mean, he’s in stellar condition, whoever is brushing him at home is doing a perfect job. I realistically wouldn’t need to see him for four or five weeks.”

Dog whines.

“That sounds perfect,” Robin says, and then turns to Dog, “because as you heard, any more than that would probably be weird.”

Dog huffs and drops back to the floor.

Eddie chooses to ignore all of this and rattles off a couple of dates in five weeks time instead.

Eddie’s not even surprised. He expected to see Dog again next month, but, some instinct tells him he sort of thought this would happen, too. It’s Wednesday. One week since he last saw Dog.

Dog looks like he’s had a fight with an entire forest, and the forest probably lost. There’s mud plastered half way up his legs; actual bits of twig caught up in his coat.

Eddie sighs, and Robin just looks at him expectantly. Eddie had been at the desk when they had come in, just tidying his desk away before he went out the door. And went home. He was so close to a caramel ice coffee. So close.

He didn’t pay attention last time, considering, but this time he’s noticed; Dog isn’t even on a leash when he comes through the door. “State law says all dogs must be under close control, and have to be wearing a collar with owner identification while out.”

Robin turns to Dog, “did you hear that?”

Dog just huffs, and walks himself through the low swinging door and out back to the grooming area. Robin and Eddie just stare at each other, a weird stand off that lasts several seconds before Eddie caves, “I’m charging double this time.”

She just shrugs and digs out the same wallet as before.

Why, you may ask yourselves, would Eddie Munson dog groomer and thrash metal enthusiast, be in a craft store? It’s because Eddie Munson is also cool enough to play Dungeons and Dragons with a regular group. Right now, it’s his turn to dungeon master. And right now...he has a plan.

Sort of.

Kind of.

He thinks he has a plan for how he wants this dungeon to play out, and he thinks the best way to do that is to have the characters be able to reveal random effects or traps depending on where their characters have moved in the dungeon.

Last night, Eddie thought it would be a fucking cool idea if he could execute it. Now, looking at craft supplies, he thinks it might be a little time consuming. He’s going to have to cut out a lot of little squares of card, and then do some cutting and sticking so the colors remain hidden.

He’s also picked up some metallic gel pens because, why not? They look cool and he might be able to use them for his little foray into crafting a dungeon floor.

He thinks it’ll be cool if it works out how he wants it too.

He’s staring at different colors of shiny foil card when a conversation in the next aisle over gets louder and therefore more interesting, “I am not covering you in glitter. This is insane,” a woman raises her voice. A vaguely familiar voice.

“Come on Robs please, just the once, alright?”

Kinky, Eddie thinks to himself. And he is not one to kink shame, but some times he does maybe ask...kink why? Surely that would be a nightmare to clean up.

Unless you did it outside. Or in like, a kiddie pool or something, maybe.

Eddie makes his way past all the craft supplies, turning the corner and coming face to face with possibly the most attractive man Eddie has ever seen.

“Hi,” he says, “Eddie, right?”

And Eddie’s never seen this man before in his life. He would remember.

“I- yeah. Have we, uhm, have we met?”

Beautiful man is clutching two large shakers of glitter, “well, I mean, not technically-” and then he nearly fumbles his shakers, and Eddie suddenly realizes that this is the man who wants to be covered in glitter. And Robin has just bumped into him and nearly knocked him over.

“Oh hi Eddie.”

“Hi. Robin, hello-”

“This is Steve,” she clouts Steve on the shoulder so hard he nearly fumbles his sex glitter again, “you know, human Steve.”

“Oh. Oh right, you’re Dog’s owner?”

Steve blinks, looking back and Robin and then back to Eddie again, “yeah...yeah, Dog. That’s right.”

“So we...haven’t met?” Eddie clarifies, because, just like every other time he sees Robin, this interaction is so fucking weird Eddie’s starting to think that he might be the one whose lost his mind.

“No no,” Steve fumbles for a second, “I, uhm, saw your Instagram, you know, with all the dogs.”

And Eddie does know, because he posts a shit load of pictures of dogs he’s groomed; with permission of course. Also, plenty of selfies of him and Guen.

“I showed him, you know, since you did a good job with Steve.”

Eddie lets himself, just for a second, stare off into the middle distance of the craft store. Maybe he could just turn and walk away, “well,” he starts, searching desperately for something to say, “Dog is always a pleasure to groom.”

