#oscarpedroprideevent2024

“Hey buddy,” Dieter says, quietly, as not to startle the slumped figure. 

Marcus looks up at him through misty eyes and a cloud of stale Winston smoke.

“Hey.”

He’s not crying, but he’s definitely crying for help.

“You okay?” 

Dieter takes a seat on the step below him.

“Yeah, fine. Just needed air.”

Marcus gestures with the cigarette in his hand, then huffs out a laugh at the irony. 

“You’ve been getting drunk a lot lately.”

Maybe Dieter shouldn’t pry. It’s not unusual for his rented house to be filled with students coming and going at all hours of the day, between classes on weekdays or all day on the weekends. The cheap beer just shows up, as does the weed, and he doesn’t usually question it. 

But he’s closer to Marcus. So he notices more. He usually only sees him here on weekends. During the week he’s commonly found in the library or the student union, books sprawled out in front of him. He’s driven, pre-law, and has a better head on his shoulders than most people he hangs with. 

But Marcus has been at his place every night this week, either stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning or sleeping late on his couch or floor. It concerns Dieter in a way that surprises him. 

Usually it’s none of his business. 

“I haven’t had a sip,” Marcus tells him. 

And his voice doesn’t have that sharp, defensive tone Dieter was expecting. It’s more defeated than anything. 

“Yeah but what about last night?” 

Marcus shrugs. 

“And the night before? And every other night this week?”

“Just having fun,” Marcus mumbles through another drag of his cigarette. 

Dieterlooks around at his empty porch.

“Are you?” 

Then Marcus laughs. It bubbles up out of him in an almost terrifying way, and damn near immediately turns into sobs hidden behind his hands. 

“Fuck, dude, are you tripping?”

Marcus shakes his head. Dieter didn’t think so. He’s strictly an alcohol guy, won’t even touch weed. Something about the FBI and polygraph tests. Dieter finds it charming if not a bit manic. 

He keeps crying though, so hard he has to flick his cigarette out onto the dimly lit street so he can rub at his eyes. 

Dieter’s not sure what to do. Normally he’d offer someone drugs, but that won’t work. 

His hand hovers over Marcus’ shaking back for a few moments before he rests a heavy palm between his shoulder blades. 

He can feel the way Marcus’ breath shudders out of him, and tells him to start taking slow breaths. When it works, Dieter’s kind of amazed at how great he is at damage control. 

“That’s it man, just breathe.” 

Marcus nods, finally removes his hands from his face. He’s always been pretty in a very preppy way, with his perfect hair and teeth and his little dimples. He looks even prettier now, as much as Dieter kicks himself for that thought. His face is red and wet and his brown eyes are wider than they’ve ever been before. 

A few deep breaths in through his nose and out his mouth later, Marcus is sufficiently calm enough to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

Dieter waves him off. 

“Don’t be. Looks like it felt good, I might have a cry later too.”

Marcus lets out a wet chuckle and shuts his eyes as one last salty little droplet brushes past his long eyelashes. 

“Everything okay at home? You’re not failing a class, are you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s stupid.” 

“Girl problems?” 

Marcus laughs again, and Dieter startles a little, afraid he’s going to start back up sobbing at any moment. 

He doesn’t though. He’s quiet and avoiding Dieter’s gaze as he frantically gets another cigarette from his pack and lights it up. 

Dieter thinks he’s hit the nail on the head until Marcus takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales. 

“I’m fucking gay.” 

Dieter opens his mouth in shock, or understanding, or maybe to try and say something, but Marcus continues. 

“This whole time I’ve been gay. I don’t even— I’ve had so many girlfriends. I think they’re just nice. I’ve never— I fucking hated sleeping with them. I thought it was because it was awkward, and we’re all inexperienced? It sucked, Dieter. And I thought all guys were curious about other guys, you know? They all talk about their dicks with each other, since middle school. I just thought— and then there’s this guy… in my intro to psych class. And he’s so nice and handsome and I just always want to hang out with him. And I didn’t know why. But I want to kiss him. And I never felt that way about any of my girlfriends. And now I realize I’ve just— I’ve just been gay this whole time.”

He’s out of breath when he quits talking, but he sucks down more of his cigarette anyway. Dieter isn’t quite sure what to say to him. Usually when someone comes out to him, it’s in a less… frantic manner, more proud than anything. But this poor freshman has been on a gay crisis bender all week and is more than a little traumatized by all of it, and it’s just different with Marcus. 

“That’s um… Sounds like you’ve been going through a rough time with it.” 

Marcus sniffles and nods. 

“Been through all five or whatever stages of grief already. It’s been a long week.” 

“Are you… Upset? That you’re gay?” 

Marcus’ head lolls back to thump against the porch railing. 

“No… I’m more upset that I didn't figure it out until now.” 

“You’re still plenty young, Marcus. You’re what— nineteen?”

“Eighteen. Skipped a grade.”

Jesus. Dieter feels even worse now about thinking he’s pretty when he cries. 

“See? You’re a spring chicken, dude. You figured it out plenty quick.” 

“When did you know?” 

Dieter chews on his lip, considers lying just for Marcus’ sake, but decides against it. 

“I pretty much always knew, honestly. But I mean— I was weird anyway, you know? Never really fit in or felt I had to play a certain part or be a certain way. It just made sense. Also, my dad always said I was as queer as a three dollar bill so… that helped.” 

Dieter steals the cigarette between Marcus’ fingers to take a drag himself. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, man,” Dieter tells him. 

Marcus stares at where Dieter’s lips wrap around his cigarette for a bit too long, and Dieter hands it back, if only to try and stop whatever it is that’s bound to happen next. 

But Marcus takes another drag himself, and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip, and Dieter has never been called strong-willed. 

“What’s it like?” 

“What?”

“To be with a guy? What’s it like?” 

Dieter shrugs. 

“Depends on the guy.” 

Marcus sighs. 

“Are you uh— how do you like… it?” 

“Are you asking if I’m a top or a bottom?” 

Marcus’s face flushes a cute color in the yellow of the porch lights. 

“Both,” Dieter shrugs, “but I haven’t really done that with a lot of guys. Kind of a hassle, you know?” 

Marcus nods, but then his brow quirks up in question. 

“What do you mean? What do you— what do you do, then?” 

Dieter chuckles. 

“All kinds of things, babe.” 

He watches Marcus’ breath catch, the little stutter of his chest. 

“Would you show me?” 

Dieter rolls his eyes to distract them both from the fact that he really, really wants to. 

“C’mon, man. You don’t wanna fool around with me. I’m a loser. Go find a pretty finance boy to shack up with.” 

Maybe he’s less weak-willed than he thought. 

Marcus’ shoulders slump again, and christ, though, is he supposed to just let him leave like a kicked puppy? 

“There’s no intro to psych guy.”

It’s quiet, mumbled around his cigarette, and his eyes won’t leave his feet. 

“What?” 

“It’s you, okay? You’re my— gay awakening, or whatever. Why do you think I’ve been here all week?”

Dieter’s heart is hammering against his chest at that admission. This was not how he figured his Friday night would go.

“Free beer?” 

His joke doesn’t land. Marcus rolls his eyes. 

“It’s not like… I’m not like in love with you or anything. I just… always wanna see you. And you’re— well, you know. You’re hot. And you’re really nice to everyone. And I get this… I feel so weird when I’m around you, like, nauseous. Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

Marcus flicks yet another cigarette to the curb and makes to get up, but before Dieter can think better of it, he grips him on the shoulder to keep him seated. 

“That’s… actually really sweet, Marcus.” 

He scoffs, hides his face in his hands, and it’s so cute Dieter can’t help but smile. 

“Really— Usually people just want to fuck me, or use me for drugs.” 

Marcus groans a little, mortified, and his hands run back to mess up his pristinely styled hair. 

“Buddy, I’m serious. You’re a little charmer.”

Marcus looks up from his lap at that, scratching that neatly buzzed hair on the back of his neck, and his eyes are a little less embarrassed and a little more twinkly.

“You’re just saying that.”

Dieter shakes his head grinning. 

“No, it’s cute. Being genuine is never a bad thing.”

And the thing is, Dieter’s not lying. It’s possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to him. But he’s toeing a very very fine line here, with himself. Because Marcus is so pretty, and so smart, and he’s soft and kind and he’s real but he’s young. 

And Dieter’s just a Super Super Senior, a total burnout, on his way to holding the world record for The Longest College Career. He’s 23 and he’s still undecided and he probably won’t even get  a college degree after all is said and done. 

But Marcus is looking at him with those big brown eyes, watching, calculating. 

“I just— I feel like you wouldn’t judge me. If I did the wrong thing. You know?”

“I wouldn’t. Anyone who would isn’t worth your time.”

Marcus huffs. Maybe Dieter can still save this. 

“Would you… tell me? What you’d do? What I should do?”

And just like that, Dieter is hopping right over that line with both feet. 

“Kiss me.”

Marcus’ eyes grow even bigger.

“Like, right now? Here?” 

“If you want to. That’s what I’d want you to do, to kiss me right here, like you couldn’t help yourself.”

And Dieter will be damned if he doesn’t do just that, surging forward to grab the sides of his face and press their lips together. 

His lips are so soft, and his face is smooth, and he’s eager, a bit too much, but it only adds to that coincidental charm. Dieter’s left to catch up, as Marcus swipes his tongue along the seam of his mouth and groans. 

Dieter pulls away. Marcus’ mouth gapes open, and his shoulders heave with his fast breaths. 

“You’re so… scruffy.”

Dieter chuckles, wipes Marcus’ spit from his lips and straightens out his mustache. 

“Not good?”

“No, god no, it’s really good.”

And then Marcus smashes their lips together again as a pathetic little sound escapes his throat. Dieter opens his mouth this time, lets Marcus slide his tongue around, a little violent, and this is all a bit too much for some front porch steps, isn’t it?

“Hey,” Dieter says softly, pulling away. 

Marcus’ brows draw up in confusion. 

“Sorry. I’m not a good kisser, am I?”

Dieter sighs, grabs one of Marcus’ hands on his face to link their fingers together. 

“It’s not that,” he says. 

He turns his face to kiss the center of Marcus’ palm and smiles when his breath hitches. 

“You really wanna do this with me?” 

Marcus is nodding before Dieter even finishes speaking. 

“Only if you really want it, too.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“I do, really.”

Marcus smiles the sweetest little smile, and they both stand up, and Dieter doesn’t let his hand go. 

There’s music on in the house, and it smells like weed, and a few people are playing Nintendo in the living room. They don’t pay any mind as Dieter pulls Marcus up to the second floor, down the hall, and into his dimly lit bedroom. 

At least he’s kept it semi-tidy, he thinks, as Marcus looks around while he shuts and locks the door. His bed isn’t made. He’s sure Marcus makes his bed every morning before class. He hopes he doesn’t mind. 

He seems like he’s too nervous to mind, a jittery little thing standing next to his bed. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, staring holes into the stained carpet, when Dieter moves to stand in front of him. 

“Are you nervous?” 

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dieter grabs both of his hands, and Marcus finally meets his gaze. 

“It’s okay to be nervous. As long as it’s good nervous.” 

He smiles and nods, but the worry in his brow is still there. 

“We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do, okay?”

That seems to soothe him more. 

“Can we kiss again?”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Of course we can.”

Marcus tips over into him, landing at the side of his mouth but quickly correcting course. He licks, but Dieter keeps his mouth shut, goading him to calm down. And he does, slotting his lips around Dieter's bottom one, and everything else slips into place with a soft, satisfied noise from his own chest. 

He lets go of Marcus’ sweaty hands to grab his hips instead, lithe and a little bony. He twitches at the touch, sighs, and presses his lips harder into Dieter’s. His hands search around frantically, jostling them both, until he finds the hem of Dieter’s sweatshirt and gets his hands underneath. 

“Slow,” Dieter mumbles. 

“Hm?”

“Not a race, Marcus. Take your time. Enjoy it.” 

Marcus nods, but gapes at him, like he’s not quite sure what to do next. 

“You wanna get comfy? Take your shoes off, sit down?”

Marcus nods again, but with a little direction, takes his shoes off and sits on the bed, criss-cross applesauce like the cutest fucking thing Dieter’s ever seen. 

“I want this to be— I want you to have a good time, feel good. So tell me if you don’t feel good… or if there’s anything you wanna try. Communication is like, super sexy, right?”

Dieter sheds his shoes and his hoodie as he speaks, thinks he catches Marcus’ eyes staring at the spot between his signature pajama pants and his shirt where it rides up. 

“Yeah… like, dirty talk?”

Dieter huffs out a laugh as he sits facing Marcus, crossing his legs, mirroring him to make him as comfortable as possible.

“Could be dirty talk, yeah. But just normal talk, too. It can be hot to talk about things like… how do you like to be touched? Where?” 

Marcus clears his throat and scratches the back of his head with a puzzled look on his face. 

“My— my dick?”

Dieter wants to laugh, but he can’t blame the guy. It sounds like the only experience he’s had so far is rushed fucks with high school sweethearts. 

“Okay, yeah, that’s a good start. So, for me, I like being kissed. Everywhere. I like feeling lips on my jaw and my neck and especially my nipples. You can bite, too.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise, his plush lips forming a circular shape that Dieter tries and fails not to focus on. 

“Oh, yeah, okay. I— I like that too. I like when it’s… sloppy.”

Dieter hums, smiles, and nods.

“Anything else you like?” 

He watches Marcus bite his bottom lip and trace shapes on the bedsheets between them. 

“I don’t really know.” 

“That’s okay. Maybe we can figure it out together, yeah?”

His long eyelashes flutter as he blinks real slow, and he smiles. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” 

Dieter does chuckle then. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.”

Christ, Dieter thinks, if his face gets any more red he might burst into flames. 

He kisses him, to save him from a fiery death. It’s a little awkward, with both of their legs crossed in front of them, but it’s easier to take their time like this. 

Marcus keeps it slow, so Dieter can finally lead. He licks into his mouth to feel his hard palate, and the way he whimpers and shivers in response is so delicious that Dieter can’t help but to do it again and again. 

He feels long fingers grip his thighs, soft at first, but squeezing harder when Marcus returns the favor and scrapes his tastebuds along Dieter’s sharp canines. 

There’s twin sighs when Marcus pulls away, only a little, eyes still shut. 

“You’re really fucking good at this,” he mumbles. 

Dieter hums and pecks his lips again, soft and wet. 

“Could kiss you all night.”

