#idmt

Hank was standing on your porch, one arm holding Bishop up whilst the other rested against the wall.  The moonlight meant you could just make out the bruises blossoming on Bishop’s face and the cut above Hank’s eye. They both looked worse for wear.

‘What happened?’

Hank frowned, shaking his head as he continued to support his President’s weight. ‘Long week, sweetheart. Too many things going sideways.’

You nodded, letting a shaky breath as you tried to work out why they were on your porch.

‘What are you…’ Your words trailed off. You weren’t even sure you wanted to ask the question. After weeks of silence you’d assumed that Bishop was done with you; that all of them were. The only person you had talked to was Taza when he had come to check on you the day after you walked out of the clubhouse. You hadn’t let him in, instead asking him for a week of time and space. They’d given you much longer than that - you hadn’t seen anyone else since that night.

‘Tried to take him home but he wouldn’t walk through the fucking door. Insisted that he needed to see you.’ Hank grunted as he answered, trying to keep Bishop upright as he attempted to take an unsteady step towards you.

‘Querida…’

Your stomach flipped at the rough sound of his voice, laced with whiskey and cigarettes and everything you hadn’t let yourself miss.

Pushing away from Hank, Bishop tried to take another step towards you, the edge of his boot catching a gap in the wood of the porch. Your arm was out before you could stop it, wrapping your hand around his bicep whilst Hank reached out to steady him again.

‘Obispo, what are you doing?’ The words left you in a whisper but they somehow still reached Bishop's ears.  He reached out, his hand finding your side to help steady him.

‘Y/n… I…’ He didn’t finish his sentence, his head spinning with thoughts he couldn't quite process. Bishop took another step forward, his movements forcing you backwards as you took on more of his unsteady weight.

‘I can take him home. I just thought…’

You sighed, taking a deep breath and hoping that you wouldn’t come to regret your next words.

‘It’s okay. He can sleep it off on the couch.’

‘You sure?’ No, you weren’t, but you knew Bishop. Even with an entire bottle of whiskey in his system he wasn’t going to do something he didn’t want to do. Tonight it seemed sleeping in his own bed was one of those things.

‘Yeah.’ Dropping your hand from Bishop’s arm, you lowered it to tug on his hand where it still rested lightly on your hip. He looked up at you, eyes dark and hooded. Pushing the memories that look brought up to one side you pulled him forward, though the doorway and into the house.

You led Bishop to the couch, gently pushing him down onto it. His hands found your hips again as you stood in front of him, warm fingers gravitating to the spot where your singlet had ridden up. The feel of his hands on you again for the first time in weeks had you tingling, wanting, but you forced yourself to ignore it, to temper any hopes that came with a drunk Bishop showing up at your door at one am. I didn’t mean anything. It didn’t change anything.

That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you watched Hank let himself out, catching your eye with a knowing look before he pulled the door shut.

In the time it had taken Hank to leave Bishop had let his body tip forward slightly, his head coming to rest against your stomach. The tickle of his breaths against your skin had you clenching your eyes shut.

He wasn't making this easy. He never made things easy.  All you wanted to do was reach your hand up and start running your fingers through his hair, to rub the worry off his forehead and take the exhaustion from his eyes. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Bishop, his voice muffled by the material of your top.

'Dance with me, querida.' Hands still planted on your hips, Bishop's body started swaying ever so slightly from side to side, his head still pressed against you.

'Dance? Can you even stand up, Obispo?'

'Don't need to. This is good.'

'There's no music.'

Bishop started humming, and your chest ached even more. How were you going to stay away from this sweet mess of a  man? How could he not see what you could be for each other; how you could hold each other up just like you were doing right now?

You gave in, letting the slight pull of Bishop's hands tug your body into a sway as your arms fell over his shoulders, coming to rest on his back. You stayed like that, warm and close with the knowledge that this was only going to hurt you in the long run. You didn't have it in you to care though. You'd missed him, missed his touch and his smell and his sounds. You'd just have to savour what you got until day broke and you lost it all again.

