Ghost - Jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - Word count: 842
Part 1, Part 2
James was slouched down on the sofa in the living room, flicking through the TV channels without really paying attention when Sirius got home.
“Alright, mate?” Sirius asked as he dropped on to the sofa next to him.
“Yeah,” James replied, somewhat distracted.
“You sure? Cause you look sad as fuck.” Sirius chuckled.
James heaved a heavy sigh.
“Yeah, it's fine, just-” James didn't finish his sentence, but glanced at his phone sitting on the table.
“Oh,” Sirius said. “Again?”
“Yup. That's the third one in as many weeks. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”
James had been desperately trying to get back in the dating game. Desperate was probably a bad word, but it sometimes felt like he was. Everyone he knew was in some kind of relationship and he was ready to be too.
James just sighed again. “Whatever, it's fine. Do you want a cuppa?” James asked, as he got up and walked into the kitchen.
“Yeah, please.” Sirius called after him.
Later that night, James was starting to get annoyed with Sirius, who hadn't put his phone down in over an hour.
“Mate, you know I love Remus, I do, but you spent most of the day together and now I'm trying to infiltrate this camp of ghouls and you're supposed to be helping!”
“Oh, shit, soz.” Sirius half apologised.
“You know what, never mind.” James quit the game and walked off down the hallway towards his bedroom.
He didn't mean to snap at Sirius, but he just wanted to be someone's focus for a second. James knew he wouldn't be in this mood tomorrow, it was purely circumstantial, so right now he reserved the right to be a bit pissy.
He crashed down on his bed and grabbed his book.
He had only been reading about 5 minutes when Sirius knocked and walked straight in.
“You're supposed to wait for an invitation,” James huffed, not looking up from his book.
Sirius plopped down on the bed next to him. “Listen up, sad sack. Don't say I don't do anything nice for you.”
James squinted at Sirius and waited for him to elaborate.
“I've got you a date.” Sirius announced.
“You what?” James blanched.
“A date. With a real, human man and I can personally guarantee this one will not ghost you like the others.”
James scoffed. “And how, pray tell, can you guarantee that?”
“Cause I happen to know this bloke is fucking nuts about you and actually, has been asking me to set you both up for ages now.” Sirius looked put out by his own statement.
“Why haven't you then?” James was worried what the answer was going to be.
“Cause,” Sirius took a deep breath. “It's Reggie and the thought of you and my little brother together makes me wanna heave.”
James sat bolt upright. “Wait! Regulus Black wants to go out with me?” James was stunned. He had never even entertained the idea of Regulus liking him back.
“Please don't full name him.” Sirirus grimaced.
James swiftly punched Sirius in the arm. “Why the hell didn't you set us up earlier?”
“Firstly, ow!” Sirius punched James back. “Secondly, I told you!” Sirius retorted as he rubbed his arm. “He's my little brother. It feels like incest!”
“Eww, gross, Sirius. It's nothing like that at all!” James exclaimed.
“Well, yeah, I know that, but still. Anyway, Remus told me to stop being an arse and just make this happen. Apparently, he's just as bored of listening to Regulus complain about his shitty dates, as I am listening about yours.” Sirius explained.
James was pacing. “So, Regulus really wants to go out? With me? This isn't some elaborate prank?”
“I swear on your life, James.” Sirius proclaimed. “Remus said he was sure he would say yes. So, I've actually been speaking to Reggie for the last hour trying to sort it and make him also believe me that this isn't a joke. Sooooo,” Sirius drew out. “Here.” Sirius held out a slip of paper.
“What is it?” James asked, not sure this was real.
“It's Reggie's number. He's expecting your call.” Sirius got up, handed the paper to James and started to leave the room.
“Wait!” James called out and Sirius turned back around. “Where are you going?” James asked, slightly panicked.
“Oh, if you think I'm going to sit here and listen to you gush down the phone, you've got another thing coming.” Sirius turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
James stared at the piece of paper in his hands and before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up his phone and dialled the number.
It rang and rang and just as James was starting to feel deflated and was about to hang up, there was a click and a quiet voice spoke.
“Hello?”
“Erm, hi, Regulus, it's erm, James. James Potter?” Fuck sake, James cursed himself for his ineloquence.
However, instead of the line going dead, James heard a quiet laugh. “Hello, James.”
It was their first official date and despite both of them already knowing each other, they were both incredibly nervous.
He was not one to kiss on the first date. But he had done a lot on this date that he normally didn't imagine himself to do.
Their first date was an absolute disaster. And everyone was shocked to find out that they were already planning the second one.
As far as first dates go, this one was special.