It’s true, even though there’s also a million other things he wants to do with Marcus. He tries to push those wants down by kissing him again, getting that plump bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling on it. The noise Marcus makes has his cock filling steadily with blood, and he knows it’s very obvious in his pajama pants, and he hopes Marcus doesn’t freak out.

Like he’s reading Dieter’s mind, Marcus’ hands slide so fucking slowly up his thighs. The movements are jerky, and he hesitates when just the tip of his finger brushes his cock. His inhale is audible, but his curious touch proceeds, just the lightest ghosting across his shaft. 

But then he’s pulling away, and Dieter feels on edge, bracing himself for the worst. 

“Can I touch it?”

Dieter exhales his relief.

“You can… Are you open to suggestions, though?”

Marcus nods, his slick mouth hanging open. 

“You could get on top of me, let me feel how much you like this, too. Drag it out, make me really want it.” 

He smirks as Marcus curses, closing his eyes and pressing his palm to the front of his jeans. But he nods, and uncrosses his legs, so Dieter does the same. 

And then, he’s got a lapful of Marcus, and he’s staring up into his glassy, beautiful eyes. 

“Like this?”

His hips shift, and his pert little ass grinds against Dieter’s cock while his own presses against his belly. 

“Just like that. Is this still okay?” 

Marcus doesn’t answer him, just devours his lips again as he rocks his hips and supplies them both with heady friction. His little whimpers are muffled, and his teeth are sinking into Dieter’s lip a little too hard, but in a way that makes his cock throb and pulse against the tight ass against it. 

Dieter’s hands find those lithe hips again, this time under his shirt. His skin is scalding to the touch and so fucking smooth. He digs his thumbs into his hip bones, drags little circles into them that make his hips jolt and stutter. 

Fuck. He likes this a lot. Maybe too much. He pulls himself away to reel it in a bit, maybe to check and make sure this is still alright—

“I’m so fucking hard,” Marcus breathes, “I’ve never felt like this.” 

And as he speaks, he’s ripping his t-shirt over his head and flinging it elsewhere. 

He’s gorgeous. A little scrawny but smooth, everywhere, just miles of tan skin that’s paler here where it gets no sun. Dieter wants to bite, and kiss, and suckle on every fucking inch of it. 

For now, Dieter uses all of his brain power to mumble a distracted ‘me too,’ as his hands moved upward to splay across all that hairless skin. 

Marcus’ stomach tenses and relaxes under his hands, and his chest heaves as Dieter cradles his ribs and brushes his thumbs over his nipples. 

“Does this feel good?” 

He circles them, flicks them a little bit, and wants to curl up and live in that little gasp Marcus makes. 

“Yes.” 

His head is leaning back between his shoulders, all raised and on-edge. That’s not what Dieter wants. He wants him relaxed, wants him all gooey and loose. 

Slowly, gently, Dieter tips him over, a hand on the back of his head until it lands on the pillows. The look in his eyes gets a little squirrely, and his breath picks up, and his nails scrabble at Dieter’s bicep. 

“Is this still okay?” 

Marcus nods quickly, but he’s slower with the verbal response. 

“I think so… just nervous.” 

“Still good nervous?” 

As if to prove it, he cants his hips up into Dieter and he’s rock hard against his thigh. 

“Still good nervous.”

Dieter’s own prick throbs and twitches as he hums. He lowers himself even more over Marcus, finds his racing pulse point and plants a hot, wet kiss there. 

“Can I kiss you here?” he whispers. 

His chin brushes Dieter’s cheek when he nods, and Marcus relocates his hands to reach up the back of his shirt. His palms are sweaty and hot as Dieter trails a wet line of kisses down to his prominent collar bone. 

His skin is so salty, and the heat from his body is making his cheap cologne smell even stronger, and Dieter feels high even though he hasn’t smoked in hours. 

“How about here, Marcus?”

He looks up at the younger man as he hovers his mouth above one tiny, pebbled nipple. He watches as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and smiles and impish grin when Marcus nods again. 

The groan he receives when he closes his mouth around it has him pressing his hips to the mattress for relief. One of Marcus’ hands finds Dieter’s hair and grips.

“Ah fuck.”

Just like that, the fingers loosen and leave his head and Dieter actually whines at the loss. 

“Sorry!”

“No, no, that was a good fuck. Love getting my hair pulled.”

Dieter glances back up at Marcus and watches as his wheels turn. 

“Oh… really?”

He chuckles as he places a sloppy kiss on his sternum, delighted at the way the muscles twitch under his lips. 

“Mmmhmm.”

Marcus sighs as Dieter finds his other nipple.  

“My ex-girlfriend hated it.” 

Dieter nips at the hard bud in his mouth and smirks when Marcus’ hips jolt up. 

“I like a little pain with my pleasure,” he explains. 

“I— can you bite me again?”

Dieter curses and obliges immediately, sinking his teeth into the meat of his pec this time. 

“God, I like that.”

He even earns another tug at his hair, and Dieter knows there’s gotta be a damp spot on the front of his pajamas. 

“That’s so good, Marcus. Keep telling me what you like.” 

Marcus squirms under him as he alternates a string of kisses and licks and bites down his torso. His nails scratch Dieter’s scalp in between tugging on his hair, and this is the most fun Dieter’s had in the bedroom in a long while. 

Marcus has a tiny bit of hair below his belly button, and it’s so fucking cute and whispy when Dieter runs his tongue along the path. But before Dieter can get the fly of his jeans unfastened, Marcus holds a hand over his. 

“Can I try on you now?” 

Dieter’s gaze flickers up to his face, and he looks so sweet, pleading with his big puppy eyes. 

“Yeah, yes, of course you can.”

Marcus smiles, and it’s sure, like he’s finally settled into this, and it makes Dieter’s apprehension fall away. 

It also makes him that much more horny, hard as ever when he lies down with his head on the pillows. He reaches down to readjust and watches Marcus clock the movement with a heady look.

“This is good for you, too?” 

His voice is breathy when he asks, when his hand slips under Dieter’s t-shirt. 

“Marcus, I’m loving this. I feel like a sexy experiment. Poke and prod me, babe.” 

And through all of this newness and anxiety and apprehension, Marcus laughs. It’s music to Dieter’s ears, watching his eyes light up as he chuckles. 

“Take this off then,” he instructs through his laughter. 

“Yes sir,” Dieter purrs, “bossing me around also does it for me. You’re a natural already.” 

“Y-yeah? I don’t— I’ve never been like that.”

Dieter fumbles to back track at the way Marcus’ confidence falls away. 

“It’s okay, that’s an advanced lesson. My bad. Just— Just do what you want with me. Explore. I’m all yours.” 

He talks as he sheds his shirt, and when the damned thing finally pulls free, he feels a little scrutinized under Marcus’s wide eyes. And he kinda really likes it. 

He settles back against the mattress, one arm above his head while the other reaches out to encourage Marcus to come closer. He does, only a little timid as his gaze rakes over every inch of his body. 

He settles between Dieter’s spread legs, one hand dipping the mattress next to him while the other lands hesitantly on his flank. His warm, sweaty palm feels the skin there, draws upward toward his chest, but takes a completely unconventional detour to his armpit. 

Dieter’s cock throbs. This is so fucking weird and so fucking hot. 

Marcus’ jaw drops slack as his fingers card through all of his armpit hair, and it tickles a little bit, but mostly it just makes Dieter’s arousal grow heavy in his groin, burning. 

Before Dieter can really assess what’s going on, or encourage him, or tell him how fucking hard he’s making him, Marcus leans down to capture his lips in his own. 

Dieter groans and scrabbles to grip his waist, arching his hips for any relief and finding it against the front of Marcus’ jeans, a hard line wrapped in denim that twitches against his own. He moans, low and long, as he twirls the thick hair between his finger and thumb. 

And then his hand is gone, and Dieter’s quite disappointed, but he can’t just say that, can he? He weighs the pros and cons of telling Marcus not to stop as the other man trails his lips down the patchy stubble on his jaw, and bites the sensitive skin on his neck. 

Maybe he should tell him. That’s a good lesson, right? How to take feedback, good or bad. But ‘hey keep stroking my armpit hair’ is a bit startling, isn’t it? 

He’s so distracted by the inner turmoil that he doesn’t realize the path Marcus’ has taken until hot breath ghosts that bit of fat between his tit and armpit and then he sniffs, and groans, and licks up all the hair while he presses his cock down into Dieter’s own and Jesus Fuck—

He quickly finds purchase in Marcus’ hair and curses, grinds his hips back up into him with what he hopes is encouraging words. But forgive him if his brain is a little bit completely scrambled. 

Marcus bites just under his patch of armpit hair, burying his nose in it once more, and these primal sounds he makes are vibrating through Dieter’s chest. All he can do at this point is lie back and take it and succumb to the fact that this is definitely altering his brain chemistry for the rest of his life. 

It all stops rather abruptly, though, and two hot hands grab Dieter’s hips hard, pushes them down into the mattress as Marcus arches away from him. 

“I might— I might come.”

Dieter blinks his bleary eyes open to look at the panicked man, who’s squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. 

“It’s okay if you do. You can have me all night.” 

“Fuck— Shut up, Jesus Christ.”

Dieter huffs, scratches at his wet armpit, and patiently waits for Marcus to settle down. He could probably come that way too, to be honest, with that pretty boy’s tongue lapping at his underarm and their cocks grinding together. 

Marcus’ eyelashes flutter open, and Dieter smiles at him softly, careful not to move or touch. He looks like a hair trigger, sweaty and panting already, with a really fucking hot damp patch soaking through the crotch of his jeans. 

“Sorry. I think I’m good— wait, sorry, was that weird?”

Dieter allows himself to place one of his hands on Marcus’ own, where it’s still gripping tight to his hip bone. 

“It was weird in the hottest way possible.” 

Marcus shakes his head at himself and closes his eyes again. 

“I’m dead serious. I didn’t know how sensitive I was there. You’re teaching me things. That’s super hot.”

Marcus sighs. 

“It’s just… I like the hair. And your deodorant smells nice.”

He pries his eyes open, like he expects Dieter to be disgusted, but his confession only makes his cock jump very prominently in his pajamas. 

“Doesn’t taste very good, though.” 

And now Dieter is laughing, and tugging Marcus back down, mumbling ‘prove it’ and shoving his tongue into his offensively chemical-flavored mouth. 

It’s okay though, he just licks and licks until the taste has dissipated and Marcus is letting go of the death grip on his sides. His mouth follows a much more predictable route, this time, and Dieter watches his every move as those pretty lips wrap around his nipples, one and then the other, until he’s biting and Dieter is whimpering and asking for more. 

“You can leave marks. I like ‘em.” 

Marcus curses against his sternum and obeys, so fucking obedient, suckling Dieter’s skin and rolling it between his teeth. Looking up at him, his eyes look so determined, all dark and heavy, especially when he pulls away to admire the bruise he’s left. 

“More. Want to see you all over me in the morning.” 

“Fuck, Dieter. How’d you get so good at— at talking like that?” 

Dieter chuckles, then hisses when Marcus sucks the skin on his belly into the sharp edges of his teeth. He’s looking up with an expectant quirk of his brow.

“I just say what’s on my mind,” he answers.

Marcus hums, and Dieter places his hand on his jaw to feel it working, a third mark blooming bright red on his hip. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks. 

A fourth mark, this one deeper than the rest, right above the waistband of his pants, as Marcus thinks. 

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

Said cock jerks wildly, disrupting the tent in his pajamas, and Marcus has the audacity to smirk. Dieter lets his thumb trace that wet, swollen bottom lip and doesn’t miss the little whine that Marcus tries to hide. 

“Will you teach me?” 

It’s now that Dieter realizes he’s created an absolute monster, with Marcus looking up at him all wide-eyed, batting those long eyelashes. He knows what he’s doing, and it just makes it all so much worse. Or better. Both, really. 

He clears his throat to try to gather his bearings before he speaks. 

“Yeah, I’ll teach you. Pull it out for me.” 

Dieter watches as his breath hitches, and he eyes the tent in Dieter’s pants with an array of emotions washing over his features. There’s hesitation for sure, as he toys with his waistband. But he’s licking his lips, and taking a big deep breath as he tugs them down Dieter’s thighs. 

And then he’s staring at his cock, swaying in the breeze, and Dieter thinks this would be much less intense if penises weren’t so offensive and in your face. 

“Pretty,” Marcus mumbles, and it makes him giggle. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it’s— I like it.” 

“Thank you. That’s very sweet.” 

Marcus rolls his eyes but smiles. 

“I can touch it?”

“Yeah, of course. Anything you want. Go at your own pace.”

Maybe it’s cliche, but as soon as Marcus’ hand wraps around his cock, Dieter is done for. Fuck, it feels so good, the way his movements are gentle and calculated, the way he’s being so attentive for his first time, exploratory. His free hand cradles Dieter’s sac, his thumb tracing the seam, and it’s alarming how close this is getting him. It’s so intimate, and genuine, and it’s so hot that he gets to be here for Marcus’ first time. 

Marcus squeezes him tight and strokes, once, from base to tip. He thumbs at his frenulum, slippery with pre come, then lifts that to his lips. It’s like slow motion when he watches him poke his tongue out to taste, and he closes his eyes and hums. 

“Better than the deodorant, for sure.” 

And Dieter’s cock bobs as he laughs. 

“That’s a relief.” 

“I’ve never tasted my own before,” Marcus says. 

“No?” 

“Mm-mm. Seemed… gay.” 

And he laughs at himself, but his face inches closer, and in an instant his tongue is flicking out to lap up more of it, straight from the source. 

Dieter gasps at the contact, so sudden. His taste buds are rough against his slit, in a good way, and he has to cradle Marcus’ neck to reel himself in. 

“That’s so good,” he whispers, “keep doing that.” 

And he does, little kitten licks to the sensitive head of his cock, looking up at him from under those long eyelashes. Dieter groans and closes his eyes because if Marcus keeps looking at him like that, he will come before he can have any fun with him. 

Then, in an instant, he’s completely enveloped by warmth and wetness, too fast, and he opens his eyes at the same time Marcus gags and coughs and pulls off of him. 

“Jesus, Marcus, take it slow.” 

He coughs more, with brow all furrowed and frustrated, and Dieter smooths his hair off of his forehead. 

“Are you alright?” 

Marcus clears his throat as he nods. 

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t— I thought that would be easier.”

Dieter huffs, sits up a bit and leans on his elbow so he can see him better. His eyes are watery and not in a sexy way this time. He pets Marcus’ hair a bit, hoping to soothe him, but the redness doesn’t fade from his cheeks. 