Steve’s face splits into a massive smile, and Eddie can’t help but smile back. He’s so pretty. Eddie could probably forgive the fact that Human Steve seems to be as unhinged as Robin. He can’t move past the sex glitter though.

Also, he reminds himself, Steve is doing the sex glitter thing with Robin, so it doesn’t matter if Eddie would like to kiss his pretty face. It’s unavailable. And probably very straight. And almost certainly going to have glitter on it later.

“He likes getting groomed by you,” Steve tells him, “he likes it a lot.”

Eddie has no idea how Steve would know either way, but Eddie will take the compliment, “well, he makes it easy. And he is very handsome, do you think if I groom him again, I could put some pics on socials?” Eddie carefully doesn't admit that he already has two dozen pictures of Dog.

If Eddie thought Steve was pleased before, he’s practically glowing now, looking down at Eddie with a soft smile, “you think he’s handsome?”

Eddie feels, vaguely, like he missed a step in the conversation, considering Steve’s shift in tone, “uhm? Yes?”

“Well he thinks-”

“And that is all!” Robin shoves at Steve, “lets go stud, places to be.”

Eddie watches as Robin bodily pushes Steve towards the registers, and Steve allows himself to be moved, but he watches Eddie over his shoulder, right until they can’t see each other any more.

Okay, Eddie thinks, so that just happened.

It’s Wednesday, and Eddie hasn’t even bothered to turn the sign. He’s kept his headphones slung around his neck, music playing quietly. He’s cleaning up from his second, and what should be last, client of the day, when right on cue, he hears the front door open and close, and then the low swinging door that separates the desk from the small reception come waiting area swings on it’s hinges.

And Dog is there in the doorway, absolutely plastered in glitter. He looks like a mythical creature in a low budget movie. Robin appears behind him, “he got into the glitter,” she tells Eddie, for no reason at all.

He can fucking see that he got into the glitter. Eddie prays that this isn’t post sexy time glitter. Just normal, virgin, unsullied glitter.

He has no way to ask without sounding like a maniac. He sighs, “okay, see you in a couple of hours.”

The glitter seemed to rinse out of the bath real easy, so at least there’s that. Steve stands and lets Eddie blow dry him without issue, and after, despite Eddie’s very thorough shampoo job, there still seems to be the odd shiny bit of glitter caught in Dog’s coat, “oh well, I got most of it I guess. You’re just going to look a tiny little bit magical for a while,” Eddie stands back to survey his work. He hasn’t checked nails, and he most certainly isn’t clipping anything since he’s literally just done both of those things two weeks ago.

When he shifts in the light, there really is only the occasional sparkle, so Eddie calls it good enough. They have to wait for Robin, so Eddie perches himself on the grooming table, Dog seems to sense that they’re done, and he sits next to Eddie. Eddie cant help himself but go through Dog’s neck fluff with his metal comb. It runs through smooth, the fur running like water through the teeth of the comb. Dog’s eyes close, and he sits there, relaxed as anything, just letting Eddie fuss, “can I tell you a secret,” Eddie says, and Dogs eyes open again, watching. Waiting.

Eddie wonders just how many words Dog understands, because he’s yet to fail to follow an instruction Eddie’s given him. Unless he doesn’t want to, obviously, but that’s whole other thing with Dog.

“Your human might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in real life.” He’s just fiddling now, playing with Dogs fur, pushing it one way and then the other, watching it shine and shift like silk under his fingers. Dog seems just as happy as Eddie to sit like this. “He seemed an okay guy, too. Other than being, you know, a bit crazy. Not as bad as Robin though, whatever she has going on probably needs professional help.” Dog snorts. “They seem pretty well suited to each other, at least-” Eddie is interrupted, losing his train of thought as the door opens. “come on, I think that’s your ride.”

It’s still hot. It’s been hot for weeks. It’s starting to feel never ending. Eddie sits in his lawn chair, with his feet in the kiddie pool, wearing short shorts he wouldn’t be caught dead in in public. He’s sticky with sun lotion, because Eddie is white as fucking snow and he knows for a fact that if he burns he will go red as a fucking lobster, peel, and then be white again a couple of days later.

It’s just not worth it.

“This is the life, huh boy?”

Guen, Eddie’s black shepherd mix, wags his tail sleepily. He’s lying flat out in the four inches of water in the pool, head resting on the inflatable edge. Just as Eddie is about to sip his ice coffee, his work phone rings. Eddie carries it about with him, since he’s closed two days a week, he doesn’t want to miss anything. He doesn’t have a lot of space for new customers anyway now, but people always want to cancel and rearrange and whatever.