Having their first date in front of cameras was less than ideal.
They couldn't remember what their first date was, so they plan the perfect first date, even though they've been together for some time now.
A date is not supposed to last more than a few hours, much less more than a day. Especially not a first date.
This first date was a perfect example of Murphy's law. Nothing worked out how they had expected it to, and every time they thought it couldn't get worse, it did.
Having been in an online relationship for a while, it was weird and exciting to have their first date in person months after saying I love you the first time.
Their friends had arranged a blind date for them, and because their friends know them best, they were already planning a second date after this.
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Hi Nina!! Have you ever written about WAG Charles and Max's first date? I’d love to see them initially drawn to each other’s looks—thinking the other is pretty or handsome—but as they talk, they realize how sweet and kind they truly are. I really want to see them instinctively realizing that they’ve met their destiny. Thank you so much for always writing such amazing drabbles!!
Hi Anon 💘
I can't believe I've never written a drabble on WAG!Charles and Max's first date 😭 what I find adorable is that Max would absolutely want to give Charles the finest of everything so it's ultra exclusive restaurants, red carpet treatment, Max picking him up in his Aston Martin Valkyrie. He wants Charles to know that this isn't a fling—Max is fully invested, 100%, because he can feel the connection that ties him to the Omega.
I imagine that after their meet-cute at the Hermès store, Max reappears three days later with an enormous stack of boxes. When Charles asks what's in them, Max simply replies: "Your outfit for our date night, schat."
And Charles is stunned. Because they've been texting nonstop since their first meeting and Max sometimes sent Charles links to various dresses and shoes, asking if it's something he liked. Charles just thought it was a fun game—a chance to pretend like he could actually wear these bespoke gowns and designer shoes—and he always replied enthusiastically, often making Max laugh so hard the Alpha ends up calling him because he needs to hear Charles's voice, needs to listen as his pretty boy regales him with tales about fashion disasters, workplace debacles, and everything in between.
And now Max is standing here, holding out enormous gift boxes holding all the beautiful clothes and jewels Charles had admired, never thinking he'd one day get the chance to wear them.
He lets out a little sniffle, he can't believe Max went through all this effort just so Charles could have something pretty to wear on their date.
Max panics—thinking he's overstepped—but before he can apologize, Charles orders him to put the boxes on the nearest table right before the Alpha gets an armful of Charles Leclerc, the Omega hugging him as tightly as he can before he presses a tentative kiss to the Alpha jawline. "Thank you, Maxie." He whispers before pulling back.
But Max won't let go—
The Alpha only holds him closer, inhaling lungfuls of that sweet vanilla-and-orange scent. "My pretty Charles," he murmurs, "I can't wait to see you all dressed up for me."
❤️💙❤️💙
And on the night of their dinner date? After Max pulls up at Charles's apartment complex and sees a literal goddess in Chanel walking towards him? The Alpha is still struck by Charles's beauty but more than that, he wants to continue their conversation on TV shows, workplace drama, Arthur's new haircut and Victoria's new boyfriend. He wants to listen to that lilting Monegasque accent he's heard so many times over the phone but now gets to hear in person, across the dinner table, just the two of them.
And Charles, as he slips into Max's Aston Martin Valkyrie, is still starstruck by the effortless glamour but he doesn't feel awkward or out of place. How could he after finally getting to see Max? His passionate, nerdy, opinionated Alpha who can be so competitive and so sweet? Who eagerly engages in debates about MotoGP and pouts when Charles says Marc Márquez is rather handsome but now, Charles can just lean over and kiss that pout off the Dutchman's lips.
❤️💙❤️💙
And at the dinner (private dining area high up in a skyscraper that overlooks the whole of Monaco), they eat and laugh and neither of them try to filter their conversation:
It's pure stream of consciousness. They're not afraid of the other person judging them—they can tease and debate and disagree because the trust is there.
Max and Charles are each other's safe space.
When Charles sticks his tongue out after Max teases him for not eating the grilled eggplant, the Omega doesn't feel like he's being chided or looked down on. And when Max begins to vehemently disagree with the latest character arc in Peaky Blinders, Charles just giggles and eggs him on—and Max knows he isn't being mocked or made fun of.
They each order different desserts that they don't normally get (Charles gets the pistachio panna cotta and Max gets baba au rhum) and steal bites from the other person's plate. And when Charles shyly admits he'd like to get some sfogliatella at the small bakery he's loved since he was a child, Max immediately agrees with a wide smile.
They push their fancy desserts away, Max pays the bill, and they walk hand in hand to the little mom and pop bakery Charles promises is like no other. They buy their pastries and they walk around Monaco, illuminated by the light of the moon, feeding one another sweet pastries and kissing the powdered sugar off each other's lips.
