after hours | bartender!honey
summary: Honey can't believe she has formed a crush on her boss's brother.
warnings: canon violence, assault against a woman, swearing, alcohol, drinking, handjob
He comes before the crowd gets heavy - wild. He will only drink three glasses of the beverage of his choice for the night, typically dark liquor like whisky, rum, or brandy. People will give him a wide berth, especially when he comes in with fading bruises and cuts across his face and hands.
He sits and stares, not entertaining any conversation, but she knows he is aware of everything happening around him. If anyone does talk to him, it’s only his brother Deran, who will come over. Words are sparse before Deran walks away to check in on other patrons, the kitchen, or heads back into his office.
When he is done, he always waits until she ambles her way over to collect his glass and to pay his bill. He watches to make sure she gets the tip that he is leaving. It’s always too much compared to the drinks he orders.
It’s a routine she's accustomed to.
After all, to be a good bartender, she needs to know her regulars and their routines.
She says she only pays this much attention because it’s her brother’s boss. She wants to ensure his service is good, so he doesn’t say anything to Deran that causes him more stress.
Deran is a good boss. He doesn’t ask or demand much. If something comes up, he never gives her any issues, such as needing to change a shift or take a day off. So the last thing she wants is for his family to be on the receiving end of terrible service. She has been here since Deran opened the place, so she is familiar with all the brothers, but Pope has always been the one she watches most closely.
She can’t help but observe him as she had noticed he had abandoned his button-ups for plain black shirts painted on him as if they were a second skin. She can’t help but stare as his arms flex with each movement, as he sips on his drink.
He catches her staring a few times, which warms her cheeks, but he never says anything as he sips his beverage. Sometimes, it feels as if he is seeing right through her.
Yet tonight, it is different. He sits right against the counter, as if he has nowhere else to go. She expects him to want to close his tab, but he asks for another drink.
She grabs the top-shelf bottle of Jack and refills his glass. She debates walking away, but doesn’t. “Everything okay?”
His eyes flicker up to her, and a part of her wants to cower at his intense gaze, but she doesn’t look away.
“You typically only do three drinks, not four.” She explains to cover his silence. He grunts a response she doesn’t know how to decipher. Luckily, she is saved from further embarrassment as she serves other patrons. He finishes his drink in silence, closes his tab, and again leaves her a too-big tip.
She is surprised when, a few days later, she spots him in Deran’s bar, in the kitchen, repairing things. Deran informs her that Pope is taking over the maintenance. She nods jerkily as she introduces herself formally. He does that deep stare, and she can see the green in his hazel eyes more clearly in the daytime light before he tells her he knows her name.
It is not mean how he says it. He states it as a plain fact. Still, she flushes at the way her name caresses his lips. She excuses herself back out front to begin prepping. She looks back into the kitchen and finds his burning gaze scrutinizing her, which causes her to flush before Deran cuts into her view.
She thinks he would no longer keep his perch there since he is in the bar in the morning. He does, though sometimes, right when the door opens, he asks for a cup of orange juice. Or sometimes, he will amble his way later in the day and have a drink. That really only happens on the days Deran has all of the brothers over for “family meetings. Honey isn’t stupid, as everyone in Oceanside is familiar with the fact that the Cody family is not exactly a working-class family. But she makes herself scarce as the boys move to the back or into Deran’s office.
On those days, he will linger at the bar for a drink before leaving.
He does talk a little bit more, but not by much. He inquires how certain things work around the bar, which he has fixed, with his haunting stare. But it's more than before, and he makes her feel like a schoolgirl when he asks her questions specifically. She notices that he only really talks to her, and the other bartender, Tommy, comments that Pope doesn't come in when she is not working.
She doesn’t take Tommy’s words seriously. It wasn’t as if Pope came in all the time. When Deran first opened the bar, she remembers that he would be with Baz for a bit or checking on Deran. She knows that Pope was in charge of caring for their niece, Lena. His appearances were sparse.
Besides, she knows thinking about her boss brother will get her nowhere. Worse, she thinks she just needs to go on a dating app to find a distraction. She receives numerous offers for hook-ups at the bar, but she does not want the reputation of being the type of bartender who takes men home. Although she would not be ashamed, the thought of Pope knowing makes her feel dread, which is even more embarrassing.
