#lewcest

Todd stands in the corner of the room, leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed and frowning as he watches you. Bob stares at you with bewildered eyes, not believing the words you just said.

Bob knew he should’ve said something earlier, both him and Todd, about their feelings for you. But how do they even broach the subject without sounding like some pervs looking for a threesome instead of an actual relationship? They tried to bring it up, either one of them chickened out or said it didn’t feel like the right time, so they resolved to scare off anyone who tried to ask you out. Was it smart? No. Was it selfish? Yes. But they couldn’t fathom the alternative.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for them, they weren’t exactly subtle and you weren’t an idiot. You had an inkling they may have felt some type of way about you, especially after some guy from your Public Policy class asked you out while you were studying in the library and Todd literally growled like some kind of guard dog before telling the guy you were busy while Bob ushered you away. Yet, you hesitated. They never mentioned being open to a third and you didn’t want to assume. Plus, if they really had feelings, they had their chance to let you know.

Movie nights where you’re almost always cuddled up between them with your head on Todd's shoulder and legs across Bob's lap, that summer you vacationed with them at Todd’s summer home up in Connecticut. You fucking live with them for Christ’s sake, they could’ve asked you out over your morning coffee if they wanted. Enough was enough.

Which is what leads you to now. They came to your room dressed in their pj’s, and DVDs in hand, ready for your weekly movie night and the last thing they were expecting to hear you say was that you’re going to need to rain check because you’re going on a date. And Todd and Bob didn’t like the sound of that. Not one fucking bit.

“Wha- what did you say?”

Your eyes flicker over to Bob before you refocus on the mirror, reapplying your lip-gloss, “I have a date tonight. Sorry, I know tonight’s usually our movie night, but it just totally slipped my mind to mention it to you guys.”

Bob blinks rapidly, a look of disappointment flashing across his face. Todd's jaw clenches, his hands flexing in and out of fists as your words hit them. You… are going… on a… date?

Bob stutters, trying to form a coherent sentence as he watches you toss your lip gloss down and try and choose which jacket fits your outfit best, “Wha- what? Since when? With who?”

You freeze for a split second. You knew that once they learned who it was with, it would piss them off, but then again, isn't that why you said yes to Evans' invitation anyway?

“Since… Evan… asked me out… yesterday.” Fuck, where was that confidence you had just a minute ago?

That makes Todd finally react. He pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against and scoffs, “You are not going out with fucking Evan of all people.”

You turn around and face him, eyes widening just a little when your nose brushes against him, but your face snaps back to neutral before you think he or Bob notices. Yeah, going out with the guy who’s president of the fraternity that rivals Todds probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Okay, wow, step back there buddy.” Todd barely moves an inch when you put your hand on his chest. You cock a brow up at him. He cocks one at you. Want me to move? Make me.

“Robby, you mind coming to get your man for me?” Bob grabs a hold of his boyfriend's hand and pulls him back to give you space, ignoring the scowl on the frat president's face, “Okay, I get it, you aren't Evans biggest fan, but it’s just one date. I haven't been on one for a while, so I figured, ya know… let’s see what the dating game has to offer. Not like anyone else has asked me out or anything…” you trail off, looking at them expectantly, seeing if they would confirm your suspicions.

Bob and Todd share a look. You cross your arms as a silent conversation happens between them, before you’ve had enough waiting. You sigh in disappointment, roll your eyes and push past them for the bedroom door, “Whatever, don’t wait up.”

“W-wait!” Bob stumbles, blocking your exit by extending his arm across the door, “Just wait.”

“Bob, move. I’m going to be late.” You try to step around him, but he doesn't budge.

Todd cuts in, a slight vulnerability in his voice that you’re not used to hearing, “Don’t go out with him.”

You raise a brow at them both, ignoring how much they are crowding you despite it making your heart race, “W-why shouldn’t I?”

“Just – because – there’s a lot of reasons why!”

“Bob, that is not a good enough answer.”

“Don’t.” He’s so close now, you can feel his breath on your lips. Almost for a second, you swear you can see a shimmer of gold in his eyes before he blinks and it’s gone again, “Don’t go out with him, please.”

“Why not!? Ugh, oh my god, just tell me! You keep skirting around the issue and being all weirdly overprotective. You guys act like this every time someone asks me out or shows a little bit of interest so just tell me. Why?"

Bob looks to the frat president across the room, almost like he's asking for permission to act. Todd nods, and that's all he needs, but Bob's never good at talking about his feelings, so instead of telling you, he decides to show you.

You barely have a second to comprehend it, a surprised sound leaving you when Bob surges forward and kisses you. It was like a cord snapped in him. All those months of tension, unspoken feelings being pushed down, now coming out into the open.

Bob pulls back first, hot breath against your lips, panting like he just finished running a marathon, “That’s why…” he whispers, searching your face for any type of reaction.

You blink, face hot and flushed as you try to speak but all you can come up with is, “O-oh.”

“Oh? I-is that ‘Oh’ as in good o-or ‘Oh’ as in bad?”

“Um… good! Definitely a good ‘Oh’.”

That seems to be enough for him, because next thing you know, his lips are on you again. He's careful with you, lips never leaving you as his gentle hands come around and firmly grip your hips, pulling you across the room. Soon that sweet, tender kiss turns into a full blown make out session, hurried and full of tongue. Now that Bob’s finally got a taste of you, he’s addicted.

The bed dips beside you, and your eyes flutter open to see Todd palming himself, his hand running up and down the growing bulge in his sweats. The bulge is noticeable. Very noticeable. You feel a gush between your legs when he starts grinding against his palm, hearing his little moans as he chases his pleasure.

Todd winks, his smirk growing when he notices your staring. You snap your eyes and try to focus on Bob, like you weren't caught getting off on Todd touching himself while you’re on Bob's lap. 

Deciding to test the waters Todd toys with the hem of your shirt, and when you don't make him stop, he stuffs his hand under, cupping and fondling your breast. Your gasp makes both their cocks twitch, “You gotta learn how to share Robby.”

“Shut up,” Bob mutters against your lips, “Fuck, I could kiss you for hours and never get bored.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bob actually whines when Todd interrupts, not wanting to let you go. You barely have a chance to register that you're on Todd's lap now before he’s on you, “My turn.” 

Todd takes his time, savoring you as he explores your mouth with his tongue. He starts moving your hips back and forth, grinding you against him. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit makes you whimper, hands coming up and tugging on his hair. Todd moans into the kiss, ready to flip you over when you suddenly pull away.

“Wait, wait –” You seem to finally remember that there was somewhere you had to be, “Before we, I mean, before I forget, um, just, just, let me text him I’m not going to make it so he’s not waiting for –”

You don’t even need to finish your sentence before Todd's grabbing your phone out of your back pocket, “Already taken care of, ‘Sorry, Evan, can’t make it, getting dicked down as we speak’.”

“Todd!” You warn him, sliding off his lap so you can be in the middle of Bob and Todd, “You better not.”

Todd snickers, typing something quickly before tossing your phone on the other end of your bed. His nose brushes against your cheek before he whispers into your ear, “It’s not exactly a lie.” Before he’s back to kissing you.

Bob gulps as he watches you and Todd, mouthwatering even more as Todd squeezes your ass, eliciting a surprised squeak from you. Should he start kissing your neck? Should he wait until Todd lets him in? Should he just cut in like Todd did?

Either sensing his dilemma or you’re just missing the other set of lips that should be on you, your hand reaches for Bob, grabbing and tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt. He seems to get the hint and start kissing up and down your neck. You shudder as you feel his teeth graze along your skin, gasping when you feel a nip. Bob smirks before he starts leaving a multitude of hickies on your pulse point.

Slowly, Bob moves closer, nipping at your jaw and kissing your cheek before it becomes as sloppy as a three-way kiss can get. Todd’s tongue is in your mouth, Bob’s saliva on your cheek, their noses bumping together as they try to keep a rhythm that was quickly disappearing into a messy frenzy of neediness and desperation of all your built-up feelings.

You don’t know who started taking their clothes off first but soon you're in nothing but your underwear, Todd’s only got his shirt on, and Bob’s in his birthday suit, leaking precum down your thigh as he humps your leg. Todd nips at your bottom lip as he stuffs his hands in your underwear, cupping you. 

Todd groans when he feels how wet you are, his dick aching to be around you, to be fully engulfed in you. “Can I touch you, pretty girl? Wanna make you feel good.”

You shudder as you feel his fingers ghost against your folds, your hand on the back of Bob's neck tightening, “Please…”

You gasp when Todd's finger enters you, stretching you wider than you were expecting, the girth and length of him surprising you. Your pussy clenches when you imagine the stretch of Todd’s cock when he’ll finally fuck you. Him and Bob. Fuck, they might break you.

It’s a tight fit but Bob finds his way in your underwear too, his thumb circling your clit at a steady rhythm. You whine, pathetically grinding against both their hands, “Oh my god! Fuck, Bob!”

“You like that pretty girl? Robby’s making you feel good playing with your clit?”

You whimper, barely keeping it together, “Y-yes! S-s’good!” Then you gasp, holding them both tighter, “Todd! Bob! Please, m’gonna -”

“Come on baby girl, cum for us, cum all over our hands.”

Your nails leave indentations from where you hold them, legs shaking, toes curling as broken gasps escape you. Your body gives out from under you, but Todd's arm that’s hooked around your waist and Bob's hand on your back keeps you upright. You whine when they keep playing with you, it’s too much. “Todd,” You weakly push his arm back, “M’sensitive.”

Todd chuckles, but nods at Bob and they both back off, “Okay, okay.” And right then, an idea flickers through his eyes. The frat president smirks and turns to Bob, holding his fingers to Bob's red, swollen lips, “Open.” Bob’s breath hitches, his pupils growing big and then he opens wide, his tongue rolling out like a dog begging for water. Todd places his slick coated fingers in his mouth, “Suck em’ clean.”

Bob doesn’t need to be told twice. He moans, using his one free hand to pull Todds closer, shoving his fingers deeper into his mouth as he tastes you. Your heart stutters as you watch them. Oh… oh you can get used to this.

Bob doesn’t take his eyes off Todd when he pulls away with a wet pop. You have half a mind to grab them both by the backs of their necks and smash their faces together, have them put on a show for you for the rest of the night. But that’ll have to wait for another night because before you know it, they’re crowding you again, hovering over you with hungry eyes. And what Todd says next makes you shiver with anticipation.

“This isn’t the end of the night pretty girl, me and Robby still haven’t cum yet and I meant it when I said you were getting dicked down tonight.”

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"Happy to take your money, Garcia. My money's on the mobster," he quipped, throwing down a ten of his own and gesturing at an alpha with slicked back hair on the inside of the booth a few from the group had taken up residence in. He had his arm around the only female in the pack and was quietly chatting with a very animated man with an obnoxious gold chain and the kind of showy muscles that come not from hard labor like the ones under the sleeves of the alpha they'd deemed the Cowboy. This one that Bob quietly referred to as the Greaser had a small, barely perceivable smile and watched his mate with a fondness that made Bob's own heart ache. As much as he hated to, Bob had to admit Jake might just be right. And Bob wasn't even sure the cowboy was an alpha despite the rest of the group readily agreeing.

Mickey seemed to be having some doubts as well. He smiled at Hangman, but it came off as put on, the kind of confidence his erstwhile teammate never had to fake. After all, Jake Seresin was a neverending well of self-regard.

"What makes you think that? Yeah, the mobster is definitely an alpha, but he's not commanding the space the way the cowboy is." Nat, an alpha herself, turned to Bob and rolled her eyes.

Hangman grinned. It looked less inviting and charming the way it did when he flashed it at the single betas and omegas who came to the bar and more the smile of someone who knew they'd won the game before it even began. Fanboy's cheery grin visibly faltered.

"I tried to chat up the female," Jake admitted, much to everyone but his chagrin. Even Nat raised her eyebrows, but Hangman was too busy being smug to pay their surprised reactions any mind.

"That's a level of ballsy I didn't think even you were capable of, Seresin," Rooster shot at him, taking a lazy sip of his beer, face nonplussed even when Jake turned his Cheshire grin to the squad's only omega.

"What? You jealous, Bradshaw?"

Before Rooster could bite back, Payback cut him off.

"Get to the point, Bagman. At least give Mickey the courtesy of knowing why he's losing money tonight." When Mickey shot him a fake hurt look, Reuben just shrugged and grinned. They all knew that Fanboy's proverbial goose was cooked.

"Right, so where was I?" Jake drawled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Rooster, who was doing his best to ignore the obnoxiously cocky alpha who was blatantly peacocking for his attention. Again.

"They need to fuck and get it over with," Nat muttered into Bob's ear right as he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink. He should've known to brace himself the second she leaned in conspiratorially, but her little asides routinely caught the WSO off guard. It took a kind of effort Bob had practiced as long as he'd known Phoenix, but he was able to swallow his mouthful of Sprite without sputtering or choking. His glass, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

Fortunately, Phoenix was on top of it, instantly mopping up the spilled drink with the kind of speed and efficiency that meant she'd already carefully weighed the pros and cons of her snide remark before it even left her lips. When the others turned towards them, concerned, Bob waved them off, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin Natasha handed him with a smirk.

"Anyway," Hangman said, finally turning to face Fanboy, "I was talking to the female of the group - definitely an alpha, by the way - and the greaseball glared at me like he wanted to blow my damn head off. He stormed over, put his arm around her shoulders, and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost."

"What did he actually say? The exact words used?" Coyote spoke up.

Jake only grinned more. "He told me to get my goddamn hands off his girl and fuck off."

Most alphas would be at least repentant about treading on another's territory as laughably outdated as that notion was, but Jake just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Typical.

The squabbling only got louder, so Bob used his empty glass as an excuse to get away. His call for refill requests fortunately was ignored just like it normally was, so he didn't have to haul half a dozen various beers across the crowded bar. And he didn't have the voice of his mom in his ear, scolding him for not being a gentleman like he did when he didn't ask at all. It was a win-win all around.

That was one thing about being the quiet beta of the group. When he was younger, Bob resented how easily overlooked he was. 'A wallflower,' his sisters called him when he told them about how he was always passed over by his peers at school. 'A sweet, upstanding young gentleman,' his grandma declared him to be as she pinched his cheeks until they hurt. 'A late bloomer,' his pa deemed him when Bob didn't get the same growth spurt at the same time all the other boys did. 'Just like your dad,' his mom would say with a wistful smile, no doubt thinking about their younger years. He didn't like any of it.

But, grudgingly, Bob Floyd learned the benefits of being generally overlooked. Anything he did well always shocked and impressed the others around him. The few moments he'd let his wit out to cut like a fresh rapier, his opponents were always thrown off. And the few people who did notice him, like Natasha Trace and, eventually the entire Dagger Squad, were the kind of friends you made for life, the ones who saw Bob for who he was and liked him for it.

Which is why it surprised him when one of the omegas from this new pack looked straight at him from across the bar and gave him a faint smile. Bob had to fight the immediate urge to turn around, to see who else this man was looking at. But he saw the eye contact and the way the omega appeared briefly hesitant at Bob's lack of response. And his blatant staring. So quickly, Bob smiled back. It was perfunctory but natural. Not one of those he'd give in the hallway while passing any number of faceless, nameless officers he'd most likely never see again. It was genuine. And even across the room, the omega seemingly sensed the sincerity, and his face relaxed.

Whatever little moment was or wasn't happening got abruptly interrupted when another bar patron accidentally walked right into Bob, who barely avoided the man's drink spilling on him. He'd been in this situation more times than he could recall. Fortunately, this man that Bob quickly clocked as another beta, one with long brown hair and a gentle face, acted more concerned with Bob's state of being than the condition of his now half-spilled glass of white wine.

"I'm so sorry," the beta said, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and checking Bob over for errant stains. "Don't know how I didn't see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Bob assured him with a smile. Fortunately, his dress shirt was just as clean and crisp as when he'd put it on after drills that afternoon. "No harm done. It happens all the time."

Their interaction was fairly short: the stranger apologized a few more times, tried to start mopping up the spill with his handful of napkins until Penny threw Bob a spare rag to use instead, and even turning down a free refill (a first that he could remember from Penny), declaring that the incident must be God telling him that he's cut off for the night. It didn't surprise Bob when the handsome beta walked back to the corner with that strange pack, right into the arms of a different small omega who immediately inspected him like he'd been in a serious accident as opposed to the human equivalent of a fender bender. Bob watched as the beta reassured his mate, nuzzling his forehead against the omega's cheek until the latter visibly relaxed.

"Weird evening, isn't it?" Penny asked when Bob finally stepped up to the counter, placing his empty glass there for a refill.

"Yeah, there's something about that pack," Bob admitted, watching as the bartender swept his old glass away in a motion as easy as breathing. "The squad's been taking bets about them all night."

"I meant the two spills in less than five minutes, both of which you were involved with," Penny said with a grin. Bob had the decency to blush, something that only made Penny laugh mirthfully. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't charge you a clean up fee."

Quick as a blink, the bartender turned to the soda fountain, filling up a brand new glass. She turned and set it down on the counter in front of Bob and popped a new straw in it in one fluid motion with the kind of easy grace that always secretly astounded the pilot.