Eddie drags himself up and hops over the toasted grass, pushing the door open and snagging his phone off the side, “hi this is Eddie.”

“Hi! Eddie hi! This is Robin. You just wouldn’t believe what’s happened.”

Eddie manages to keep his sigh inside. Honestly, Robin could tell him that Dog has fallen into an oil slick and then run through a chicken coop and at this point, Eddie would probably believe her, “why don’t you tell me?”

“Dog has a lump of gum in his fur, what should I do?”

Okay, that’s fine. It’s not something that Eddie would actually like, have to deal with right now,, “okay, easiest thing is probably to just hold the gum away from his body, and then trim underneath. It might leave him a bit of a shorter patch, but it’s guaranteed to get it all out with the least amount of stress for Dog, and I can try and tidy it up when I see him next.”

“Okay, do you have time today?”

“I’m actually closed today-”

“Uhm,” Eddie can hear a hissed conversation, he can’t make out all of the words but...he thinks the second voice might be Steve? And he might have heard Robin hiss something like not putting fucking gum on you, before she comes back and speaks properly to Eddie, “how soon can you do?”

Well, I could make time tomorrow, Eddie figures, especially if I cut short lunch, “okay, bring him in tomorrow, about one, this is not for a full groom, I don’t have time, but I’ll have half an hour to brush him out and make sure there’s nothing else stuck, and try and tidy up the trimmed bit?”

“Okay, yeah that’s great. Also, Human Steve, who is not my boyfriend in any way, says thank you he really appreciates it.”

Eddie blinks, staring across his yard. Just when you think it couldn’t get any stranger, “Human Steve who isn’t your boyfriend,” Eddie repeats. Because that’s not a bizarre thing to suddenly volunteer.

“Oh no. Human Steve is in fact, very single. Like, painfully single.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, uncertain how to reply. He’s sure he can hear more hissed conversation in the background, possibly why are you like this, but Eddie can’t be sure. He’s also uncertain about what to do with that information that he’s just been given. “Okay.”

“Great! See you tomorrow!”

Eddie cannot for the life of him, find any part of Dog’s coat that looks like it’s been trimmed or cut or hacked or otherwise changed in anyway. “Are you sure you got gum in your fur?”

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s even asking, he won’t be getting an answer.

“I’m starting to think you just like hanging out here, huh?” Eddie scritches the place Dog really likes, right behind his soft ear. Eddie sighs, “I think Robin must have imagined the whole thing you know, your coat is perfect as always. And to think I’ve given up lunch for this.”

Eddie’s stomach times that perfectly, taking it’s opportunity to make itself known and rumble hungrily.

Dog whines, so at least someone feels sorry for him. But he’s getting paid to basically do nothing this time, so there’s that.

Eddie’s genuinely concerned now for the survival of his lawn. Not, like, concerned enough to do anything about it, but the middle part is looking somewhat...scorched. He’s actually kind of missing the air con he has at the shop – got to keep the puppies cool – but sitting in his sad back yard with his feet in the water will have to do.

Taking Mondays off is just the best feeling. Sure, Eddie usually uses Monday to catch up with housework, but it’s just too hot for it today. And besides, it’ll only be dirty again next week. And whose going to say anything? Guen? Probably not.

Guen himself has abandoned the pool to lie out on the grass that is shaded by trees at the bottom of the yard. He looks like a shining black puddle from where Eddie’s sitting. He leaves the back door open, so Guen can come and go as he pleases in the heat, but he seems content crashed out on the grass. Until he suddenly isn’t, and he stands up and barks. Once, and then again, “Guen,” Eddie calls once, and that’s enough. Guen is a very well behaved dog, Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way, being the truly responsible dog owner that he is.

Another dog appears between the trees, and it’s obvious really fast considering the size of the dog who it is. It’s Dog. Eddie watches as Guen goes right up to Dog, sniffing his muzzle. Dog takes it good naturedly, and after thirty seconds of thorough sniffing, Dog drops into a play bow, Guen responds, and then they’re playing. They chase each other back and forth across the yard, sometimes rearing up and nudging each other over; Guen doesn’t really stand a chance, Dog is so much bigger. But he’s gentle, really gentle, and they seem happy enough.

It gives Eddie a minute to sit and wonder why the fuck has Dog turned up in my yard. How did he even know this was my yard? Is this a weird coincidence?