They walk and talk all night, eventually settling at a little park where Max spreads his blazer on the ground and Charles cuddles up against him as the two watch the sun rise.
Kingdon Drabble | 2.3k words | I have not proofread this!
Frank was walking back to their table with a smile, already directed towards Mel's when she flagged him down to come quickly. He frowned lightly and slipped into his chair, leaning forward to mirror her stance.
"I think the couple next to us are on their first date." She whispered, leaning her whole body as far as it would go. Frank could see the little specks of gold in her eyes and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes from excitement.
"Oh. Really?" He said, looking over his shoulder at the two-seater table located parallel to them. Mel grabbed his wrist before he could set eyes on the two and pulled his attention back.
"Don't look! It'll be too obvious." She winced.
"Mel, I don't think you have the upper hand on being subtle right now." He said, tilting his head towards the couple. Her lips parted, and she considered it before nodding and slipping back into her chair, slapping on a neutral expression.
Frank waited a second before slowly trailing his eyes to the table over. The girl was in his eyeline, sitting a few feet away from Mel. She looked nervous as the man opposite spoke - the kind of nervous where her eyes were wide, and her smile sat just on the tip of her lips to ensure she was being an active listener. Her hair was curled, and she was wearing a dress made out of denim and cowboy boots. She then made an offhand comment about having a cousin who went to college in Arizona and how she hated the heat.
"They're definitely on a first date." Frank agreed, rolling his lips into his mouth as Mel nodded excitedly.
"It's the body language." She said, keeping her voice in a gentle whisper. The couple next to them were still deep in conversation, so Frank doubted they'd pick up on their conversation anyway. "I didn't realise until I got up to the bathroom. She was giggling in a very first date kind of way. And he's been going on about his bouldering for the last 10 minutes. I think he's trying to impress her."
Frank stifled a laugh and waited a moment to hear what the man was asking his date. Something about whether she's been to Europe. Frank hadn't been on a first date in so long that he couldn't even figure out if it was going smoothly.
Their food arrived, and the waiter turned to take the other couple's order. He ordered a nicoise salad, and she ordered the lobster roll. Frank shared a look with Mel at their choices. Maybe a bit unconventional, but admirable all the same.
They knew they couldn't stay silent throughout their whole dinner, so Frank dropped some information about the kids - Their soccer games, which were three hours apart on a Saturday morning. He tried not to complain, but it was hard to get up at 6:30am on a Saturday when he didn't have work.
Mel updated him on Becca's new schedule at Forest Hills, they shared their favourite cases from the week in a very vague, HIPPA acceptable conversation and made plans to go see the new exhibition at the Fort Pitt Museum just in time for Frank's birthday. He didn't like anyone making a big fuss, especially with a number like 36.
They took big bouts of silence when they were eating, just to catch themselves up with the other couple's conversation. They seemed to be getting along - both working in outdoor sports - she in marketing for a sports clothing company and him in poduct testing for equipment. Frank had a better view of the girl, and she seemed all rosy-cheeked and giggly. She had loosened up over the course of the dinner, leaning closer as their own food arrived.
Frank saw them share a high five when he was finishing up his own sandwich, but he unfornately didn't know what it was for - Mel was talking about some podcast she found about Renaissance medicine and healthcare in 16th century medicine. She always got all rosy-cheeked and giggly when she'd go off on tangents about apothecaries and midwives.
Frank had asked for the cheque when the guy excused himself from the table. He made the journey to the back of the restaurant, where the bathroom was, and Frank looked around, accidentally making eye contact with the girl diagonal to him.
"First date?" He asked, keeping a light, approachable expression so as not to scare her.
"Is it that obvious?" She sighed, laughing a little as she looked between Frank and Mel.
"No, no, you're doing great! We just had a hunch." Mel said.
"I think it's going well." She said, baring her teeth awkwardly. "What do you guys think?"
Frank and Mel shared a hesitant look.
"Oh, we, uh..." Mel started, looking guilty, "We didn't catch much. But, you know, from where I'm sitting, he seems very interested in what you have to say. He's been smiling the whole time."
The girl rolled her lips into her mouth to stop herself from grinning. "He has? That's good. That's...nice. I don't know, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but he seems really sweet. I haven't been on a good first date in ages, I just hope he's not secretly an asshole or anything."
"Here's to hoping." Mel laughed a little and glanced at Frank with a cautious smile. "He was a blushing a bit when you compared him to Milo Ventimiglia."