Eventually, Bishop's humming trailed off, and you felt his breathing start to slow as his body got heavier in your hold. He was falling asleep.

You lifted your hands from his back, gently pushing him forward so that his weight was back on the couch. Pulling his kutte off his shoulders you took a step away from him, allowing his hands to fall off your hips and immediately feeling the loss. Draping the heavy leather over the edge of the couch you knelt down, glad Bishop had no objections as you pulled off his shoes.  He wasn't one to let you do these things for him, not normally. Maybe he was finally too exhausted to be stubborn.

Placing the boots to one side, you looked up to find Bishop’s head had fallen back against the couch, his eyes closed.

‘Bish, lift your legs.’

‘Hmm?’ You shook your head, wondering if his streak of cooperation was coming to an end.

‘Lift your legs onto the couch. If you sleep like that you’re going to get a crick in your neck and you’ll be even more of a grump tomorrow.’

‘ - not a grump.’ The words were mumbled as you tugged on Bishop’s leg, helping him to get horizontal. Pulling a throw off the back of the couch you leant forward to drape it over his body. You were pulling it over his legs when you felt his hand wrap around your arm, pulling you back towards him.

His eyes were closed again but there was the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You wondered what had put it there; what about this moment was making him happy.

‘Y/n?’ You let your body follow his pull once again, coming to sit next to him on the edge of the couch. You couldn’t stop your hand from reaching out to touch his forehead, trying to smooth away the furrow that seemed to be ever present on his brow.

‘Yes, Obispo?

‘You’re a shirt thief.’ You rolled your eyes, letting out a huff at being caught. You’d stolen the dark green shirt from Bishop months ago, feigning innocence when he’d come looking for it. He knew you had it, but it had become an unspoken agreement that thinking about why you kept it was the start of both of you reading too much into things.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Bishop’s eyes sprang open at your words, the hand that still had a hold on your arm tugging you down and closer to his chest. Even drunk, the man was strong. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, soft and warm with hints of whiskey and nicotine.

For a moment, just a brief one, you forgot. You forgot why you hadn’t spoken; why he was on your couch instead of in your bed and why the kiss felt like it was breaking your heart in two.

Just as quickly as it happened though, Bishop’s wandering free hand on your thigh reminded you of why it needed to stop it. This couldn’t happen, not when he was drunk and you were still in limbo.

You pulled away from him, hands pressing onto his shoulders to lift yourself off the couch and away from his body. Bishop stiffened at the loss but he didn't fight you, closing his eyes instead. You ghosted your fingers over his bruised cheek, letting your lips touch his skin one last time before finally stepping away.

‘Get some sleep, Bishop.’

Turning away, you started to walk your bedroom when his voice pulled you back one last time.

‘Y/n?’

‘Yeah, Bish?' You halted your steps with a sigh, not turning around as you spoke.

Scoffing, you shook your head. ‘We’ve been doing… whatever this is, for a year now. People see us; they see that I mean something to you. Or at least they think I do. It’s too late to protect me from the risk of becoming collateral damage’

Eyes darkening, Bishop took a step away from you. ‘It’s not.’

Letting out a low, frustrated growl you stepped back into his space, pushing your palm against his chest with your fingers coming to rest on his Presidente flash. The reminder of the source of Bishop's fears was hot under your skin. ‘It is. But you know what? I don’t think that’s actually the problem. I think you’re scared, Bishop. I think you’re scared to hold onto this, onto us, in-case it disappears. And I get that..’ You paused, trying to stop the quiver in your voice. '...But what’s the point of protecting your heart when it’s getting pummeled by what we’re doing now anyway?’

Unsucessful at hiding the wince your words elicited, Bishop refused to meet your eyes. You moved your hand up from his chest, resting your palm against his cheek.

‘You need to make up your mind here, Bishop, for both of us. I can’t keep pretending that I don't watch you leave wishing that you'd walk right back. Wishing that we could wake up slow and and share the early hours of the morning together instead of the silence I wake up to now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not...’ You stopped short. This was it. If you said it now, you couldn’t take it back. You couldn’t take the moment back. You’d already laid yourself bare tonight though. What was one more thing to add to the list?

