Outlaws and Cockatoos // Gemma Teller x Clay Morrow
Clay has an enemy… With two wings and white feathers.
Obnoxious squawking wakes Clay up from the dead of sleep, and he groans, moving his arm upward to cover his eyes.
“The hell?” He grumbles, cracking an eye open reluctantly and peeking out from underneath his arm. That’s when he sees it.
That damn bird. It’s staring at him, taunting him with its beady eyes, its white feathers slightly ruffled.
It squawks again, just as Clay’s falling back asleep. It knows.
“Gemma!” He calls, but doesn’t receive a response from his ol’ lady. “Goddamn it… Gemma!” He tries again, and soon he hears her shuffling back to the bedroom.
“What?” Gemma raises a brow, leaning against the doorway. She’s wearing a robe and slippers, her dark, blonde streaked hair slightly messy. “I can’t even make a damn coffee without you needing me for something? I was starting to think you finally croaked.”
Clay narrows his eyes. “That damn bird,” he grumbles. Looking at the bird accusingly, which is now sitting on its perch, cleaning itself innocently.
Gemma sighs, walking over to the cage and unlocking it, taking the large white cockatoo out, which happily moves to sit on her hand. “Leave him alone, Clay. He’s just hungry,” she says, stroking the bird’s head with her free hand.
“He won’t leave me alone,” Clay responds petulantly. Earning a scoff from his wife, who takes the bird downstairs.
Finally, some goddamn peace, Clay thinks to himself. He tries to fall back asleep, tossing and turning, but of course, he can’t. Perfect.
Clay stands up from the bed, reluctantly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a black undershirt before heading downstairs. He sees Gemma in the kitchen, fixing breakfast and comes up behind her, kissing her cheek. He pours himself a cup of coffee before heading to the table, and he sees it. The bird, eating from a bowl of seeds. On top of the table. In his seat.
“Don’t start,” Gemma smirks from behind him, placing a plate of food for him at another seat on the table. He just grunts, sitting at the alternative seat and beginning to eat. His old lady is a damn good cook. She always has been.
Gemma sits next to him, sipping her coffee, the mug warm in her hands. She reaches to stroke the cockatoo’s head. Coco. He has a name. Gemma loves birds, always has. They are calm, independent, and free. Even in their life of chaos. Besides… Birds aren’t annoying like dogs.
“You got to handle that shit with the Irish today?” Gemma asks, as Clay stabs a piece of bacon with his fork.
“Yeah. Another gun deal that blew up,” he says, glancing at her and taking her hand, kissing her knuckles.
Coco squawks in distaste, causing Gemma to chuckle, and Clay to glare at the feathered tyrant.
Awhile later, Clay heads back to the bedroom to get dressed. He pulls on his jeans, a black t-shirt, and ties up his boots. He grabs his kutte when he feels something wet against his fingers. He pulls back and that’s when he sees it. Bird shit. Bird shit staining the black leather. This was it. He was going to kill this bird… Or maybe just rehome it, since he really wasn’t in the market to get a divorce.
“Goddamn it!” He yells, his booming voice echoing through the house.
Gemma comes out of the bathroom, where she had been fixing her hair and makeup for the day. She’s wearing a leather jacket and dark denim jeans. “What now?” She watches as Clay wipes his hand on a towel almost aggressively.
“Your goddamn bird shit on my kutte,” he growls, holding up the leather to show her.
Gemma can’t help herself. She really tries not to. But she bursts out laughing. She sees Clay’s face drop when he realizes she’s clearly not as bothered by this absolute tragedy as he is.
“Sorry, baby,” she catches her breath, tapping his chest and taking it from him. “I’ll wash it off. It’s just bird shit. All he eats is seeds.”
Eventually, Clay is leaving the house in a clean kutte, but his pride? It’s still wounded.
After a long day of taking care of club business, Clay is finally home. Clothes are dropping to the floor, and the sounds of Gemma and Clay’s whispers and soft chuckles fill the room. Their bodies are pressed together under the covers, skin against skin, both of them lost in each other’s familiar yet exciting touch.
That is, however, until Clay feels something collide with the back of his head, and a sharp pain in his ear.
“Jesus Christ!” He shouts, pulling back, his hand moving to cover his ear. A bundle of white feathers flies over to the bedside table as Coco lands, an indignant squawk coming from the bird. Gemma, on the other hand, bursts into laughter, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt.
She sits up, moving Clay’s hand away from his ear so she can assess the damage. Luckily, it’s just a scratch, but she moves to get a few Q-Tips and some hydrogen peroxide anyway, disinfecting the cut.
“Damn asshole bird…” Clay winces, letting Gemma care for his battle wound. Once she’s finished, he feels her soft lips press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. Then he sees her petting that traitor, and telling him he’s a good boy.
“You know, sometimes I think you love that goddamn bird more than you love me,” he says, though he reluctantly reaches out to pat its head, offering a truce.
“Sometimes I do. Now, where were we?” Gemma smirks, a warmth growing in her chest. For now, all they have to worry about is cockatoos.