“You don’t have to take it all, that’s no fun, choking like that,” he says, “are you sure you’re okay? We can stop.” 

“No! No— I don’t wanna stop. I’m just embarrassed.”

God, he’s so fucking sweet. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. We’ve all been there. I threw up on the first dick I sucked.” 

“Gross, dude.”

“I’m just saying, it could be way worse. Nothing to even be embarrassed about.” 

Marcus sighs and hides his face in the crease of Dieter’s hip. 

“Seriously, I’m still so hard I could shatter diamonds. You’re so fucking hot, it doesn’t matter if you choke a little.” 

He feels Marcus’ teeth on the skin of his hip before he sees his jaw moving. He bites and sucks and it’s another beautiful piece of him he’ll get to take from this experience. 

“That’s it. It’s all about the recovery. Fuck, Marcus, your mouth feels so good on me. Everywhere.” 

Dieter lifts his hips up to encourage him to bite more, mark him up all over. He follows eagerly, until there’s little love bites scattered across the thin skin over his hip bone and his cock is weeping for attention. 

Marcus looks up at him, finally, as he hovers just above his prick.

“Can I try again?”

Dieter hums and cards his fingers through his thick brown hair. 

“Play until you win, babe.” 

He’s much more careful, this time. He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, lets his tongue lather and swirl around it as his hand keeps his dick in place. He’s gorgeous, with his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes shut in concentration. 

“Yeah, just like that, fucking perfect.”

Marcus whimpers around his cock, and drool is starting to leak from the corners of his mouth and drip down Dieter’s shaft. 

“Move your hand a bit, jerk me off while you suck on it.”

He follows the direction so well, letting his hand draw up to meet his lips, then back down, over and over, and Dieter can feel his gut growing hot and tight. His tongue is working him relentlessly, and he’s never really had a partner use theirs so much, but the frantic swirling and flicking has his head spinning. 

“You’re amazing,” Dieter breathes, “making me feel so good.”

At the encouragement, Marcus braves another inch of his cock. He starts to bob his head up and down, following his lips with his fist, and the breaths through his nose get heavier. Dieter babbles a bit, just encouraging words as Marcus works him dutifully, trying with all his might not to thrust up into his hot, sloppy mouth. 

But then Marcus looks up at him with his pretty brown eyes and groans around the cock in his mouth and it’s too much. 

“Fuck— fuck, Marcus, let me go.” 

Marcus does, as quickly as he can, panting when his mouth is finally free. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Dieter huffs. 

“Nothing, you’re perfect, gorgeous, beautiful. I just don’t wanna come yet.” 

“Oh.”

The little cock drunk smile he gets is too cute, and Dieter tugs lightly on his hair to get him to crawl back up for a kiss. He tastes like pre-cum, and his nails bite into the heated skin of Marcus’ back for purchase. 

“How are you feeling? Still gay?” 

Marcus laughs against his lips. 

“The gayest I’ve ever been.” 

Dieter collapses back on the pillows to look up at him. 

“Really though, are you still into this?” 

Marcus nods, presses his hips into Dieter’s thigh to swipe away any last remaining doubt. 

“Alright, next and final lesson. Get those tight little jeans off.”

He’s so quick to obey, and Dieter tries not to gawk at how much bigger that wet spot has grown just below his fly. He shakes himself out of it and gets his pajama pants completely off his legs. 

Marcus is so fucking hot, jesus, Dieter feels like he’s pushing his luck having him here in his bed. So lean and long, and his cock is uncut and curves a bit to the left, and he’s still so hard. 

“Get beside me, face me.”

And Marcus looks right at home like this, laid out in his bed, with his bicep bulging from propping his head up on his hand. 

“What’s the lesson?” 

Dieter smirks at the eagerness. 

“I’m gonna jerk us off together.”

Marcus raises his brow. 

“Like, at the same time?”

Dieter hums his affirmative, reaches a tentative hand out to cup Marcus’ pert little asscheek, and chuckles when he twitches. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll save that for another time. If you want.” 

“Shit, yeah, okay.”

And isn’t that gonna be fun? The thought makes Dieter’s cock throb and jerk and he shuffles to close the distance so their pricks line up together. 

“Is this okay? Like this?” 

He looks up from their cocks to watch Marcus’ jaw go slack. 

“Oh god, ‘m not gonna last at all.”

Even as he says it, he’s wrapping his own hand around both of them and squeezing, groaning at the feeling and bucking his hips so they slide together. 

“I don’t want you to last, I want you to feel good.” 

Dieter lets his hand join the fun, covering what Marcus can’t, and his cock jumps in their combined hold when Marcus whines.

“I do, I— fuck, I really do.” 

“Kiss me?”

He’s cut off by Marcus’ lips, all swollen and hot against his own. Marcus moans as soon as their tongues meet, and he starts shaking like a leaf. His hand squeezes harder around their pricks, works them faster, and Dieter can feel each and every twitch of his dripping cock. 

He’s so frantic with it. His breathing whistles fast through his nose, panting into his mouth, and every other exhale is a desperate little noise. It only takes a few dozen strokes for Marcus to fall apart.

“Gonna come— I’m coming, Dieter—”

He gasps as it washes over him. Dieter feels his hot, sticky cum splash over his own hand and his cock and his stomach. Marcus hides his face in the crook of Dieter’s neck and bites as it courses through him. It sends a hot white spark down his spine, and what little filter he’d maintained throughout the night completely short-circuits.

“Shit, that’s it. So fucking good, coming all over me— Fuck, Marcus, you’re hot when you come. You feel so fucking good.”

Marcus whimpers through his aftershocks as Dieter fills his ears with whatever filth he can muster. When it’s too much, and Marcus has to slide his spent cock from their joined hands, he doesn’t let go of Dieter. He helps, with the slick aid of his cum, and Dieter topples over the edge with a growl and Marcus sucks another mark into his overheated skin. 

It’s blinding, it’s his favorite orgasm he’s ever had for sure. Marcus gasps when the first streak of his spend shoots all over his smooth stomach. 

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, exerted but intrigued as Dieter fucks their fists. 

His cum mixes with the stains Marcus already left on his blanket, slowing to a trickle just as Marcus’ grasp loosens. Even when he’s empty, Dieter can still feel the orgasm buzzing through his body as he tries to regain his breath. 

Marcus finally looks up from the scene of the crime and Dieter wants to take a picture of the fucked-out look on his face, his messy hair, his spit-slick lips and flushed face. But he can’t, so he kisses him instead, closing his eyes so maybe he can burn that image into his memory for eternity. 

It’s lazy, so much slower and softer than the way Marcus kissed when he was all keyed up. 

Shit.

Dieter’s in for it. He’s always had an addictive personality, and having Marcus in his bed has been stronger than any fucking drug he’s tried before. 

He whimpers when Marcus pulls away, chasing his lips just for a moment before he reels himself back in. 

He looks down at the mess he’s going to promptly ignore, thinks about how far away the bathroom closet is with all the towels. But then one slender finger is swiping through the cum puddle between them, and lifting to his face, and Dieter devours. 

Marcus chuckles at the desperate noise Dieter makes as he swirls his tongue around to lick up every last drop. 

“How do we taste together?” 

Goddamn, Marcus is much more suave after an orgasm. 

“Like we were made for each other.” 

Christ, he needs to get himself together. His brain is just so fucking fuzzy and light.

Marcus doesn’t run for the hills, though. He giggles, and dips that same finger into their mess again. He brings it up to his own lips this time, sucking it inside his mouth and pulling it out clean. 

There’s a slight grimace as he rolls it around in his mouth. 

“Not as sweet as you were earlier.” 

And Dieter laughs, brushes his two cleanest knuckles against the skin of Marcus’ hip. 

“It’s an acquired taste.” 

Marcus nods, and looks down between them, and some of that lightness in his features fizzles out. 

“Hang on— here, use these.”

Dieter hands him his discarded pajama pants, and they use one leg each to tidy up their hands and stomachs and cocks. Then Dieter balls them up to swipe at his sticky blanket as best as he can. And it’s all so quiet, as their breathing has evened out, and fuck, what if Marcus has some crazy post-nut clarity after this… heavy situation? 

He’s staring at the bedroom door when Dieter looks up to face him. 

“Should I uh… go… now?” 

Dieter sighs and finally gets his freshly wiped hand on Marcus’ skin, colder now where all the sweat has cooled. 

“Personally, I would like it if you stayed. Cuddling after sex is… well, I like it a lot. Some people don’t… it’s okay if you don’t. Whatever you’re comfortable with. This was probably a lot for y—”

Marcus cuts off his rambling— thank god— by burrowing his face in Dieter’s chest and tangling their naked legs together. They both release two huge twin sighs, and Dieter’s instantly soothed by the weight against him, and the lithe fingers stroking his back. 

Dieter can’t help it, he tucks his chin and plants a kiss to the crown of Marcus’ head. He drowns in the scent of sweat and cheap shampoo and feels so grounded for the first time in a very long time. 

Marcus hums, and Dieter pulls him in tighter, swipes his palm over the curve of his tiny asscheek. 

He clears his throat. 

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow…” 

Marcus lifts his head, and he looks so sleepy but so satisfied. 

“So we can stay up all night? You can— could you show me more things?” 

Dieter chuckles and kisses his lips to hide how relieved he feels. 

“Was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something. But I think I like your idea better.” 

“Oh— a movie sounds good! I mean, it would be chill.” 

Dieter huffs. 

“Split the difference, we’ll watch a movie here while I eat your cute little ass?” 

Dieter actually feels his limp cock twitch against his thigh, and tries to hold back a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Yep. Yeah, let’s do that instead.” 

Dieter kisses him, this time just because he can. 

“Get some sleep first, okay? I’ll be right here.” 

The look of comfort on Marcus’ face makes his chest burn and ache. His droopy eyelids close as he smiles, and his head drops to Dieter’s splayed out arm. 

He just watches, for a little while. Lets himself count the deep, even breaths Marcus takes and feels them on the skin of his bicep. 

“Do you need to stop?” Frankie breathed, slowing down the speed of his hips, but not letting up on the intensity.

“N-no! Please, keep going,” River groaned weakly. They turned their head to look back at him, eyes glazed over and pupils dilated. 

Frankie’s face softened a little as he looked them over. Their long, inky black hair was stuck to their sweaty skin, covering them like a blanket. Those big green eyes of theirs were pleading with him to let them come. 

He gripped their hips, large hands feeling more powerful than they usually did when his thumbs dug into the dips and dimples there. He turned their body onto their side and lifted one of River’s legs to rest on his shoulder. Each of his knees were planted on either side of one of their other thigh.

Frankie slowly eased back inside of them, the stretch making River moan openly. “Good,” he praised, the hand not holding their leg in place pressed to their stomach comfortingly. “Taking me so well, baby.”

River bit their lip and watched his face closely, their eyebrows turned downward in pleasure and pleading. Frankie started picking up the pace again, the obscene wet suck of River’s pussy pulling him in further and echoing in their ears. “Oh, fuck,” River whined, head lolling back into the pillow. They panted hard, their chest heaving rhythmically with each of Frankie’s deep thrusts.

From this angle, Frankie could see everything; their damp skin, the way River’s lips trembled, and the way their tattoos glistened in the low light of his bedroom. His eyes dragged over the defined muscles of their thighs and trim waist, then landed on the distinct scars on their chest. 

“Play with your nipples for me,” Frankie breathed, hips bucking into theirs. He looked down and watched as his cock fucked into them, the sight of River’s slick covering his cock giving him chills down his spine.

River obeyed, tweaking their nipples as the heat built in their core. “F-Frankie, I’m gonna fucking come,” they whined. 

“Do it. Come for me,” grunted Frankie, planting one foot on the mattress to drive into them harder.

River let out an obscene noise before stilling as they came, their hips bucking with the waves of their high. 

“Good, Río,” Frankie panted, and leaned over to kiss them deeply as they shook with the aftershocks. “So fucking good,” he groaned into their mouth, the lewd plap plap plap of their hips sending him over the edge with them. He bit and tugged on their bottom lip as thick ropes of come covered the walls inside them. 

River hummed and purred like a happy cat at the warmth and sticky feeling between them. They brought their leg down and curled it around Frankie’s waist, their arms doing the same at his neck. “C’mere,” River breathed, kissing him languidly and tangling their fingers in his damp curls.

Frankie got comfortable and laid on top of them, softening cock still inside them snugly. Their kisses were lazy, but deep, and lasted for a long time. River always got especially clingy and affectionate after sex, and Frankie was hardly going to complain.

Eventually, they came up for air, and looked at each other. River snorted at his hair sticking up in all directions and pecked his cheek. “I gotta pee so bad,” they groaned. Frankie laughed and slowly pulled out, watching as his come dripped out of them. He smirked at the sight, thumb rubbing at River’s inner thigh.

After River went to the bathroom and Frankie removed the dirty sheets, they got comfy under the covers and cuddled close. Frankie looked down at their head, hair now pulled back into a loose braid. “I’ve got a question for you, Riv,” he said softly.

“Anything,” River smiled, kissing his pec before looking up at him. 

“How bad was it?” 

River raised a brow and frowned. “How bad was what?”

“Your… When you got top surgery.”

River blinked, but smiled softly. “Where did that come from?” They chuckled.

Frankie blushed, his eyes going wide. “W-well, I was just curious! When we– While I was on top of you, well. I looked at the scars, and I just sort of wondered.”

River laughed quietly and cupped his face. “Do you wanna know the whole process, or…?”

Frankie shrugged. “Only if you wanted to tell me.”

River hummed, exhaling a heavy breath as they thought about it. “Well, the healing process sort of sucked. I slept like shit.”

Frankie frowned, concerned.

“I’m fine now,” they rolled their eyes playfully, poking him in the nipple. “But my left nipple still isn’t as sensitive as it used to be.”

Frankie looked down at their left nipple and tweaked it teasingly. River giggled, and covered it protectively. “Hey!” 

He grinned and gave them a kiss on their shoulder. “Go on,” he chuckled.

“But yeah,” River continued. “I had a really good friend come with me and we both cried afterwards. It felt… right. I think I even told him that I was always meant to look that way.”

Frankie’s eyes rounded softly. “Oh, Río,” he smiled. “I’m sad I wasn’t there.”

“Me too,” River nodded. “But you’re here now. And now I don’t even remember what it felt like to have breasts.”

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “I love you, River,” he said softly, cupping their face and rubbing his thumb on their cheekbone.