"By the way, you left your jacket," Penny added, nodding over to a black lump of fabric in one of the bar chairs.

Confused, Bob picked up what appeared to be a much-loved but clean hoodie with the name of some band he didn't recognize splashed on the front. Bob Floyd didn't wear hoodies, preferring zip up sweaters instead. And he certainly didn't listen to the kind of music where the band spelled their name in letters so jagged and stylized that he could barely make out the words. But he could see why Penny thought it was his. Written on the label in bold, sharp script were three familiar letters - B O B.

Before he could do more than process the name, a voice came from behind him.

"Um…that's mine, actually."

It was a nice voice: low, quiet, and so soft around the edges that it was almost a hum. It was the kind of voice that was more used to rounding the ends of sentences into a question even when stating an objective fact. The kind of voice Bob could easily imagine murmured into his ear late at night, one he could feel through a rumble in a lover's chest pressed against his back.

Maybe it should've been a surprise when Bob turned around to see that omega from the new pack, the one who smiled at him from across the room. But for some reason? It wasn't.

His voice fit his appearance. Whether it was the mop of brown curls, the cozy and clearly well-loved sweater, or the openness in his face, one word came to Bob's mind: soft.

But there was more to this omega than that. There was some steel there. Even mated omegas tended to avoid being alone with someone unmated that they didn't know. Even a fairly harmless beta like Bob could prove a threat in a room full of liquored up and rowdy patrons. But this omega didn't even seem nervous about Bob himself, just about interrupting his conversation with Penny.

And when Bob spent too long staring at this handsome stranger, those eyes went from warm and friendly to flinty and hard. The tentative smile on his face stretched taut, as if putting on a gruesome mask of the kindness that was previously on his face.

Before the omega could ask, Bob quickly blurted out, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just…" He gestured down at the tag and the faded name in Sharpie, his words failing him.

"Surprised someone still writes their name on the inside of their clothes as an adult?"

And a sharp sense of humor to boot. Bob added that to his mental tally of this omega who was becoming more fascinating by the minute.

"No," Bob said with an awkward little laugh. "No, it's not that. That makes sense if you're living with other people. Keeps you from getting your clothes stolen."

The stranger nodded, his stance becoming slightly less defensive even as he crossed his arms in front of him.

"I was just surprised is all," Bob continued, pointing at the tag. "Penny, the owner, thought this was mine."

The man across from him paused, blinking rapidly, a cute little crease of confusion forming between his eyebrows.

"Wait, but…" He pointed at the name tag on Bob's shirt, the one that said "FLOYD" in all capital letters.

"Last name," Bob explained. He extended his hand to shake before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Bob Floyd."

The other man paused, eyeing his outstretched hand hesitantly. This wasn't exactly a typical greeting to a mated omega, but Bob wagered this wasn't your typical mated omega anyway.

After a moment of hesitation, he took Bob's hand, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Bob Reynolds. No fancy title. Just Bob."

Their hands lingered perhaps a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, and Bob had to ignore the way his heart pounded just a hair faster.

They talked for what felt like minutes but stretched out to over an hour. On the surface, the two Bobs had little in common beside their names. After all, what would a straight A student turned decorated Navy lieutenant have in common with a middle school drop out who spent most of his adult life struggling with addiction and housing insecurity even have to say to each other? Yet they continually found common ground.

"Vodka soda?" the Other Bob asked as Bob took a new glass of Sprite from Penny. At Bob's frown of confusion, Bob Reynolds gestured at the drink. "Drinking a vodka soda?"

"Oh!" Bob Floyd exclaimed, chuckling a little nervously under his breath. He was used to the teasing from his heavy-drinking friends, but experience didn't make the sobriety talk any easier. "No, just a Sprite." Pointing at the dark cola on the bar next to the other man, he added, "Rum and Coke?"

"Close," Bob R. said with a little laugh of his own. "Just hold the rum and replace the Coke with a Dr. Pepper. I've been clean for two years this coming February. Not breaking that for a shitty cocktail."

"Oh." Bob knew from the way the other man's face tightened just a fraction that he'd made the situation awkward just that much weirder from his reaction. So clearing his throat, he added, "Congratulations. That's a huge accomplishment."

When Bob R. waved away the compliment, Bob F. doubled down.

"No, seriously. That's impressive. I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel and it tastes gross. But you're here at a bar, addiction ground zero. That must take a lot more self-control than it seems. You make it look easy." He spoke with such sincerity that it seemed to strike the omega speechless for a moment. The other man blinked a few times, eyes darting around like he was trying to process the words.

Bob gave him that space, let him sit in the compliment and figure out if he even wanted to respond to it. Unfortunately, he took a sip of his drink when the Other Bob found his words. And even though he'd learned how to keep it together with Phoenix, he had no defenses against this new Bob.

"Bars aren't that tempting to me. Now a crack den? That would be a problem. I'd be like a kid in a candy shop."

A few minutes later, Bob Reynolds apologized for making the lieutenant choke on his drink, but to Bob Floyd? It was worth it to make the other man laugh so hard tears pricked his eyes.

Naturally, conversation shifted towards their respective groups. The Other Bob was the first to offer up details about his pack.

"So, the beta that bumped into you? That's William," Bob R said, pointing out the man with the long, brown hair and friendly face. "And the omega in his lap? That's Miles. They're bonded. Joined the us together a few months ago."

All of the pack were introduced in turn, so Bob was able to put an actual name to the unofficial titles the Dagger Squad had dubbed them.

Bob R agreed that "Cowboy" was an appropriate nickname for the one called Rhett, not just because he wore a cowboy hat and boots. Finding out he was a former pro bull rider was a shock but nowhere near as much as finding out the cowboy was an omega.

"I thought he was maybe a beta," Bob admitted, trying not to stare at the man out of sheer curiosity. If the cowboy noticed how closely both of the men at the bar were watching him, Rhett gave no indication of it. "I've never seen an omega who's built like that."

When the other man's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of bright pink, Bob tactfully said nothing. But he found himself glancing at the seat of the tall omega's pants, idly wondering just how built this cowboy really was.

The well-dressed alpha sitting nearby was introduced as Todd, an unlikely pairing for a rough and tumble country boy like Rhett. But, according to Bob R, they joined the pack as a mated pair.

The three in the corner booth were all directly mated to the Other Bob, a revelation that didn't come as too much of a surprise from the casual way he'd noticed them touching the omega all night. Nothing untoward, of course. Just leaning against him, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders. Little careless gestures that spoke of quiet companionship and a deep affection.

The muscular beta with the gold chain who was now visibly playing footsie under the table with his two alphas was Jordan. The only female in the pack was indeed an alpha like Hangman had claimed with a pretty name that suited her well. And the one with the slicked back hair, the alpha who'd confronted Hangman earlier, was introduced as Rocco.

"He's the head alpha," Bob R added, popping the de-shelled peanut the WSO offered him into his mouth.

Bob didn't mean to laugh. It just bubbled out of him, fast and sharp enough that he covered his mouth and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any other patrons. The Other Bob didn't question him, just watched patiently with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of the mouth. It hit Bob that the other man knew that he didn't have to ask, that Bob would explain himself. Phoenix had given him the same look innumerable times in the past few years they'd been partners. That thought was quickly brushed under the proverbial rug. He wasn't quite ready to ponder the meaning of that revelation and how it made the tightness in his chest that had been there since this mysterious pack entered the bar loosen just a fraction.

"Hangman was right," Bob said, gesturing at the preening alpha still at the center of attention of the Dagger Squad.

A few of his teammates caught his eye, shooting curious looks at him, some of them even openly gesturing at Bob R then back to him in silent question.

He ignored them.

Bob Reynolds gave a nervous wave and a bashful grimace in an approximation of a friendly smile. When he turned in his chair a bit to subtly put his back to the group, Bob Floyd didn't blame him.

"I'm guessing 'Hangman' is that blond alpha who looks like he thinks he's a king holding court in front of his subjects?" the Other Bob asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Bob muttered, tossing an errant peanut shell in an empty Budweiser glass he'd designated for such a task. No need to get Penny on his ass for making another mess for her to clean. "He's more a court jester who thinks he's king. If we had a leader other than Mav, it wouldn't be him." Tilting his head, Bob gestured at lone omega in the squad who was sitting by the wall, too distracted by the temptation of the bar's piano to pay Hangman any mind. "More likely, it'd be Rooster. Or maybe Phoenix, but I don't think she'd be too pleased with me for saying so."

The Other Bob risked a look at the Dagger Squad, just long enough for him to register their faces, most of which were still eyeing the two Bobs at the bar with unabashed curiosity. Bob Floyd turned and looked himself, briefly catching Phoenix's eye and blatantly ignoring her raised eyebrows.

"Do they always stare like that?" Bob Reynolds asked with a wince, his voice slightly higher and creaking from embarrassment.

Catching Payback's eye, Bob Floyd's unamused stare was met with an impish grin and a wink. When Fanboy wolf whistled, Bob turned back to the Other Bob with an audible sigh, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes.

"Unfortunately," he deadpanned, taking another sip of his Sprite, for once wishing it was something a little stronger.

After a few moments of the kind of awkward silence that only comes when two people know their every move is being heavily scrutinized, Bob R spoke up.

"Are they always this…" He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly like he was searching for his next words which had suddenly taken flight from his brain. Bob returned the same polite patience the omega had given him just minutes before, letting him figure out what he wanted to say and not interrupting or pressing him.

When he found the word, the Other Bob wrinkled his nose as if dissatisfied with the results of his searching.

"This…nosy?"

"Absolutely," Bob said with zero hesitation. That awkward expression bled from Bob R's face, replaced by the kind of genuine amusement Bob F wasn't used to receiving from something he'd said. Hangman had once declared he had no sense of humor, but it wasn't Bob's fault he didn't like being unnecessarily mean for the sake of a joke. But if everyone responded to jokes as beautifully as Bob Reynolds, maybe he'd need to start making more.

"Makes sense why you guys were nicknaming some of us. Have you been watching us all night?" There was a twinkle in the omega's eyes that made Bob's stomach flip in the same kind of way as when Becky Wilson in 5th grade held his hand for three precious minutes during recess. The same one as when Melinda Davis kissed him after junior prom.

Bob Floyd was many things but a stuttering fool wasn't one of them. Usually. So he cleared his throat, composing himself before he answered.

"A little bit," he admitted. Even if his voice was steady, the tips of his ears burned hotter than an overheating F/A-18 engine.

The impish grin that spread across Bob Reynolds' face should've been classified as a military-grade weapon suitable only for use in active combat. Definitely not something to be used in the middle of a bar against an unarmed combatant. Bob Floyd's stomach wasn't the only thing flipping; his damn heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in his chest.

"Explains the nicknames," the Other Bob said with just a hint of a drawl. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, almost like he knew what he was doing to the flustered beta across from him. "You guys debating on who's the cutest? Because I can make a good case for myself."

"Not exactly," Bob said wryly. He took another sip of his drink to whet his suddenly-dry mouth, hands still fiddling with the same peanut he'd been rolling back and forth for the past few minutes.

The Other Bob waited, eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile growing more dangerous by the second. Bob Floyd thought he caught the other man sneaking a glance at his ears which were bright red by now judging by how they burned with the kind of heat usually only registered on the surface of the sun. But, when he glanced up at Bob Reynolds' eyes to catch him looking, the omega was merely watching him back.

"We were…" he started, cutting himself off before continuing. "They were making bets. About your pack."

Bob R's eyebrows shot up even further, making his forehead crease in a way that the WSO struggled to not label as 'adorable.'

"Nothing weird," Bob F added quickly. "Things like who was going to win that game of pool. Or who'd finish their drink first."

The Other Bob nodded, but Bob Floyd couldn't help but notice a twinge of some expression he couldn't quite place cross his handsome face. Relief?Disappointment? Hard to tell.

"Not exactly the most exciting bets. I think my idea is way better."

Bob F nodded absently, finally popping that peanut in his mouth and slowly chewing.

"Hangman and Fanboy were betting on who the pack alpha is," he finally added, flicking the crushed peanut shell into his cup to join its conquered brethren.

That seemed to interest the Other Bob, who perked up, sitting taller in his chair.

"Oh, that's what you meant by 'Hangman was right.' Everything's making sense now." He tapped his forehead, just like the meme, causing Bob F to let out a snort of laughter he couldn't quite hold back. Bob R beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter.

Since the squad were still closely monitoring the duo at the bar, Bob pulled up a picture on his phone to introduce his teammates in turn. Words flowed out of him, but in all honesty, Bob wasn't quite sure what all he said. He was hyper focused on how the Other Bob pulled his chair closer to better see the phone screen.

Stillness, it seems, was not a natural state of being for Bob Reynolds. He shifted in his seat, shaking his leg and rocking back and forth in an almost imperceptible way that Bob Floyd hadn't noticed until they were practically pressed against each other. Their legs bumped a few times and the Other Bob's hand brushed his own when he'd point at something in the picture that Bob himself had never noticed before. His heart practically pounded out of his chest any time they touched. If the omega knew what he was doing to him, Bob sure as hell couldn't tell. So he kept talking regardless.

The only thing he specifically remembered saying was mentioning Nat's civilian boyfriend she'd been with for the past year or so. Later, he wondered to himself why he'd brought that up, but all he knew was that Bob Reynolds had seemed tense when Phoenix was brought up and that his smiles and quiet touches came much more frequently after.

"You guys seem really close," the Other Bob said. Bob Floyd risked a glance over at his teammates and let out a relieved sigh seeing they'd moved on from staring to yet another game of darts where Payday and Coyote teamed up against Hangman. From the look of it, things weren't going well for them on that front.

"I mean, yeah. We're around each other what feels like every minute of the day. Can't even use the latrine without the entire unit knowing about it. 'Least, that's what it feels like."

The laugh the Other Bob let out wasn't faked; it was genuine but with something that rang hollow underneath. "I definitely understand that. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a pack, after all."

Now it was Bob's turn to smile ruefully. His eyes dipped to his own hands, watching as if from a distance as his index finger traced the bottom of the glass back and forth, swiping through cool beads of condensation and letting the water break, sliding down his skin and onto the bar counter.

Thoughts lingered on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd left unspoken to anyone but his closest family. They'd welled up before so many times along with a fierce sense of envy so strong Bob had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat - when Maverick finally settled down with Penny and Amelia, when his baby sister introduced the family to her new mates, when Coyote's pack came for a surprise visit on shore leave.

By the time he looked back up, the Other Bob was also following his movements. When he stopped, the omega blinked and looked back up at him, the upturned tilt of his lips distinctly bittersweet. There was an understanding there. A lack meeting another lack, like the holes in their hearts saw through the facades they held up and recognized each other.

So, for once, Bob didn't think through what he said. He just spoke.

"It must be nice to have a pack. A…family."

Several seconds passed before Bob Floyd found the nerve to lift his head up to see the other man's reaction. Would that change how the omega saw him? Would such rank honesty earn him discomfort or even the kind of pity he felt lurking in the eyes of even his closest friends? But, no. The Other Bob didn't give him a sad smile and a pat on the back. He didn't squirm away from the WSO either.

If anything, Bob Reynolds looked confused.

"What?" Bob Floyd found himself asking, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, not caught or even delayed by the ever-present filter he normally pushed all his thoughts through.

"But you have a family."

Before Bob could protest, to say that he meant a non-blood family, a group of people that chose each other willingly, a round of raucous laughter erupted from the direction of the dart board. The Hard Deck might have been emptier than normal, but this was the kind of hooting and hollering that would've drawn the attention of the entire place even during peak times.

Both Bobs immediately turned in their seats to watch as Coyote and Payday knelt on the floor to do push ups as Hangman strutted around like…well, a rooster while the others jeered at the losing duo and cheered them on in turn. From the expressions of chagrin and dread on Javy and Reuben's faces, Bob knew without a doubt they'd be going at it for quite a while.

The breathy laughter to his right drew Bob's attention back to the omega next to him. Bob Reynolds let out a little snort, covering his mouth and practically giggling as if his own noise only tickled him further.

"They do this often?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Bob answered, chuckling to himself as Jake put his boot on Javy's upper back, posing like Captain Morgan on the other pilot. He caught Bob's eye, holding a precise, showy salute and grinning at the WSO. At least until Javy shifted his shoulder forward, purposefully causing the cocky alpha to stumble to catch himself, which only made the Dagger Squad howl with laughter.

"Honestly, it's their fault for betting against Hangman at darts. I swear he leaves his bunk in the middle of the night to practice in the rec hall."

Turning back to the bar, Bob R fixed him with a look that Bob F could only describe as fond.

"There's always at least one troublemaker in a pack," the Other Bob said with a wistful smile. His words were so casual, taking a sip of his soda after like there was no weight to them at all. But they hit Bob Floyd all the same.

