━━━━━·:*☆ STRONGER THAN ME
warnings: written passage. cursing. inappropriate humor. ooc behavior. flirting. intoxication. sexual tension. wolf stare pope. canon typical violence.
The party is in full swing when you and Pope arrive, later than all the other cars piled into the open back gate. Seas of conversation flow through the gates, splashes and echoed squeals harmonizing the loud music blaring beyond the back of the house. Pope's truck jolted to a stop outside the gate, gear shift placed into park, a bemused expression settled on his otherwise stiff features. Despite not even going inside he looked less than pleased to be in attendance.
“Are you sure you want to stay?” Popes eyes flitted over to you, thumb hooked into the steering wheel as you shuffled against the seats, “It just doesn't seem like this is your thing.”
“Does it have to be?” he gravelly mused, eyes flitting down to your fingers settled atop your smooth thighs.
You sunk a bit into the leather seat, suddenly anxious under his heavy set gaze. Despite your combativeness, you had taken Craig’s advice. Seeing as you had no other choice but to change into something a bit more appropriate for the event, you were showing much more skin than you had been when Andrew picked you up from the bar. A sliver of your hip peeked out from the hem of your shorts, tank top gathering at your hip to expose the soft skin. The haze of the fluorescent back lights shone off your exposed thighs and Andrew's gaze flicked down to the top of your tank where the fabric hugged your chest and then back out the front window.
“You like these parties,” he rasped, fingers wrung against the leather steering wheel. The short rise and fall of his chest and his overall effort to not look at your body again made you swirl with subtle pride.
“You don’t need to stay just to take me home,” you replied softly, leaning forward in an attempt to meet his gaze.
“I know,” he rumbled. His fingers reached for his keys, tugging the jangling metal from the engine, “Come on.”
Summer heat strung across your skin under the colored lights strung across the Cody pool. The wind moved slow through the crowd, your own having body settled long ago on a cushioned lounge chair beside Deran and Adrian, Craig making a disaster of inflatable pool toys he had clambered into a pile which he had unsuccessfully been attempting to use as a makeshift boat for all of thirty minutes, splashing the three of you in the process on more than one attempt.
Andrew sat stiffly upright on the other side of your body, nursing a beer bottle he had hardly touched, glaring at the mess of Craig splashing his converse in rambunctious belly flops onto an inflatable orca he had leveled on top of a lounge boat and donut. His thigh remained hard and tensed against your thigh and crossed knees, temple rested on Deran's shoulder as you sipped a cup of tequila and lemonade—a potent mix that you swore tasted like juice in your quick intoxication.
Liquored heat bubbled under your skin in a sweet flushing warmth, dim eyes and honeyed lips echoing the laughter around you. Squealing from another splash of water spraying across your hot skin you flinched from the scene of Craig’s lengthy body toppling back into the water, Deran and Adrian goading him into going once more as he climbed like a child from the deep end, rolling onto his back on the slick deck with a heaving chest.
“Give me a minute—fuck. I think I went longer that time,” he huffed, slicking back the mop of hair covering his face.
“Come on, man, you can’t give up,” Deran patronized, not that Craig would notice in his state. Derans lips curled up around his beer bottle, “What’s this, attempt thirty?”
“Fucking at least,” Craig panted, sitting upright with a shake of his head, your legs peeling up when the water flew across your thighs. “Alright I have an idea—let me grab the noodles.”
You all chucked watching Craig skimp off to the garage, nearly slipping on slick pavement as he did so. Adrian’s anxious chuckle drew your attention momentarily.
“He’s going to give himself a concussion.”
Deran snorted, nudging his elbow into Adrian’s side, “It’d probably knock something upright.”
The three of you laughed, your gaze shifting to Andrew whose stare was off somewhere into the crowd. His handsome unruly curls sat black in the shadowed light of the pool. The muscle of his face smoothed into angles, sharp and angular in the dim light, hard jaw clenched tight and nose subtly scrunching with each flick of his gaze. His black shadowed eyes flitted back to your face, just as you were surveying the wide set of his heavy shoulders.
“Nothing,” you hummed with a warm smile. Andrews lips pulled into a crooked sort of grin, looking over your hazy expression with light amusement.
“Little bit,” you exhaled deeply, head lulling to the side, uncaring to whatever conversation Deran and Adrian were having behind you. “Are you having fun?”
Your nose scrunched as you frowned, “I asked you first.”
“Are we twelve?” Your brows pinched and Andrew copied your expression. “Yes. I’m having fun. Don’t I look it?”
You shook your head with a light laugh, "Not even a little bit.”