Honey thinks she just needs a change of scenery, especially as she watches him replace the lightbulbs in the bar. He is wearing a dark gray shirt that is snug against his biceps. Worse, as he leans up to screw in the bulbs, his shirt rides up enough that she can see his defined abdomen.
“Fuck!” Honey looks down to where she is slicing lemons, where she managed to cut her finger and get lemon juice in the wound.
She turns on the cold water and places her finger in the stream, hoping to ease the stinging sensation.
“Let me see.”
She jumps, startled, as Pope is suddenly beside her with the first-aid kit.
She moves her hand, the blood trailing down her hand. Pope places gauze underneath to soak up the blood.
She winces as she looks at her torn skin.
“That's going to need stitches,” he tells her.
“We can't just slap a band-aid on it?” She pouts.
“No, come on. I can take you to urgent care.”
“Oh no, you don't have to do that.”
He looks at her blankly, unimpressed with her attempt to avoid going to urgent care. Her objection isn't up for debate, as he calls out for his brother and tells him what happened. She feels like the earth can swallow her whole as Pope insists he can take her over Deran. She follows him to his truck, which, embarrassingly, she needs help in. The car ride is silent as she makes sure not to get any blood on his vehicle. She squeaks out a thank you as he leads her into the waiting room.
She is surprised he waits with her before she is called back, and even more when he follows her to the examination room. She is silent as the doctor pokes and prods. She answers the nurse’s and doctor’s questions with ease. She ignores the flush that blooms on her cheeks when they accidentally refer to Pope as her boyfriend. Worse, Pope doesn’t bother correcting the nurse.
She has to get three stitches in her finger, and she listens dutifully to their instructions. She tries to put up a fight with Pope over paying for her bill, but one look from him silences her. She knows she should be concerned that Pope knows where she lives, but she consoles herself that she only verbally confirmed her information with the check-in clerk at the clinic.
She is surprised when Pope exits the truck to open her door and even leads her to her door.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“It’s no problem,” he mutters as he watches her walk into her small studio, but not before reminding her to take it easy.
Honey walks into the bar prepared to start her day when a harsh voice interrupts her thoughts.
“What are you doing here?”
Honey is surprised she doesn’t trip over her feet as she finds Pope staring at her with stormy eyes.
“I’m on shift today,” she tells him.
His brows furrow as he moves from the barstool he is repairing. “The doctor said you need to keep the wound dry and clean for two days.”
Honey looks down at her finger wrapped in a dry bandage. “It’s not like I am going to douse my hand in water.”
He looks at her with a flat look on his face, almost as if she were an unruly child. “You wash your hands after every drink you serve, you wipe down the bar every time you go to place a drink down, and you handle ice and cut up lemons. You’re going to fuck up your stitches.”
A part of her wants to be flatter that Pope seems to know her habits, but the other part of her knows she needs to work, especially as Tommy is off the rest of the week and Deran needs the coverage since Pete, the cook, is out with his new baby for the next two weeks.
“Deran needs the help; we have two people out.”
“Deran’s the boss, he’ll figure it out,” Pope reminds her.
Honey scowls. “I think it will be fine.”
“Deran!” Pope yells, startling her.
“Hey, wait -”
Deran comes out of his office leisurely, not at all concerned by his brother’s yelling. He gives her a smile before turning to his brother with a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“Tell her she isn’t allowed to work,” Pope demands.
Deran’s blonde brows furrow, and he looks between Honey and his brother.
“I can work fine, Deran,” Honey tells him sweetly with a small smile.
“She shouldn’t be working with that finger,” Pope tells him.
Honey swears that Deran’s lips twitch. “We worked through worse, Pope.”
She watches as Pope’s eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline. He scowls at his younger brother. “Fine,” he mutters before going back to fixing a wobbly bar stool.
Honey looks at Deran, who only shrugs his shoulders. She goes to put her things away in the small lockers Deran had put up for them. He follows after her. “If you need to leave, it’s fine.”
“I’ll be okay,” she tells him softly.
“Just take it easy, aight?”
“You got it, boss.”
Honey sighs as she ties her apron across her waist before going to begin prep. She sees Pope still working on the barstool, and she can feel his eyes on her as she moves behind the bar.