As if he was on autopilot, Bob pushed the button to turn his phone screen on, looking at the same picture that had greeted him for years. He could still smell the briny ocean spray lapping against the shore and feel that familiar California sun beaming down on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle in the way that let him know it was time to reapply sunscreen. Some 80s rock he vaguely recognized played in the background, but Bob could barely hear it over the grunts and yells and laughter as his squad loped around the beachfront. After a while, teams and scores and even winners were forgotten, replaced with the pure joy of tackles and touchdowns. Even Bob himself, initially turned off by the excess testosterone and macho posturing, got into it, scoring a goal where everyone cheered like it was a winning one. For once, he'd enjoyed being the center of attention, foisted up into the air by his comrades who chanted his name as he threw his head back, laughing.

Penny'd insisted on taking a photo. She'd said they needed a token, something to remember in the coming days and weeks of training for that mission none of them should've come back from but, by no small miracle, all of them did. The whole squad kept it as their lock screen for all this time. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and packmates got the honor of being their wallpaper, kept safe and secure behind a password. But the Dagger Squad were the first thing they all saw when they grabbed their phones in the morning and the last thing they saw as they went to bed at night.

As the screen went black, Bob Floyd was greeted with his own face. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd seen it in the mirror of the men's room as he looked up from washing his hands. Then he was met with a frown, one he quickly schooled into a neutral expression. It was just another night out, one he tagged along to because he had nothing better to do when Phoenix asked him his plans for the evening. That Bob in the mirror had lines on his forehead and a weariness in his eyes.

This Bob, the one reflected by his phone screen, couldn't be more different. Gone was the grimace, replaced with upturned lips, like the remnants of a smile tugged at his mouth. The lines on his face were still there, of course, but not as deep as they'd been before. And his eyes? Now those were the most different.

Bob Floyd wasn't unhappy. The exact opposite, actually. He was doing the job he loved with a team who both relied on him and cared about him, even if they didn't always notice when he left the table. But there was an emptiness inside of him. A loneliness he was loathe to name. But this Bob looked…lighter. Happier. Somehow more fulfilled. Like a conversation with a handsome stranger had buoyed his spirits in a way he didn't realize he needed until he saw the results himself.

For some reason, he felt the urge to turn and look at this unusual pack. Most of them paid him no mind, not the cowboy and his fancy alpha. Not the mild-mannered beta and his doting omega. And not the female alpha or the showy beta, who were too busy flirting to pay attention. But the greaser - Rocco, he corrected himself - caught his gaze and held it there.

Bob couldn't fight the feeling that this was an important moment, that his new friend's mate was passing judgment on him. Normally, he wouldn't care what some knothead alpha thought of him. His parents had told him long ago that gender is irrelevant to what kind of person you are. You can't blame your mistakes on it or let it encapsulate who you are. But something about that moment made Bob want to be a 'good beta' for the first time in his life. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

When the alpha raised his glass in a salute, a smirk firmly carved into his lips, Bob Floyd let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He lifted his Sprite in turn, toasting this complete stranger for something he didn't quite understand. Maybe he would later.

The Other Bob's voice jerked him firmly back into reality.

Turning to face the omega, Bob mumbled an apology. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, 'so, what's yours?'" Bob R stated, his head tilting to the side slightly, just enough that he had to gaze up through his lashes to make eye contact.

"Mine?" Bob F asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "My what?"

"Your callsign," the Other Bob clarified. "Sorry. I know I'm rewinding the conversation back a few minutes. Before we got distracted by the ruckus."

"Ruckus is a damn good way to put it," Bob said. He glanced back at the head alpha across the room, but Rocco had turned his attention away from the two at the bar.

"So, there's Payback. And Rooster. And Phoenix. What are you? Specs?" Bob R grinned as he said it, visibly proud of himself for coming up with a nickname.

"Uh…not exactly."

Bob Floyd had answered this question many, many times. People responded usually with confusion ('No, your callsign, not your name'), more questions ('Did you…choose that yourself?'), or, even worse, disappointment ('Aww, man. I was hoping it was something cool'). But this response? It was a new one.

"Hmm," Bob Reynolds said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while looking off into the distance. The gesture made his already-thin lips smush together into a solitary line, making it look like he had a comically long frown. The word 'adorable' floated through Bob Floyd's head for the second time that night.

After a few moments of hard pondering, the Other Bob turned to him, releasing his chin as he declared, "I like it."

Bob blinked, saying nothing at first. And when he did speak, it was just one word.

"…What?"

"I like it," the Other Bob said with even more conviction, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own assessment. "It suits you."

Bob Floyd couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was sudden and jarring, like his body had a mind of its own. Like it was pulled out of his lungs by sheer surprise.

Bob Reynolds eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Normally people are disappointed that my callsign is just…Bob. They expect something cooler."

The other man audibly scoffed. "What? Like Hangman? Wow. He must be so cool." He made a quick pumping gesture with his right hand, wordlessly calling the blond alpha a jerk off. "No, Bob is unique. I bet there isn't another pilot with that callsign. There are probably dozens of 'Hangman's. And, after all, you know what 'Bob' stands for, right?"

"If you say 'Baby On Board,' I'm going back to my -" Bob F started, shaking his finger at his fellow Bob.

"No, no," Bob R said, waving away the other man's concerns. "Nothing as lame as that."

"Then what?"

Bob Reynolds grinned.

"Big Ol' Balls, obviously."

When Bob Reynolds said his goodbyes and made his way back to his pack through the slowly emptying bar, he was hyper aware of the phone resting heavily in his right front pocket. He ran his fingers over the glass faceplate, feeling the tiny cracks in the touch screen, the ones Jordan insisted wouldn't be there if he'd just get a proper phone case. If he traced the name of the man he'd spent the last hour and a half with, give or take a few minutes, no one would know. Or even blame him.

The rest of his pack was suspiciously silent as he slid into the oval booth at the far end of the room, the one right next to the door. Everyone had made their way over to the table eventually, nearly filling it up. It wasn't an easy fit like it had been with just his bonded mates where he could stretch out over the worn brown vinyl, resting his head in one of their laps. But the way Miles chirruped happily, wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him close, rubbing their noses together, more than made up for the lack of space.

"You tryin'a get us another beta?" Rhett asked with a grin. He'd long ago taken off the cowboy hat. Now the Stetson decorated the table in front of them, set amidst a veritable field of discarded and half-empty glasses.

At those words, Jordan perked up.

"We could use another beta. William helped get our numbers up, but you damn alphas outnumber us," he said, shooting fake glares at the three at the table who just chuckled in response.

"There are three omegas too," William added, pointing at Rhett, Miles, and Bob himself in turn.

Jordan dismissed him with a simple "psht" sound.

"There is never such a thing as too many omegas," he said as justification. Todd, who never missed an opportunity to cuddle with the nearest omega, nodded his head as if agreeing with some deep, sage wisdom. Rhett nudged him with his elbow, snickering when the alpha pouted at him, exaggeratedly rubbing his side as if dearly wounded.

"Can't disagree with you there," Rocco said, taking a swig of his beer before turning his eyes on Bob. Without even saying another word, Bob could feel his own face growing red. Rocco didn't even have to ask. From the smirk that tugged at his lips, he knew what Bob was thinking possibly even better than Bob knew himself.

As much as they so obviously wanted to, a stern look from Rocco quieted any more questions about the handsome stranger Bob had spent so much time chatting up. Everyone seemed mostly tired (or buzzed), so further talk was minimal, mostly just murmuring to the person next to them.

When William caught himself nearly falling asleep at the table, they collectively decided to call it a night. Miles and Jordan busied themselves organizing the glassware on the table, clean spills and stacking plates to make the night a little easier for the barkeep, while Todd made his way to the register to square up their tab.

It didn't take long before everyone filed out of the bar. Bob tried to catch a glimpse of his military counterpart, but, between his own packmates and the people settling up at the bar, there were too many people in the way. He could have sworn he saw that perfectly coifed hair swiveling to face them as they left, but he couldn't be certain.

The parking lot was mostly silent except for the buzzing of the neon lights in the Top Deck's windows, so any noise the pack made was amplified. From the words they exchanged to the keys jingling in the drivers' hands and especially to the gravel crunching under foot, Bob almost didn't hear Rocco when he started talking.

"Was he nice?"

"Hmm?" Bob answered, blinking and looking up at his mate. Rocco smiled down at him, one of those smiles that made him look devilishly handsome. That smile used to haunt his dreams before Bob had finally admitted his attraction to the alpha, but now it brightened his days and warmed his nights.

"Was he nice? The guy you chatted with."

"Oh? Yeah. Yeah, he was really sweet," Bob said, pushing his hands even deeper into his pockets as the cool night air nipped at his skin. Once again, he ran his fingers over the phone as if expecting it to buzz or ring at any moment. Or maybe he hoped it would.

"Sweet, huh?" Rocco said teasingly. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Bob's, who retaliated by leaning against him. From the way Rocco immediately put his arm around the omega, Bob didn't think he was complaining much.

His next words were quieter, spoken practically into Bob's ear.

"You feelin' better?"

Bob didn't mean to stop in his tracks, but Rocco jerked to a halt next to him, practically getting whiplash from the sudden pause in their walk. He wanted to deny it, of course. To tell Rocco that he had no clue what the alpha was talking about. But, looking up into the eyes of his mate, he knew that lying was useless. Rocco knew he'd been in a rotten mood all day, as much as Bob had tried to hide it.

He wasn't even sure why he'd been having a bad day to begin with. It could have been a million things. Or it could have been nothing. After all, it's like his therapist always said - depression doesn't always need a reason.

Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd approached Bob Floyd to begin with. I mean, yeah, the guy had his hoodie, the same one Bob R had pulled on as soon as the crisp night air hit his bare arms. If Bob put his nose to it, he imagined he could still smell the beta's scent - clean and woodsy with just a hint of something sharp, like the one that lingered on his clothes the one time Todd had managed to convince him to fly on a plane despite his fear of heights. It was like gasoline or kerosene but not quite. The combination was odd, but Bob found that he quite liked it.

Their connection should have ended there. They'd touch hands as the WSO handed his hoodie back, Bob would think about it all night, and he'd look for the cute beta with big, blue eyes and aviator glasses every time they went to the Hard Deck from then on.

But talking to him just felt so…nice. He was nice. Bob Floyd was the kind of man who made every person he interacted with feel seen. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, he made it clear he was listening, carefully logging little tidbits into some nebulous folder in his mind to reference later. And his life was so different from anything Bob Reynolds had ever experienced, full of dangerous missions, cocky pilots, and apparently some beach football. It didn't hurt that the WSO's eyes kept slipping to Bob's lips, his ears turning scarlet when Bob flirted back with him.

Somewhere in their conversation, the ache in Bob Reynolds' chest eased, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd been in days. And the new contact in his phone just meant this wasn't just a random chat between strangers. Maybe it was the start of something more.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Rocco's words brought him back to reality, back to the cold parking lot where his mate was waiting for an answer. None of the pack's vehicles had moved either. They waited for their alpha to lead the way. Or, more likely, they stayed to make sure nothing was wrong with Bob.

That thought felt like ice water over his head. Abruptly, Bob started walking towards Rocco's car, grabbing the alpha's hand to drag him along. Letting out a grunt of surprise, his mate followed wordlessly.

When they got to the car, Bob turned around to squarely face the other man.

"I'm okay, Rock," he said, meaning those words for the first time in the past week that he'd spoken them. "I'm okay."

Rocco fixed him with a stare, one Bob could never seem to hide from. It was like his alpha could see right through him, reading all the truths etched on his soul that he tried so desperately to keep to himself, not wanting to bother his packmates. After a few tense seconds, Rocco breathed out a little sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Okay," Rocco said. There was no pushing, no trying to get more information out of the omega. And Bob knew he wouldn't. His alpha trusted that he would open up in his own time.

The ride home was full of the regular noises: the hum of the engine, bits of scattered conversation, and a little off key singing.

When they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop inside the garage, Bob didn't even reach for the handle. He knew better by now. Long ago, Rocco had made it a habit to always open the door for his passengers. It was so ingrained into Bob that it took him a few seconds to realize that the alpha didn't move to exit the car.

"I do have one question," Rocco admitted almost sheepishly. He looked almost embarrassed to ask but bursting at the seams with curiousity, like he'd been chewing on his words the entire time they'd driven home."You know I won't press the issue. I don't need to know a damn thing about him until you're ready to talk. But it's kinda killing me. Can I…" His words trailed off, looking to Bob for permission.

When Bob nodded his assent, the alpha asked simply, "What's his name?"

Now that was a question Bob was more than happy to answer. Bob grinned up at his partner, smiling even wider when confusion and even a little bit of dread crossed his beloved's face. It was like he'd told the WSO; there was always one troublemaker in a pack, a fact Bob knew well from personal experience.

So, of course Rocco didn't believe him.

"You're fucking with me," he'd insisted. "There's no way that we went to a bar full of people, and you came out with a crush on the only other Bob in there. What's his name really? James? Tom? Lewis?"

It took pulling out his phone to show Rocco the new contact he'd entered in there just an hour ago, the one with the photo he'd startled the lieutenant when he snapped it so that the WSO more resembled a deer in the headlights than a decorated military officer.

When Rocco groaned in defeat, muttering "goddamnit, Bob" under his breath, Bob Reynolds laughed harder than he'd done in months.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

Cameron Cassmore had grown up with the stories of mythical selkies. It was one of the few happy memories he still had of his mother, who, when he was just nine years old, dropped him off at school and never returned to collect him. He always remembered how her face would light up as she told him the stories of an ancient race of Gaelic and Nordic shapeshifters who lived as seals and turned into beautiful humans under the watchful gaze of the full moon. Her hometown had been full of them, she said, but in truth, Sowell Bay hadn't been home to selkies for over a hundred years. It would be a few months until its population increased to a single, solitary creature. 

Even as a child, Cameron hadn’t believed a word of his mother's tales, but he had been glad to see the troubled scowl fall from her face for however long the bedtime story lasted. Sometimes he wished he were a selkie who could swim into the ocean and never have to worry about math tests or where his mother went while he was asleep. Despite his pride at seeing through his mother's fairy tales, he still found himself, on every lunar phase, sitting in his tiny bedroom, wondering how it would feel to experience the freedom of the vast ocean. Cameron didn't think he would ever return to land.

Sitting alone in an almost empty diner on the way to Sowell Bay to find his long-lost father, Cameron overheard the local gossip network exchanging updates on petty crime and bad hairdos. A dull headache bloomed behind his eyes as the conversation shifted to the news of the beautiful but elusive man haunting the docks, as well as the various rare shells and other oceanic trinkets that had once again been left at the aquarium door. They laughed at the explanations of selkies, even as they dreamily knighted him as such. Cameron popped his headphones in while they drearily exchanged Wikipedia pages, telling the far-fetched tales of how they were captured by sailors to be taken as brides, and how they would dance naked in a secluded grove, their bodies glowing with brilliant luna silvers and the darkest black shadows.

All eyes turned to Cameron when he mirthlessly chuckled at that one. His mother had never mentioned that part. 

Despite his incredulity, it was how Cameron first saw him. 

On his first evening in town, after meeting Ethan, Cam walked down to the beach, skimming stones at the rich bastards’ distant boats, wondering just what the fuck he was even doing here. Against all expectations, the bay seemed nicer than his mother's vague and bitter descriptions. Sure, he had hit rock bottom, but at least the view from down there was a pretty one. It was then he heard it - a faint, faraway hum of a cassette player under the rocky, pointed alcove. The silvery reflection hit the single form perfectly, swaying to the indie music at a tempo slower than it really was. But that wasn’t what caught Cameron’s attention. How could it be when the man was completely naked? 

He was too far away to see his face, but Cam gulped for air like a landed fish as the moonlight sparkled along his wet skin, the dusting of ocean droplets covering him like a mystical veil. He was all toned muscle and thick yet lithe limbs, but under the majestic display, there was a quiet solitude to the dancer that made Cameron's heart ache. Alone, he danced like one of a troupe made up of only his own shadow.

There was no way Cameron was telling anyone about what he had seen that day. Nor that he went back the following evening, disappointed to not see him again.

The next time Cameron saw the mysterious man, it was a week later. He took up Ethan’s offer of a famed breakfast sandwich, his first paycheck from the aquarium resting safely in his pocket. The entry chimes sang his victorious serenade in honour of him keeping his job for a full five shifts, accompanied by the low Scottish burr of the manager who showered him in so much praise, he couldn't tell if he was just being sarcastic. Cam wasn't used to people being excited for him.

He endured Ethan's fatherly slaps to his back, taking his designated seat by the window while Ethan boomed his order down the shop. It was then that Harrison caught sight of the beaming, handsome store clerk manning the deli counter. Powered by a quiet hum of enthusiasm and energy drinks, Harrison Knott, as his almost illegible name badge read, attended to each customer with a professional, if stilted, manner. Cameron didn’t recognise him with his clothes on, but his mouth gaped all the same.

In truth, ‘Harrison Knott’ was a complete fabrication, hastily brought into this world via an application form and a leaking pen. It was a simple amalgamation of the film star plastered over the magazine rack and a panicked glance through the window at the moored boats. In just a few short days, he had gone from legendary cryptid to Harrison Knott: the store clerk. It still sounded alien on Harrison’s already alien tongue, but it would do. His ancestors were always right, after all. Better to keep the humans away from knowing his true self.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pride every time Ethan gave him a ‘job well done’ or dear Mrs Baker left him a sweet when he manned the tills. 