Rubbing your thumb across Bishop's cheek you gave it a gentle push up, forcing him to meet your gaze.

‘I love you, Obispo. I’m in love with you. I know that wasn’t in the plan but...’ You paused, trying to find the right words. Bishops dark eyes were finally looking back at you, a mix of apprehension and ... something warm. Something that he’d been trying to keep hidden for months. You needed words that would convince him to stop hiding whatever that was.

‘You’re my safe place, Bish. You’re the one I want to share the good things with and the one I want there when things go to shit. I want to be that for your too. I want to be the one you can come to when things feel like they're exploding around you. I don't need the details. I know you can't always give me that but I can still be there for you. We can still make this work. You just have to want it to work, Bishop. I do and I think you do too.'

Bishop clenched and unclenched his fist, his fingers starting to ache as he resisted the urge to reach up and wrap them around your wrist. He knew though that if he touched you, if he made even the the smallest contact he wouldn't be able to let you go.

‘Y/n - ’

Shaking your head you ran your thumb over Bishop’s lips, halting his words. ‘No. Think about it. Please. Don’t say anything that you can’t take back.’

You finally dropped your hand from his face, leaning forward slightly to place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. Your next words were a whisper in the noise around you as you stepped away.

You could feel him pressed against you, chest to your back with his face buried in the crook of your neck. As though he needed to be as close as possible to you, wrapping you up in him so you didn’t disappear.

‘Bishop?’

The room stayed quiet after your whisper and the steady thump thump of Bishop’s heartbeat against your back let you know that he was still asleep behind you.

The temptation to stay where you were was strong, especially with how much you had missed being wrapped up in his arms. You couldn’t stay, though, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a sleepy, needy Bishop when he woke up. Your resolve would absolutely crumble if you were met with his dark, morning-confused eyes.

Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly out of his hold, lifting Bishop’s arm and gently lowering it into the space between you. He let out a soft grunt at the movement and you stopped, hoping that you hadn’t woken him.

When he stayed still you slowly moved your body out from under the sheets, swinging your legs to the floor. The bed shifted slightly and you turned to find that Bishop had moved, looking for you in his sleep but deciding that your pillow was an acceptable alternative. He’d wrapped his arm around it, face shoved against the material as though he were looking for your smell. You smiled softly at the sight, letting yourself enjoy it for a moment before moving again. Picking up Bishop’s shirt from the end of the bed, you finally forced yourself out of the room.

You made your way to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker and wincing when it pierced the morning quiet. Minutes later and warm mug in hand you moved to the porch,  the air outside already hot and sticky. Falling onto one of the rickety wooden chairs you had outside, you tried to force your mind to think about anything but the man in the house behind you.

It was a hard ask. You couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you’d done together. All the time you’d spent wrapped in each other.

Bishop had taken his time when he first saw you at the clubhouse, sussing you out from afar. He’d finally made his move after watching you take out Angel and Coco at pool, complimenting your winning shot.

You’d never flaunted your arrangement but had never tried to hide it either. In the early days whenever you were at the clubhouse you’d gravitate towards each other. You would be talking to Letty at the bar and he’d make his way over, offering a quiet hey querida with a kiss to your cheek. Slowly but surely his arm would find your back, creeping up as his body edged closer to you before it ended up over your shoulder, fingers dangling dangerously against your chest. That was how it always started, how it continued as you found yourself making dinner for him and meeting him for lunch at the clubhouse. Found yourself wanting to take care of him and his brothers. And now here you were, deep down the rabbit hole and in love with him.

You stayed outside for a while, coffee long finished as you let yourself get stuck in memories. It was dangerous territory but you couldn’t help it, not when he was so close.

You were still stuck there when the creaking of the porch door startled you. Turning your head, you found Bishop making his way outside, scruffy from sleep in his jeans and that black vest that always got you feeling certain ways. Today was no different.