And then, more practically, thank fuck Robin rang me, I should be able to work out which number is hers and call her. Otherwise, Eddie would have had to have gone into the shop to get Robin's number from his bookings.

It isn’t long before both dogs give up, it’s so hot, and they come over to the kiddie pool, panting desperately. Guen drinks from the kiddie pool before lying down in it again. Dog sniffs it but doesn’t drink; probably has fancier tastes.

Eddie goes in to get his work phone, and he rinses a dog bowl and fills it with fresh tap water before taking it outside. His instincts were right, Dog did not want to drink sun warmed, plastic smelling water, but he does drink from the bowl.

Eddie resumes his seat, and eventually, Robin answers, “Hello?”

“Hi, Hi Robin, it’s Eddie, the groomer?”

“Oh yeah, hi?”

“Hey, yeah, the thing is, Dog is here. Do you think you could come get him, or contact Steve or-”

She snorts, “nah. I’m busy, I can’t get him. Can you just- like, keep him for a bit?”

No one can see him, so Eddie is free to fully scowl with no judgement. What kind of people are they? This is just downright irresponsible. “Look, he is the owners responsibility, so I really do need to insist someone comes-”

“Yeah, actually, you know what, how about I message you Human Steve’s number?”

“Yes, thank you,” and that way I can give him a piece of my mind, Eddie thinks. Dog still doesn’t have a collar on, and that’s just not safe.

It goes to voicemail. Of course it goes to voicemail. Eddie sighs. Okay, so, Dog is really well behaved and seems content enough. He’s currently sniffing his way very thoroughly around Eddie’s lounge, which, fine, whatever.

“Okay, I’m going to give him ten minutes and then I’ll call him again. Okay?” Dog, predictably, doesn’t answer.

Ten minutes later, Eddie is pacing the length of his back yard, listening to the generic automated please leave a message.

Just to be annoying, he hangs up and calls again immediately. Guen’s crashed out on the grass again, but Dog is keeping pace with Eddie, sniffing around on the grass.

Eddie calls a fourth time, getting to the edge of his yard and pausing. He can hear a phone ringing. He pulls his phone away from his head and, sure enough...he hangs up. It stops. He calls again. It starts again. Eddie follows the sound around the side of the house. It’s not even a fun ringtone, it just sounds like the ringtone that the phone probably started with.

He has to call again, but he follows the sound onto his own porch. And there, under the one ratty wicker chair Eddie has one his front porch, is a rolled up set of clothes. Well, shorts and a tee and a pair of ratty boat shoes. And in the pocket, a phone.

Eddie tests it, just to make sure he’s not totally insane. He calls Human Steve. The phone in his other hand starts ringing, his own number lit up on the screen. Next to him Dog whines, really loudly. “Oh my god, has something happened to Steve?” Eddie asks the Dog.

Who doesn’t answer.

“No, wait, that’s stupid. Why would his stuff be here? Oh my god he’s naked. Wherever he is he’s naked.” Eddie forces himself to stop and think for a second, because this makes no fucking sense.

“Maybe he’s gone for a...naturalist walk.” Dog huffs. “No, no you’re right, that’s stupid. I should call Robin, he might be in trouble.”

Robin, thank god, answers, “hi, hi Robin, Dog is still here, but I just found Steve’s clothes like, on my front porch. Even his phone is here, and I’m worried he’s like, not okay.”

“Eddie he’s fine, he can take care of himself-”

“But he’s naked!” Eddie genuinely now is questioning his sanity. He’s looking around, expecting naked Steve to jump out at him at any time.

“Yeah, happens a lot, look, listen Eddie, are you listening to me?”

She actually sounds serious, so Eddie does take a minute, and a deep breath. Dog nudges his hand, and Eddie pets the top of his head reflexively. It’s quite comforting. “Yeah, yeah okay I’m listening.”

“Do you ever wonder why you never see Superman and Clark Kent at the same time?”

It’s so out of left field, it takes what feels like a long time for Eddie to even realize what she’s said, “what?”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“What? No! Robin what has-” she hangs up. “She hung up. What in the actual fuck is wrong with these people?” Eddie stands, considering just fucking...screaming. These people are insane. He has no idea what to do. He doesn’t know what’s happening, or why. He tries to reassure himself this he is fine and he's not like, losing it.