Over breakfast, Ethan recounted the tale of how Harrison had turned up out of the blue, dressed in a shirt and pants that looked like he had saved them from the trash heap. He asked if Ethan knew anyone who worked in the docks. Of course, Ethan knew the business of everyone in town, but none who were looking for a new employee. In reality, Harrison hadn’t been looking for a ‘job’, whatever they were, but, ever the big-hearted manager, Ethan offered him one anyway, plus a room at his house. Harrison had accepted the former and declined the latter, knowing just from his tone that this must have been a kind gesture. Great, Cameron thought, guess I’m just another stray to add to Ethan's collection.

Despite how fond of Ethan Cameron was becoming, he still found his gaze pulled whenever the new hire passed. Cam had to admit, the coffee was alright… The burnt sandwich? Less so. The disgust read all over his face, but he said nothing.

The next time Cameron saw Harrison was after he upped his hours at the aquarium, taking on the front desk so he could pay Aunt Jeanie back for her generous loan. The strangely beautiful man from the shop had been awkward, presenting his two $50 bills with an enigmatic smile, hoping that Cameron would know what to do with it. When Cameron handed him his ticket and the exact heap of change, a mixture of relief and wonder passed over his eyes, making Cam want to roll his. Harrison hovered around the aquarium, mesmerised by the displays of marine life with ‌wide-eyed, boyish glee painting his face. Wherever Harrison stood, a crowd of children followed in his wake, clamouring to see just what could inspire the adult to glow like a lighthouse with such joy. When enough noses were smushed against the glass, Harrison placed a soft hand to the tank. At once, the fish threw themselves to meet him at the barrier, a whirlpool of scales reflecting the colourful lights around the enclosure like an underwater disco. The school trip squealed in delight while the shop clerk simply took pleasure in being able to pass on a fraction of his love for these creatures. Cynically, Cameron figured they must have thought he was going to feed them, lamenting only that he was leaving more prints for him to clean.

The aquarium gig was a good job, really, even if the cleaning lady Cameron had taken over from was… intense. But she was nice enough now that she was beginning to thaw out. So too was the manager, although if Cameron had to give an early exit interview (which was never a far-off possibility), Terry could have done with being a little less distracted with that weirdly skinned seal he found and signed off on his paperwork already. He insisted it was impossibly perfect in how someone had harvested it, but Cameron never gave him more than a ‘uh-huh’ as he got on with taking out the bins.

Cameron didn’t work the front desk again until the week after. The rain was torrential as he unlocked the door for opening time. Through his hungover stupor, he prayed to whatever god was out there that today would be quiet while he nursed his throbbing headache. The heavens gave their answer, pouring down more scorn as the wind picked up, nearly taking the drenched patron with it. Dressed in some hand-me-downs from Ethan, Harrison recognised Cam instantly as the ‘friend of Ethan and Marcellus’. Great, he’s been speaking to Tova, Cameron thought. Completely unfazed by the weather, Harrison skipped inside. Now intimately familiar with the entire layout of the Aquarium, a pristine yearly pass in hand, Cameron knew he must have been back almost every day.

Almost no prompting was required to get the gossip from the famed Knit-Wits by way of Tova. The cleaner had slowly filled Cameron’s evenings with a quiet, comfortable companionship that under no circumstances would he ever admit, except through a barrage of light teasing that became their new, shared language. Insisting she had never told Harrison about Marcellus, she instead told him what she knew with barely feigned reluctance. Under hushed tones, Ms Kim revealed that he was very friendly with the single mom, Avery, and that he had practically begged her to teach him paddle boarding. She paused for scandalised gasps but Tova insisted it was purely platonic. Hell, she thought even her and Cameron were a thing.

From above the top of her tea, Mrs Vanderhood wondered if he was a drunk, often stumbling in broad daylight like a baby giraffe on skates. Ms Minetti had even said that she had seen him walking on the beach every night from her house. When probed on why she was spying on young men, she hastily amended that the Sheriff had also complained that he had interrupted his midday nap, asking for directions to the nearest ‘lost and found’. But despite the plethora of theories, no one was quite sure where he lived.

Feeling something of a kinship for the town’s other outsider (and when Ethan asked, definitely nothing more), Cameron picked up yet more day shifts so he could strike up something of a friendly, definitely just friendly, conversation with him. When Harrison arrived after his shift at the store, he made his pleasantries like a terrible actor reading from a series of cue cards he didn’t fully understand. Muffled by the mass of yowling children, Cam strained to hear any of it, but when Harrison smiled, he mirrored it from the side of his mouth.

To Cameron’s disappointment, Harrison didn’t stick around long and instead bolted towards his favourite display: the octopus tank. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting and staring at Marcellus with an almost unnerving stillness. Unable to recall a time when the slippery escape artist had spent so long out of hiding without Tova there, Cameron didn’t know if he thought Harrison was just plain weird or if he was slightly jealous of his ability to just sit and be quiet with himself. Little did he know that when the crowds dispersed, Harrison would speak.

And when the aquarium was at rest, leaving its two stalwart cleaners to tend to the remnants of tiny children and stoned students, Cameron spoke more and more, filling the corridors with senseless chatter. It didn’t take Marcellus to see the pattern. A mention of that ‘weird guy from the store’. Always followed by a lopsided grin hidden behind his rag, and a temporary fugue state that stopped him from registering a single word Tova said. Cameron was fairly at peace with his bisexuality, although he had only been with women. Tova threaded her hands together as she watched him accidentally splash water everywhere with his mop on the second retelling of his last visit. An idle, “he sounds very special, dear,” connected the dots. Cam’s chest skipped a little when she just fondly smiled at his surprise and went back to criticising his sweeping skills.

The new resident slowly became an ever-sure fixture in Cameron’s life. He learnt Harrison’s shift pattern through the times he would arrive, often not even changing out of his work clothes. The aquarium's attractions seemed to anticipate his arrival eagerly, almost as much as Cameron did, who assumed he must have been feeding them behind his back.

Harrison had stayed in ‌silent vigil at the aquarium all day. Darkness filled the sleepy town, descending its wispy black tendrils across the ocean, apparent to everyone not named Harrison Knott. Normally, he slipped out at closing time along with the crowd, but today was different. Looking lost in his thoughts, he sat by the octopus tank, studying Marcellus as he sluggishly extended an arm along the sticky glass. Even Cameron noticed how pale he was rapidly becoming. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, Cameron chewed the inside of his cheek before asking Harrison to leave before he got him into trouble. Looking like a kicked puppy, Cameron instantly relented, letting Harrison stay so long as he didn’t tell anyone. The way his face lit up, the apple of his cheeks a perfect ripe red, made Cam blush… But not as hard as when Tova appeared, a knowing look sliding across her face, followed by a teasing tap of her broom against his. “Special and handsome”, she teased.

Harrison was oblivious to the argument being fought with glares and parrying cleaning utensils. He was too busy taking in every detail of how they cared for the marine life with a wistful look that not even Tova could place. 

After that, Harrison’s whole demeanour changed around the two cleaners. He would bring them food he made at the deli counter, often leaving it at the front desk if he couldn’t spend the day at the aquarium, and every so often, he would leave a mixtape of music he thought they'd like. Apparently, according to the movie Ethan was crying to the last time he visited, this was something humans did to show affection. He spent more time with the older lady, teaching her about the tank's inhabitants, without pretence or ego, just a genuine love and awe that impressed even her. And when Cameron was on shift, he stuck around longer, his conversation slowly blooming into an easy rapport. On more than a couple of occasions, he barely looked at the fish at all.

Eventually, Cameron’s curiosity got the better of him. He questioned how Harrison could spend so much time watching a few fish flop around. Didn't he have friends to see? Hobbies? With a watery smile, Harrison had simply said he grew up by the water and that this place reminded him of his friends and family back home. Cameron huffed and mopped quicker. When the stubborn stain was swept off this mortal coil, Cam’s confusion hardened into a sneer. “Doesn’t that make you feel like shit?”

How could it? Harrison wondered, rapidly blinking as though the tortured scowl was just a mirage he could dispel. Whatever could be more important than home and the people and animals that made it? 

But then again, Harrison knew better than to tell him he could speak to the sea creatures here.

Unable to help himself, Cameron propped his chin on top of the nub of his mop. He chewed out the story of his mom and how she had apparently grown up in this town, almost daring Harrison to pity him or squirm away. He tried to hold his tongue, but there was something about Harrison that made him want to tell him everything. And so he did. He told him of his quest to find his dad, of his mom’s disappearance, and how Aunt Jeanie had raised him as best she could. Harrison listened intently, enrapt through all of it. So too did Tova, who silently cleaned around them until Cameron finally yawned, realising it was almost midnight.

It should have incensed him how Harrison perked up, not at the sordid details as others did, but at his mention of his kind aunt and childhood friends, Brad and Elizabeth. He mentioned them only in passing; however, Harrison kept asking question after question about them anyway. He's missing the point, Cameron lamented. But not even Cameron could remember what his point had been as Harrison walked him home, soundtracked by squawking gulls and triumphant, embellished stories of Moth Sausage.

As their time spent together grew, so too did Cameron’s infatuation, obvious to everyone, it seemed, but Harrison. It all changed, however, when Harrison convinced Cam to try paddle boarding with him and Avery. Cameron should have known he was fucked when he agreed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

Harrison Knott had grown steadily better since his first tentative forays back into the water, even if his balance was always his weak spot. Avery had been far too accommodating ‌not to be suspicious, but Cam was growing used to all the glances they got when they were together. The bitter wind did everything in its power to knock Cameron’s knees together as he tried to stand up. At the smallest sign of defeat, Harrison would cheer him on. Whenever he fell on his ass, his friend was there before his butt ever hit the board. If his old self could see him now Cameron would have driven that camper off the Grand Canyon. 

Finally, fed up with the two dancing around each other, Avery took matters into her own hands - quite literally, as she pushed Harrison’s board into Cameron’s. They made gooey eyes at each other while Avery watched like she was catching her favourite (if frustrating) show. Cam stuttered, trying to break the ice and finally ask him out, but Harrison had gotten used to his devious, if childish, ways, and assumed he was trying to distract him. Before Cameron could formulate anything approaching a flirt, Harrison shoved him off his board with his oar, plunging him into the arctic depths.

 For one horrifying moment, Cameron didn’t surface. The waves swept over where he’d disappeared, erasing any trace of him. Harrison had to fight every instinct not to jump in after him. The cruel reality was - he was a terrible swimmer in this form, not yet used to feeling his beloved sea fill these poorly designed human lungs. Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harrison's and dragged him into the freezing cold depths from which it came.

All sound disappeared as the currents rushed past Harrison’s ears, caressing ‌him like a lover welcoming him back to a peaceful, idyllic dream. One that ended with an almighty splash as his legs propelled him back up for air. The pair laughed at him as he gasped for breath. But Harrison’s joy in that moment ran underneath his skin, illuminating him from the inside out. Being in his beloved ocean with this new, endlessly intriguing man who softened his edges to match Harrison’s and who looked at him differently than even the people he saw on TV, made something inside of him finally shift. Harrison couldn’t read human forms of flirting, but the freezing temperature went to Cameron’s head, turning him giddy. He lurked like a hungry crocodile, blowing bubbles as he stalked closer to his prey, all to dunk Harrison once again. Then, when he was close enough, he enveloped him in the jaws of his arms and twirled them around in a playful tussle, splashing water on him and laughing freer than he had in years. Little did he know just how similar he was acting to a courting seal.

Cameron realised just how close they had become as their wetsuits stuck to each other like Velcro, Harrison’s legs swaying between his like even Neptune himself was hurrying them along. Cameron gulped, fearing he had pushed too far, but his partner's kind weren’t known for keeping human decorum. Suddenly moving with a grace he never possessed on land, Harrison rolled them over like an overturned kayak and back, again and again until his friend looked like he was about to puke. Cameron thought he was just getting revenge. Harrison thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. And Avery… Well, she definitely was going to be sick.

“Oh my God, just ask each other out already, or I will leave you both here to drown.”

Cameron’s mouth hung open like one of the resident wolf eels, but Harrison didn’t return the furious blush. Never one to be easily embarrassed, he asked simply, “Well, what d’you say, Cassmore?” Cam shot the giggling Avery a pointed stare and murmured that they would discuss it in private, but Harrison’s ability to keep a secret made the Knit-Wits look like spymasters. Cameron’s normal reluctance to appear too eager vanished. They agreed on the date before they ever reached the camper. As Cam drove away, a smile wrestling for every inch of space on his countenance, he saw Harrison in the rearview mirror run straight to Avery to tell her every detail. It was only later, under interrogation from Ethan (who somehow had heard from three different sources about his new paramour), that he absently wondered how Harrison knew his surname.

The dates were as mismatched as the two men. Harrison was more outdoorsy than his new boyfriend, especially if it was raining. Harrison would often turn up to his camper in the middle of a torrential downpour and ask if he wanted to go for a walk along the shore as if it were a beautiful summer’s day. His suggestion always elicited a disbelieving laugh and an attempt to coerce him into doing something else to keep them warm. Harrison eventually came to appreciate the joys of human life, and so did Cameron. They walked the old forests, drove to nearby museums, and if anyone asked Harrison about his trip to the Sowell Art Gallery, they would have thought he had visited the Louvre. The only date Harrison didn't seem to enjoy, was when Cameron had taken him to the rocky beach on the far side of the bay to watch for seals and their new born pups. 

But it was going to rundown bars that made up the vast majority of their evenings. Harrison discovered the simple delight of salted peanuts and a pint of beer that always got him happily drunk by the fifth sip. It was why he always came home a day's wage lighter for generously slipping the bar staff their deserved 200% tip. What an incredible thing money was! Give a human a single piece of paper and their smiles burned brighter than stars.

Harrison revelled in Cameron's praise, who jokingly anointed him as his greatest, cheapest date. With liquid courage bubbling along his veins, he nuzzled into his boyfriend’s welcoming neck as though it were his own personal pillow, his inhibitions lowered just enough to let seal-like behaviour show. The room spun with the ferocity of a whirlpool, but anchored to Cameron's side, Harrison didn't find he much cared.

However, it was being in the middle of a hive of life and stories that he loved the most, seeing the world through a hundred different eyes and piecing together how Cameron fitted into the jigsaw of this tiny, incredible town. It wasn't often that Harrison left without making a friend, even if it was only for as long as the queue to the restroom.

But surpassing all those incredible evenings had been the occasion when he and Tova pushed Cameron to take part in the open mic night. Harrison watched, spellbound, as his partner sang through the oppressive miasma of drunken chatter until eventually the rowdiest amongst them was struck into stunned silence. Yes, Cam wasn’t the best singer, but that only made the melody better. 

After that night, there were few things Harrison loved more than snuggling up on the camper's unforgiving mattress and listening to Cameron lazily sing an acoustic rendition of Harrison’s growing collection of cassettes. Performing for his most captive audience of one, he plucked the strings as though they were a direct line to Harrison’s heart, reverberating through his chest until he was powerless to do anything other than hum along in perfectly imperfect harmony. And here humans thought selkies were the sirens.

Harrison swore he would always cherish these memories, stubbornly refusing to picture the future when they’d be all he had. 

But despite all the good times, Cameron was all too aware that there was something… Off about everything. Harrison knew strange pieces of information that Cameron didn’t remember ever telling a soul, except as an angry rant to a bored octopus while he scrubbed gum off the floor. While Cameron told him everything, Harrison never opened up about his past, just that his family lived elsewhere and that he hadn’t seen them in years. He didn’t have a formal education, yet he seemed just as smart as Cameron, perhaps more so - even if basic pop culture and city life ‌seemed to bewilder him. Cameron figured he was some rich kid slumming it, or more likely, he was from a small, impoverished coastal town or Amish community. It would make sense. Even all these months later, Harrison appeared averse to ever owning a phone or a computer. However, he was a surprisingly fast learner when he learned of the existence of Spotify. Thinking he recognised Harrison's poor spelling on a local Facebook group, he bleary-eyed scrolled through reams of posts, asking if anyone had seen anything vaguely out of the ordinary recently? Like maybe… a fluffy grey coat? Or a kids' seal plushie? It hadn't made a lick of sense to his sleep-addled mind, but once he awoke refreshed, they were all gone. What a weird fucking dream.

Ignoring the entire palace of alarm bells, Cameron never probed past the thin smile that clamped shut whenever he tried to pry it open. He couldn't ruin this. It felt too amazing for Cam to have someone treat him like he wasn’t just some deadbeat loser. To finally care for someone else for a change, and that, just for writing a song, looked at him as if he was some kind of genius. Yeah, he felt amazing, alright, possibly for the first time in his life. 

Over the coming few weeks, Cameron would hold on to that fragile feeling for dear life.

For all of their growing intimacy over the last few months, Harrison would still shy away every time things got hot and heavy. He certainly kissed like there was a smouldering fire behind it. All teeth and tongue, and just a bit of nose and chin whenever Cam scratched behind his ears. But when hands got under shirts and breathing became ragged, he’d slow down, a genuine yet devastating ‘that was nice’, the closest thing to an explanation. Unable to cope with the feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty it stirred up inside, Cameron finally brought it up over coffee in bed. The addition to their routine had been Harrison's idea, a gentle way to help the overworked night owl wake up for a day shift at the front desk. He had never been late to anything since Harrison entered his life. The kisses along Cameron's shoulder as Harrison handed him the mug were a cruel reminder of all he stood to lose.