"Yeah, I caught that. But it wasn't meant to be flirty! Not entirely. Oh, maybe it was! I like his goatee!" She grinned and then sank back into her chair with a sigh before turning back to face them. "You guys are probably so lucky you don't have to do this again. What was your first date like?"
The question struck the both of them like an ice-cold shower. Frank froze in place, staring at the girl. He quickly shifted his gaze over to Mel, who was sitting in a similar position. And like she'd always done, she looked over, as if his eyes were calling out to hers. She looked a bit panicked, as if she was asking for help as to what to say.
"Uh, well, erm, we," Frank inhaled and then pulled his gaze from Mel's and looked at the girl with a little smile.
"I just heard you guys talking about your kids' soccer schedule, and I agree, they should just hold the matches right after each other, rather than making you wait 3 hours in between." She nodded, flashing a knowing look to Mel.
Mel smiled tightly and opened her mouth as if she was about to answer. She closed it shut and looked around the restaurant as if the answer to the girl's question existed in the lighting fixtures.
She didn't know them, she didn't need to know the awkward 3 year dance that they'd been doing. She didn't need to know about the stolen looks or the jealously over Mel's dates (thank you Mohan for setting up her hinge profile); she didn't need to know about the near kiss a few months ago at Javadi's birthday party, or the dream he had last week that was just flashes of heavy breathing and blonde hair and skin on skin and the innapropriate way he dealt with the aftermath when he woke up.
"We, er, didn't really go on a first date." He said, plainly. The girl looked between them, a little confused. "We were friends for a long time and then one day," He tried a glance at Mel and found her staring with a little hopeful look on her face. At least, he hoped it was hopeful.
"One day, He just kissed me," She continued, looking at him pointedly.
Frank's entire body shuddered with hope. "I kissed her because I had been thinking about it for a long time - "
"And I kissed him back." She said, finishing his sentence.
"And that was that. We didn't go about it very traditionally. I already liked everything about her - she was - is, my best friend, so it was like everything fell into place after that."
"Oh, that's so nice! You guys are so lucky! Being friends is definitely the way to go. Unfortunately, Hinge doesn't have a friends to lovers option. Oh God, he's coming back. Wish me luck!" She said, rushing to wipe her teeth clean as she fluffed her hair up.
Frank flashed her a smile whilst he avoided looking at Mel. It was like fate when the waiter brought over the card reader and they were walking out of the restaurant into the brisk cold September air a few minutes later.
"She was nice." Mel started in a sort of strained voice.
"Yeah. Yeah, I hope she's right. I hope he's not an asshole." Frank replied, suppressing the urge to slap himself in the face.
"I didn't get that vibe from him. He liked her. I could tell." She said, pausing for a second. "Sometimes it's easier to see something when you're the objective party. Means you can see the things they can't, you know."
Frank nodded even though he had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. He was trying to reverse the assholery he had just thrown at Mel during dinner. He also really wanted to kiss her. Asshole.
They walked in silence for a couple of seconds, Frank taking the time to analyse every stupid thing he had ever said to see if it measured up to what he just said - or confessed, more like. They reached the corner of the street, and his car was just a block over when he felt her hand on his wrist.
He was ready to apologise - he knew he had made it weird. He knew that there was a chance Mel went along with it because he was always doing shit like that; he was always putting on accents at random Diners on the I-76 and making up stories about the ducks at the pond when they went with the kids. He made it weird and he needed to apologise. He also really wanted to kiss her!
When he looked up at her, her nose was a little red from the cold and her hair, half pulled back in a claw clip, was threatening to slip out of her big pink puffer coat that made her look like a marshmallow. He loved that coat. God, he was so screwed.
He was ready to apologise, until he saw the sort of hopeful look on her face again. And that just made him want to kiss her even more than he already wanted to.
She looked at him for a moment and then came out with it. "I think you should kiss me."
Frank's body jerked so violently he could've sworn he was about to be the first person to trip up from standing still. He didn't even have it in him to question her properly. "Yeah?"
She nodded, stifling a little laugh. "Yes. And you should do it now. I want everything to fall into place."
Frank gulped and tentatively took her face in his hands before leaning down to kiss her. She held onto his wrists and angled her face up. It was slow and soft, like they were testing the cold water of a pool. She parted her lips the tiniest bit and Frank inhaled her in. He pulled away after a few seconds and found her smiling, with her pink lips and teeth out on show. She slowly blinked her eyes open and did a bad job at hiding her grin. Frank didn't bother hiding his excitement, although he was sure it was showing up as anxiety on his face.
Her face cycled through a few happy microexpressions before her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She leaned up and wiped some of her lip balm from the corner of his lips. "You should take me home so we can do that again."