“And I love you,” River grinned, kissing him deeply. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Wondering. Accepting me,” they shrugged, looking at a freckle on his chest.

“Of course,” Frankie said seriously, making them look back up at him. Deep brown eyes bore into green, and it made River’s breath catch. “Always.”

He’d been there for over ten minutes, trying his best to work up enough nerve to knock on your door. 

You’d been on one date, a chill one. Just a drink and cake at a little coffee shop he’d recommended. (Or, more correctly, Will had recommended and Santi had taken credit for.) You’d both ended up staying there talking for almost four hours. 

You've been messaging everyday, joking, sending voice notes, videos and pictures. Everything was going great. He liked you. A lot. 

And now he was going to fuck it all up. 

“Hi, just wanted to let you know…” He muttered under his breath, repeating what he was going to say, what he needed to say. “I just thought you should know… you know… before this gets any further, not that things have to get further, I mean… I want to say I like you and I’m… I’m…” 

“Santi?” 

He jumps, visibly jumps, his eyes wide like a rabbit startled by headlights. 

You find it quite endearing the way he looks at you, a bright panic. You’d just been grabbing some last minute bits and pieces and your local corner shop for the meal you were making together tonight. 

“Trans!” Santi says a little too loud. 

“What?” 

“Erm…”

“Trains?” 

“No.” 

“What did you say?”

He pauses, biting his bottom lip. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Trans.” He says very softly, closing his eyes for a second. This was not how it was meant to go. “I’m… I wanted to tell you before… I really like you and… you should know… I’m, I’m trans. I’m a trans man.” 

He looks up at you, ready to see disgust. Rejection. 

Instead you smile warmly and nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.” You point to your front door, “you wanna go inside?” 

He pauses, staring at you for a long moment as his brain tries to and two and two together but keeps getting minus seven. “I… erm… inside?” 

“For the food, the meal date? We were gonna cook together?” You say politely, mistaking his confusion.

“You, you still want to… go out with me?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out so softly, so small. 

It’s your turn to pause and truly absorb what he said. Your eyes widening as realisation dawns. “Oh, of course! Santi, fuck, sorry,” you put you hand on his arm and squeeze reassuringly. “It’s not a problem for me that you're trans, no problem at all. Doesn’t affect anything. I really like you too.” 

He gives you a brilliant smile, all of his nervous energy outpouring as relief washes over. 

He nods and walks with you as you both move towards the door, taking your shopping bag for you as you fish out your keys. 

“Do you, erm,” he pauses for a second to take off his shoes as you do the same, “do you have any… questions?” 

You turn away just to shut the door before you look back at him. “Questions?” 

“Yeah… about the trans stuff.” He shakes his head, trying to sound more assertive. Fuck, being shot at was always easier than this. “I mean, me being trans.” 

“Do you usually get questions?” 

He nods. 

You pause, thinking it over for a second. “Do you want me to ask questions?” You say sincerely. 

He smiles and rubs the back of his head. “You know, no one's ever asked that before.” 

You smile back.

“Erm, yeah, yeah,” he nods, “questions would be good actually. Normal.” 

You laugh good naturedly, “kay,” you make your way to the kitchen, pointing out the different rooms as you go. 

“Your house is really nice.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And thank you for, well, being so… for being normal about how I blurted it out outside, usually I’m a bit more together.” He says, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. 

“Are people usually not normal? Wait, that’s a numb as fuck question.”

Santi laughs as you pull a face. “A lot of people are very normal about it,” he smiles, “but I don’t tell a lot of people.” 

You nod as you start to unpack your bag, Santi jumps in to help. “So, when did you transition?” 

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “I know it’s a cliche but I kind of always knew, you know?” 

“Not cliche, just a common experience.” You smile and nudge your shoulder into his. 

He grins. “Started ‘dressing like a boy’ when I was 15, but it wasn’t until I was 18 and out of the house that I changed my name and stuff.” 

You nod. 

“Been on T for a long time now. Managed to get top surgery when I was 24.” He pauses, “sorry, I’m word vomiting all over the place here and-”

“Hey,” you smile warmly, taking his hands, there’s a slight tremor to them. You rub your fingers over his skin reassuringly. “It’s good, great. Not oversharing, thank you for wanting to share with me.” 

He returned the expression a little shyly, “thanks, I just…” He screws up his eyes and sighs, “need to overshare one more thing.” 

“Go ahead.” You give his hands a soft squeeze.

“I’m, I haven’t had bottom surgery.” He swallows, keeping his eyes closed, “I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker for you, I understand if it is.” 

You lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Not a problem.” 

He opens his eyes quickly, looking at you like you painted every pink sunset cloud in the sky, before he presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He mutters, stroking your cheek and kissing you again. 

He slowly steps closer, pressing flush against you and snaking his right hand to rest on your hip, giving him all the leverage he needs to gently press you back against the counter top and slip his tongue into your mouth. 

It is a long time before the half unpacked groceries are remembered. 

Thank you for reading!

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@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

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@novarosewood

You've never been with a man before. Just a few failed, awkward romances with women, a few years back.

But recently you've been realizing that you're not single because you're some sort of loser, or something equally upsetting. You're single because women actually just don't interest you, not as much emotionally, and not really at all sexually.

One time you heard Jake in his room with a partner, groaning and grunting in pleasure, his muffled voice telling his lover how to take him.

That was...eye-opening.

Now you think about him all the time, but you don't know how to tell him, and worse, if you even should tell him. He's way too cute for you...right? Cute doesn't begin to cover it - the man oozes confidence...experience...smolder.

He's really nice too.

He was gone for a few days, out of town "for work" (whatever that is). When he got back, he actually gave you a quick hug. "Missed you, man." You forgot to breathe for so long, it came out like a dramatic sigh once you did.

Jake wondered if you were annoyed, but instead, asked you to play video games. The sides of your arms touched the whole time, and you had to put a pillow over your lap because your obvious…attraction.

Jake senses the tension between you and wonders if you're mad that he finished the peanut butter and didn’t buy more.

You clear your throat awkwardly, your gaze flickering away. “No, I don't think I could ever be mad at you, Jake - especially not over peanut butter.”

He hums out an ambiguous response, dragging a hand over the sexy stubble on his chin. "You must've missed me then." His eyebrows shoot up playfully.

God you want him so bad.

As if your greeting hug and video-game-a-thon weren't enough, work the next day couldn't go worse. Sometimes you feel invisible to colleagues and especially to your boss, who seems to have completely ignored your inquiry about an open management position. After a day of being overlooked and passed over, you’re so done.

You finally make it home, drenched from a sudden shower that seemed to wait until you walked out of work to start, and decided to stop as soon as you made it through your front door. Shedding your wet jacket, you stamp your feet on the mat just inside the door, yanking off your fogged up glasses so you can wipe them clean.

Unfortunately, rain does not look good on you the way it does on Jake. If he comes home wet, he's something out of a noir film, removing his cap, pushing those long fingers through his perfectly damp, thick curls - droplets of water making his long lashes shine as they kiss his cheeks. Rivulets of rain snake down the corded thickness of his throat, disappearing into his deliciously drenched white shirt, which hugs the shape of his body temptingly.

Must be nice.

Maybe you can make it to your room before he sees you looking like a wet rat.

You shower and make yourself presentable enough, moving around your home quietly, afraid your pathetic-ness will somehow repel your roommate - secretly crushed that Jake doesn't interact with you for an hour or so. Maybe he doesn't notice how brutal your day was.

A delicious aroma wafts down the hall from the kitchen a while later and you realize Jake is cooking dinner. Deciding you'd rather be in his presence than mope in your room, you venture out to interact. Dinners with Jake are the highlight of your life after all - that is, when you're not sitting with him, touching him, playing games together.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you steady yourself, remembering to take things one day at a time. He might not even be into guys. Or you specifically.

Jake looks up as you enter the kitchen, dark eyes brightening, but somehow immediately softening at your apparent distress. Your shoulders sag in defeat even as you put on a brave face to greet him.

Usually he leaves you alone when you're quiet, assuming you prefer it that way, but after you sat together all last night, he thought maybe...

Setting down a wooden spoon and reducing the heat underneath a sizzling skillet, he turns to you, and your heart races as you realize he's giving you his full attention. It's not helping that he's wearing an apron - that sight alone might kill you.

"You okay?" Dark eyebrows arch curiously as he boldly inches forward.

Blowing out an exhale through your lips, you quickly nod, realizing that simple inquiry means more to you than anything.

Reaching out to grasp your forearm, he peers up at you earnestly. "Hey...talk to me."

You force a smile as your 'brave face' wavers. "Just a shit day. Nothing really."

He pulls a face of his own - a smirk curling the corner of his kissable lips. He's got to stop doing that or you're going to fall head over heels. (Too late).

"Okay, then," he relents, meandering over a few cabinets to where you keep the booze. Jake pours you a drink to settle your nerves, presenting it to you with a comedic flourish, as if you are his liege lord and he's your servant. Eh, probably just a fantasy of yours...

You chuckle, muttering, "thanks," as he brushes past you, disappearing into the living room to turn on the record player. Jake is a mystery, but his collection of albums might be the most sexy thing about him.

Miles Davis drifts into the kitchen, the smooth tones soothing you instantly, while making you ache for something romantic of your own.

You toss your drink back in a couple of long gulps, hoping to gain some proverbial liquid courage as Jake returns to his task, reaching for the wooden spoon to stir.

"Thanks for the drink," you say, bravely moving closer, bumping arms with him. "Need some help?"

Setting the spoon back down, he turns a smoldering gaze your way. "Dance with me."

You almost choke. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me." He roughly whispers. Tugging at the string of his apron, he pulls it loose and sets it on the countertop, leaving him in a tight, white t-shirt and joggers which rest on the swell of his hips. Offering his hand, he repeats, "Dance with me."

Your body responds, seemingly without permission from your brain as you take his waiting hand - the contact zinging up your arm, electrifying you. "I-I don't dance."

He hums out a knowing chuckle, eyes sparkling at the challenge. "Everybody can dance, here." Boldly gripping your hand, he eases your arm around his waist, giving you an out before going too far. "Stop me if I fuck this up." He pulls you closer than you expected, his breath ghosting your cheek.

"Jake..."

"Am I getting this wrong?" He asks you seriously, sounding a bit nervous - his voice pinched even as he possessively cinches you closer. "I...want you and I feel like you want me too, but...fuck, if I'm wrong, please don't kick me out."

You can't believe this is truly happening. How is this man actually real - how is he touching you, saying these things? And moreover, why are you not responding?

Afraid you might cry or something humiliating, a breathless laugh rushes out of you, cutting the tension. "I'm not gonna kick you out."

Soulful jazz crescendos, soothing the surge of worries threatening to ruin this moment, and before you can overthink - as you do - you pull him closer. "Come here..."

Your heart stops when he lays his head on your chest, almost causing you to forget to dance, but you realize, in that moment, that you trust his lead. You believe his words - at least your body does, and you sway to the music, moving in synchrony with this man you adore.

And as you wonder if the stars have aligned and you might really have a chance with him, he tilts his head up and presses his mouth to yours.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The house was small, more of a cabin really, and set back from the small country road, right at the end of a narrow lane. The thick forest around the building had been cleared and the approach to the house was exposed. The second the man set foot on the property, flood lights lit up the yard. Even in the heavy rain he could see the cameras mounted on the porch, one aimed at the drive, the other at the front door. 

Frankie saw the lights go on in his yard, and he immediately reached for the gun on the coffee table but he remained on the couch, the book he was reading now face down beside him. Most likely it was just an animal crossing the yard, alarms wouldn't go off until someone tried to force entry. He waited for the lights to go off again, the knock on the door almost made him jump. Quietly he got up from the couch, moved through the house to the hallway and tapped the screen mounted on the wall. The man on the other side of the door was soaked through by the rain underneath his cap and he gave the camera a nod as if he knew Frankie was watching him. 

He should know Frankie was watching him. After all, he taught him how to set up the system. 

Pope heard the door unlock and couldn’t repress the smile creeping up as it swung open. 

“You’re not an easy man to find, Fish.” 

“Pendejo, where the fuck have you been?!” 

Frankie tossed Pope a towel after he peeled off his wet jacket, leaving it dripping onto the floor of the small hallway. The door was closed again, locked and bolted, and Pope nodded approvingly at the security system his friend had set up.  

“How did you find me?” Frankie asked as Pope toweled his wet hair, following him into the kitchen, “I’ve been staying off the radar as much as possible, Will told me a couple of guys came after you?” 

“Yeah, some of Lorea’s men. I got rid of them and I had to move location again. But Will had a hunch about where you might be so I checked it out and one thing led to another.” 

He hung the towel over a chair and sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen island as Frankie leaned against the counter. 

“Do I need to worry that someone else might find me that way?” he asked, raising his eyebrows but Pope shook his head.

“No, you’re good, Fish, I found you because I know you. How have you been?” 

“Shit.” 

Frankie spat the word, his eyebrows pulling together as he rubbed a large hand over his face. 

“Like absolute shit. I’m not sleeping, Tom’s death…it’s still….”

“Yeah, I know,” Pope said, “the nightmares have been brutal.”

“I keep reliving that fucking moment up on those rocks, when Tom…”

Frankie trailed off and Pope nodded. 

“Yeah, Tom, the heli crashing, Will getting shot, that fucking donkey…I have nightmares about that fucking donkey, you go over with it too, Fish, I keep dreaming the same sequence, seeing you tumble over the side, pulled down by it.” 

Pope glanced over at Frankie who was shaking his head with his eyes closed as if he was trying to shut something out.

“Don’t….” Frankie muttered, meeting Pope’s dark gaze. 

The two men fell silent for a few moments, eyes locked on each other,  the rain hammering against the shutters and a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Something made the lights flicker and Pope broke the stalemate, glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I’ve got a backup generator,” Frankie said, “and extra fuel. The power goes out pretty often when trees fall on the power lines.”

Pope nodded, “Always prepared, Fish.”

Frankie shrugged in response, seemingly waiting for the other man to say something else. Pope could feel the tension building in the small kitchen and he couldn’t face it, even if he was the only one who felt it. 

“You got a beer?” He motioned to the fridge but Frankie shook his head. 

“No, I’ve been staying sober, on all accounts, since we got back. I…I lost custody of the kids, after the divorce.” 

“I heard, man, I’m sorry. That’s fucked up,” Pope shook his head as Frankie shrugged again. 

