#grindaxe

     “ add  his  order  to  mine ,  please ,  honey .  i’m  not  gonna  let  him  pay  for  our  coffee  date .  isn’t  that  right ,  love . ”  it wasn’t quite spite that hung in his voice, but more  ...  betrayal, perhaps.  not that he suspected henry cared all too much.  “ pumpkin  spice  latte ,  please .  name  on  the  orders’  king . ”  swiping his card after the two orders were in, waiting for the approving beep and the barista to hand him his receipt before speaking again, softer this time.  “who  the  fuck  is  finley ?  is  that  the  alias  you  picked ?  it’s  nice ,  suits  you . ”

“oh,”     comes the response, quiet and surprised, as if he hadn’t told her exactly that the night before. as if he hadn’t pressed their lips together when he’d murmured the words, had tried his best not to wake her in the first place.   was this rejection?   was this august trying to tell her that he wasn’t interested anymore?  maybe she’d been a bit fast, a bit careless. maybe she shouldn’t have invited him back to her apartment and then expected him to stay the night. he wasn’t obligated to. he wasn’t tied down to her. they weren’t-----     oh.   this is the nicest way for him to tell her that he’s not interested now, something in the back of her head tells her. as if he hadn’t warned her. as if he hadn’t told her, lips pressed against her neck, that he was busy the next day.     “okay,”     she murmurs, voice quieter. a frown tipping down the corners of her mouth, a look in her eyes that she refuses to identify.     “are--  will you--”     he’s pulling his jacket on and raising his eyebrows at her. sally frowns. more at herself than anything else.     “will you call me?”     desperate, pathetic, ridiculous.   stop it, sally!

           “   I can think of one thing a guy could sit on that would prove he wasn’t straight, but I don’t think I should say it in a public place. Otherwise, I don’t like to assume.   ”

@grindaxe​

“You’re an asshole,” he mutters loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to sound like he was starting a deliberate argument. There’s none of Bucky’s old swagger to his voice, none of his easy pre-war confidence as he shuffles barefoot around Steve’s apartment. It’s probably a good sign, though, that Steve hasn’t actually done anything worth being called an asshole in the last few hours. So there’s a spark in there, somewhere.

             if  you  looked  at  him  careful  enough  ,   you’d  be  able  to  see  the  hint  of  a  smile  that  flickered  over  his  lips .     dalton’s  dark  eyes  taking  in  everything  curtis  offered  him  ,   the  control  he  has  over  the  older  man  ,   the  way  he  feels  with  those  eyes  on  him .        ❝  you  don’t  need  to  sweet  talk  me  ,  curtis .  ❞     fingertips  reach  out  to  touch  the  wrist  of  his  love  ,   to  hold  the  hand  that  he’s  commanded  to  kill  another  who’s  spreading  lies  about  what  they’re  doing  here .      his  feet  stretch  ,   standing  on  his  tip  -  toes  to  press  a  kiss  to  curtis’  cheek .    ❝  i  know  you  can  do  this .    okay   ?  ❞

she’s curled up on the couch when he gets home from a meeting with his agent, looking thoughtfully at absolutely nothing, gaze only drifting up to his when he steps into the living room. a wistful smile adorns her lips and she pats the space beside her on the couch. “hi you.” she says softly, and then after a moment: “can i talk to you about something?”