Yet, he doesn't speak to her as he inspects all the chairs. She continues to work, being mindful of her finger. She fully expects Pope to leave after he packs up his tools. Instead, he comes behind the bar and grabs the lemons.
“What are you doing?” She asks him.
“Cutting the lemons.”
Real cute, she thinks. “You know what I mean.”
“You said Deran is short-staffed, so I'm staying to help.”
Honey fights the urge to snort and thinks 'babysitting' is a more accurate word. She doesn’t say anything as she goes to the tables and does another wipe of the areas before opening the doors.
With Pope behind the bar, she is surprised that she hasn't spilled a drink. She could tell most were weary of the stoned-faced brother serving drinks, but he was quiet and efficient.
Thankfully, after Deran completed the paperwork, he shooed Pope to the kitchen and, for the first time in a week, they were able to serve quick, hot meals.
With a lull in servicing, she isn't surprised when Deran steps next to her with an inquisitive look. “Something going on between you and Pope?”
Honey whips her head to look at her boss. “What? No!” She hates how her voice squeaks at the denial, and worse, how her face burns. “There isn't, I swear.”
She doesn't know if Deran believes her, but he doesn't press or tease her. “Well, if he does anything to make you uncomfortable, let me know, aight. His social cues aren't the best.”
The rest of her shift is uneventful. More so, her finger isn't raw or agitated, and a part of her wants to wag the healing wound in Pope's face. She stuffs a yawn in her hand as she walks out to the main floor of the bar. Deran is finishing up cleaning, which should have been done if he hadn't been flirting with his boyfriend, Adrian.
She gives a finger wave salute as she says goodbye. Stepping out and inhaling the fresh air, she begins her walk home by cutting through the alley, but she nearly has a heart attack at a very stern voice cutting through the air.
“What are you doing?”
Honey glares as she tries to calm her heart rate, looking at Pope, who is holding a bag of garbage.
“Going home.”
Pope looks at her and then at the isolated, dark alleyway.
“You don't have a car?” He probes.
“No, I typically ride my bike,” and then she raises her hand showing him the offensive wound that would irritate it if she tried to clutch the handles.
“I'll take you home,” he decides before walking to the dumpster and throwing the trash away.
“You don't have to do that…”
“I know,” he replies. “But I am. Deran should be making sure you are getting home alright.”
“I'm not 12,” she mutters.
“I know, 12-year-olds know better than to walk in alleyways at night.”
Honey scowls something fierce as she tries to find a retort, but Pope is standing in front of her with his truck keys. “Go wait in my truck.”
The worst thing is she does it without complaint and doesn't even argue when he tells her he will be taking her home from now on.
Although her comment about being trusted to ride at the beginning of her shift prompts him to give her a reprimanding look, she wonders what he would do if he knew she rides without a helmet.
It’s the start of a routine.
He allows her to come to work on her bike, and a part of her wants to be surprised when he has her scheduled as he stands outside the bar with his arms crossed as she rides in. Worse, any objection she had to him grabbing her bike and stashing it in his truck didn’t leave her lips as she knew it would be pointless.
But without fail, he is there to take her home from the bar. She wishes she could say that it was bringing them closer, but she isn’t sure. He doesn’t say much on the car ride, except to ask about her hand and tell her he will see her on her next shift.
She tries to make small talk. She’ll mention something funny that may have happened at the bar, or an article she read, or her desire for something she wants for her place.
Yet, maybe he does listen, as after a grueling shift at the bar, dealing with a freshly minted 21-year-old and his friends.
Her feet ache, and she feels sticky. She wants to shower and take a bath. She tells Pope that much as they drive home. As usual, he hops out of the truck to open her door before he moves to grab her bike.
“Hey, wait.”
She looks at him, confused, especially as he sounds nervous. She watches as he slides a package and hands it to her.
She puts down the kickstand on her bike as she takes the package. “What’s this?”
“It’s the hammock you were talking about.”
Honey blinks. She is momentarily frozen by the gesture, especially as the hammock is nearly $300.
“Wait…Pope-”
“Andrew,” he interrupts.
Honey closes her lips. The moment feels intimate. A smile slowly spreads across her face. She notices the tension in his shoulder eases a little.
“Thank you, Andrew.”