“Shit was bad when I got home, she’d changed the locks, tossed my things, got the divorce papers ready. And I went on a bender, totalled the truck and then the court awarded her full custody,” Frankie shook his head, glancing down at his feet, “Can’t blame ‘em, and it was probably for the best. Some people were sniffing around the house a few months later but I’d already moved away. At least this way she and the kids aren’t in any danger.”

Frankie looked up at Pope, still damp, his shirt clinging to his shoulders as he leaned on his forearms on the wood countertop. His friend’s dark eyes looked apologetic as he listened to Frankie.

“Could’ve used your help, Pope.”  

“Fuck, Frankie, I’m sorry. I only just heard from Will that you got divorced, if I’d known I would’ve helped out, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” Frankie said, “It was my mess, I guess I had to deal with it.” 

“Yeah, but Fish, you’re family. Will and Benny have each other, Tom always had Molly and the girls, and then it’s you and me,” Pope said, getting off the stool and coming around to lean against the opposite counter, giving Frankie’s shoulder a clap. Frankie gave him a dismissive snort. 

“We’re family but you’ve stayed away for two years? Living off what’s her name's money? Not even a word to confirm that you were still alive?” 

“That…that didn’t work out,” Pope said, hesitating a little, “Turned out she wasn’t that interested when I’d already gotten her and her brother out of the country. And I always…” Pope trailed off and shrugged. He seemed to consider his next words, meeting Frankie’s questioning look for a few heartbeats before he continued, “Yeah…it didn’t work out. I came back to the States about eighteen months ago.”

Frankie’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at Pope’s answer. 

“Eighteen months ago? And you only just now got in touch? What the fuck, Pope?” 

“Like I said, you’re not an easy man to find, Fish.” 

“Bullshit, Will always knew how to find me, I made sure, you just didn’t bother.” 

Frankie crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Pope who just shook his head, but still met his gaze. 

“I thought you were still married, Frankie, you had your own family. I didn’t wanna crash that.” 

“Still, could’ve used your help, even if I wasn’t divorced. If you really mean we’re family and-” 

“It was too hard, Frankie, you know that,” Pope interrupted, pushing himself off the counter and taking a step towards Frankie who stared back at him. Pope shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, “Seeing you with her, the kids, happy family life. You must’ve known how I felt, seeing you run back to her the second we were done in Columbia.” 

“Pope…” Frankie said in a low voice, his eyes dropping to his boots as his fingers twitched, he looked ready to crawl out of his skin. 

But Pope ignored him, tension dripping off him as he paced the small kitchen, “You know, right, Fish? This has always been here, this,” He pointed between the two of them, almost poking Frankie’s chest as he stopped by the counter again. “This…this friction, you and me, and now…you always just stand there and say nothing.” Pope shoved his hand through his hair again and slumped back against the counter, “Frankie, half the time I don’t know if I want to hit your or fuck you.”

Frankie suddenly exploded into action, two long strides and his fists grabbed Pope’s shirts, slamming their bodies together as his mouth found Pope’s. Pope grunted in surprise and took hold of Frankie’s sides as he stumbled back with the force of the other man’s kiss. Teeth and lips clashed as Frankie pulled Pope closer, tongues meeting and Frankie groaned, tasting rainwater on Pope’s lips. Pope wound his arms around Frankie’s waist and up his back, grabbing the shirt and pushing the other man into him as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. Panted breathes filled the silent kitchen, a low moan from Pope as Frankie wrapped his hand around the back of his head. 

“I fucking missed you,” Pope mumbled, still pressed against the other man’s lips, and Frankie’s soft tongue came out to taste Pope again. A mouthed fuck and Pope’s hand slid down and grabbed Frankie’s hip, his touch going soft as he let himself feel the outlines of his body properly for the first time. 

“How long?” Frankie asked, his voice low as he pulled back a little, meeting Pope’s eyes. 

“Since basic, I guess. But I denied it for years.” 

“Yeah,” Frankie breathed out, barely a whisper, his eyes on Pope’s mouth. Pope tightened his grip on Frankie’s hip again and pulled his friend close, the kiss softer, less rushed. Frankie’s body was tense under his grip, uncertain as he shifted his weight and opened his mouth to Pope’s tongue. Pope moved slowly, feeling his way around Frankie’s stiff muscles, caressing his back, leading the kisses as the other man slowly began to relax. 

When Frankie groaned into his mouth and pushed forward, almost bending Pope backwards over the counter, Pope took hold of Frankie’s hips again and pulled him along. Leading him backwards into the living room. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he sank down and Frankie toppled over, on top, his long body covering Pope’s, legs tangled together. 

A moan escaped Frankie when he felt the hard length of the other man against his thigh and he rolled his hips, seeking friction for himself, his body reacting faster than his mind, the primal urge to rut into the warm body underneath him almost taking over. Pope’s mouth was warm, heavy breaths panted into his own, as he squeezed his eyes shut. Pope’s hands were caressing his back, trailing down over his ass, grabbing and pressing them together, calloused fingers sliding inside his jeans and Frankie froze, pulling back an inch, panic flaring up in his throat. 

Pope’s dark eyes met his as Frankie pushed himself up, hovering over Pope on his forearms, not meeting his friend's look.  

“Have you done this before, Frankie?” he asked, his voice slightly breathless from the kisses, but calm, and Frankie wanted just to bury his face against Pope’s warm, flustered, neck, hide his face and not show the intensity he felt was written across it.

“Just a hookup, when I was drunk,” he mumbled in response, his hands suddenly felt too big, he didn’t know where to put them when all that was under him was Santiago. He shifted uneasily.  

“Cálmate, Francisco,” Pope mumbled, cupping his hand around Frankie’s head, his fingers finding damp, soft curls, “Relax.” 

Frankie nodded and dropped his head to Pope’s chest, exhaling deeply. The steady heartbeat under the shirt told him his friend was still calm, hadn’t lost his cool, wasn’t rushing into anything. Warm hands resumed their movements up and down his back but now they were slow, and didn’t touch his skin. He felt his nerves calm, this was just Santiago, Pope, his oldest friend, who knew the darkest things he’d done because he was right next to him when it all went down. If anyone would understand, could reach inside and soothe the panic in his chest, it was this man. 

He lifted his head from Pope’s chest and cupped his cheek, a slow, uncertain movement, running his thumb across the thick beard, shot through with more gray now than last time. The sensation was unfamiliar to his fingers, not used to touching him in this way, the texture of the beard different from his own scruffy patches. Pope parted his lips as Frankie’s thumb traced across them, pausing briefly to press into the bottom lip. Frankie watched as the soft skin gave in under his thumb, making Pope part his lips more. When he leaned forward and gave an experimental lick to the pink bottom lip, Pope hummed under him, his hands stilling on Frankie’s back. He let Frankie lead the way, taking it at his pace, meeting his tongue as Frankie opened his mouth and licked into Pope’s. 

This time it was Frankie who reached for Pope’s skin, sliding a hand in under his shirt, not even thinking about what he was doing, just needing to feel more. Pope shifted under him, letting the buttons come undone and the shirt slid open. The palms that skated across his skin were calloused and familiar, but never in this way, never with this soft touch, followed by a hot mouth and tongue lapping at his skin. 

He could help himself, “Frankie,” he moaned, the roll of Frankie’s hips grinding against his own hard length clouding his mind, “Frankie, are you sure?” 

A muffled Yes and a nod came from Frankie, his tongue exploring Pope’s skin with increasing fervor. When his hand cupped the hard length straining against the fabric of his jeans, Pope’s breath hitched and he groaned loudly. It egged Frankie on, suddenly he felt a desperate need rise inside him and he grabbed Pope’s hand, dragging him off the couch. 

“Bedroom,” he muttered, tugging the other man with him, the two of them stumbling the short distance to the small bedroom at the back of the cabin. 

Pope grabbed Frankie’s shirt and pulled it off, shrugging his own shirt on to the floor, and then Frankie’s hands were skimming up and down his sides as they climbed onto the bed, buttons being undone, jeans discarded. It wasn’t the first time they’d been naked in front of each other, far from it, but the new situation gave them cause to look at the other man in another way. Pope took in the trail of dark hair on Frankie’s soft belly, leading down to his achingly hard cock. Frankie couldn’t just look, his hand came out and closed around Pope’s stiff length, making him huff a strangled Frankie before he pulled him down over him. 

After, when their bodies were slick with sweat and the room reeked of cum, Pope cupped his hands around Frankie’s scruffy cheeks and kissed him firmly, holding the other man tight as their heart beats slowed down. 

“I should’ve come back much sooner, Francisco,” he mumbled, when he finally broke the kiss. 

“Should’ve done this much sooner,” Frankie muttered in reply, his hands wrapped around Pope’s shoulders, sharing his breath and still tasting the salty tang of his own spend on Pope’s lips. 

Pope nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back on the pillow with his fingers tangled in Frankie’s soft curls. He'd never known Frankie's hair was so soft, but he’d often thought about curling his fingers around the tufts that always stuck out from underneath that damn cap. Now he slowly ran his fingers through them, still damp from their exertion.

Frankie shifted his weight, resting his head against Pope’s shoulder, his leg hooked over the other man’s thigh. When the air in the room cooled, he reached over and tugged the comforter over both of them, rousing Pope from his light sleep. He shifted down, pulling Frankie into arms so that he could look him in the eyes. 

“What now, Francisco?” he asked, his voice already thick with sleep, and Frankie kissed him. The soft lips and rough voice now his to claim. 

“Nothing, just this, Santiago,” Frankie replied, “We sleep, we wake up, and then just this.” 

I find myself lying on a couch, holding my head, in a private gaming suite inside of a Canto Bight casino, reflecting on how I ended up on this stiff, rough, odorous furniture. That's right, it's my job. But also, I just wanted a chance to hang with the guys.

Din was introduced to me by Greef Karga. Greef has been bringing a group of his friends to my card table for a few nights every few months. He's always bringing different people, but the Mandalorian has been consistently present. I think maybe he's just keeping an eye on Karga and his apparent gambling problem, because he doesn’t seem like the gambling type. I'll admit, the Mandalorian had his hooks in me from the moment he sat down at my table, it was his incredible voice with the unique timbre saying my name, “Nice to meet you Nev.” That's all it took, that and the way he listened silently, always polite and always catching me off guard when he laughed through his modulator. 

On the next two trips I watched him with fascination. He was quiet, but when he spoke I could tell that he chose his words carefully. It took me time to learn that he does have his own sense of humor, it's dark and it's dry. Sometimes I'm the only one to laugh, usually because I'm the only one not engaged in other conversation to catch his quick, subtle wit. He always asked if I'd be the suite server after the game, that's where they'd all go to a private lounge and drink and talk business. Unfortunately I always had to tell him no because I'm stuck dealing. “Well, hopefully next time. Have a goodnight Nev.” I let things naturally progress. Really, he is out of my league and I’m not even sure if I'm his type or if he even has one. He was an acquaintance for quite awhile but then things changed.

I knew he'd become my friend when he shut down a guy new to the group on this trip. He was giving me shit, and told me to wear something prettier next time. I know what he meant. Din chimed in,” Nev isn't here to be looked at, they’re here to deal, shut up.” He continued to break his silence throughout the night to help me fend off this guy's constant offenses, “I was an orphan of sorts too Nev, privileged guys like him don't get it, ignore him.” I don't even remember why it came up, but I was grateful for Din's intervention. I'm not even supposed to talk to the players but sometimes, I have no choice just to keep the game going smoothly. The group changes frequently, twice I met Boba Fett. He got bored of the game quickly, but was very nice and tipped as well as Din. Fennec scared the shit out of me in a good way. But on this trip, the only ones I knew were Greef and Din.

Tonight I got the chance to get off the gaming floor and be their attendant for the night in the suite. I'd been hoping I'd get the chance. Din never took his helmet off at the card table but I had been told by other suite servers that he does when the group is alone. One coworker said he's gorgeous, the other had no opinion. My curiosity grew. Tonight he never did take it off. I think it's because of the extra guest. I saw Din getting in what looked like an argument with Karga, over this new guy who was way too drunk and needed to go. Greef wanted him to stay "to finish a deal in the works." That changed when they looked over and I was being assaulted. 

He was crowding my personal space, trying to not draw attention, "Come on…loosen up," He smelled like sweat and was slurring as he spoke. I tried to back away after handing him the drink but he walked up on me. I backed up, only to meet a wall. His body was pressed against mine, he's hulking compared to me. Looking over, I saw Din with Karga and their other handsome friend, on the other side of the room unfortunately.  Still, I hinted for backup.

"Back off!" I was forceful and loud enough for the other men to hear.

"Or what?"He spit the words into my face as he grabbed the front of my shirt.

"HEY!" I heard a modulated voice yell. 

That's when this guy's other hand met my neck as he was being pulled off me by the Mandalorian. He had just enough time to slam my head into the wall behind me. 

I saw spots and felt myself sliding down but I didn't hit the ground. Someone caught me.  

"Well shit Din! Don't kill 'em. I got you hun. Hey, eyes open now." I saw a flash of a killer smile and silver hair before I succumbed.

I didn't see what happened to him but I came around on the couch and saw his limp body hanging by the collar of his shirt as Din threw him to the floor. Then the man, bloody and unconscious, was dragged out of the room. 

Din hovers over me fully armored. I focus on his voice, "Nev, we're sorry, we can have a medic on the way."

"I don't need a medic. I'm fine. I'm fine. Looks like you guys took care of the piece of shit." I’m irritated as I attempt to sit up, a little dizzy.

Greef hands me a towel with ice in it to hold to my head, "That was the king here. He's a one man army." He nods to Din.

I grin a little, "The King, that's a fun nickname."

"Nickname? Darlin', no, he is a king. Din Djarin is Mand'alor," says another one of the group, a grotesquely charming and nice looking man from Tatooine, Cobb. He's the one who caught me.

"Thank you, for not letting me hit the floor,” I tell Cobb, and I'm not your darlin’. 

"Wish we had gotten to ya sooner," He pats my leg, like I'm just a kid needing a bit of comfort. I'm certainly not his type. Oh well.

Cobb leaves my side by the couch and shuffles the three other men I don't know out of the way to give me room. 

"Seriously Din?" I say in mock disgust. "What do I do…do I like–" I stand and start to bend, laughing a little, "Do I bow? Curtsey?" I bend down, hearing Din laugh through his helmet. I'm overwhelmed with dizziness and start to fall down. Din catches me under my arm. I'm reminded of the hours spent with the group, listening in as they talked business, but Din was always the most allusive, never volunteering information about himself. The exception being the times he spoke to me, but he never mentioned being a king and I'm clearly not paying attention to Outer Rim current events.