Why am I doing this? He thought bitterly. But the voice that came back was certain. How could you not? Sex and intimacy helped Cameron feel loved and connected to a partner when his sabotaging mind refused to let him believe in their words of affection.

If Harrison just wanted to go steady, that was one thing; he would never want to pressure him, but when all the blood drained from Harrison’s face, he knew he had hit something just below the surface. As hard as it was to watch Harrison pull away, Cameron held his ground. Having been dumped enough times in his life to know an ending when he saw one, Cameron tracked the mental arithmetic going on behind Harrison’s frenzied eyes as he tried to formulate a response that remained stubbornly out of reach.

Defeated, Harrison landed on something he had heard on TV with a heavy sigh: “It’s not you, it’s me.” The cliche dropped like a dead weight between them, but seeing Cameron brace himself for the mercy kill of their relationship, Harrison pushed himself to continue. “I want to… I do. But I just need to figure some stuff out first. I’ll tell you, just not until I get everything straight.”

Harrison looked ‌him dead in the eye with an intensity Cam didn't know he possessed. Unwavering, a hand cupped his face with the same gentleness that Harrison had used to touch the aquarium glass, “I love you, Cameron Cassmore. I promise… No matter what happens, never doubt that.”

There was that name again. But he forgot the question as uneasiness tightened his jaw. Cameron knew he couldn’t return those three simple words. To him, secrets were the phantom shadows that haunted his every waking moment after his mother left. A silent poison that had corroded his childhood until only bitter resentment remained. And now here they were again, destroying the best thing that had happened to him in years. It was obvious they couldn’t go on like this. They were better off breaking up before things turned irrevocably toxic, but Cameron was so close to finding Simon Brinks. He knew it. If he could get the money, then maybe, just maybe, Harrison would see him as someone he could settle down with. That must have been it, right? At the end of the day, it was always Cameron who was the problem. He hoped the kiss he gave was enough to convince Harrison to stick around until then. Despite the doubts, he put his whole being into it.

After that, their relationship became a regular dance of one step forward, two steps back. Sure, Harrison was uniquely peculiar; everyone knew that, but every time they drew closer, Harrison would recoil and drift away, caught inside the maelstrom that hung heavy over his head. Physically, they continued their routine side by side, shared domesticity now deeply ingrained into their every cell, where once they had held only loneliness. Their bodies carried them through the lows, still working as one, even while Harrison felt himself being torn apart.

But no matter how tough it got, there was always something to bring Harrison back to his usual self, the town’s own luminescent ray of sunshine in the middle of the dreary Pacific coast. His face simply couldn’t hold a frown for more than a few days, as though sullenness was antithetical to his very nature. Even a small gesture or a kind word was often enough. A meal from Tova when she saw that glint in his eye dull, or an evening with Ethan to listen to some band over a glass of whisky. But the more Cameron tried to do the same, the quieter Harrison would fall. It felt like they were two ghosts haunting the same room, with only their friends able to ease Harrison back to the land of the living and back into Cameron’s waiting arms. 

Harrison would never be the one to bring it up, pretending the storm had never broken at all, with nothing but a breezy smile and a peck on Cameron’s cheek. He was too afraid to reveal his secret, while Cameron couldn’t bear to open that festering wound in case he somehow made things irrevocably worse. He had, after all, rather a lifelong habit of it.

But the reason for Harrison’s reluctance was a deceptively simple one. He was a selkie, the only one he had seen since his arrival in Sowell Bay over ten years ago. To him, mating with a human meant giving up on his only chance of ever returning home.

He had lost his sealskin on the full moon before Harrison came into town. He stored it as he always did, in his secret alcove where the tide (he thought) could never take it - but when he returned from his visit to the Bay, it was gone without a trace. His only small mercy in this foreign land had been the shopping bag left outside a Goodwill, which supplied him with the clothes he knew humans so insisted upon. He had searched and searched for his skin, going to the aquarium that had saved him all those many moons ago. Finding it closed, he instead stopped by the local shop in his first attempt to converse with this complex yet still terrifying species. He had been desperate, but instead of finding his sealskin, he found a friendship with the store’s owner that he had not truly experienced on this side of the Pacific. And then another friendship blossomed with Avery, and then another. But most, and worst of all, there had been a Cameron. 

And therein lay the problem.

Because Harrison had grown up with the stories of Selkies being forced to stay on land. Their beauty had been their curse, when inevitably a human would fall in love with them, only for them to steal their skins, holding them hostage in a land that was never truly their home. Some had still fallen in love and borne children, some had not, but throughout every story, no matter how much they loved and were loved in return, every Selkie longed to return to the sweet embrace of the ocean. The water still called to Harrison, pulling him away from his new makeshift human pod. Marcellus had called his affliction ‘melancholia’. Harrison wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant, but it sounded too pretty for the ugly pain in his heart. But no matter how much he loved Cameron, his people had always warned that once a human knew how to entrap them, they would never give them up. And so every night he searched for it, and every morning he couldn’t help but selfishly return to that rundown camper.

With each failed search, it started to sink in. If the ocean really had claimed his skin, it wouldn't be in Sowell Bay anymore. To a selkie, there was no choice. No decision to be made. Harrison had to leave.

Bob Reynolds-

Ok ok!! So I think Tova would sort of be cautious and concerned for Cameron about Bob reynolds especially when she finds out about his former drug use and is worried how that will effect Cameron because of what happend with his mom

I feel Marcellus would actually really like Bob, if Bob was to visit the aquarium it would definitely be while Cameron was working at night and Bob would just follow along keeping Cameron company and just admire all the fish. Marcellus in all his knowledge would know that these two are good for each other, he can tell they can give each other the stability they never had growing up. Though hes completely sure this will take a long time and lots of effort

Bob Floyd-

Tova would LOVE Bob Floyd she would probably grow to love any of Cameron’s partner but Bob Floyd she would love!! She would admire how kind and polite he is and how he take care of Cameron, she would approve Bob Floyds tidiness and work ethic and how he always keeps Cameron in check and focused

Marcellus would definitely approve of how when ever Bob would come visit Cameron at work Bob would instantly pick up a rag and help clean. He would been impressed that Bob would automatically clean the spots only Tova has ever clean.

Miles Miller-

Tova would love that boy with her whole heart, she would treat him as if hes her own grandson, always making cameron invite him over for dinner and would make it her mission to keep him well fed and cared for, for him to know he will always have a home with them not even needing to know his past to know that boy needs a proper home and love

Marcellus would like Miles and loved how he would talk to the different sea creatures even the stupid eels in the tank beside him

He thought the only mark or remembrance of your presence at the hotel would be your name inscribed in messy handwriting on the ledger kept in the back office of that raggedy hotel. Just another two names added to a list that would soon be forgotten and stored away once it got too filled. Miles never expected you to be any more than that. But he should’ve known, from the first time you met, that you and Ben would forever change his life.

You seemed like a nice couple. Listening to Miles give his whole speech about the great hotel and all its amenities, kindly asking him questions about room service and if the lobby was free to access. It wasn’t until you wrote your names down that Miles had realized he actually did know you. Well, your husband at least.

“O-oh, you’re Ben Mears? The author?”

Ben cocked a brow, surprised, “You know my books?”

Miles nodded, “Y-yeah, uhm I really liked your last one. Didn’t really think all those reviews about it were too fair.”

Shyly keeping his eyes glued to the wood counter, Miles missed the amused look of curiosity you and Ben shared, Ben’s raised brow or the playful wink you threw at your husband before he looked back up at you, none the wiser.

Ben chuckled, “Well, thank you Miles. You think you can call my publisher and let him know that?”

You lightly slapped his shoulder; Ben acted like he’d been wounded in combat. Miles smiled at you two. He didn’t usually get to see this type of relationship with his customers. Maybe back in the hotel's hay day when the El Royale was known as the place to be, but since the loss of the gambling license, most “couples” that crossed his paths were more correctly described as clients and their entertainment for the night. You two were a breath of fresh air from that.

Miles handed you the key to your room, ignoring the static he felt as your fingers brushed against his, “What brings you to the El Royale?”

Ben hummed, looking a little pained as he uttered the word, “Inspiration.”

Miles’s brows furrowed, eyes squinting as he tilted his head to the side, “Come again?”

Ben sighed, exhausted already at the mere memory of his publisher admonishing him for his last poorly reviewed book, “Well, my publisher has been up my ass about getting a new book out before the end of the year, and uh…”

You cut in, leaning against Ben's arm, “Let’s just say, staying in New York hasn’t been all that… inspiring.”

Miles nearly snorted at your comment. The idea of New York, the state of self-discovery and endless possibilities being so uninspiring that you and Ben had to come here, to this sad, old excuse for a hotel in the middle of the Nevada and California mountains, was comical. 

And just like that, you two were off. Miles sighed in relief the moment you two disappeared into your room. He waited for the call that never came, the call from management to record the comings and dealings of the famed author staying with them for the foreseeable future, but when it never came, Miles actually felt a tad disappointed. Not that he wanted to blackmail you. Christ no, never. You were both so nice to him. He hated doing that to any guest, especially those as kind as you both, but it would’ve given him an excuse to sneak into those back rooms and take a peek. Just out of… curiosity. Yeah, that’s right. Curiosity. That was all. Nothing more.

Miles knew he shouldn’t have. He should have turned back and gone back to his room. But he couldn’t help the curiosity of it. Were you two the type to throw your bags wherever they landed and flop into bed to sleep off the exhaustion of your journey or did you get straight to… business after a long trip? Guess he’d find out soon enough.

The hallway illuminated with light as the two-way mirrors showed the inside of the various empty hotel rooms, all lonely in this great palace, just like Miles felt. Finally, he made it to your room.

The hallways were deathly quiet as he watched you two unpack. You said something that made the author chuckle and throw a shirt across the room toward you. You grinned and threw a pillow from the bed at your husband, who quickly dodged it. In a flash you were being led to the bathroom, presumably to share a shower with your husband. And just like that Miles was alone again.

It was quite a wholesome sight compared to the next time he went back to see you. He knew he shouldn’t have violated your privacy again; he just couldn’t help himself. Yesterday, you had been his only form of genuine human interaction that he’d had in months. Maybe it had been a small, fleeting moment for you, but to him it was everything.

The sun had barely risen when Miles started his rounds around the hotel. He started preparing the coffee for when you two’d inevitably come down for your morning cup of joe when he felt the pull to check those back rooms. He promised himself he’d just take a peek then march back into the lobby and stay there for further notice.

The sight before Miles boosted him with enough adrenaline for him to forgo caffeine for the rest of the day.

Your breasts bounced as you rode your husband, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as Ben had his hands on your hips, not to guide, but support you. The author looked at you like you were an angel cast down from heaven, love behind his eyes as he reached up and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, tugging at your nipple. Miles knew he shouldn’t have, but his finger flicked the switch to his side, and your moans echoed through the wall the moment he did.

“Oh! Ben, yes, yes!” Then as the author brought your nipple to his mouth, you whined, “Just like that – fuck!”

Unable to contain his own moans, Miles had to cover his mouth to drown out the sound as he palmed himself. The expression on his face could only be described as half scared, half aroused as Ben easily flipped you over.

“Shhh, darling,” Ben whispered with a smirk. “Don’t want to wake the neighbors now do we?”

“We’re the only ones in this fucking hotel. Shut up and fuck me harder, Ben.”

The author simply chuckled at your words, “As you wish.”

Your whine of Ben's name as he thrusted into you at a quicker pace nearly made Miles fall over. A wet, squelching sound of his dick slamming into your cunt followed behind every one of Ben's grunts, letting Miles and Ben know just how aroused you were.

You grabbed at his back, nails digging into his skin as you felt the pressure in your belly build, “Ben, m'close!"

Ben growled, picking up pace, “I got you, come on baby, come on my cock.”

Sweat dripped down the hotel clerk’s neck as he watched you moan. Seeing you come undone was the most beautiful thing. The way your eyes fluttered as you felt your orgasm reaching closer and closer, how you threw your head back and let out a strangled whine as you came on your husband’s cock was a work of art. A masterpiece.

Miles could barely hold back his whimper as he watched you cum. Ben handled you with a gentle touch, caressing your face as your back arched off the bed when you landed with an ‘oof’. Instead of Ben continuing on and chasing his own orgasm, he stopped, checking in on you. He pulled you into a deep, languid kiss, muttering the softest ‘you okay?’ 

You nodded, chuckling lightly as Ben pressed another kiss to your sweaty forehead. Miles was astounded at how attuned you and Ben were to each other, like you knew your partner’s next move before they did. When you moved, he moved; it was instinctive, but Miles guessed that must be what it’s like when you’ve found your person. The love of your life. Something Miles never had the pleasure of knowing.

Not with his high school sweetheart who he swapped kisses with under the school bleachers and who he swore he was going to marry when he returned from the war, or the various men he’d slept with on these very hotel beds. No, no they didn’t count. Miles was nothing more than a faded memory or another notch on their belts.

Miles couldn’t look any longer. He ignored the ache between his legs, covered the bulge in his pants with one hand and hobbled toward the exit. Once he got to his room, he’d be able to relive the ache he felt. And if the image of your breast in his mouth and Ben's hand wrapped around his cock was the only image that could make the lonely Catholic boy cum, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. Not even God himself.

---

Time seemed to fly with you and Ben at the El Royale. Usually, the days were dull and mundane, dragging on where 24 hours felt like 48. Miles didn’t think he’d see much of you besides the occasional room service or cocktail at the bar, but you and Ben rarely ever kept to yourselves.

He didn’t remember how it started, but you started sharing meals together almost immediately. Maybe it was when you offered him some pizza after ordering too much or because you ate together at the bar as you swapped stories about life in the Big Apple compared to Miles’s country life back in Indiana.

And then it turned into cooking lessons where you and Ben tried to recreate your mother’s famous chocolate pie. Miles tried to stifle a laugh as he watched you two work. Ben's hair was nearly all white with how much flour you'd thrown at him when ‘he accidentally’ got some chocolate on your face. Miles, in return, baked you both his Nana’s award-winning peach cobbler. 

Ben was almost always in the lobby or patio, pen and notebook in hand as he jotted down idea after idea. The first time Miles saw those glasses perched up on the author’s nose, he nearly stumbled back to the room he came out from. Now Miles wasn’t an idiot; Ben Mears was attractive. He thought so the moment he turned to the back cover of one of his books and read the ‘About the Author’ section and there was Ben posed with his squinted eyes and finger on his chin as if in deep thought. But with those glasses, that collared shirt and the sun illuminating behind him, Miles nearly thought he was in some romance novel.

“You alright there, Miles?”

“Huh? Oh!” Miles jumped when he realized he’d been caught staring. He was grateful Ben didn’t comment on it. The author simply smirked to himself as the hotel clerk’s ears burned red, “Ye-yeah, m’fine.”

That exact interaction happened on more than one occasion. And Ben wore that shit-eating grin each and every time.

But they only really started bonding one night when Miles had woken up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as the memories of gun fire, blood and screams of his fallen comrades shook him awake. He knew he couldn’t stay in bed, so he made his way down to the lobby, sliding on his slippers as he grabbed his robe off the side of the bed.

A few dim lanterns lit up the El Royale at this time of night, but the lobby for the most part was dark and deserted. Well, usually it was deserted.

“Hi.”

“Christ!”

Miles nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face Ben, who was sitting by himself on the lobby couch in the dark, looking quite amused at the sound Miles let out. Ben was lying across one of the couches, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Definitely won’t be able to anymore…” Miles muttered under his breath before walking behind the bar, “Tea?”

The other man shrugged, “If you don’t mind.”

While the kettle was warming up, Miles eyed Ben. He had gotten up and was messing with the fireplace, face scrunched up in frustration that it wasn't doing what he wanted.

“Here,” Miles walked over, taking over so Ben wouldn't break it. If it broke, who knew when management would ever get around to fixing the damn thing, “Let me help.”

Ben smiled at him sheepishly, heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment, “Thanks, sorry.”

Miles just threw him a tired smile, and in a flash, viola! Orange, red, and yellow flames bounced off the walls of the room, “What brings you out here so late?”

“Can’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up with my tossing and turning so….” Ben trailed off, gesturing to himself.

Once the kettle whistled and Miles made himself comfortable on the couch across from the author, it didn’t take long for the two men to start talking. First, it was just about their day, asking what errands the other ran, what plans they had for tomorrow, before turning into what led to them both seeking each other’s company.

“What’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, um,” An explosion. Smoke. Fire. Dead eyes, “Nothing just, I get nightmares from time to time. Bad… memories.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Miles meant by that. Ben had a feeling Miles served the moment he met the skittish man before him. Miles didn’t look like the stereotypical military, with his slouched shoulders and meek demeanor, but that look in his eyes screamed of someone who’d seen and survived things most couldn’t even fathom. Ben was lucky enough to have not been caught up in the draft, but he knew many who weren’t.