He nods his head as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I can help set it up, if you want.”
“Tomorrow?”
“That works,” he tells her.
He arrives at 11:30, sharp, with a toolbox in hand. Honey isn't going to lie and say she got a restful sleep. She barely managed four hours before she sprang out of bed to deep-clean her house.
She gave him a tour of the house before she directed him outside. She had come out with some fresh lemonade that he had easily gulped down in cups. He wouldn’t let her help him at all before he conceded to allowing her to hand him tools. She isn’t surprised that he isn’t much of a talker. She fills the silence with small talk, and occasionally he replies with a question or a comment.
The hammock doesn’t take long to build. He has her test it out before she makes him take a swing at it. It takes her a lot of convincing to get him to stay for lunch, but he does, and she makes stuffed pepperjack chicken with some macaroni and cheese. He insists on helping her cook.
She tries not to preen as he compliments her cooking.
She wants to ask him to stay a little longer, but she doesn’t want to push her luck. Instead, she walks him to the door and expresses her thanks before she presses a swift kiss to his cheek.
She thinks his ears turn red.
She wants to say she is surprised when she goes to leave for work in the morning to find Pope already out there, sitting idle in his truck. She doesn’t bother to hide her blinding smile as she hops into his truck either.
Honey sees Pope more often than not. She makes sure to invite him out around town for any city-sponsored event or drag him to the movies. She may or may not be taking advantage of the fact that he can’t seem to say no to her. Yet, she finds he doesn’t mind, as some days she can get a small smile to tug at his lips.
He doesn’t complain as she drags him to stores or to try out new restaurants. Yet, after ensuring Deran was well-pleased with some drinks and asking Adrian to be extra flirtatious, she was able to inquire about any hobbies Pope may have had as a teenager.
She had been excited as she rode her bike over to his place. She had never visited the Cody residence. She wasn’t ignorant of the fact that both Deran and Pope edged conversation away from their childhood home and, most importantly, their mother.
Yet, she overheard Pope tell Deran that Smurf had disappeared to parts unknown, and she thought today was the day she would execute her plan.
The sun was hot and beating down on her as she rode to his place. She admired the affluent neighborhood, lush with plants and its gates. It was somewhat weird to think that the two Cody boys she knows best grew up, technically, in a gated community.
She was surprised to find their gate open as she rode her bike in, but she found herself face-to-face with a young man, whom she recognized as Pope’s and Deran’s nephew, J. He wasn’t a frequent face in the bar, but she noticed that every time he did show up, Deran was noticeably irritated.
She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses as he eyed her.
She gives him a friendly smile, “Hey, is Pope here?”
He leans against his truck. “You work at Deran’s bar.”
“Yeah, Honey.”
He doesn’t say anything, but nods towards the house. “He’s inside.” He points to where she could see a pool and their home. “The door should be unlocked. He was in their cleaning.”
He didn’t say anything else before he hopped in his truck. She rides her bike into their backyard, and as she gets closer to the house, she sees Pope's tense form as he puts away dishes. She puts her bike's kickstand down and makes her way to their sliding door. She doesn’t get the chance to knock on the door before Pope turns, and he freezes at the sight of her. She is in the middle of waving to him when her hand drops at the sight of him.
Her mouth opens like a fish as he opens the sliding door. “What are you doing here?”
Honey blinks as she takes in his battered and bruised appearance. Her hand comes up and lightly grazes the butterfly bandage on his right eyebrow. “What the hell happened?”
He huffs as he looks over your shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Honey frowns. “Can I come in?”
His shoulders tighten as if he wants to deny her, but he moves aside to let her walk through.
“Is your mom here?”
He snorts. “No, don’t know where she is.”
Honey nods as she looks around the house. She is sure some of the items in the home are worth more than her monthly rent. Her brown eyes return to Andrew, and she can tell he is uncomfortable.
She places her back on the kitchen counter before she stands in front of him. “Should I be worried?”
He looks deeply into her eyes, “Why are you here?”
“Well, I found a skate park that I wanted to take you to,” she tells him, to which his expression softens.
“Sorry,” he tells her.
She nods, “Should I be worried about the other person?”
Andrew takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I fight sometimes.”
Her brows furrow. “Why?”
“It’s what I am good at.”