"You probably have a concussion, sit back down, careful." He gently guides me back onto the couch.

"Well, I think we should take this as a hint to just retire for the evening. Let's reconvene for dinner and the races! Tomorrow!" Karga shows all his and Dins friends out, his enthusiasm unwavering.

"We can't just leave Nev here," Din directs to Greef.

"Well, technically, I'm still working. I have to clean all this up and take it to the kitchen." Still holding the ice to the back of my head, sighing.

"Nonsense. Don’t they have droids do that? Poor girl was attacked. They can't expect her to clean all this up." Greef motions to all the drinks, the now broken table and blood smeared on the wall of the flashy suite. I feel Din's gaze through his helmet fixed on me.

"Then we'll help them," Din says to Greef.

"Help who?" Karga says, looking around.

"Nev. We'll go to the kitchen and pay someone to cover for Nev and a little extra for the mess and to keep quiet about it."

"Now you sound like me! Perfect." Greef smiles ear to ear with pride. "Why don't you help the young lady to her home and I'll go settle with the staff.'' I swear I catch a wink and nudge from Greef to Din.

I stand, slightly unsteady, Din offers his arm and I take it. I exhale, "It's fine, I can take myself home. You don't have to walk me, Din." This is embarrassing for me. 

"I want to." Din says plainly. He stops and freezes, he sounds gentle, "Do you not want me to? Do you have someone we can call, you shouldn't be alone." 

"Don't be silly, I just feel dumb. That's all. Letting myself get hit again." My arm is in his as he leads me down a hall past other private suites. He's much taller than me and I wonder how odd the pair of us look.

"This has happened before?" The sparkling waters of the Cantonica Sea can be seen from the window as we pass the moonlit scene.

"Look at me Din. I don't fit the bill for this place and come on…Canto Bight isn’t exactly known for its compassion." I look at my reflection as I pass by a large window heading to the lift. I'm wearing black slacks, a button up black collared shirt, no makeup on my fair skin and small silver earrings. The clothes give no exceptional silhouette to my unimpressive body. My glossy, dark brown hair is parted down the middle, hanging between my shoulder blades, it's the only thing I get compliments on, unfortunately. The only thing slightly classy or alluring might be my heels and as I work with my hands, my nails are manicured and painted a deep inky black. I wear only two rings and they're very minimalist. Compared to most here, I'm practically dressed for bed. Din looks stunning and intimidating standing at my side. "Some people, they treat me like shit because I look like a target to them for some reason. That or I just don't…flirt enough, stroke egos or whatever. That's what happened, that guy…." I shrug as though it's just something I have to deal with.

"Well...I killed him." Din says without feeling as we both enter the lift.

My mouth drops open, "You…what?" in disbelief.

"No, he'll live. Probably. Seriously, the whole night was kriffed," Din says again dryly. "I don't get it. You look fine to me…better than fine I mean." The doors open to the opulence of the casino floor. "But, I guess you're more practical compared to–" Din looks over at the other human women. They're in very elaborate, ornate, sparkling dresses, long hair piled up and sculpted into intricate designs, faces painted beautifully. 

The compliment from Din doesn’t even register, there is zero self esteem for it to stick no, not an ounce of self respect. I can’t fathom anyone like Din even thinking of me other than just a friend. "I mean the women here are stunning, look at her dress! The men too! Look at his haircut. His tux. I mean to say, these people however they define themselves look amazing. They're whole persona is crafted, they look like sculptures." I point to an individual in a stunning tuxedo, hair meticulously groomed. "And I'm just here. Somewhere outside of all that…" I wave my hand around at the gorgeous people.

"Their persona is crafted alright," Din says with a disdain. "What I'm hearing is, you think they're better looking, more attractive than you," Din stops walking and lets go of my arm. His body language would have me think, disbelief.

"Well, in a way. I mean, I don't think I'm ugly. It's just, I don't know how to show myself off…" I look at his T shaped visor as he doesn't respond. "But, you call me by my name and never, girl, and you've never talked down to me."Maybe I'm starting to take a hint. I squint at my new friend and wobble again, "shit." I reach out and balance myself, palm landing on Din's stomach. My weight is pushing into him, he doesn't budge. I notice the few glares I get from passersby. What's that about? Oh right, everyone wants to fuck this guy. At least that's what I hear. I wonder if Din can hear the comments some people make. "So rude,” I think out loud.

"What is?" Din replies

"What? Oh. Nothing," I rub my hand on my head where I hit the wall. No lump. I'm probably fine.

Din lets out a heavy sigh. "Let's get you back home." He takes my arm again. He is not a stranger to me, but I've never been alone with him to talk like this. 

I lead Din to my tower next door and up to my one bedroom apartment, with a balcony. It's a nice place, the job pays well considering it's Canto Bight. But this casino is run by a group who for whatever reason are allowed to be different and are much more fair minded. I try not to ask too many questions while working. I got the job by working my way up. My employer respects me and my job has never been in jeopardy but tonight has me questioning. The tips I make afford me nice amenities in my home and a few trips to the beaches each year with friends or a short vacation off-world if I save.

I open the door but Din doesn't follow me in, "Come in please. Make yourself comfortable." Now he follows.

"This is nice, not surprising. You're a professional,” He looks around casually.

The motion lights come on, and I fall back heavily into my cushioned sofa, head laying back, legs sitting wide apart, I kick my heels off. My mannerisms have been called out for being too masculine over the years, mostly by the nuns who raised me. "You can sit down, take a load off. If you want." Motioning to the chair next to me. I rub my neck and feel a tender spot where I was grabbed. I'm out of bacta.

"Yeah okay. I'm going to get you some water," Din walks into the kitchen that's a separate room.  

I hear an odd hiss. I shout to him, "Help yourself to whatever. The cups are above the sink." I've known him casually for nearly a year now. I trust him, a man that rarely shows his face not to invade my privacy, not that I don’t want him to. I don’t know what I want. Him, probably.

"I see them," Dins voice sounds louder and a little different.

He comes back out and there he is. His helmet in one hand, a cup of water for me in the other. I don't know what to say. Do I say anything? I've spent hours with this man and have never seen his face. I can't help it. Din hands me the water and I slowly sit down in the chair. "Nice. Your face is good. Good job." I give him a lazy thumbs up. 

Din laughs, his smile is radiant.

"Oh…now that's even…wow man, nice smile." I tilt my glass of water at him and shake my head in disbelief. Wincing a little.

It makes Din laugh more and I see his cheeks blush. He runs his gloved hand through his hair that was flattened by the helmet and curls pop up. 

"Are you kidding me?! Your hair is even incredible. I'm so jealous right now," I take a sip of water and reposition myself to lay back on a pillow.

"Okay, that's enough….I mean, Thank you." Din smiles as he nods at me. Am I blushing?

"You're welcome–” I don’t even wait a beat, I just ask “Hey, why now? Why not at the card table or back in the private suite?" 

I watch the smile on Din’s face fall slowly, each line receding back one by one as he forms his answer, "I didn't want to show my face to that asshole because I had a feeling I was going to beat the hell out of him–” He raises a brow as he shifts his still simmering anger around, “Anyway, I never used to. For anyone."

"Never? No one else saw your face? You don't have to answer," I motion my hand to stop him. He doesn't have to answer if it's too personal. 

He shakes his head, "No one. It was my belief but things change and with time so did my beliefs. You meet people and perspective shifts. I show people what I want them to see–” his gaze falls heavier on me before he looks down at himself,  “A formidable opponent, a Mandalorian, a…leader…or a guy in a chair with helmet hair." Din shrugs.

"And now I've seen almost all of those,” I smile cheekily and Din’s gentle eyes fall on me again.

A brief silence falls between us, like it has a task to perform, stitching two people together. Then my door rings so I start to get up.

"No. Stay put. I'll get it." Din stands and puts his helmet back on. I watch him go to the door. I like his gait, it's almost a strut. 

"Nev it's Brint, just checking, heard you got knocked out, you okay,” My friend says from the other side of the door before Din opens it.

"Whoa. Sorry, wrong apartment." Brint turns heel.

"No. You're right. Nev is fine,” Din calls back to you, his modulated voice gets louder, "you want Brint to come in?" 

"Yeah, thanks Din." I shout from my spot on the couch.

Brint steps in, "Hey, just checking on you. Can I get you anything or…" their eyes shift to Din standing over to the side.

"Oh! No. I'm fine. Brint, this is Din Djarin. Din, my good friend Brint. You know Greef, Din comes with him. He kicked the guys ass and brought me home. He's also a King. Just…a fun fact." I can't help but grin at that fact.

Brint raises their eyebrows in slight surprise, "Nice to meet you, thank you for looking after my friend." Brint reaches a hand out, Din shakes it. 

"Nice to meet you, Brint. I thought Karga was supposed to keep this quiet?" Din sits back down. He takes his helmet off again. Brint tries not to stare but I see they can't help it either.

Brint stammers, "He did, he paid my friend Trew, and well…was going to pay me but it felt weird...Nev is my buddy.  Okay, I see that you're not dead or bleeding and safe and all that. You have, him, Din here to take care uh look after you. So. I'll go. I'm gonna go. Nice to see…nice to meet you, Din." Brint turns their back to Din and mouths wow. I raise my eyebrows to acknowledge their sentiment.

"Thank you B, I'll see you later. I'm fine. I promise. Show yourself out, you know how." I wave at my friend.

"Bye Stifling!" Brint calls out.

"Bye Quacta!" I call back before I hear the door close. "Sorry." I say rolling my eyes, a little embarrassed.

"Is Brint your…is she your girlfriend?" Funny that he’d ask as nothing in that interaction made us seem like Brint and I were dating.

"They are very married, and just a friend." I say wryly. I know Brint is attractive but my crush has long subsided. “And, I’m not dating anyone.”

"I see. And Brint is They not She. Alright.…and you?" Din glances at the door when he asks, his eyes innocent and curious.

"Am I what?" I am confused. Am I married?

Din tilts his head, words not coming to him fast enough.

I answer before he can say more, "Oh! Well. I mean, everyone calls me she. She is fine," I try to dismiss the topic.

"That means what? You prefer that?" Din leans forward into the chair, not letting it go.

"It's hard to say. I am fine with she but I've come a long way. Trying to be me, it's taken a lot of time to understand myself. But They feels good too. Brint…I wish I had half their confidence." I sit up from my lounging position.

"I didn't mean to pry." Yes he did. Din leans back into the chair. "You just made that comment about me not calling you a girl and sometimes you..." 

I Interrupt,"Look like a girl but sound and act like a man?"

Din says nothing for a second, I realize now the intense linger of his visor has always been just as intense underneath. I watch his eyes dart up and down taking in my appearance. He finally says something, "Maybe that's how some see you…but I had a hunch. Sorry if I'm out of line."

I shrug off the mild discomfort, "...Nah, I mean, you're fine to bring it up. I appreciate you. You're incredibly perceptive Din Djarin. Me, not so much, so now it's my turn. Is there a Queen?"I look at Din in his relaxed state on my chair and drink more water.

"No Queen." Din says with a small sigh.

"King?" I pry more. I want to know his type, because I highly doubt I am.

"I'm king." Din laughs softly. "But there is no Queen or King Consort." Din raises his eyebrows at me. 

"Do other people know? Are you uncomfortable talking about it? I know not all corners of the galaxy have the same social norms," the tone has shifted to be more serious.

"Cobb and I had a brief thing, that was no secret. We've moved on obviously, just friends. I'm not uncomfortable…maybe a little. I don't talk about myself. I usually ask the questions." Din runs his hand through his hair again and his eyes dart nervously. He flexes his hand and pulls his glove off to reveal red swollen knuckles.

"Maker Din, I'm out of bacta. There is ice in the kitchen, put something on those! Let me get it." I point to his injured hand and start to stand.

"That's not a bad idea, guy had a hard head, stay put, I'll manage," He says casually, like it's nothing new.

He gets up, I watch his broad, shiny form go back into my kitchen. He returns with a small towel holding ice wrapped around his hand. He sits back in the chair, in no hurry to leave and I don't want him to.

"Your neck is bruised. Here–" He takes a very small tin out of a pouch on his belt. "Use the rest of this overnight." He lays it on the table.

"No. You're hand. I can't take your bacta from you! I'll be fine." I refuse his gift.

"Nev. No offense, but you're so pale, I can see the handprint." I see a bit of anger bubbling to the surface. "I'm leaving it on the table for you. Please use it." 

"It's that apparent huh…alright…thanks. What were we talking about?" I pick it up. It's a neat piece of first aid he has, a single use bacta tin. I rub it on my neck and let the cool tingle relieve the discomfort as I relax back into my pillow.

"I was about to ask...how about you? I saw the way you looked at that couple," Din asks, but his expression says he knows the answer.

"Alright…so you don't have to ask. It was obvious, my preferences span the spectrum. I was simultaneously admiring them as objects of my, uhhh, desires and admiring his look. I wish I could wear a tailored tux and my hair like that. So dapper…ya know?" I finish my water with a slight frown.

"No reason you can't be dapper," Din offers sincerely.

I struggle with my reply, "I don't know how, or rather, where to start…no, I'm not brave enough…"

"Brave enough? What do you mean?" Din tilts his head.

I pause, deciding if I want to talk about it. I drag my fingers through my long hair pulling it over one shoulder. "I'll be real. Growing up, I always got picked on by other girls at the house where I lived as an orphan. The house had a strict faith. Girls were supposed to look and behave a certain way, which was submissive. Women were to be delicate, only skirts and dresses and long loose hair were the indicators of that. I've come a long way since those days but…no matter how much I want to cut my hair, I just leave it. If I cut it off, one of the nuns will come out of nowhere and beat me. I’ll be betraying something…I'm not even sure anymore…" I make a backhand slap motion. I wonder how that sounded to him. Probably pathetic. "...I almost did it myself recently but realized I had no clue what I was doing, I'll probably never do it." 

Din pulls his eyebrows together as he looks at me with curiosity. He squints, as though he's taking a mental picture. It makes me almost blush. I'm not used to being stared at. He runs his hand over his whiskers and shifts in the chair nervously as he thinks.