Ben bit the inside of his cheek, his voice much more serious than it had been all night long, “The war?”

Miles didn’t need to say anything, just a nod was enough, “W-what about you? What’s keeping you up?”

“Also, a nightmare, well, sort of. My parents died in a fire when I was very young, so I don’t really remember much about it. But when I’m sleeping, I can sometimes still feel things from that night, but it’s all fuzzy.” Ben let out a dry chuckle, shaking the thoughts out of his head, “Guess sometimes things are so bad your brain won’t let you remember them.”

“Well, my brain seems to do the opposite, won’t let me forget. I can still see them. The bodies, the dead eyes. The smell…” Miles flinched, like the memory was physically attacking him, “Can never forget the smell.”

Miles muttered the last part, but then, like a flip had been switched, he blinked, realizing what he’d revealed, not expecting himself to say something so real and personal. Ben looked like he was going to say something, but Miles didn’t want to dive deeper into it, “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, don't apologize-”

“How’s the tea?” Miles said that sharper than he intended. He’s glad his Nana isn't here to slap him over the head for being so rude.

Ben stumbled over his words. “The – oh the tea? Y-yeah it’s good. Nice. Warm. Honey?”

Miles nodded, hiding away from Ben’s pity filled eyes, “Honey.”

A silence fell over them, and Ben looked like he wanted to say more. He knew Miles didn’t want to dive back into the past conversation, but he thought about complimenting Miles on how hospitable he’d been to them since they got here. Or maybe he’d compliment his eyes. They were so blue and so pretty; Ben could get lost in them if he stared for too long. But the blare of Miles’s alarm in his room interrupted him before he could say anything else.

“Oh! Is it nearly 6 already?”

“Huh? Oh... shit it is.” Ben messed with his hair, groaning as he stood up and looked at his watch, “Thanks for keeping me company this morning, or night or whatever.”

Miles smiled, ignoring the fluttering in his chest at how adorable Ben looked with his messy hair and tired eyes, before heading back toward his room, “See you for breakfast.”

Ben watched as he left, unable to deny the fact he wished he could’ve stayed talking to Miles, even for just a little longer, “See you.”

Those nightcaps between the two men continued on nearly every night, a routine of sorts. Sometimes they talked about nothing and everything. Almost every time, without fail, you came up. Ben could tell the other man was fond of you. Miles probably thought the shadows kept the blush across his cheeks concealed, but Ben could tell from a mile away. It made Ben all the more confident that the one-sided attraction you and he had for Miles wasn’t so one-sided after all.

At first Ben thought Miles was only attracted to you. The hotel clerk wasn’t exactly the best at hiding it. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a little too long whenever you came down for your morning coffee, and how he blushed as red as a cherry tomato whenever you teased him. 

The one that always made Ben laugh every time he thought about it when he was watching you look over the engine of your guys’ car. You had taken it upon yourself to give it a once over when it wouldn’t start that morning before calling a mechanic that was going to charge way too much for a simple tow.

Blue eyes watched from behind the room blinds as your head was tucked under the hood of the car. Ben couldn’t help himself from ogling your ass from that angle, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

Ben’s eyes flickered over to Miles, who looked like he was just getting ready to do his afternoon stroll around the property when he saw you outside. Although you were facing away from him, he could tell you were frustrated from the cursing under your breath and how you threw the rag in your hand down on the engine followed by more expletives.

Averting his eyes from your ass and staring at the ground instead, he called out to you, “Car trouble?”

You turned to face him, sending him a strained smile before turning back to the car, “I was going to go into town and pick up a few things and it just… wouldn’t start, piece of shit,” you muttered those last words to yourself. You knew if Ben heard you say that about his beloved MG MGB, he would not stand for it. It was his pride and joy, even though he knew nothing about cars. “Miles… Do you happen to know of any mechanic in town? Maybe someone friendly enough that they won’t charge an arm and a leg just to look at the damn thing.”

Miles chuckled, “Afraid not, ma’am, but I’m sure we can find someone in the phone book.” He heard you mutter a ‘fuck’ before perking up again, “D-do you want me to take a look?”

You nearly jumped for joy at the offer. While you knew some things about cars, you were nowhere near an expert, “Would you? Do you know cars like that?”

Miles shakes his head, “N-not really, but I learned a little bit about them in LBJ.”

You tilted your head to the side, confused, “In what now?”

“Long Binh Junction.” When you still looked confused, he muttered, “In Vietnam.”

“Oh!” You straightened up at that, smile dimming slightly, “You served?”

“Y-yes, but that’s another life now.”

Noting how he seemed to skirt around the subject, you just nodded, “You’re too kind, Miles.”

He took the tool from your open hand, again feeling that static energy, but he didn't acknowledge it and kept his head down “Just helping where I can.”

Looking to make small talk while under the hood of your car, Miles asked, “Does Mr. Mears not –” Miles motioned to the engine of the car, and you couldn’t help but chortle at the mere idea of Ben knowing anything about cars.

“Ben may be gifted when it comes to writing, but cars? Anything to do with any type of machinery besides a pen and paper? He’s hopeless.” You proudly grinned when you heard Miles laugh.

“Oh, I think I see the issue.” Miles took the rag you handed him, wiping his hands clean as he explained, “Needs a new battery, and some spark plugs. Nothing too hard to change if you got the right tools, which I’m sure I got…”

The hotel clerk seemed to forget his words as his eyes moved from your face to the hand on his arm. Your hand was on his arm, rubbing it up and down before giving it a gentle squeeze as you smiled. Miles nearly combusted when you pressed an appreciative kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Miles. We’d be calling every mechanic in the phone book if it wasn’t for you.”

Heat bloomed under the hotel clerk's skin, his entire face turning a light shade of pink that reached all the way down to his neck, “O-of course. Um, d-do you need, um, me to help you to order the parts? Or, or I can help -”

You waved him off, “It’s quite alright Miles, you’ve done more than enough. I’ll get Ben to handle it. If he can’t look at a car, the least he can do is order the parts, no?”

“Right, right.” He stepped back, watching as you closed the hood of the car. His eyes couldn't help but wonder at your dress, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at how it hugged your figure in all the right places. 

Ben hummed in interest as he watched you two bid each other goodbye, not at all missing how the hotel clerk’s gaze lingered on you, completely unbothered by it. You and he had always been different from other couples, more understanding than most.

You shared your bed with a third person only twice before. Both left you and your husband reeling in the aftermath when you learned the other wanted nothing more than to experiment or live to tell the tale of a wild night sleeping with a married couple. Although you didn’t care what others thought, you couldn’t be too upset when your past partners left when they realized you both wanted more.

Pretty soon after your talk under the hood of Ben’s car, you and Miles got really close over your shared hobbies. Miles liked to knit while you crocheted. They were different yet similar art forms. Sometimes you’d read aloud while Miles knit or cleaned around the lobby, stopping every so often to laugh at the dialog the author used or speculate about what you thought was going to happen next.

One time you surprised him. The weather started to get colder, the sun set earlier and the clouds started creeping in closer and closer every day. You noticed that Miles’ clothes seemed too sparse. He mainly wore his work uniform but on more than one chilly night, you found the hotel clerk wondering about the grounds shivering from the cold, his cheeks red as he tried and failed to protect his face from the icy winds.

Miles knew you were making something, but he thought it was for Ben. Imagine his surprise when you gave him a scarf, wrapping it around his neck and sides of his head as you explained why you were giving it to him. Miles thought it was beautiful. It was brown and soft, and so, so warm.

“I don’t know what to say, just, thank you. Thank you so much.”

You laughed as Miles hugged you, “I’m glad you like it.” Before placing a delicate kiss on the man’s cheek. It was the second one you’d given him, and Miles couldn’t believe it. Were you always so affectionate with people you didn’t know? Was this just something reserved for him, because you were friends? Was it… Could it…?

When you pulled back, Miles looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised as his throat went dry. Instead, he just mumbled another ‘thank you’ before holding the scarf close to him. The very next day Miles was dressed in his usual work attire but with one other addition, your scarf.

A couple days later, Miles had a gift of his own for you. Originally, he was knitting the blanket for himself. As the El Royale aged, the insulation in the building worsened and as the colder time of the year drew near and with management giving no indication into upgrading the bedding of the hotel, Miles decided to make a blanket of his own. But when he heard from Ben that you'd been shivering more at night, he immediately knew the blanket was no longer his to keep.

“For you.”

Your eyes widened, a surprised smile on your face as Miles revealed the secret he’d been hiding behind his back. A gasp escaped you as you touched the fabric. It was wool, but not the itchy kind. It was thick and soft, the best thing to wrap around yourself as you sat beside the fire with a book in your lap as it rained outside.

Clutching it to your chest, you beamed at him, “Miles! You shouldn't have. Oh! I love it!”

He rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish smile on his face as you complimented the fabric and his technique, “I know, but… you mentioned being cold at night now that winter's coming, and I, uh, well, I also wanted to thank you for the scarf you gave me.”

Lightly, you flicked his shoulder, ignoring his little ‘hey!’ “You don't need to give me things in return, Miles. That was a gift.”

“I know! I know, but I just…wanted to do something nice for you.”

Miles shrunk away at his confession, eyes glued to the floor. Your heart nearly soared out of your chest at his words. You thanked him again with a hug this time, and Miles couldn't help but bury his head in your neck. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, not wanting the hug to end.

The night Miles knew he was absolutely and unequivocally gone for both of you was a couple of days later. You were going about your usual routine, reading a book in the lobby as Miles sat beside you, this time with his blanket over your lap. 

At first Miles always sat far away enough as to not make you uncomfortable, but in your time together, he went from sitting on the other side of the couch to you being tucked under his arm, a blanket you made thrown over both your laps with your mugs of Chamomile resting on the table.

Your head lulled to the side as you started speaking slower and yawning between your sentences. Then, silence. The thump of the book in your hands falling shut when your hands went limp echoed as Miles felt the added weight of your head in the crook of his neck.

Oh. My. God.

Miles froze. He carefully moved to peek at you before looking straight ahead again. Okay, okay it’s fine, it’s fine. Besides the fact you’re going to be upset at losing your spot in the book when you wake up later, this was all going to be fine. He just needed his heart to stop beating out of his chest as he caught a whiff of your shampoo.

Miles bit his bottom lip as he stared down at you. He just didn’t have it in his heart to wake you, but he knew you’d do much better sleeping in your own bed than the hotel lobby, so he hooked one arm under your legs and picked you up bridal style. He stopped breathing for a moment when you stirred, looking like a deer in headlights until you settled down, mumbling something in your sleep as you snuggled his chest. Breathing a sigh of relief, Miles made sure you were secure in his arms, and carried you to your room.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, just as Miles reached your room, a groggy Ben opened the door, saving him from having to figure out how to knock and make sure you don’t wake up at the same time.

“Oh! Miles! Hey, wha- oh. She fell asleep?”

“Y-yeah,” Miles whispered, checking to make sure you didn't wake up at Ben’s voice, but thankfully all you did was stir before nuzzling closer to his chest. You were going to be the death of him and you didn't even know what you were doing, “I didn't have the heart to wake her up.”

The two men shared a smile before Ben stepped aside to let Miles in. Ben tried to offer his arms up to take you, but Miles shook his head. He’d hate to have you get woken up because he transferred you from his arms to Ben's.  

Miles set you down on the bed while Ben took off your shoes, a tense, yet comfortable silence falling between them. Tense for Miles because he was finally in the room he’d watched you and Ben on that first day you checked in. He avoided the backrooms since that day he saw you having sex. No matter how tempted he was, he wasn’t going to violate your privacy like that again.

The floorboards creaked as Ben got up and snatched up a pair of wool socks from your drawer before sitting down on the bed and bringing your legs into his lap, “Her feet run cold, so she always gotta sleep with her fuzzy socks on.”

Miles chuckled, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, thank goodness too.” Ben rubbed your calves, smiling fondly down at your sleeping figure, “No more getting attacked by her icicles every night and morning as long as she got them on.”

Two sets of blue eyes met and after a beat, stifled laughter filled the room. Miles grinned even wider when Ben told him not to tell you he told him that. Ben's love for you was so obvious and raw and real. Though his heart broke because he knew he’d never experience that with either of you, he was happy for you both.  

“Did you end up finding what you were looking for?”

Ben cocked a brow at Miles, “Whatcha mean?”

While throwing another blanket over your sleeping body, Miles reminded Ben, “You said that when you checked in. That you were searching for something, that something was missing in New York. Did you find it?”

Ben paused, watching as Miles tucked you in. All the instincts in his body told him to lean forward, kiss the man next to him and tell him he was who they were looking for, but he shook his head at the thought. “Yeah, yeah I think we have.”

Finally satisfied that you were comfortable, Miles turned to Ben, “Good.” But there was something different in his eyes when he said it. Something almost… sad.

Ben noticed immediately, concerned, “You okay?”

Miles nodded, avoiding Ben's face as he stood up, “Yeah, yeah, I'm just tired. I’ll leave you be, have a good night.” And like that, Miles rushed out. He could barely hear Ben's response with how quickly he dashed out of there.

When Miles finally made it back to his own quarters, sitting there alone in the dark, desolate room, he could finally let himself break down at what Ben's words really meant. His hands shook, as he tried to unbutton his shirt, a ragged exhale leaving his lungs when he could finally get it off him. If you truly found what you were looking for, the day would soon come that you two would finally check out and he’d never see you again. That made his heart race, and not in a good way.

He’d like to imagine you’d be indefinite guests here. He had gotten so used to having someone to talk to. You two became the people who helped pass the time when he was polishing the same unused glasses for the hundredth time. There were other guests who stayed when you were there, but neither had the effect on him that you two did. It was like you were a witch and cast a spell on him, keeping him only on you.

Miles shook his head at himself. He shouldn't be thinking this. You and Ben weren't his to keep. To have and to hold. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest, inducing sleep to avoid pain, but no matter how hard he tried, his brain wouldn't shut up. All he saw when he closed his eyes was the back of Ben's car as you and Ben left him, forever. So he did something he hadn't done in a while. Miles thought he wasn't worthy of God's ear for a long time now. Someone who's hurt as many people as he had should not get that pleasure. Nor someone with the same temptations as he.

“Lord,” Miles began, dropping to his knees and intertwining his hands together as he prayed, “I know I have no reason to ask this of you right now, but I need your help. Please, rid me of these urges and wants. I know it’s not right, wanting a man and woman, a married couple, but I can't-” Miles inhaled sharply, nearly collapsing against the edge of his bed as he felt tears brimming his eyes, “Please just stop it. I don't wanna miss them when they leave. Please.”

It almost made Miles chuckle at the irony of it all. He used to pray for a lover who'd love him whole and completely, and yet here he is now, praying his feelings would disappear.

Miles wiped the stray tear from his cheek, sniffling as he got up and settled himself into bed. The cold bed squeaked under him as he pulled one of his pillows into his arm, pulling it under his chin so he had something to hold. Miles liked to think he did this because it brought him some comfort, but really, it was so that way he could sleep, imagining for once, he wasn't going to bed alone.

It was apparent that his prayers went unanswered when your impending departure was the only thing on Miles’s mind all day long. It was all he thought of as he washed the dishes from last night's dinner, cleaned the counters for the fifth time that day and as Miles prepared Ben a drink for their usual nightcap. You two had mostly kept to yourselves today, and Miles hated to admit how much he missed your company. He really wanted to march down to your room and ask if he could come in to just be near you. Whether it be watching TV, listening to the radio or reading a book, he didn’t care. But that would’ve been too much.

He was almost afraid Ben wouldn't come tonight because he had barely seen him, but when the author finally made an appearance, Miles let out a sigh of relief. The usual pleasantries were exchanged between them, before Miles went to get Ben's drink ready and that was when his mind wandered to you. Should he ask for you to join them? He’d really like that. Even though you were probably busy, but he just -

“You alright there, Miles?”

Miles blinked, dropping the spoon into the drink he’d most definitely over stirred as he got lost in his head. Ben sat right across from him, book in hand and glasses perched up on his nose.

The longer the hotel clerk looked at the famed author, the drier his mouth felt. 

Ben looked at him, concerned, still waiting for an answer.

Miles’s voice came out shakier than intended, “O-oh right. Yes, yes, I’m f-fine.”

Ben hummed, putting the book in his lap down and standing up, “I’m gonna miss this place ya know?”

“Oh!?” Christ Miles! Keep your voice at a normal octave.

“Yeah…” Ben trailed off, gazing at Miles with a look so intense the hotel clerk had to look away, “Like I said, finally found that thing I was looking for. Plus, we’ve been getting a bit antsy for a change of scenery. Not saying California isn’t pretty but…”

Miles laughed half-heartedly, before his face turned serious again, “W-when will you be going?” he doubts you’ll be leaving soon. You have to at least give him a two week notice. So he could mentally prepare. He’ll make sure to cherish his time with you both even more. Not that he already didn't, but he’d make sure to remember the sound of your laugh, the smell of Ben's cologne. Maybe he can take one of your pillows, so he can still have something that smelled of you both, until it inevitably disappeared with time -

“Probably in a couple days. At most a week.”