Honey frowns at his words. “Don’t say that.”
He looks away from her. Honey has the urge to cradle him into a hug, but she doesn’t. “Can we still hang out? Watch a movie?” She asks hopefully.
He takes a few seconds to respond, “Do you like popcorn?”
Honey beams. “With a lot of butter.”
She giggles at his exasperated look—no doubt wanting to comment on the health risks of eating too much butter.
“How’d you get here anyway?” He asks her.
“On my bike.”
“Honey.”
“What? I have been getting around fine on my bike for years, Andrew.” She tells him as she finds her way into the living room. She can admire the conversation pit as she settles on the red couch.
Andrew eventually comes in with a bowl of popcorn to share between the two of them. She settles on a Disney movie for them to watch. She notices Andrew seems uncomfortable in the corner of her eye.
“Your ribs?”
“Yeah.”
Honey maneuvers herself to lean against the back of the couch before she gently nudges him to lie in front of her, where she can support some of his weight.
“You don’t have to -”
“Shh, just get comfortable.”
Honey wakes up startled. She feels disoriented by the weight and warmth against her. She sighs as she rubs her eyes, but her moment seems to jostle Andrew, who springs up.
“You okay?” He asks her.
“You're hot.”
Andrew coughs. “Sorry.”
Honey giggles as she stretches. She winces as the buttons on her jean shorts have dug uncomfortably into her skin.
She sighs as she unbuttons them. “Do you have a bed?”
“You don’t want me to take you home?”
“It’s late. Unless you want me to leave.”
“I want you to stay,” he tells her softly.
“Show me to your room.”
Andrew grabs her hand as he leads her to his bedroom. She frowns at the simplicity of it, but she decides not to comment on it.
“Can I have a shirt?”
Andrew nods his head as he goes to his dresser, but she stops him. He looks at her, confused. “I want this one,” she clarifies as she tugs on the t-shirt he is wearing.
He doesn’t hesitate as he rips his shirt off, and she does her best not to stare too long at his exposed muscles, but even then, her eyes linger on the bruises decorating his skin.
He passes her his shirt, and she gladly accepts it. She shimmies out of her shorts, and for the sake of her modesty, she puts the shirt on over his tank top before removing that and her bra.
“Toothbrush?”
Andrew smiles slightly before he motions for her to follow him to the bathroom.
Honey never aspired to be a bartender. Yet, considering she had been making drinks for her parents before she learned how to read, it felt natural. It was an environment she was familiar with. She had no drive to go to college, as the thought of going into debt crippled her. And she was an okay student in school.
Besides being a bartender, she tends to meet interesting people, and the stories she hears provide free amusement that she wouldn’t get in any other profession. And for her, bartending is relatively stress-free.
She isn’t fazed when patrons get too rowdy. Maybe if she worked at another bar, she would. Yet Deran always ensured the working environment was safe for all of them. However, she feels the crowd never got out of hand because Deran Cody owns the bar.
Still, considering they were serving alcohol, it didn't mean that there weren't clashes amongst everyone. Just because a Cody owned the bar didn't stop the drunken arguments from happening or the antics of the lightweight.
It's common for most to get upset when she has to cut them off. Considering her upbringing, she knew the dangerous effects alcohol had on people, and she wasn’t going to let anyone walk out of the bar pissed out of their mind when she was serving. Besides, as much as he knew her coworkers and even Deran were generous with her pours, she didn’t want to risk someone dying because they didn’t cut someone off, and then Deran losing his bar license.
She is used to the drinkers' initial groans of disappointment, but they are quick to shake it off, especially after she gets a taxi for them. Yet one customer in particular, Warren Cotter, voiced his opposition every time she cut him off.
Warren was a man in his late 50s with gray and white hair and sun-stained skin from his construction work. He was twice divorced, with two kids from each marriage. His current girlfriend, Polly, is loud and brash with box-dye black hair and black eyeliner that constantly seeps into her crow’s feet.
She is used to the two of them bickering with each other before Polly eventually storms off in a huff, proclaiming she never wants to see his sorry ass again. It is a familiar song-and-dance routine that she learns to ignore.
Yet, Warren is extra prickly tonight. Honey contributes to the fact that Polly left, not only slapping him across the face, but went on a very loud rant about the size of his manhood.
