#| but

[piraticalarchive]

“We got married last night.” (Treasure Hunters!!!)

It took a moment for the words to sink in and for a moment Killian doesn’t have the strength to answer - too focused on trying to make the bloody room stop spinning. “Ah, shit ..” Everything hurt, from the pounding in his head to the ache in his back from sleeping crammed in such a small space ... muscles twisted and cramped from spending the night in the older man’s cabin bed. 

Bloody hell.

“Tell me again why we decided to have this slumber party on your ship?” Oh, god. Blue eyes landed on a half empty bottle of tequila and Killian groaned, tongue pressing to the inside of one cheek as he willed whatever it was he had consumed the night before to stay where it belonged. Half falling from the tangle of sheets, too lazy to do much more than groan helplessly as he slid down to the floor below, the younger man squinted, barely making out Guy’s silhouette through bleary eyelids.

“We got ... married.” The word sounded strange on his tongue, not because of the pretense of it but more so that he could have sworn they had picked a different date. Fingers twiddled the engagement (wedding, now?) ring on his finger as eyes remained stubbornly closed, voice muffled by a tongue weighted down with the cotton aftertaste of liquor.

“Well... Aye. Can’t say I’m too bloody disappointed, you know?” One eye finally peeked open at the words, lower lip sticking out in a pout as he motioned toward the blanket and sheet wrapped around his middle. “Little help here, love?”

[piraticalarchive]

@coffeeiv

America was ... different, aye, that was one way to explain it - especially when it came to the quaint town of Stars Hollow. Relocating to work on his music Killian had chosen a quiet spot, a town that reminded him a bit of his village back in Ireland but with what he hoped would be less distractions.

Christ was that proving fruitless.

No stranger to cooler air the Irishman trudged up the square’s main street, hands pushing farther into his jacket pockets and cheeks blushing a pale shade of red at the cat calls of the older lass who insisted he call her Miss Patty. The memory of their previous encounter outside her studio where she had mentioned she more than likely had a pair of tights that fit him had the Irishman widening his steps, hurrying past before she could call him closer. Finally making due on a threat long promised the gray skies overhead opened up and the square emptied as the town’s denizens sought quick refuge from the deluge.

Cursing silently to himself he ducked inside the nearest door, heart failing as he recognized the one place he had been doing his best to bloody avoid. Luke’s Diner. If there was any place where people loved to gossip in any town it’d be the fucking pub - and blue eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of just how many people had crammed their way inside.

Way to be fuckin’ daft, Jones.

Doing his best to stay out of radar, as it were, he sidled forward; fingertips drumming a rhythm on the counter and blue eyes glancing from his fellow diners to the still pouring water outside.

Christ.

Teeth chewed on edge of one lip as he was accosted by the owner himself, tongue pressing into the side of one cheek as he wracked his brain for some American breakfast item that was currently beyond his realm of thinking. “ I’ll have a - eh - just a coffes fine for me, mate.” Momentarily cowed by both the rain and his order he stepped closer, moving to sit down and hitting the shoulder of one of the women next to him.

“ Jesus - I mean, Christ. Aye, I’m sorry.” Lips curved upwards in what he hoped was his most charming grin, fingers already ceasing their tapping and reaching out to shake her hand. “Killian Jones. ‘M new here, yeah?”