He didn’t say anything, only tipping his head slightly before lowering his body onto the chair next to yours with a wince. You stayed quiet too, still not sure where his head was at.

You weren’t going to be the one to break the silence this time. You had already said all that you could. Bishop needed to be the one to make the decision, whatever it was. He knew what yours would be.

With that in mind and unable to take much more of his brooding quiet, you gathered yourself together and stood up. Bishop stayed facing the backyard as you moved, still silent.

‘I’m going to shower. Coffee’s probably cold so you’ll have to make a fresh pot. There's muffins in there too. Eat one, please.’ You still couldn’t turn off caring about him, assuming he’d need something to soak up the whiskey still floating through his system.

Forcing yourself not to look back, you walked into the house.

You had no expectations that Bishop would still be there when you exited the bathroom half an hour later, your brow furrowing when you saw him sitting at the kitchen bench, cup of coffee clasped firmly between his hands. You had assumed that he would use your time in the shower to sneak away, making one of the quiet exits he’d become good at given the weeks of silence.

You refused to let yourself read into what any of it might mean. Instead, with a towel wrapped tightly around you, you crossed the hallway to your bedroom and moved straight to your closet.  You stared at the clothes in front of you, trying to make a decision about what to wear. So simple, yet today it felt like the decision process required more effort than you could muster.

‘The blue one.’ Heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice you turned around, the towel almost falling away from where you were holding it up under your arms.

‘Jesus, Bishop. You scared me.’

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to.’

‘S’okay.’

He was leaning against the doorway, hands clasped in front of him and eyes boring into yours. Something about him was different. Something had changed since you had left him on the porch.

Doing your best to ignore the spark of hope that elicited, you turned your attention back to your closet, racking your brain as you tried to work out why he would have an affinity for one of your oldest pieces of clothing.

‘You were wearing it the first time I saw you.’ It was like he could read your mind. You didn’t turn to face him though, your hand reaching out to touch the light blue material.

‘I’ve never worn this to the clubhouse.’

‘That wasn’t the first time I saw you.’ Frowning, you let the material slip through your fingers and turned back around, taking a stop towards him.

‘What are you talking about?’  Bishop smiled then, the first real smile you’d seen on his face in a while.

‘You were outside the ice cream shop in town. Some pendejo was getting too close and you were having none of it. You clocked him right as he tried to put his hands on you.’

You frowned, the memory now clear in your head. You didn’t remember seeing Bishop at all that day. ‘‘I didn’t think anyone saw that.’

‘Oh, we did. It was fucking beautiful. I was ready to go over there but something told me that you didn’t need the help.’

‘That guy was entitled asshole.’

Bishop chuckled softly. ‘I have no doubts.’ He shifted slightly, a look of uncertainty taking over his features. ‘Can we talk, Y/n?’

You frowned, looking down at your current attire. ‘Right now, Bish?’

He winced at your words but you could tell that it had taken him a lot to come to you. He’d clearly built himself up for the conversation.

‘Please.’ The slight crack in his voice was your undoing and you nodded, moving towards the bed to sit down. You didn’t check to see if he followed your movements, insteading tugging the towel tighter around you as you lowered your body onto the mattress.

You watched him fidget, his hands ringing together in front of him as he worked through what he wanted to say.

‘That first time I saw you, you were… radiant. Just kicking that guy’s ass and taking no shit. And every day since then you’ve been the same, Y/n. You take no shit, but you offer up so much of yourself to us. To me. You take care of the guys like you’ve known them your whole life, like they’re your brothers and they love you for it. I…’ Bishop paused, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes again. ‘I love you for it. I love you, and I think you’ve known that for a while. I have and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner... You’re right, it scared me. The thoughts and memories that stirred up scared me because I’ve had it before.’

He paused again, shifting in place and you took the moment to really look at him. His eyes were bright and maybe even a little glassy, but they stayed locked on yours as he started to speak again.