With the rising temper, Honey cut him off immediately. Warren notices immediately. As is typical, it led to a verbal spat. He goes on his tirade of calling her a stupid bitch, cunt, and whore. A part of her wishes to be offended. His drinking pals eventually haul him off, especially before Deran comes out to correct Warren on his behavior, and each time Deran tells her that he can ban his presence in the bar, but she shrugs it off.
And tonight, she doesn't care to be bothered by Warren's theatrics. She is eagerly looking forward to seeing Andrew. Since their impromptu sleepover, she likes to think they are getting closer. Andrew is still reserved, but he seems to accept her affection more easily. She has only hugged him and holds his hands occasionally, but she feels that pretty soon, maybe they will cross into more intimate territory.
“Honey, you don't have to be such a cunt!”
Warren's drunken slur breaks her train of thought about Andrew.
“Now, Warren, that kind of hurts my feelings. If you're going to call me a cunt, you could at least say I'm a pretty cunt,” she throws back.
Her response earns laughs around her. She personally doesn't take any insults too personally. She slides a glass of water to Warren as a courtesy.
His face is red, and his eyes are as black as a demon's. His hand raises, but it is not for the glass.
At first, she doesn't realize what has happened. Everything went black, then white spots erupted. She feels wetness dripping down into her mouth.
Her hearing comes back slowly. She feels hands, and pain erupts as a towel is pressed on her nose.
He had punched her. He landed a solid shot to her face. She can hear commotion behind her, and it takes a moment to realize it is Adrian who is leading her back into Deran’s room.
“Shit, he clocked you good,” he mutters.
“You think,” she tries to say, which is muffled by the towel over her nose.
“I’m gonna grab you some ice and an actual clean town.”
Honey makes a noise of acknowledgement and, through the haze of pain, watches as Adrian leaves. It’s only seconds later that Deran rushes through.
“Motherfucker is banned from the bar.” He shouts, clearly aggravated. He bends down into her line of sight, “Let me see.”
She hisses from the pressure being removed. “Sorry,” he tells her.
“How bad is it?”
“Pope is going to be pissed,” Deran answers grimly. “It’s a solid shot to the face. Looks broken. It’s going to need set.”
“Can you do it?” She asks.
“You should go to the ER, Hon.”
Honey groans at the thought of another ER visit. Adrian eventually walks back in, an ice pack in hand and a grim look on his face. “Incoming.”
It all feels like slow motion as Andrew walks into Deran’s office. Honey knows that he always carries himself with a pretty tight, coiled demeanor. She has only been able to get his mind and body to relax a couple of times while they were together.
Yet, she could tell he was on edge, as typically she would already be outside waiting for him. And if he was coming inside, either he was early, or she had been dealing with Warren's drunkenness longer than she thought.
It is almost as if he slams into a wall as he abruptly stops. His body goes still as his eyes trail her form. The room's temperature also seemed to drop. Honey isn’t even sure is still breathing.
Deran breaks the silence. “Pope - “
“What the fuck happened?” Pope pushes past Deran as he inspects her face. Despite his tension, his fingers are gentle as they prod her face.
“Just a rowdy customer,” Deran tells his brother.
Andrew whips his head around to look at his brother. “Rowdy? Your bartender is getting a busted nose from a rowdy customer. Who in the fuck did this?”
“Pope -”
“What the fuck is going on for anyone to pull this shit in your bar?” Andrew snaps at his younger brother.
Honey's spine stiffens at Andrew's words. She can hear the implication of what he is saying. Worst of all, she fears what he will do when he discovers who hit her. She knows there will be no use in lying.
She gently grabs his wrist, and it has his attention, snapping back to her. “You need to set my nose.”
She thinks he would fight her more on this. Yet, he doesn't, as he blocks her view of everyone. His eyes are hard and unreadable.
“Hold on to me,” he instructs.
Honey grips the side of his jacket. He must sense her pain and apprehension as his face softens. “Breathe through your mouth,” he instructs. “On the count of 3.”
“Okay,” she says softly.
“One, two -”
“Fuck!” Honey shouts as he sets her nose. He immediately places the ice pack on her face. Her hands are digging into his sides.
She doesn't put up a fight as he tells her he is taking her to the hospital.
