#saadiestuff

Times a Manes Man stepped in to protect Michael from Jesse 

the first time began a sad love story

the last time ended it

anew

Read it on AO3, or:

“Watch out for the guy in 3C,” Cheryl said in a low, surreptitious voice as she restocked the plastic cups on the beverage cart. Philip raised an eyebrow.

“Handsy?” he asked.

“Worse.” She tapped her finger against the side of her nose, the symbol they’d developed to warn each other about their more flatulent frequent flyers, and Philip barked out his distinctive laugh. 

“It’s always the ones in first class, isn’t it?” He nodded for her to grasp the other end of the cart, and together they pushed it out of the flight attendant nook near the front of the plane and down the aisle through economy. It was always more efficient to start at the back and work their way forward.

Cheryl plastered on her most pleasant smile once they reached the last row. “Beverage? Cookie? Pretzels?” The best part of the beverage service was how mindless it was. Smile, pour, hand it over, repeat. Sure, she heard the pfft of Coke cans opening in her sleep, but she liked her job. It was a small price to pay.

Once they reached row 32, she noticed two seats were vacant, the two closest to the window, and she idly hoped they wouldn’t be insistently pressing their call button for a Diet Sprite 20 minutes later when they came out of the bathrooms.

Philip’s laugh pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “Incoming,” he whispered with a smirk, and she frowned. He just reached up and tugged ostentatiously on one earlobe.

Oh. 

Cheryl finished pouring the tomato juice for 29B and handed it over before nonchalantly glancing over her shoulder. Back by the lavatory stood a man clutching a black cowboy hat in one hand, his other smoothing over his mop of messy curls. A moment later, the door opened with a telltale snick and another man stepped out. This one’s hair was equally mussed, his gaze darting furtively around the cabin. Curls stood up a little straighter, saying something to the dark-haired man that Cheryl couldn’t hear. 

Shifting in the aisle so she could get a better look, she watched Dark Hair’s brows knit together as he insistently whispered something back. A slow grin grew on Curls’ face, and damn, Cheryl thought. How could anyone resist the full force of that smile? 

Dark Hair certainly didn’t seem to be able to. His brow softened, and she could see the muscles in his jaw twitch as he tried to keep a straight face. Then Curls reached out with one hand, letting the pad of his thumb trace featherlight down the other man’s cheekbone, along his jaw, down to his lips to swipe softly across them before dropping back down to his side. Dark Hair looked like he might melt into a puddle in the middle of the aisle.

Cheryl felt like she might, too.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Ma’am.” She snapped out of it, idly realizing 27C had asked her for an orange juice at least three times.

“Of course,” she said, practiced and professional. “Just a moment.” 

She twisted open the juice bottle and poured, chancing one more glance over her shoulder. Curls and Dark Hair had made their way back to their seats, settling in next to each other. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Curls push the armrest between them all the way up, watched Dark Hair lean in for a kiss, soft and sweet and slow. Like they couldn’t get enough of each other. Like they had something special. Something deep inside her yearned for what they so obviously had.

“Ma’am? My orange juice?” 

Turning back, she smiled down at 27C. “I’m so sorry. Would you like a cookie?” He nodded, and she handed him a two-pack along with his cup of juice. 

“Cher-Bear? You good?” 

She looked up at Philip, her fake smile shifting into a real one, and she nodded. Then, with another quick glimpse over her shoulder: “I think I’m just going to bring some extra cookies to row 32. They look like they might need them.”

Alex did nothing as Michael attacked the bag of takeout food. It was supposed to be a peace offering. A truce. Michael fixed the rattle in Alex’s car. Alex plied him with burgers. It was a transaction. But Alex couldn’t help but watch long talented fingers shovel fries in his open mouth, artfully. At first Michael was purely shoving food in his face as fast as he could, but as his hunger was satiated suddenly he was making eye contact and twirling the straw to the milkshake, using his tongue to guide it in his mouth.

Alex swallowed.

He knew what this asshole was doing. Michael wasn’t subtle. And as he smirked, it became more and more clear that Michael was teasing. 

Alex leaned forward until his mouth grazed Michael’s ear, “If you’re that desperate for something to suck on, I could be of service.” 

Jesse Manes was back in action, and this time he’d brought some friends; a small death squad, armed to the teeth, approached the cabin, the one place they thought they’d be safe.

“You remember what I said?” Michael asked, cold fear sinking into his gut.

Alex squeezed Michael’s hand back, just as hard, just as desperate. “Over my dead fucking body, Guerin.”

“They’re after me, not you,” Michael pleaded.

i’m so sorry, i hope you still have fun voting! 😆

5. What’s a crackship you love?