“What!? But that’s so-” Miles cleared his throat, collecting himself. Pull yourself together man! “Sorry, I mean, that’s soon.”

Ben nodded, tapping his finger on the armrest of the couch, “I know…” before he changed the subject, a look flashing across his face that Miles didn't recognize. “Do you dance?”

Miles flashed him an incredulous look, but shook his head, “Not really, no.”

Ben stood up, walking to the dusty jukebox with a sway in his step. The author tapped his foot as he searched for a record to play, before he found the perfect one.

And yet as the record started to play, instead of sitting back down and humming the tune like Ben usually did on nights like this, he walked up to Miles and outstretched his hand.

“Neither do I.”

Miles tried to wave him off, shaking his head when Ben beckoned him over, “O-oh no, I can’t”

“Come on, what’s one dance?”

Miles gave him a look. One dance was asking a lot. That meant Miles would be pressed up against Ben, nose to nose, well, chin to nose since Ben had a couple inches on him, but still, they'd be so close. And what if Miles stepped on his feet? Or what if he'd look so deeply into Miles' soul that he’d realize his feelings for the author? For you? Oh you. What if YOU walked in and thought-

Ben's hand slid over his shoulder, grabbing Miles’s attention. Ben still had that stupid smile on his face,”Comeon, just this once.” 

Miles let out an exasperated sigh, acting as if having the chance to be so close to the man that made his heart skip and head spin was such a chore, “Alright. But if I step on your feet, it’s your own fault.”

“Yesss!”

Miles laughed at his reaction, his stomach doing somersaults as an ink-stained hand wrapped around his smaller, paler hand. Ben held Miles tight at the waist, their hips swaying as the chorus of the song played.

“Is this okay?”

Goosebumps spread up and down Miles’s neck as he felt Ben's hot breath on his skin, “Y-yes, fine. It’s fine.”

“Good, good.” Wooden floorboards creaked quietly under them as they swayed. Miles kept his gaze focused on Ben’s Adam's apple, too scared to look up. And Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the other man, he barely could since he met the man all those months ago. 

Ben was immediately taken with Miles when you met him that first night. You weren't at all surprised as you heard Ben rave to you about how cute the doe-eyed hotel clerk was, gushing about how he blushed and stuttered. Ben always liked to claim he fell in love with you the moment you met, and so far, he’s yet to contradict that statement. And then not even a week later, you were doing the same. Your face hot and flustered as Ben teased you about your crush after he caught you doodling Miles’s face in that notebook of yours. That’s when you knew you had to decide quickly if you wanted to pursue something with Miles or not. And the answer was obvious to you both, and Ben was looking to take that leap for you both.

Ben couldn’t help himself as he blurted out, “You’re beautiful.”

“Ummm,” Miles swallowed, stiffening as his eyes darted from Ben to the floor.

Ben caught on, and started rubbing circles with his thumb on Miles's hip bone, “I don’t mean to offend or make you feel awkward, it’s just, you are. Very beautiful.”

The air went still, something shifting between them. It felt like time stopped as the music playing became nothing but a quiet lull as the two men stared at one another. Miles couldn't stop looking at Ben's crooked smile, memorized. Ben looked like he was in a trance as he brushed the lonely curl out of Miles eyes, cupping his cheek after.

“I-”

Ben leaned forward, placing a delicate, almost tentative kiss against Miles’ lips. Miles’s breath hitched, his brain glitching for a moment before he kissed back. Oh, this was better than Miles could have ever imagined. Ben was so gentle with him, cupping his cheek as he pulled him into a deeper kiss. 

Ben's hands tightened along Miles's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Miles' hands got tangled up in the author's hair, the kiss going from sweet to excited.

Ben's lips were so soft; he tasted so sweet. Then, Miles thought of you. Would your lips be just as soft? Would he be able to taste the flavor of your chapstick as his tongue danced along your mouth? 

Wait…no, this was all wrong.

In an instant, Miles pushed back, “N-no.”

Ben tried, cupping his face again, “Miles-”

“You’re married.”

The sound Miles made nearly broke Ben’s heart. He sounded so broken. So betrayed at Ben for kissing him, for making him a perpetrator in a seeming attempt to commit adultery. If he only knew this was meant to happen. Not exactly of course. You and Ben were going to talk to Miles before you left. To explain your feelings to the man you’d both come to care for far more intensely than you should for only knowing him a few months, but you needed to let him know before you left.

“Yes, but Miles, she, we, we both-”

“No!” Miles snapped, his lip wobbling as he backed away even further from Ben, “I- I need to go. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to, I just, I need to go.”

“Miles!” Ben tried to get him to stop, but the sound of the maintenance door slamming shut was deafening. The author rubbed his face. With all the vocabulary and literacy experience he had, there was only one word he could use to describe this situation he’d just put himself in and what he was feeling as he thought of telling you what he’d just done.

“Shit.”

---

Miles couldn’t hide from either of you for too long.

He stayed in his room in the hour following his outburst, spending most of his time on his knees, praying with his Nana's old rosary. But he knew it was futile, for if he doubted God was listening to him before, he surely wasn't listening now. Not after that kiss. 

And he also felt so bad about how he snapped at Ben. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about it. Ben was the outlier here, but that shattered look in Ben's eyes kept flashing to the front of his mind every time he closed his eyes.

It’d only been a couple hours since his adulterous kiss when he got a call from your room. He debated letting it ring, too scared of confrontation, but the longer that shrill ring of the phone went on, the worse his fear of you storming over and telling him off in person grew. You wouldn’t be mad at him. He knew that. Your husband was the one who kissed him after all, but Miles honestly didn’t know what to expect. 

Miles’s voice only wavered slightly as he answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possible, “Thank you for calling the-the, um El Royale. This is M-Miles speaking.”

“Miles…” you sounded tense, like you just had an argument and were holding in all your emotions. Miles gripped the phone even harder hearing the shakiness in your voice, “Could you be a dear and come by the room when you have a chance? There’s something…” You paused, and Miles wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “Something we need to discuss with you.”

Panicked, “M-ma’am, I swear I –”

“We’ll see you in a bit, Miles.”

Defeatedly, he responded, “O-okay.”

“Great, thank you.”

Miles’s hands shook even worse as he put the phone down. His eyes flickered over to where your room was; all the lines of windows from the empty rooms were pitch black besides yours. Despite the curtains being drawn closed, he could still see the light from inside. 

His fingers twitched as he stared at the door leading to the back rooms. It wasn't right, he knew that, but part of him wanted to know what he was getting into before he left. But a flicker from outside drew his attention. Your curtain opened, and he couldn't tell who was there, but it looked like someone was looking out the window, probably looking for him. 

The walk to your room felt like the most strenuous journey. Fallen leaves and gravel crunched under his shoes, the clouds circling over the El Royale in a way that made Miles sure it was a taunt.  A glimpse into the storm he was walking into. When Miles got to your door, he debated just turning around and hightailing it back to his little shack of a room until your door creaked open.

There you stood, wrapped up in the blankets Miles knit for you, with swollen eyes, like you'd been crying, and with a look on your face Miles couldn’t decipher. A mix of sadness, anger, and something he couldn’t quite understand (hope?) was etched across your face. 

“Miles.” Your voice sounded rough, smile not reaching your eyes. “Thank you for coming. Please come in.”

Miles shook his head, backing away, but you reached out, grip firm but still gentle, and tugged him inside, “Please Miles, we just want to talk.”

He let you pull him in, and the first thing the hotel clerk saw was Ben sitting on the couch, a look of guilt flooding his face. The author looked like a dog who’d just been caught doing something bad and received the reprimand of a lifetime. He tried to send Miles a reassuring smile, but Miles averted his eyes to the floor, shame flooding him all over again.

“Miles-”

“I’m sorry -” He immediately fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain he felt as his bone connected with the wooden floors at the wrong angle. He didn't flinch when he heard Ben’s involuntary gasp or the scrape of the chair behind him, his hand clasped together with yours as he begged for forgiveness, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any distress!”

Your hands shot out, trying to get him off the floor, “Miles please, stand up, you don’t need to -”

“I’m terribly sorry for – I swear I would never -”

“Miles, Miles please! There isn’t anything to forgive. Ben was supposed to wait until -”

“Please don't be mad! I swear - wait, wait, wait…” Miles’s eyes flickering to you then Ben and back to you, “Supposed to wait… for what? To.. to kiss me?”

You nodded, helping the open-mouthed clerk up off the floor onto the edge of the bed, sitting beside him. Ben stayed on the other side of the room, waiting for your okay to move.

Miles looked less stressed but more confused now, “What… I don’t... I don't understand.”

You sighed, rubbing his back, “This isn't how we wanted to tell you. We had a plan in place.” You spoke very pointedly at Ben, who cringed and slumped down in his seat at your tone.

“A… a plan?”

You exhaled, squaring your shoulders up like it’d give you the confidence you needed to confess, “We were going to ask you out properly at least once before we left. Take you somewhere nice now that the car’s fixed. We knew we couldn’t just spring this on you out of nowhere. We thought we weren’t being subtle about it, but maybe we were.”

“So… so you're not mad at me? For the kiss?”

“At you? Heavens no! I was mad at Ben for not acting according to plan…” You trailed off, watching your husband lean forward and face palm himself, “Only slightly.”

Miles looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You… you and Ben… you wanted him? How… Why? Did God finally answer his prayers and give him the love he so sought after? No, Miles didn’t want to dwell on it any longer. You wanted him. Him! He wasn’t going to question it.

“A-all this time - I, I’ve never felt this way before. I didn’t think it was right. Falling for two people, let alone a married couple, but -” Ben moved closer, noticing the shake in Miles’s voice, and Miles immediately leaned into him, “But I have. It’d be a lie to suggest otherwise.”

Nudging your nose against his, you asked, “Can I kiss you, Miles?”

He didn’t care that he sounded desperate and needy when he answered you, “Please.”

You closed the gap between you, hands cupping Miles’s cheeks as you finally kissed the man you’d been pinning over for so long. It may be a cliche, but you swore you felt sparks fly as your lips met. Hands gripped your sides tight, like Miles was afraid you’d disappear if he let you go. Like he was so scared that he’d open his eyes and find this was all some cruel dream. That he wasn’t actually here, kissing the woman of his dreams.

It escalated after that. You had told yourselves you wouldn’t, but sometimes instincts took over and all you could do is act. Ben’s cock ached the longer he watched you two, and he desperately needed another taste.

His cock twitched as the shy hotel clerk let out the most adorable squeak when Ben quickly pulled him away, barely letting him breathe before capturing him in another heated kiss. You didn’t let that interruption deter you. As much as you would’ve liked to spend hours kissing Miles, you found yourself littering the neck of the man sandwiched between you two with hickies, sucking and biting wherever you could.

Miles’s breath hitched as hands tugged on the hotel clerk’s belt. A choked cry left him as Ben slid his hand under Miles’s underwear and touched him. It’d been so, so long since Miles felt a touch that wasn’t his there. And Ben wasn’t rough or quick with his movements like how Miles touched himself. He was curious, languid in his movements as his hand stroked him. Miles could’ve cum from just this, you sucking on his pulse point and Ben jerking him off, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to be as close to you as possible when that time came.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

You pulled back, “What’s wrong?”

Ben’s hand moved from his cock, but Miles’s hand stopped him before he could pull away, “Are we moving too fast? Are you okay?”

“M’fine, I swear, more than fine. I just…I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You cooed at how shy he was admitting that. Miles blushed even harder when you gave his cheek another peck, “Okay, let’s go at your pace. Where do you want us, baby?”

“I don’t know, I just- I just want you both, please.”

“Wanna sit on his face, love?”

Miles’s hips jerked forward at that. His face somehow burned even hotter when you and Ben chuckled at his desperation.

“I think that’s a yes.”

You chuckled at Ben before turning back to him, “Want that honey? Want me to sit on your face?”

He nodded, but you shook your head, “Need to hear you say it baby.”

“Yes, please!”

With that, you kissed him again, both you and Ben working quickly to rid Miles of his clothes and then your own. Once the three of you were in your naked glory, you maneuvered Miles onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow. You hovered over the hotel clerk’s face, giggling as you wiped a bit of drool from his chin.

“Ready, darling?”

Miles nodded, licking his lips  as he stared at your pretty pussy.

You tutted, hand coming up and pulling at his hair. You felt a slick rush through your heat at the pathetic whine Miles let out, “Words.”

“Y-yes, please. I'm ready, I'm ready.”

The moment your pussy connected with Miles’s face, he went wild. Gone was the frazzled, shy hotel clerk from before, now in his place, was a man frenzied for the taste of a pussy he had been dreaming of for oh so long. His tongue darted forward, tracing every surface and crevice of your folds. Miles couldn't get enough; you tasted so sweet and you were so wet for him already.

Your fingers found their way into Miles' unruly locks, decimating the presentable, put-together look they’d had as you curled your fingers into a fist and pulled. You moaned, feeling his tongue glide along your slick-soaked folds. A whimper escaped your gritted teeth as his nose bumped against your clit, and it took everything in you to not start grinding against his face to chase after the feeling, “Miles! Yes! Yes! Fuck, do that again!”

And do that again he did. Every bump of his nose against your sensitive little nub had you seeing stars, thighs tightening over his head, but Miles didn't care. He'd happily suffocate between your legs if it meant he got to hear you mewl and whine his name all day.

Ben watched from the side, entranced. He rubbed his clothed cock, moaning quietly as you turned back to look at him, throwing him a quick wink before going back to facing Miles. Ben couldn't ignore the strain in his pants anymore. You just looked so beautiful like this, both of you. If it was possible, he would’ve gotten this moment framed so it could be immortalized. That look in Miles’s eyes as he looked up at you, studying every part of your face, making sure he was pleasing you the way you deserved. The way your mouth opened in an ‘O’, a moan escaping you as Miles’s nose bumped your clit again.

The bed dipped as the author crawled toward you two. Swiftly, Ben grabbed a hold of those slim, pale legs and spread them apart, his mouth watering as Miles's puckered hole fluttered back at him, “So beautiful.” Ben muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against him.

Miles squeaked against you, hole tightening. Ben chuckled, “God you're so cute,” before he spit on his entrance. A desperate, muffled sound escaped Miles as he heard the clasp of the lube and felt two fingers probing at his entrance. He whined, grabbing your thighs even tighter as Ben's fingers entered him. 

You couldn't help but giggle as you started grinding down on his face, “Open him up nice and good, Ben. He makes the most adorable noises.”

“So fucking adorable,” Ben muttered, “Cant wait till i feel him around me.” 

Precum spurted from Miles’s slit when he heard that, and you giggled, cooing at how blown Miles eyes were as Ben began scissoring him open. Every curl and twist of those long fingers elicited moans, each one louder than the last. And the louder Miles was, the more those fingers worked.

Ben made eyes at you, giving you a look that said ‘watch this’ and you quirked up a brow, wondering what he was going to do. And then, Miles jerked, moaning against your sex and eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt Ben ghost his prostate, teasing him. Goosebumps littered Miles' skin when Ben bit down on the flesh of his thigh, legs jerking to the side when Ben did it again with a rougher bite.

It didn’t take long for you to climax after that. You could feel the coil in your belly twisting and turning with every whimper, grunt, and lap at your folds. Miles had a wondrous tongue, keeping you on edge for the longest time, but Miles, feeling overwhelmed with the new, exciting feeling, instinctively wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and sucked. That did you in.

The noise that came from you was high-pitched, almost animalistic as you arched your back, toes curling and thighs clenching as waves crashed through your body, the cry of Miles’s name leaving your lips as your orgasm wracked through you. Thank God the bed had a headboard for you to hold onto or else you would have collapsed entirely on the man under you. Slick gushed over Miles' face, and he didn't care. He kept lapping and sucking on your arousal. 

You whined, “Miles, m’sensitive” and slowly lifted your hips, muscles aching from being in the same position for so long, but before you could get far, you were pulled back down.

Blue eyes glimmered with want, the hands around your thighs tightening as they tried to keep you in place. You laughed, shaking your head at the hazy eyes under you, “Oh, Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.” Another whine from him made you giggle. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, you let him stay there for a little longer before you had to physically pry his hands off you, “Come on baby, let me go. Don't worry, I ain’t going anywhere, just wanna lay down beside you.”

Finally, with sad eyes, he let you go. The moment you were off him, Ben couldn’t help but surge forward, purring against Miles’s lips, “Wanna taste you two together,” before his tongue slipped between those plush, slick-coated lips. Clammy hands wrapped around Ben's shoulders, tugging him closer. They got lost in each other, hands roaming everywhere, grabbing and pulling at whatever they could reach. You watched from beside Miles, feeling a familiar throb in between your legs as precum spurted again from the slit of Miles’s cock and onto Ben’s belly. 

Ben huffed a laugh as he felt that sticky substance on his skin, “Okay, okay, won't keep you waiting any longer.” Miles' chest heaved up and down, eyes only leaving Ben for a second when you took his hand in yours. “You ready, baby?”

Miles had never nodded his head so fast before, “Please, I need to feel you inside me.”