Surprisingly, it's not the pain from her nose that wakes Honey up; it's her bladder. She groans as she makes her way into the bathroom. She quickly handles her business and brushes her teeth before she fully takes in the extent of her busted nose and the bruise surrounding the area.
She gently touches the discolored skin, which gives her a raccoon resemblance. Sighing, she leaves the bathroom, squinting at the sunlight slicing through her blinds as she walks down the hallway and stops, startled as she finds Pope looking at her coffee pot as if it were a science experiment.
“You don't drink coffee.” Andrew greets.
“You do,” she replies as she makes her way to the fridge to grab some orange juice.
His face softens while she hides her blush.
“How’s the nose?”
“Sore,” she replies as she pours the juice into her cup. She turns and leans against the counter, “Thank you for last night.”
Andrew’s cheeks turn rosy as he keeps his focus on the coffee pot. Honey places her cup down on the counter and grabs his wrist and tugs his arm, forcing him to look at her, “I mean it.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Occupational hazard.”
He frowns. “Deran should have been watching.”
Honey thinks his concern is sweet, and she can’t help but lean in to attempt a gentle kiss to his cheek, but he moves his head, and she meets his lips.
It can't even be considered a kiss with how quickly he pulls back.
He seems at a loss for words as the man who typically has no issues staring her down is looking everywhere but back at her.
Honey giggles and this time places another on his cheek before she attacks his chin, nose, and lips. It's light-hearted and fun as she can feel his lip twitch in amusement before his own lips capture hers. He easily swallows her moan as his tongue invades her mouth and tangles with hers.
Yet, the euphoria of his taste is interrupted by the pressure against her brushed skin, and he hears the whimper of pain as he stills and separates their lips.
“Shit…”
She pouts as she can see him beginning to retreat. She wraps her arms around his neck, her chest pressed against his, “Andrew…”
“You're hurt.”
“But kissing is a natural pain reliever,” she counters. He can't seem to find a quick enough rebuttal, which she takes as a win in her book.
Her hands tremble as she reaches for the button of his jeans. His hands immediately latch onto her wrists. His grip causes a burning sensation in her tummy.
“You, what -”
“Let me thank you,” she tells him as she flexes her hand, seeking permission.
“Not in the kitchen.”
Honey huffs and is quick to drag him to her living room. Her bedroom is too far away for her liking. Andrew lets her push him to the couch. She quickly straddles his lap, and he can barely blink before she has his jeans and boxers pushed down, and her hand is slick with her spit and pre-cum.
He is thick and heavy in her hands. She feels herself turning slick as the side of his cheeks turns red, and how he fights to hold back his moans between his teeth. It makes her even more determined to see him unravel, as she notices his muscles shift as he tries to maintain control.
His hips begin to lift slightly as he tries to follow her slow, torturous pace. Honey squeezes a little bit harder, and she is rewarded with him closing his eyes as a groan builds in his chest.
“Don’t tease,” his voice was hoarse and stern, and if it were any other man, she would have probably disobeyed.
Instead, her motions become faster as she moves from his balls to his tip. His slit is leaking more pre-cum as he pulsates. The leaky mess makes the glide smoother as his muscles relax.
His gaze is heavy as he opens his eyes. His rough, calloused hands that were gripping her couch move to the front of her cotton tank, which he pulls down, exposing her chest. Her nipples tighten in anticipation as he shifts forward and latches onto the taunt skin.
Honey moans as his tongue laps at her nipples. His moans are muffled as he nurses at her chest. It turns filthy as a mess is made between the two of them as spit shines her chest, and he is smearing all over her hand.
Honey works faster to get him to his peak, and his once lax body becomes tense as she becomes rougher.
Then, with a groan, Andrew tenses, and she cries out as his tongue is replaced with his teeth as he gushes over her hand. It coats her knuckles and trails down to her wrists. The thick milky substance even manages to splash on her thighs and the edge of her tank top.
The sight of him flushed and breathing heavy with hazy eyes as he looks up from her spit-slick chest has her clenching around nothing.
Without breaking eye contact, she takes her index finger covered in his semen and drags her tongue over the sticky mess before sucking it clean.
A growl is all the warning she gets before she finds herself clinging to Andrew's frame as he leads her back to her bedroom.