‘I had it all in the palm of my hand and it just disappeared. Right from under my fucking nose. But when I think of you, I think of warmth and family and a ring on your finger and it fucking terrifies me because I want all of that again. I want it with you.’

You forced yourself to stay still, resisting every urge you had to get up and go to him.  Bishop needed to get this out and you going to wrap yourself around him wasn’t going to help that, no matter how much you wanted to. You could feel your resolve slipping, though.

Letting his words settle, you took a deep breath, choosing your own carefully in hopes that it would help him to see that he didn’t have to keep living with the past pressing down on him.

‘You deserve to be happy, Bish, and you deserve all the good things that come with that. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring and neither do you. That has nothing to do with the life that you’ve chosen -  that’s just how things are.’ You saw him open his mouth, ready to say something but you raised your hand, stopping him. ‘You can’t predict the future, Bishop, and you know that. But if you keep denying yourself this based on the past, if you keep focusing on the hurt that might happen, you’re only doing yourself a disservice. You're not making use of everything you’ve survived to get to this moment.’

Bishop shook his head, brow furrowed. You could see the wheels in his head turning, trying to match what he wanted with what he thought he deserved.

‘I …’ He paused, ringing his hands together again where they were still clasped together. When he finally spoke his voice was soft, as though he were sharing a deep secret. ‘ .. You’re like bottled sunshine, querida. You make the fucked up things just a little bit brighter. I wasn’t sure if I had a right to use that; to taint it with my shit.’

His words made your heart ache and you wanted to go to him, to pull his doubts straight out of him. But you only had your words. He just needed to believe you.

‘You do, Bish, and I promise I want you to use it.’ You offered him a shaky smile, trying to hold back building tears. ’If it makes you feel better, you can return the favour.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You can make my fucked up shit brighter too.’

That finally got the corner of his mouth to quirk up and the vice he’d had on your heart eased ever so slightly. You could see him finally hearing what you were saying. That he could trust what you had and that he could trust himself with it.

You stood up, taking quick steps to stand in front of him. Reaching your hand out you cupped his cheek, lightly running your thumb across it. Bishop’s eyes closed at the contact, his face tipping further into your palm.

‘It’s only one question, Obispo. Just one.’ You paused, making sure he was looking at you, and really seeing you, before you whispered your next words. ‘Do you want this?’

He didn’t didn’t reply straight away but Bishop’s eyes stayed focused on you as he slowly lifted his hand to wrap around your wrist. Your heart plummeted, thinking it was because his answer was going to be no and he was going to move your hand off his face. He surprised you though, just like he always did. His free hand reached out to cup the side of your face, rubbing away the stray tear you hadn’t been able to stop from falling.

It felt like an eternity before he answered your question, his words piercing the silence in the room.

‘I do, Y/n. I want all of it.’

Bishop moved his other hand from your wrist to your cheek, cradling your face. You saw the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth before his lips met yours, hungry and seeking you out as he tried to make up for lost time. You moved with him, lifting one of your arms up to wrap around his neck.

This kiss was different from the ones you shared before. You could feel the promise in it as his lips pushed against yours, teeth nipping and tongues tangling. It was warm and alive and everything you knew you could be together. Everything you had been missing.

Eventually you had to pull away, breathing laboured as you suddenly felt Bishop’s hands drop from your face. They moved down your body to your thighs as he lifted you up and against him in one swift movement. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, the towel barely keeping you covered against the material of his jeans as it drifted up your body with the movement.

Bishop’s hands were like fire on your bare skin, his tight grip on your thighs eliciting a soft moan as your wanting aches started to build. You let your body fall heavier against him, relishing in the fact that this time you didn’t have to think about whether or not you’d get to be wrapped up in him again. You felt his lips press against your forehead, lingering before he spoke again

‘I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together, mi amor.’

You let out a quiet laugh, speaking through the kisses you’d started to press up the side of his neck. ‘I expected nothing less from you, Obispo, but I’ve learnt to outlast your stubbornness.’

Bishop chuckled, the vibrations of it making your toes curl. ‘Guess that means I’ll have to keep you around, huh?’