Keeping his iced hand in his lap, "I take my helmet off now, but only when I feel safe. But I'm sick of it, I only need it when I need it. I had been taught differently, including after I took my helmet off to save my kid that I wasn't Mandalorian anymore...and I believed it, I believed I deserved the pain that caused me.  But now...I know I can take it off at any time, I'd still be a Mandalorian. I know that hurt was only to manipulate me. I told you I let people see what I want them to see, that's true. But some of that comes from…" Din sighs heavily, his eyes become unexpectedly sad as he is very candid in this moment, he looks into the distance, "I'm just that kid who was told that he'd lose everything if he took it off. Wish, I could walk into a room and look at people, and not be…afraid…anyway, never say never, Nev."

I'm frozen as I watch Din confess these profound fears to me. I turn and shift a little closer to him before I speak, "I don't wear my hair how I want because people that mostly don't exist anymore might see me, and you don't show your face because you might break a rule that doesn't exist for you anymore. Man, that's not fair. You deserve better."

"We both do," Din says as his eyes meet mine.

I can't help myself to punch a hole in this heartfelt moment. It's what I do.

"What a night huh? Fun and games until I get assaulted and you beat the shit out a guy. Now we're what…sharing our thoughts and feelings?" I snort.

Dins shoulders relax as I break the moment. I think it went deeper than he was expecting and took relief in the wet blanket I threw over the conversation.

"How's your head? Are you still dizzy?"He leans forward again.

"Let me walk across the room." I go over to my balcony door then back to Din. "I think I'll live." My head is fine and the bacta helped.

"How's your hand?"

Din removes the ice and flexes, "Decent."

Din looks at his vambrace, "It's late, I should let you rest. Do you have a shift tomorrow night?" He sets the ice in the towel on the table. And slips his glove back over his hand.

"Nope, it's my day off." 

"Great,” Din says before putting on his helmet. "Stand…" he takes me by the shoulders and moves me, "right here." he looks me up and down from a distance with his helmet.

"What are you doing?" Confusion spreads over my face.

"Sizing you up. Want to go to the races with us tomorrow?" Din asks, with quick enthusiasm.

"I…yeah, okay. That sounds great!"

"I'll be here early, at around four. I have a plan." Din walks to the door.

"Alright. See you tomorrow." I say before I grab Din's elbow as he walks out the door. He turns quickly and looks at where I’m touching him, but he allows it. Casual touches must not come his way often, "Hey, thanks for tonight. You defended me. Seriously, I don't have words."

Din reaches a hand up and grazes my arm with his knuckles , "None needed. See you tomorrow."He gives a nod before I watch him strut down the hall to the lift.

Part 2->

Comments and reblogs are appreciated

There were all kinds of crowds. College kids and business casuals and actual cowboys. And it’s Austin, so all the sexualities were represented in one way or another as you took note of the couples at tables and on the dance floor. You couldn’t really care about any of them, though, as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

You were drawn to him and his broad shoulders and tight Wrangler blue jeans. 

He was with a big group of women and men, all drinking and laughing and taking turns line-dancing with each other on the dance floor. 

And to think you only stumbled into the honky tonk cowboy bar out of curiosity… It certainly wasn’t your scene. 

But you’d watched Joel dance with a few women with respectful hand placement, and then he danced with a man, and hope had bubbled up inside of you to the sound of Alan Jackson. 

He was a little sweaty when you worked up the courage to talk to him, and his cologne masked all the alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

You plastered on a flirty smile and asked him if he could teach you some of his moves. When he looked taken aback and flustered, you backtracked. 

“I’m sorry, I saw you dancing with that guy— I didn’t mean to assume.” 

“Tommy? That’s my brother,” he’d explained, a little flushed in the face. 

“Oh! Shit, sorry, ignore me.”

But he’d caught your arm as you turned to hibernate for approximately 5-10 business days. 

“I don’t see no harm in teachin’ you.”

And so he did. And it was fun, and his hands on you were so warm you swear they branded his mark all over your skin. 

A few songs, all background noise to the ‘he’s just straight, don’t do this’ mantra in your head, and he was leading you off the dance floor for another beer. 

A friendly beer. Surely that’s all it was. 

But he was so friendly. He gave you pointers on how to dance, and then asked if you’re from around here, and then he was waving off his group of friends when they all announced their departure. 

He asked you about your job, and you asked about his, and then the way his hands felt rough on the skin of your arm made more sense. 

Maybe you were crazy, or the two beers you had were really getting to your head, but there was something so unspeakably electric between you. You felt it when he’d lean in closer to hear you, the way he touched your arm with the back of his bottle-filled fist, the way his hoppy breath ghosted across your cheek to reach your ear.

And then he said he should probably get home, and asked if he should walk you to your car, and maybe he wasn’t straight, you thought, as he briefly placed his hand on your back to guide you through the packed bar. 

And you really, really shouldn’t have. But you asked for his number, and he put it in your shitty flip phone, and then you kissed him. 

Right on the mouth. A quick peck that was so short you could’ve nearly pretended it was an accident. 

He looked so stunned, and guilt boiled up in your stomach. 

But he’d grabbed your wrist gently, and looked you in the eyes. 

“I’m uh… I don’t… I haven’t ever done that.” 

“That was your first kiss?” 

It was a joke, and thank god he laughed. His smile looked so fucking good under the shitty, flickering street lamps. 

“Call me, okay?” 

And then he was gone. You thought about him the whole drive home, while you got undressed and ready for bed, as you fell asleep. You felt his touch in your dreams, and when you woke in the morning you could hardly believe he was real. 

But his phone number was burning a hole in your cell phone. You stared at it on and off all Saturday long. What would you even say? Why did he even want you to call him, if he’d never even kissed a guy before? Did he just want a new drinking buddy? 

The dread built up all day long, until it was late, and a sense of now or never goaded you into calling his number. 

He answered, and you told him who you were, and he’d sounded so surprised to hear from you. He didn’t think you’d want to see him again, after he embarrassed himself, and his admission made you balk. 

You told him you were the one who felt embarrassed. He laughed at that. Said he’s a lot smoother with ladies, but you made him feel nervous. He said he wanted to meet up again. 

And so you did. 

Just a shitty diner for an early dinner on Sunday, unassuming enough. The chemistry you felt at the bar hadn’t faded. If anything, it was so much more apparent now. The way he blushed when you flirted seemed less like the bad kind of gay panic. His foot kept nudging yours under the table. 

He walked you to your car again, and then he kissed you, much less chaste than the night at the bar, with one big, rough hand on your neck and the other on your hip. 

“That was pretty good for only your second kiss,” you’d said. 

He shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing his heated face.

“Should stick around and find out about the third.” 

And if you hadn’t already been wrapped around his finger, he certainly secured the spot for you then.

He wasn’t new to dating, but he was new to this, and it showed. He got pretty easily flustered around you. On your second date, he brought up his daughter for the first time like he’d forgotten he hadn’t mentioned her before. A casual thing, talking about her getting ready to graduate high school. 

“Does Sarah know… who you’re on a date with?”

Joel shook his head. 

“Not yet. No one does… Not even sure how to explain it to myself, if I’m honest.”

You were patient with him. It’s gotta be culture shock, living nearly 40 years of your life completely straight and having some random guy at a bar change that for you overnight. 

You took things slow. You talked a lot over the phone, after Sarah went to sleep. He told you about his dating history, Sarah’s mom and only a few unserious flings after. You tried not to psychoanalyze him, but it makes a little bit of sense. Getting some girl pregnant at 19, marrying her, getting ditched with a toddler and a curt ‘good luck’ and then raising her on your own? 

No wonder he never questioned his sexuality. There was genuinely no time to. 

At first, you thought you may just be a stepping stone. A news flash for him, an experiment, something fun for a season. It didn’t bother you. It’s happened before. But as your nightly talks got longer, and as you took each other out more and more often, it became clear that it wasn’t like that. 

You watched with fascination and adoration as Joel figured things out. It was so endearing when he asked if he should hold the door open for you, or if you should take turns. Likewise, when he held your hand in public for the first time, the way he asked your permission made your heart grow way too big for your rib cage.

Things weren’t perfect, of course, but nothing ever is. You didn’t get to see him as much as you ideally would. You were both busy during the work week, and he often had father duties on the weekends. Most of your dates were quick dinner bites when Sarah had a school thing, or an odd Saturday here or there when Sarah had a sleepover. 

But that was quite enough for you. You weren’t even looking for something when you’d met him. You didn’t feel the need to move quickly when you hadn’t planned on going anywhere in the first place. 

And he was sweet, and quite self-aware. 

“Wish we could spend more time together,” he’d tell you over the phone, “I know this ain’t the way things normally go.” 

But you liked him. So much. So it didn’t bother you.

And, as the weeks passed by, he opened up more. He started asking you more pointed questions, like how you came out to those closest to, and what it was like. He asked if you were seeing other people— it’s okay if you are, was just wonderin’— and then he asked you if you wanted to be together when you made it clear you weren’t. 

“Like… as boyfriend and boyfriend?” 

He chuckled, the deep gravel a familiar tone swimming through your landline with a nervous twinge to it. 

“Yeah, as boyfriend and boyfriend.” 

And he treated you right, and you got along with him so well, and he was so put together and responsible and respectful. 

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.” 

And his breath had hitched so loud it was caught by the receiver, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he told you that he’d really like that, too. 

A few days after that, he told you Sarah would be gone all weekend, on a team trip for some hiking and kayaking and bonding. 

“Could I stay at yours? I hate to invite myself, it’s just— Tommy’s got no boundaries. Wouldn’t want him bargin’ in, y’know, before I get to tell him.” 

You didn’t mind one bit, aside from the mountain of laundry you had to fold in preparation for his arrival. 

It was the first time you’d been truly alone with him. Your dates were always public, at least somewhat. And he’d kissed you, a ton, but that’s as far as it had ever gone. 

You definitely wanted him. You’d wanted him since the very second you laid eyes on him at that cheesy honky tonk bar. But it was funny how nervous you were, even though your experience with men put Joel’s to shame. 

It was a lot like high school, in the way you danced around each other at first. A movie on your couch, with his arm draped along the back of it. Readjusting to ‘get comfy,’ inching, until the warmth of his body was pressed against yours and his arm dropped from the back of the couch to your shoulders. 

His heartbeat was deafening, hard and fast, when you’d tucked your head against his chest. You moved your hand to his knee in the world’s most intense match of The Nervous Game and feared for his cardiovascular health. 

He said your name, and like it was the magic word, every single facade crumbled around you in an instant. 

His kisses made your head spin, and the way his thick thighs felt under your own was addictive, and it was over before either of you realized it had started. Two sets of soiled pants and underwear thrown into your washing machine, along with the last of the pretenses. And then you’d dragged him to your bed. 

The sex wasn’t even your favorite part. The best was the morning after, and how you were plastered to his back as you woke up slow and easy. The way he held your arm to his stomach, even in his sleep. And the way you only got out of bed for food or bathroom breaks, a whole day with him, alone, uninterrupted. 

Just as you started to worry that this was a one-time thing, at least for a while, Joel huffed beside you and nuzzled his head into your shoulder. 

“I wanna come out. At least to Tommy ‘n Sarah. S’not right, keeping you a secret like this when you’ve been makin’ me so happy. I know you’d make them happy too.” 

You stroked his hair, and asked if he was sure, and though his pretty brown eyes looked wide and scared, his jaw was set with a determined nod. 

So you devised a plan. Or— Joel devised it, and asked for your input, and it all made you a bit giddy. 

He had you over for dinner. Just as a friend, at first. He’d ordered pizza and stocked beer and told Tommy and Sarah he was having a friend over. 

You wondered if Tommy would recognize you from the bar, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just talked your ear off about Texas sports and old cars.

Sarah was… well, you understood why Joel could never seem to smile wide enough when he talked about her. She was so smart, and kind-hearted, and funny. You had a hard time keeping up, but the way Joel and Tommy were around her, you think she probably has that effect on most people. 

It was a nice night, fun and easy conversation, good pizza, and a very competitive game of Boggle in which Sarah dominated. 

And it was only a little bit difficult to spend the evening as just Joel’s friend, solely because of how easily you fit into his life. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops, that Joel wanted you to be a piece in his puzzle. 

Sarah, so politely, excused herself to go to bed as it got later. The three of you left shuffled around, gathering game pieces and paper plates and empty cans, until you all eventually met back in the kitchen. Joel gave you a look, and you gave him a comforting smile right back, and it was like the room’s air was replaced with water as he spoke up.

“Tommy?”

“Mmhmm?” 

The younger brother whipped around to face you both, sliding the leftovers into the fridge with a slice in his mouth. 

“I uh… I wanted to let you know that I’m— that we’re, uh… Together?”

You watched as his dark eyes glazed over for a second, brow scrunched up in confusion. And then his gaze flickered from you to him, and back to you, and his eyes grew as big as saucers. 

“No kiddin’?”

Joel laughed. 

“Serious. He’s my… He’s my boyfriend.” 

Tommy swallowed his mouthful of pizza, wiped his mustache, and smiled. A genuine smile, sweet and warm, reaching his eyes. 

“Hermano, good for you. That’s— I’m happy for you.” 

He opened his arms and tugged Joel into a hug, and Joel grumbled something about Tommy getting pizza grease on his clothes, but he was smiling wide and relieved over Tommy’s shoulder. 

But then Joel’s face got serious again as Tommy pulled away with a manly slap to his shoulder. 

“Sarah doesn’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everyone got along first, y’know?” 

And then Tommy was looking at you and rolling his eyes and chuckling. 

“Think we all get along just fine. You should tell her soon.”

And Joel knew Tommy was right, but it didn’t stop him from looking so anxious when Tommy left with another round of goodbye hugs. 

“What are you most worried about?” 

You asked him because you knew there were many things to fret over, in his situation. 

“Just that… She’s had this idea of me this whole time, y’know? What if she sees me different, and then things change between us?” 

And god, that made your throat feel thick, and Joel’s eyes got a little misty, so you pulled him tight against you and let him sag into your hold.

“I know the feeling,” you told him, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“No?”

You huffed a laugh and tangled your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck. 

“You mean everything to her. I can tell just by how she looks at you. Never seen a teenager like their dad that much.” 

And he laughed too, a little wet against your shoulder. 

“Will you be there with me when I tell her? I don’t— I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Your lips found his bristly cheek and planted a kiss there, and you mumbled of course into the salty skin.

So you went home, with plans to come back the next day. This wasn’t easy for you, either, dating a guy with a kid for the first time. You knew she liked you, at least, but that was a face value assessment. Would she mind you taking up more of her dad’s time? Would she mind you in their space every so often? Would she mind if you came around to her soccer games or science fairs or graduation, as her dad’s boyfriend, in front of all the other kids with nuclear families? Would she resent you for shaking up what they had?