“Fuck it,” Eddie gathers up the pile of clothes, “fuck this. Fuck everything. I’m keeping these, I’m bringing them in the house, and Human Steve can walk home fucking naked.” Eddie stomps into the house with his bundle, leaving it all folded on the kitchen counter, “why would he even leave it there? Does that mean he brought you here?”

Dog sits again at Eddie’s feet, his massive head leaning against Eddie’s side. “I know, people make no sense. No sense at all.” But the irritation slides away really fast, and back into concern. Leaving your clothes, and arguably more importantly, your phone, before going off somewhere is just...irresponsible.

“Okay, okay, we can work this out right, okay. Lets just...work the problem. There has to be an answer. Human Steve did not get abducted, right? Because who would leave his shit on my porch? So that means he left it there on purpose, obviously, so...Human Steve...can’t have gone far, right?”

Dog steps away, and he barks.

“Oh. Oh, so Human Steve is close by?”

Dog barks again.

“Oh. Oh I’m talking to a dog, oh. Well, I mean I talk to dogs all the time, that’s normal, but I mean I know they’re never going to answer-” Dog barks.

And Dog is watching him not like any other dog Eddie’s ever known, and he has known a lot of dogs. “No. No, I’m going crazy. I’m going crazy, because Steve’s clothes are here. And Robin said she was going to cover Steve in glitter, but then you...you were covered in glitter-” Dog barks again.

Eddie’s insane. He’s lost it. That’s the only logical explanation for what’s happening here. He can’t be...this can’t...but Robin talks to Dog like he can understand her. And… “you’re called Steve. And Steve is...also...called Steve.” Dog barks. And every single interaction is a little less insane if...if Dog could actually understand her.

“And...why don’t you see Superman and Clark Kent at the same time…” Eddie trails off. Dog's tail is wagging now.

In Eddie’s defense, no one is ever going to find out about this. So it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Eddie engages in this moment of absolute insanity. He can say this, and then nothing will happen, and then he can go on with his life.

Eddie’s voice is very weak, barely a whisper, when he forces out, “Steve?”

It’s not like how it’s described in the Dungeons and Dragons books. It doesn’t look painful, there’s no bones snapping or pained growling. Just...the fur recedes, like water running away, as Dog stands up and then...there’s Human Steve.

He’s naked.

“You’re naked,” Eddie squeaks, shoving Steve’s clothes at him and turning away. As Eddie listens to Steve pull on his clothes, the gravity of everything else sinks in, “and you’re a werewolf,” Eddie covers his face, “I’ve gone insane, I’m lying outside with heatstroke, I’ve passed out, I’m drowning in four inches of water-”

Strong, but gentle hands turn Eddie, and then carefully wrap around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, “we’re not allowed to tell people,” Steve explains, “people have to work it out for themselves.”

“Oh, like, you could get arrested by the Cryptid FBI or something?”

Steve smiles, and it’s just...so lovely. Even more lovely from this close together. Steve has really good hair...which, makes sense, actually.

“Something like that,” Steve says, still weirdly soft and quiet, considering Eddie knows he’s housing a fucking massive wolf.

“Oh my god I’ve been, we,” Eddie makes an incoherent squeaking noise, “I washed you-oh my god-”

“I know,” Steve grins, “being groomed by your mate is...very important to us. I’m sorry I lied a little but...once you’d done it once I couldn’t stay away. I had to wait for you to find out and...well, Dog found you first,” Steve shrugs, “his impulse control is...questionable.”

Eddie looks down, Steve’s not holding his wrists any more; they’ve migrated to holding hands. Both hands, fingers linked together. Eddie is apparently fine with it, and he takes a second to decide he’s not going to examine that too closely. He swallows thickly, “mates huh?”

“Uh hu.”

“Is that like a magical, werewolf thing?”

“Could say that, yeah.”

“Uh hu. Uh hu,” because Eddie has absolutely no idea what to say to that. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing. Steve’s still looking down at him with that same soft smile, and Eddie has approximately fifty thousand questions. He knows Dog though, knows his temperament, “I may have questions.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” soft, gentle, kind.

“Good to know Robin isn’t certifiable.”

“Debatable,” Steve replies, trying to hide his smile. It doesn’t work at all, and Eddie finds himself smiling back.

“I think...I think I should be allowed to pay for the first date, I’ve have a very well paying customer just lately.”

"And I hear he's such a good boy-"

"Nope, nopenopenope-" Eddie tries to bring his hands up, tries to hide his burning face, Steve doesn't let him. "I'm never living this down."

"Nope."