Pope is just about to respond when a sudden slosh of liquid sprays across your legs, foamy beer collecting in droplets down your exposed calf, a crushed can rolling under the lounge chair you had been seated on. A drunken curse spits from your lips in a startled high pitch, looking up to a chorus of drunken reactions from the strangers surrounding the pool ledge. A guilty looking surfer type, blonde and shaggy, who had been standing with an unfamiliar group is biting his fist as the can spills its contents in a puddle around your feet, “Oh, fuck, I am so sorry, I swear it just got away from me. Are you alright?”
“You got beer all over her, asshole, what do you think?”
Pope's broad back was suddenly to you as he stood, shadowed dark shoulders leering over your seated form as you tucked your sticky legs further into yourself, letting Deran and Adrian fuss over you with a towel tucked behind the tikki bar. Fluorescent lights gleamed over Andrew's heavy set shoulders, the muscles of his arms soothing into stiff ridges, dark black eyes looming over the flustered surfer who had drunkenly stumbled back from his halfheated apology. An indignant scoff left the blonde's lips, chest puffed out to mimic Pope's natural stature.
“It was an accident, man,” a spherical haze of smoke from shared cigarettes dissipated across his scrunched face, blue eyes rolling subtly to the midnight sky, “Whatever, like I said, shit got away from me. Sorry.”
The surfer turned back to his friends who were vacantly perceiving the interaction, gazes set between the pool deck and the necks of their forgotten beers. There was an eerie silence cornered to the end of the pool where the altercation had settled, before abrupt reactions filled the air as Pope's legs took broad steps to the ledge of the pool, palms shoved into surfers back, flinging him into the water.
“Holy shit,” you heard Deran murmur under the gasp that had lurched from your throat, watching the blonde scramble up to the surface of the water, hair clinging to his forehead as he whipped it back.
“Accident,” Andrew shrugged. Your own mouth curled up in shock, giggle seeping through you as Pope turned back. Your wide eyes peered up at him as he reached a palm out to you, “Come on. Get you cleaned up.”
Yellow orange light casted a warm hue over the two of you sitting on Pope's old bed, the noise of the party seeped through the walls. The cool air conditioning made you shiver but feeling Pope's calloused hands holding your ankle, damp rag soothing up and down your calf to cast away the sticky residue of beer made you flush, skin burning red hot under the dim lamplight. You grew antsy, bobbing your ankle lightly in his palm, fingers pulling at the threads o =f a throw blanket tossed at the end of the bed.
“Cut that out,” he grumbled, no irritation in his tone, just a quick instruction you easily followed, teeth digging into your bottom lip.
“Sorry,” you murmured. “Tickles.”
You nodded, ignoring the subtle disappointment that settled in your gut.
“I could have done this myself, you know.”
“You’re drunk,” he said gruffly.
“Not that drunk,” you replied indignantly.
“Sure,” Pope hummed, lips hardly curling at the edges.
Above your head cool air comes in through a small vent, blowing across your burning collar. You’re dissolved in your state, spray of chlorine water in your hair, mascara surely smudged under your eyes from the hours of laughter in the sweltering hot evening air, graying in purplish shadows. There was a sheen of sweat across the curves and valleys of your skin, hair stuck to the back of your neck. You wondered if you looked nice. You wondered if Andrew thought you looked nice.
The room is dark except where the lamp light sneaks a short yellow gleam up and across the wall to the ceiling. It would be a votive romantic light in any other circumstance, this one too if you had any sort of idea what the man beneath you had been thinking. His room smelled good. You sighed. You were still drunk.
His thumb grazed the underside of your knee and you flinched again, a stifled hum leaving your throat as you pulled back to tuck your heel onto the mattress. Unlike before he didn’t let your foot slip from his hold, the thick calloused grip of his palm and spread fingers caught your ankle before you could reel back, tugging you forward with such a startling use of force you felt your hips scoot down the edge of the mattress, hands flattening against the methodically tucked sheet to keep your body upright.
Your lips parted, chest rising and falling as his dark gaze settled back on your face, hand still wrapped securely around your ankle, “Tickles?”
You shook your head quickly, staring down at the taut stalky muscle of his forearm as he held you in place. A hum rumbled through his chest, thumb grazing the arch of your ankle, eyes catching on the swell of your thighs spilling from the tight inseam of your shorts, muscle flattened wide on the bed. His brows pinched together, a heavy breath inhaled deeply through his nose, chin tilted down as his wolfish stare remained settled on your thighs. Your heart hammered in your chest, flinching when he suddenly stood up, throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.
“There. Clean,” he rasped without looking at you, hands flexed against his thigh. “We should go. It’s getting late. You work tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”
“Okay,” you replied meekly, watching him step back once you stood up.
“You should say goodbye. I’ll wait in the truck. Five minutes.”
And you watched him take broad strides out the door.
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