You didn’t get much sleep, thinking about it. You wondered if you should bring her some kind of gift, flowers or a trinket or something, but then you’d be trying too hard, right? 

As you got ready the next morning, you thought about all the ways it could go wrong, but none of them really seemed realistic. Sarah was sweet, and intelligent, and surely if she did have reservations, they’d be able to talk them through civilly. 

Right?

You couldn’t even listen to music on your way to their house. It was a silent fifteen minute drive with your nerves boiling over and spilling out, thinking of how awkward things could get. 

But all of that kind of fell to the wayside when Sarah answered the door and said “I haven’t seen you in forever” with a cheeky grin and those bright eyes she definitely got from Joel. 

It felt cozy when you sat down at their kitchen table while they sipped their coffee and orange juice and Sarah told you both all about the English project she was working on. It put you at ease to ask her questions about things you have in common, and for all of you to mesh so well into a normal conversation.

But as it lulled, you noticed Joel getting restless, and you noticed Sarah noticing his uneasiness. 

“Dad, you’re acting weird in front of our company.” 

And while she was alway kind and respectful, she was still a teenager with a dorky dad. 

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She looked at him with her head tilted and her eyebrow raised. 

“Now?”

She nodded her head toward you as she asked, and you couldn’t blame her for being confused as to why he had to have a heart-to-heart with his ‘friend’ visiting. 

“Yeah um… You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should get a life and start datin’?”

Sarah laughed and looked at you.

“Yeah, could you be his wingman? It’s getting sad.” 

And you laughed, and Joel laughed, but it was a little forced, and Sarah’s smart, so you could read the confusion on her face. 

“What’s this about, dad?”

Joel took a big, deep breath and took Sarah’s hand on the table. You watched her squeeze his fingers as her face twisted up in worry. 

“He’s my— we’re dating. He’s my… boyfriend.” 

The worry dissipated, and her eyes got wide and her lips pursed before her jaw slowly dropped with surprise. 

“You guys are together?” 

She looked over to you, then, and all you could do was give her a soft smile and nod. 

“I know you might have some questions—”

“How long? When did you guys meet?” 

She looked back to Joel to answer, but you could see he was still reeling, with sweat saturating the curls at his temples. 

“Just a couple months ago, he taught me how to dance to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

She made a noise, like a scoff, and it made you wince.

“Months!? Dad, why didn’t you tell me?” 

You watched Joel’s eyes cloud with— fear? You’d never seen him look so scared. 

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just— I guess I didn’t know how. At first.” 

His voice trembled, and you watched Sarah’s lip quiver before she shot out of her chair and lunged toward her dad, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“I love you,” she’d mumbled, like she knew it was what he needed to hear, because his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around her back. 

You thought maybe you should look away. It felt real personal. But Joel had asked you to be here, and it was about you, too, as much as that fact made you want to burrow underground. 

“You could have told me sooner. I love boy talk.”

Her voice was muffled and heavy with tears, but Joel chuckled all the same through his own misty gaze. 

“I didn’t know you liked boys.” 

She pulled away but didn’t go far, letting her hands squeeze his biceps as she looked to him for an answer. 

“Me neither,” he shrugged, “I like this boy, though. A lot.” 

And he got this goofy smile on his face, even though it was a little wet, and he looked at you, and you felt so awkward but so head over heels. 

“Okay, well, you still should have told me. I would’ve been on the porch cleaning Uncle Tommy’s shotgun when he pulled up.” 

Joel groaned and covered his face but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of you. 

“What are your intentions with my father?”

And though her tone was joking, her eyes grew soft as she waited for an answer. 

“I guess I just wanna make him happy. Because he makes me happy. If that’s alright with you?” 

She sat back down and rested her chin in her hand, with her lips pursed again as she thought. 

“Sarah, you can have time to think—”

“Deal.” 

She extended her hand out to you from across the table, and you took it eagerly to shake on it. But after an appropriate amount of handshake time, she didn’t let your hand go. 

“You have to come over for movie nights now.” 

“I can do that.”

“And I have to make sure your taste in movies doesn’t suck before I let you pick one.”

“That’s fair.”

“ALSO—“

“Sarah,” Joel interrupted, “this isn’t how deals work. You can’t add stuff while he’s still shaking your hand.” 

“As I was saying,” Sarah rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand tighter, “you have to treat him right. He acts all tough but he’s just a softy.”

“Oh Christ,” Joel huffed. 

“No, she has a point,” you told him with a smirk, “I promise I will, Sarah.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, but then she grinned, and finally let go of your hand. 

So yeah, you really really like Joel Miller. You’re never happier than you are when you spend the evening at his house, snuggled up on one side of him while Sarah’s snuggled up to the other, watching some movie Sarah’s usually the one to pick. 

Or when you meet him and Tommy at Sarah’s soccer game, and he greets you with a smile and lifts the bill of your Miller Contracting hat you’ve stolen to peck your lips. 

Or when you’re in your own kitchen, making his coffee, and you feel sleepy arms wrap around your waist and a sleep warm kiss at the nape of your neck. 

Javi closed his eyes briefly and nodded, hands balled into fists against his knees. “Y-yes, I,” he gulped. “Um. I feel… Inside. I feel it inside.”

She had no personal experience in any of this before, but Javi was coming to her in confidence. Javi trusted her with this side of… them? Him? Her? She really wasn’t sure which applied to Javi at this point.

She nodded, considering. “H-have you, um,” she gulped. “What brought you to that… conclusion? I’m sorry, osito, I’m… I’m new to,” she gestured vaguely, but stopped in case that came off as dismissive. “I’m not sure what I should say.”

Javi finally turned to her, huffing out a laugh and wiping his eyes. They grabbed their love’s hand and held it gently in their own.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I just sort of… sprung this on you, but. It has been on my mind a lot lately.”

She nodded, urging Javi to continue.

“I did not have the language that is available now, as I was growing up. I’m not sure if I’m… I do not believe I am a woman, but,” Javi paused, looking down at their clasped hands.. She squeezed their hand reassuringly, and Javi squeezed back. “Masculinity is… fragile.”

She snorted at that, making Javi laugh a little as well.

“Well, it is, but you know what I’m saying,” Javi giggled. 

“I do.”

“I have always felt disconnected with masculinity. There were so many things men were supposed to do, to be,” Javi sighed. “I never felt like I– Like I was one of those people.”

“Should I–” she started, but fell quiet. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you, osito,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb across his cheek. Javi leaned into the touch, and gave a small shake of his head.

“Por favor, pregunta.”

“How should… Is there a name more fitting for you now? Or new… pronouns?”

Javi bit their lip, thinking about it. “I like my name,” they said easily. “And… I think I like ‘they’?” Javi shrugged. “It is still new for me as well.”

She giggled softly and leaned closer to press her forehead to theirs “That’s okay. We can… We’re in this together, mi osito.”

Javi’s cheeks flushed. They nodded, steeling themself for their next announcement. “I, um. I was wondering if you could… help me?”

She leaned back to look at him, eyes questioning. “Of course, amor. Whatever you need.”

“Um, I purchased some… clothes and makeup and I was wondering if you could help me put some outfits together?” He rushed out shyly.

She beamed, excited at the idea of helping her love explore something they’d always wanted to.

“It’s just–” Javi gulped. “You always look so put together and pretty and–” “Javi,” she chuckled, taking his face in both hands. “I’d love to help you.”

The smile on Javi’s face could rival the sun.

Javi Gutierrez, he/they, discovered the word “genderfluid” a few months later. He liked that word, but it made everything all the more real. He knew that things were changing, but his mind was filled with brand new anxieties. He worried about being disrespected in meetings with studio executives, being misgendered, blacklisted, or even worse, a target.

For now, at least, he kept his identity private. Only his love, and immediate team were aware. To others, Javi was just a little adventurous when it came to fashion.

Ever since coming out to their partner, they’d gotten really good at applying their own eyeliner and lipstick, always a pretty neutral color that complimented his skin tone beautifully. Having lived in Mallorca most of his life, his wardrobe was already full of color, and he never shied away from the more “feminine” colors. Who knew wearing a pink suit would cause such a stir?

Some days they felt more masculine, and other days he felt more feminine. When they felt somewhere in the middle, they got to play around with some androgyny. The freedom to just… be was such a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were no restrictions to what they could do anymore. No pressures to act or look or be a certain way.

Javi was just… Javi.

And right now, Javi was nervous, but excited. 

“Mi amor, look! What do you think? Do you think it is too much for the luncheon?” Javi asked brightly, twirling a little in their shared closet.

She gave him a once over and felt her heart flutter at just how happy Javi looked. She’d always had her suspicions about Javi, especially the longer they’d been together. Javi always carried themself a little… differently than most men. She understood now that it was because Javi wasn’t like most men. Or even a man at all. Well, not really, anyway.

“I love the color... but it may be a little too short,” Javi pouted, nervously tugging at the hem of the skirt.

“Oh, it’s perfect, mi osito,” she grinned, stepping closer to them. “However,” she started, biting her lip as she gave him another look. Javi’s eyes widened and their cheeks flushed. “I think you should wear your knee high socks with it. Balance it out a little.”

“Are you sure?” Javi blinked owlishly. They looked into the full length mirror turning first to the left, then right, assessing the outfit. He had chosen a matching set in a soft lavender, the delicate shade perfect against his golden skin. The tennis skirt made his ass look fantastic, and the polo shirt hugged his biceps perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders. The strip of skin that peeked out between the two pieces was an added bonus. “I haven’t worn anything this… obvious to this sort of meeting before.”

“What do you want to do, honey? I think you’ll look beautiful whatever you decide to wear,” she smiled, coming up behind them to wrap her arms around their waist. She kissed their shoulder comfortingly, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Javi bit his lip as he turned in the mirror again. “I love the skirt. I love how it feels, but… Perhaps it is too casual? No quiero ser poco profesional.”

She hummed in understanding. “Maybe the earrings? The new ones,” she offered instead.

The tiny silver hoops with small crystals in the colors of the genderfluid flag were more delicate than Javi usually wore. The gender euphoria he would feel during the luncheon far outweighed the subtlety of the jewelry.

“Good idea,” Javi smiled, turning in her arms to cup her face and kiss her tenderly. She hummed happily into it, keeping her hands on their hips. As he pulled away, Javi’s eyes softened at her blissful expression. “I am not sure what I did to deserve you, but… I’m not complaining,” he chuckled softly.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt the exact same way. It would take a little time for her to get used to all the complexities and nuances of Javi’s gender, but she was willing to put in the work. She loved him, loved them for exactly the person Javi was.

“Perhaps I should not question it too much, hm?” Javi winked, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Probably for the best,” she winked back. “Now, go get dressed so I can take you out later, ok?”

Javi smiled brightly and nodded, parting from her to get changed.

“I am nervous, mi amor,” Javi whispered, clutching her hand tightly in his own. 

“You’ll be just fine. And you’ve got me here with you,” she grinned, and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “Don’t want to mess up your makeup,” she said, rubbing an invisible smudge off his highlighted cheekbone and winking.

Javi exhaled a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut as he centered himself. “Alright. Press record, por favor.”

“Hola mis amigos,” they said shakily. "I have… I have something I’ve been meaning to share with all of you.” As nervous as Javi was, there was an undeniable determination in their eyes.

To say Javi’s coming out video went viral would be an understatement. Javi Gutierrez, screenplay writer and part-time producer, famed for working with the likes of Nicolas Cage, was coming out as genderfluid. It was on every news article and Twitter account for weeks.

Javi expected there to be mixed reactions, but the only opinions that they really cared about were from the people they’d be working with directly. His team had known for a long time, and they’d been out to themself for two years. They were sufficiently comfortable in this identity, and if he lost out on certain jobs, they weren’t worth having in the first place.

He did a few interviews after his initial coming out video, but made it clear that they didn’t want this to be something he had to talk about in every interview going forward. Yes, he was genderfluid, but it wasn’t the only thing.

Thankfully, lots of Javi’s celebrity friends were on his side. Every new set he worked on, he heard encouraging words from the cast and crew. A co-star who’s brand hinged on being very feminine, said Javi’s video unlocked a lot of feelings they had been trying to repress. One of the lighting guys, a man who could have passed for a member of the Hell’s Angels, quietly asked him for makeup recommendations while blocking a close-up shot. He worried about the people who wouldn’t be supportive, until he realized he had so many people in his corner that the bigots didn’t matter. 

And above all else, he had her. She accepted them for who they were and even if she had questions or didn’t understand something, she made it a point to ask or do her own research. 

Javi had never felt so seen. So respected.

And here, laying in her arms, head resting on her chest, they felt protected and loved.

“Your hair is getting long, mi osito,” she hummed quietly, twirling an errant curl around her finger.

“Sí, quería ver cómo quedaría,” Javi muttered, lifting their head and resting their chin on her stomach. He made eye contact with her, getting lost in the color of her eyes. “I have always wanted to know how I looked with long hair.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous, mi amor. These curls of yours,” she sighed wistfully. 

Javi swayed their head from side to side, those curls bouncing and dancing along the tops of his shoulders. “You have said how much you love them,” Javi giggled.

“Well, it’s the truth. Maybe we can get some things to put in it once it’s even longer,” she offered, smiling softly.

Javi’s eyes grew wide and he sat up, on the bed, legs tucked under his backside. They were wearing a pale blue silk nightie that hugged their thighs and accentuated their shoulders beautifully. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I would love that!” Javi exclaimed excitedly.

“Then it shall be so,” she grinned, playing with the bottom hem of the nightie they were wearing. She gazed up at him through her lashes, taking in the sharp angle of his cupid’s bow and full bottom lip. “When do you need to wake up, mi amor?”

Javi’s breath hitched as her fingers crept underneath the silk and across his thighs, and his gaze dropped to the smooth column of her neck. Their eyes met as he crawled over her to straddle her lap. 

“Not early,” he hummed, “Did you have plans for this evening?” They asked mischievously, leaning in to tease open mouthed kisses across her collarbone.

“Maybe,” she sighed, reaching around to squeeze his ass, bare under the nightie.

“Good,” Javi smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply, hungrily. She moaned into their mouth, relaxing as they found a comfortable rhythm.

And that’s just how it was for them. They were in sync. Javi had a feeling they always would be.

a/n: if you're curious to know what sort of nightie javi is wearing, this is what i was picturing ♥