You kept your gaze locked on Miles as Ben's dick hovered over his entrance, not taking your eyes off him when he shut his to brace for the stretch of Ben’s girthy member. 

You studied the beauty of Miles Miller coming undone. How his mouth opened slightly to whine, and how he bit down his lower lip to hold back an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper as Ben finally pushed inside. Tears of ecstasy escaped his iridescent blue eyes, and his lips glistened in the light, coated with his drool and your slick.

Ben's eyes twisted shut as Miles clenched tightly around him, keeping him close, “You feel amazing, so tight.”

After letting Miles get used to the feeling of being stretched wide, Ben finally tried moving. Miles gripped your hand, hissing as Ben pulled out, only to slam back into him. Miles cried out, the bedframe hitting the wall with a thud as Ben found his rhythm fast. 

With a mischievous smile, you started toying with Miles’s nipple, smiling wider when he moaned, squirming and clenching against Ben as you started rubbing his nub until it hardened. 

Miles whimpered through gritted teeth when you wrapped your lips around his nipple and sucked, “Oh my god! Ugh!” 

Not a single coherent sentence left Miles’s trembling lips as Ben hit his prostate dead on, and you sucked and nipped at his chest, just your name, Ben’s, and various “Oh my god!”s, “Please!”s, and “F-fuck, s-so good!”s leaving the man.

It wasn’t long before Miles cried out, his seed shooting out and spilling all over his chest, even reaching the bottom of his chin as the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced ran through him. Sobs wracked his body as he felt pure euphoria. 

You immediately soothed him, petting his hair and whispering words of praise and affection as the last of his cum spurted onto his tummy, “You did so good, Miles. S’good for us. Our good boy.” All Miles could do was whimper as you kissed his fallen tears over and over.

Ben was right behind him, grunting into Miles’s neck as his cum flooded the other man’s ass. He had nearly collapsed on top of Miles but caught himself before he could crush him with his body weight.

Ben pulled out and fell to the other side of Miles. Blindly, Miles reached behind him, searching. Ben intertwined his hand with his, pressing his chest against Miles’ back, "Beautiful. You felt so good, so beautiful. You were amazing, bud.”

Heavy breathing and the smell of sex filled the air as all three of you laid in bed together. You quickly cuddled into Miles chest, peppering his neck with light kisses as you watched him start to doze off.is eyes blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake, but the nerves and emotionally-charged conversation from earlier mixed with the most emotionally intense sex he’d ever had basically drained him off all energy.

You stroked his head, shifting up to give him better access to your chest. You held back a moan when Miles immediately latched onto your breast, his sleepy eyes staring up at you for a moment before they fluttered closed, open, and closed again.

Miles wanted to talk. He wanted to discuss next steps, what this meant. Was this just a fling, or something more? Was he meant to stay or get dressed and shamefully make his way back to his lonely cot in the lonely storage closet of the lonely hotel? But his mind could barely dwell on that, too fuzzy and comfortable with the feeling of your breast in his mouth and Ben’s stubble against his shoulder. Without even knowing, Miles fell asleep.

--

Miles wasn’t used to sleeping with another person. Miles had sexual partners in the past, but none that ever stayed long enough for him to wake up in their arms the next morning. Whether it be the sex worker who entertained him after she was done with her clients or his former dealer, who he used to trade drugs for sexual favors with. They all discarded him like yesterday’s trash after they’d gotten their fill.

It’s why when he woke up face-first in Ben' s solid chest, the author’s heart beating in his ears and your naked body pressed against his back, he didn’t know what to do. The comfortability of the environment was foreign to Miles. He felt so… safe. And that scared him.

Instinct made him panic. What if you weren’t expecting him to be here still? But the things you said last night, about wanting him… was it all just a ruse to get him in your bed? No, no you weren’t like that.

Before Miles could make a break for it and wiggle out of your hold, the arms wrapped around him gave him a gentle but firm squeeze. Blue eyes sleepily blinked down at him, before the author buried his nose in Miles’ hair, giving the top of his head a tiny, good morning peck before he snuggled the hotel clerk further.

Ben’s voice, rough and groggy, cut through the air, “Morning cuddles are the best part of the day.”

“Shut up,” You cut in, eyes closed as you pulled yourself impossibly closer to the wide eyed and no longer asleep hotel clerk, “Let me and Miles sleep.”

You yawned right at the end,and that’s when you finally opened your eyes.

Soft. That’s how Miles would describe you in the morning.

Your eyes were soft. Smile soft. Even the way your hand felt as you cupped his cheek was soft.

“You sleep, okay?”

Miles was going to say yes. Yes, he did sleep fine, how about you. Yes, yes, he slept better than he had in months, hell, years. But instead, he said:

“Did you mean it?”

You hummed, thumb still stroking his cheek, “Mean what?”

“L-last night. Y-you said you -”

Miles averted his gaze, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he felt like a bomb would go off in his chest if he finished the sentence. Ben tutted, cupping the other man’s cheek. Miles looked back up, vulnerable.

“Our feelings for you? Yes, without a doubt.”

“We meant every word, Miles.”

Miles sighed in relief, “Thank god.”

You moved to sit up, and Miles followed. He let out a little ‘oof’ when you suddenly straddled his lap. He opened his mouth to say something when you interrupted him with a kiss, “Do you,” You kissed him again, and Miles gasped against your lips as your exposed cunt rubbed right up against his twitching cock, “Have any guests checking in today?”

Miles shook his head, fighting the urge to pull you down and take you right in front of Ben, “N-no one’s on the books to come until Tuesday.”

“Good,” It’s Ben who spoke this time. The author leaned forward, chin resting on your shoulder as you shared a crooked smile with him, before turning to face the doe-eyed, red-faced hotel clerk, “Means we can have you all to ourselves then.”

And have him you did.

It would be hours until any of you left the bed that day. You explored each other’s bodies, learned what made Miles tick, what had him whimpering and begging for more, while Miles learned just how sensitive Ben’s nipples were and what it took to make you squirt.

Once you were near the brink of exhaustion, you finally stopped, collapsed onto one another as you basked in each other’s embrace. That’s when you asked the question. The question you and Ben had rehearsed over and over on how to ask, and the one Miles had been waiting to hear all night.

“Come with us. I know – we know – you have your own life here, but we don’t want to see you every so often, a few times a year. We want to wake up next to you every day and fall asleep with you every night. We know it might be too soon but -”

“Yes.”

You blinked, not expecting him to sound so sure. You thought Miles would need time to think, you were asking him to risk it all, leave his home and everything he knew. “R-really? Are you -”

Miles pulled you down and kissed you, his damp forehead pressing against yours as he muttered against your swollen lips, “Yes. No question about it. There's nothing for me here. I've been wanting to leave for so long, but never had any reason to, but you…” Ben reached up and wiped Miles’s teary eyes, “You’re reason enough.”

Never in his seven years, 10 months and 15 days of service here at the El Royale did Miles ever think he’d be able to escape the clutches of the wretched hotel. Escaping the rooms that brought him so much guilt as he remembered the people he helped blackmail, to break free of the lonely hallways he’d called home for so long. He chucked his orange blazer on the floor of the hotel lobby along with his name tag, not caring that the hotel would remain unmanned without him here. That was management's issue now, not his.

Now he was packed up in your car, his duffle and satchel nestled neatly between your suitcase and Ben's own duffle bag. The author was at the wheel, a boyish smile on his face as his hand squeezed the former hotel clerk’s thigh. You yawned and stretched out your arms like a cat before curling into Miles’s side, head tucked under his neck as you got ready for one of many road trip naps. The fit was a little snug in Ben's car, but it was comfortable enough.

“Here,” Ben tossed Miles the map from the glove compartment, “Mind being my navigator for the next couple of hours?”

Miles shook his head with a grin and opened it up, “Where we headed next?”

Ben smiled, “Well, while we may have found what we were missing in life in Nevada, or were we technically in California,” Miles blushed and smacked Ben’s shoulder, you sleepily mumbling for him to stop at the same time, “I still have to do some research.”

“I thought you said you found the inspiration you were looking for already?”

Ben ruffled Mile’s hair, while Miles just giggled before leaning his head against Ben’s shoulder, “We found what we were missing, but my book, that's a different story. And I figured no place better than to go home.”

Miles cocked a brow, “And where’s home exactly?”

Ben grimaced slightly, “Jerusalem’s Lot up in Maine. Haven’t been there since I was nine, and it’ll take us a couple days, but I have a feeling it’s the right place to be.”

Miles studied the map, his fingers gliding along the highway that'd take you all from here to Maine. There was so much of the country he called home he'd yet to explore, and now, despite the uncertainty, he could, and it was all thanks to you. With an emotional, but optimistic tone of voice, he put the map down and grabbed your hand with one and Ben's thigh with the other, “Well, let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

You squeezed Miles’s hand, nuzzling further into his side, “Yeah baby.”

Ben nodded, smirking as he pressed the button to turn the radio on, “You bet.”

Miles and his new partners in crime had no idea what was ahead of them. He was leaving everything he’s known for the past decade behind for a couple he’d known for less than four months, and slowly falling for ever since, but what was life without risk? It was time for him to take the leap and find out what life had in store for him, away from that little desolate hotel in the middle of nowhere. Now he could find his new home, with you both.

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It was stupid of you to have procrastinated on starting the damn thing for as long as you have, but just thinking about working on that 25-page paper filled you with dread. But now it’s two weeks before the due date and you’re paying for it.

This was worth nearly half of your grade and needed to be 25 pages and have 13 peer reviewed sources minimum. Yeah, you were at a B now, but if you got anything less than a B on this paper, your grade would drop to failing. And at this rate, you’re lucky if you’re going to even finish it.

Oh god, what if you fail? All this work, all those years of staying up until 2 am studying at the library, drinking so many energy drinks you were wired nearly 24/7, all that money you spent, is it going to be all for nothing because you couldn’t just start on this earlier? Logically, you know it’s fine. It’s not the end of the world. You could always redo the class next year, but logic has no place here. All you can think of is that that’s another few thousand dollars down the drain, another six months of studying, and stressing out over assignments and essays.

No one puts this much pressure on you but yourself. Bob and Miles never said they’d love you any less for failing or having to put graduation on hold, but then again, they’d never let it get this bad. Bobby and Miles were always on top of things, by definition they were the opposite of procrastinators.

You wipe the sweat from your temple, God, when did it get so hot? Maybe you need to step out and get some fresh air. But you can’t get fresh air. You only have 2 out of 25 pages completed and only 4 out of 13 peer reviewed sources that you need to complete this paper in the next 2 weeks. You’re going to fail. Fuckfuckfuckfuck

Your hands start to tremble as it all becomes too much. The air feels like it’s being sucked out of your lungs in a vacuum, and it’s a lot harder to breathe than it was a moment ago. Your whole body starts to shake as your back hits the wall and you slowly sink into the floor.

That’s when Miles sees you. He was coming up to let you know dinner was ready when he found you on the floor, your shoulders shaking as you hugged your knees to your chest.

“Hey, dinners almost–!” Miles stops when he sees you, worry flooding him as he rushes over to check on you. “Honey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Miles tries to get you to focus on him, but your eyes are unfocused, looking everywhere but him.

You clutch your chest, wheezing as you try to stutter out a response, but you’re not making any sense to him. “My paper- can’t - I just – I’m gonna fail- I’m sorry-!”

Worried, Miles yells for your boyfriend, “Bobby! Get in here! Something’s wrong!”

Bob comes barreling in. The moment Miles called out for him, he hurried up the stairs from the kitchen at full speed, not carrying about the loud clank the pan he had in his hand made as he dropped it haphazardly on the stove.

The WSO’s heart broke the moment he caught sight of your distressed figure and Miles worried blue eyes.

Bob took control of the situation because of course he did. He was the most levelheaded out of the three of you. Every move calculated and precise as he moved forward “Baby, what's wrong?” He tries to get your attention. His voice calm and steady as he sits down beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I need you to breathe for me. Slowly – in and out.”

You suck in a sharp breath, your eyes locking with Bob’s as he tries to get you to breathe with him. Miles follows his lead, encouraging you to follow his count to calm your breathing, “Hold it in with me honey - 1, 2, 3 - and then breathe out – 1, 2, 3. There we go. You’re doing so well.”

They stay at your side until your hands stop shaking and breathing calms down. The whole time Miles keeps one hand interlocked with yours, drawing circles with his thumb as he kisses your tear-stained cheeks and counts with you. Bob never stops whispering words of encouragement and reassurance, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

Once you are calm enough, Miles shares a look with Bob, a silent conversation passing through the two men’s eyes as they try to decide who should be the one to ask you what was wrong

“Sweetheart…” Bob starts, “What happened?”

You shake your head, feeling stupid for causing all this fuss over your grades, but Bob doesn’t let it go, “Come on baby we just need to know that you’re okay, or if something bad happened. Please, we just need to know you’re okay.”

Voice hoarse and rough from crying, you finally tell them, “I’m gonna fail.”

Miles tilts his head in confusion but doesn’t say anything as he gives your hand another squeeze.

When you don’t say anything else, Bob nods for you to continue, his eyebrows scrunched up with concern as you explain, “I’m gonna fail, and I’m gonna be a failure. I’m never gonna graduate, I’m gonna have to go back for another semester which is even more money I don’t have - we don't have - and if I fail that means I won’t have the grades or GPA to get into grad school and if I can’t get into that I won’t - I won’t–”

You start hyperventilating again at this point, but Bob starts rubbing your back again, bringing you back to the present.

“Hey, hey,” Bob tries, “That’s not going to happen -”

“You don’t know that!”

You wince at how you snap at him, already going to apologize when Miles cuts in.

“Even if you do fail, you won’t be a failure. I didn’t even get my GED until last year, does that make me a failure? Basically getting a high school diploma at 30 years old?”

You shake your head. Miles is the furthest thing from failure in your book. He’s gone through so much. Overcome his guilt over his past and beat an addiction many can’t with such conviction and strength. Even though nowadays he spent his time being your guys’ stay at home boyfriend, taking care of all the cooking, and cleaning and tending to your tiny little backyard garden, you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Bob sees the chance to add on to his boyfriends’ statements and takes it, “You could be unemployed, or never have graduated high school and we’d still love you the same, okay? I know that you can be hard on yourself, but you’re already pushing yourself a lot. You’ve been staying up late and barely gotten a proper night’s rest in the last week.”

“Because I need to write this and-”

“Stop.”

The sharpness in the former hotel clerk's tone makes your mouth snap shut. Satisfied, Miles kisses your cheek, "Bobby's gonna take you to bed alright? I’m gonna make us some tea and once we’ve talked more and you’ve relaxed a bit, I’ll heat up dinner.”

Before you can say anything else, the former hotel clerk bids you and Bob goodbye with another peck on the cheek before making his way downstairs.

You watch him leave, dumbfounded.

Bob nudges your shoulder, “Come one, let’s get to bed yeah? If Miles finds us still on the floor when he gets back, it’ll be my ass on the chopping black.”

That makes you snort. Bob's beams at the sound.

You try to get up, but Bob put his hand out to stop you, “I got you, baby.” He pecks your forehead once more before his arm goes under your knees, and he picks you up, carrying you to bed. Once you get settled in next to him, you bury your head in the crook of his neck. Bob smiles softly down at you, bringing the comforter over both your laps.

Bob softly pets the top of your head, distracting you with cuddle and asking you what you want to watch until Miles comes back in with a mug steaming with tea. Carefully, Miles slides into bed on your other side before handing you cup. You thank him as the honey lemony flavor of the chamomile floods your taste buds.

After about an hour of them calming you down and distracting you from the impending feeling of doom lurking in the pit of your stomach, you finally feel lighter.

“Feeling better?”

You nod at Bob, sighing as you lay on his chest and Miles lays on yours, your comfort movie playing in the background as they hold you and lift your mood.

“Good.” Miles murmurs against you, “Next time you’re feeling like this, you come to us. Don’t hold it in baby. That’s what you and Bobby always tell me whenever I have a bad day, right?”

“And I’ll help you, alright?” Bob adds, pushing his glasses up that were falling slightly up the bridge of his nose before he continued, “I’ll be your study buddy, help you find some articles for your research. And me and Miles can proofread it all, right?”

Miles nods, a supportive smile on his face as he watches the remaining stress start to leave your body. You know that this doesn’t fix everything, but it does help your anxiety to know that you aren’t alone, that you’ll have their support.

“We can do all that once you get some food in you and a good night’s sleep and no more energy drinks, got it? – Don’t roll your eyes at me you know those mess with your sleeping schedule when you have them too late in the day.”

You and Bob both suppress a giggle, already feeling the weight being lifted from your shoulder as Miles continues, “After that, you can start on it with fresh eyes tomorrow, okay? And Bobby and I will be right by your side to help.”

You could weep tears of relief at the sound of that but not having the energy you settle by thanking them, “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

If it were any other situation, you’d playfully slap Bobs’ shoulder for sounding so sappy, but you just melt even further into his arms. They both kiss your cheek before talking about the movie playing in the background, doing their best to take your mind off it all. Tomorrow you can worry about the paper, but for the rest of the night, you can relax and bask in the embrace of your two favorite humans on the earth.

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