❝ you’re so fucking rude to me. ❞ a faux pout was sent his way, her chin resting on his chest as she gazed up towards him. in reality, the male was anything but rude, in any given situation. if anything, out of the two of them, lottie was the rude one. always speaking her mind, even when she shouldn’t. raising a groomed brow, she ducked her head down to hide the growing smile. damn him and his cheeky comments. ❝ i’m a little disappointed that’s not your stage name, if i’m honest. such wasted potential. ❞ looking back up at him, she shook her head in amusement. ❝ as soon as i get my phone, i’m changing your contact name to beefcake. might even add the bear emoji after it. ❞ a hand reached up to lightly scratch at his beard with her short nails. ❝ since you look like such a rugged bear of a man, ❞ she teased, nose quirking as she softly patting his cheek.
lottie fondly puffed out a small breath, intertwining their fingers and squeezing his hands. ❝ normal creepy, babe. no need to go he-man on anyone. promise. ❞ she assured the male, thumb rubbing soothing circles against his knuckles. ❝ you know i don’t put up with anyones shit. actual creeps get kneed in the family jewels as well as reported to management. ❞ releasing his hands she shrugged slightly, ❝ real creeps are so few and far between here. i think i’ve only gotten one this year who i had to report. ❞ considering the line of business, no matter how luxurious, that was a good sign in the blonde’s opinion.
she scoffed out, insulted by his presumptions. ❝ i’m highly offended that you assumed i wouldn’t be sleeping over tonight. ❞ though his tender ( albite jesting ) words did have an affectionate warmth spreading through her chest, something the blonde was forced to shove down. she was having to do a lot of that lately around nixon. ❝ my hero. ❞ her tone was that of exasperation, though it was proven false by the quick kiss she pressed to his shoulder.
❝ we legitimately only eat chinese take-out and pizza when we’re together. not that i’m complaining, mind you… but, this is really fucking good. ❞ a happy sigh followed after as she forked another bite into her mouth. ❝ um… how dare you rush me? ❞ bright blues stared down at her plate. there was at least seven more bites left, the blonde having inhaled most of it already. ❝ all right, all right fine… we should bring booze with us though. also, by should, i mean that if we don’t, i’m going to be very upset. ❞ she turned around to briefly give him a pointed look before returning to the rest of her meal.
a few more moments pass, her fork quietly scraping against the plate as she attempted to get the last bits of food. huffing in slight sullenness, she gave up on that pointless task and plucked up a napkin to delicately dab at the corners of her mouth. lottie then picked up the finished plate and quickly hopped off nixon’s lap. ❝ i’ll wash off the dishes while you get a head start on the bath. ❞ giving him no room to argue with her, she was already reaching for his plate and fork.
“If you think I’m rude,” Nix tells Lottie, lifting his eyebrows, feigning a hard exterior, “you can always get your food somewhere else. There’s a whole dining hall for employees, you know. You’d do great there.” His fork drags across his plate, scooping up a mess of food -- best served all mixed together, really -- taking the bite and chewing. His brow furrowed as though in consideration, and then all at once, acceptance. “You know what? I think I’m fine with it. Beefcake Bautista. It’s really not that bad. A definite ring to it, and it tells you everything you really need to know about me.”
Normal creepy. Was there such a thing? Nix huffed, protective, briefly, but... if Lottie said it was fine, and normal, he had to trust that she meant it. She was right. He knew her to be upfront and brash, never afraid to say what she was really thinking. It was a trait he respected, one that he knew others should adopt -- but thank fuck for the strong women in his life. Lottie did that. Chesa was like that, too; never let anyone walk over her. Fine line between that, Nix thought, and Mum, who had been overbearing. Demanding. That bridge had been burned, and he was happy to settle in the ash.
“I don’t usually have this much time,” Nix commented, offhanded. Not that he needed to make excuses with Lottie. He didn’t have to prove anything to her. It felt good. “But every now and then, it’s nice to feel closer to my family.” He’d never mentioned his mother. Never mentioned the separation from his sister at such an early age. Never mentioned the fact that he’d been pried from his home, washed of his dialect, trained to be American and curated to be the Any Man. He’d never mentioned the fact that, sometimes, these meals were the only parts of his culture he had left.
Was he being duplicitous? Nix didn’t think so. There were some things that were better left to crash and burn in the past, and rehashing them, even to let someone in, was non-optional.
Besides. He’d bled his heart at rehab, to the men and women who had similar stories. The same men and women who’d met him and he’d read it in their eyes: You’re famous. What do you have to complain about? They’d learned. They were now his friends. They kept him sober.
“I’m not rushing you,” Nix assured her, giving her waist a small squeeze. He liked that her body gave. He liked that Lottie wasn’t all brittle and bone and breakable. He liked her curves and her soft angles and the way she felt in his lap. “Take your time. And pick the booze. I’ve got... well, shit. I’ve got plenty. Take your pick. They’re all in the cabinet, wine and champers in the fridge, so just... bring in what you want. I’ll drink whatever.”
Lottie reached for his dish and he stuffed his last bite between his lips before giving Lottie’s hair a friendly tug. “Fair enough.” He rose, heading to the bathroom to turn on the faucet, picking the dimmest setting on the lights, aiming for serene. “What do you want!” he called in, sitting at the edge of the tub, his head canting towards the kitchen. “Bubbles or bath bombs!” Masculinity, as Nix had discovered some time ago, came in multiple forms, and often, baths were the prime way he could shed the madness of his days. When he’d bathed, he’d been able to scramble together some time alone, which had been precious when he was young. “Lavender for the bubbles, champagne and pomegranate on the bombs!”