Frank stumbled on his feet. For real, this time. It was like his body was rushing towards the car before his mind could catch up. Mel barked out a laugh and shook her head.
"Sorry - I got excited. But yes, we can, I mean, we should...sorry, it seems as if i've forgotten how to speak." He said, running his hand through his hair with a stuttered laugh.
"It's okay. It was a long time coming, I think. And to think, all it took was a first date. Not even ours, mind you, but a random couple's first date, for us to figure ourselves out." She said, pulling him gently towards the direction of the car. Frank's body went willingly.
"We should find out who they were and send them flowers. I should've paid for their dinner. Let's go back! No, wait - stupid idea, we're going home. I was supposed to kiss you at home. We have a plan. The universe will thank them, I'm sure." He said, quickly pulling the keys from his coat pocket.
Mel hummed, holding onto his bicep as he unlocked the car. Frank almost fell for the third time. He opened the car door and watched her get in. "So, was this technically our first date?" She asked.
Frank considered it, shaking his head from side to side slowly. "Yeah, maybe. We could also count the other hundred we've been on in the past three years."
"I like this one. Good story for the grandkids." She said and helped him pull the car door closed. Frank stood on the curb, staring at her through the window like he was paralysed. She looked back and then nodded her head to the driver's seat. He then remembered the plan and nodded like an oaf before rushing to his side of the car.
They barely pulled into his driveway when Mel leaned over to kiss him again. He had never been so excited and worried about seatbelt safety before. It was an incredible feeling.
Your apartment smells like simmering white wine and sun dried tomatoes, and you crack your neck before you grab another piece of blue construction paper, carefully tracing another cloud to add to the pile, as Jack adds chicken to the pan.
Mikusu was packed when you arrived and you got your drinks to go before wondering across the street to the park, dropping onto a bench, amongst other people playing frisbee or going for a morning jog.
"Oh," you laugh, as Jack takes a sip of his strawberry matcha, and you watch his brow furrow, and you bite you lip, "no?"
"Hm," Jack shakes his head, "it's not bad -"
You snort, "it's okay," you reach for his cup, "you don't have to drink it."
"No," Jack holds the cup out of your grasp, downing half of it in one gulp, "no, I like it."
"Yeah, the grimace isn't really selling it -" you reach forward to grab it, and he gets an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, as he finishes the dregs of his pureed strawberries, and you flush as his hand slips under your coat.
"The strawberries help," he assures you, pressing a cold kiss to your forehead.
"We can go to Novaria if you want a proper coffee, my treat."
Jack lobs his cup towards the garbage can - missing completely and you snort a laugh as ice explodes across the sidewalk.
"Shit," he mutters, getting up to pick the plastic cup up.
"I thought you said you played basketball in high school."
"I didn't say I was any good." He stops in front of you, and you quickly finish your matcha, carefully pitching it into the garbage can on your first shot.
"Show off," he mutters, grabbing your hand as you walk towards the crosswalk.
Novarias is only slightly less busy than Mikusus, but you manage to grab a table in the back as Jack tells you to sit, shrugging off his coat to drape it across his lap as he heads up front to order.
The harried barista glances up at Jack, and you rest your chin on your hand as you watch him say something to make them laugh.
"You're such a flirt," you mutter as he carries two steaming flat whites to the table, and he gives you a smirk as he drops into the chair beside you. "I'm not jealous," you assure him, "I think you made their day."
Jack pushes a coffee towards you and you shake your head, "I'm pretty sure the heart's for you."
"They're both hearts."
"They are not," you grab the cup with the little leaf, as Jack honestly looks stumped, and you nudge his leg with your knee, settling your left hand against his sandstone, Carhartt jacket and something warm settles in your stomach as the scent of cedarwood and vanilla waft over you and you take another sip of your coffee.
"What's that for?" Jack wonders, wondering over to your coffee table.
"We're learning about the seasons in science," you shrug as Jack sits beside you on the couch, reaching to grab a pile of blue construction paper and your good scissors.
"Does it hurt?" You wonder, glancing at his leg, "when the weather changes?"
"Sometimes."
You pull out your phone, holding it out so he can see what you're making.
"Are you cutting all of those circles out by hand?"
"Yasmin did them already," Jack's eyes widen, "she puts on Love Island and gets 'in the zone'."
"Is that what you watch?"
"No, I get too distracted with tv shows, hence Sabrina Carpenter."
"Right."
You set your pencil down, "thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Jack murmurs, "I haven't finished cutting this one."
"You could cut them with your eyes closed, and I'd still appreciate it."
"I mean, I might as well be -"
"Stop it, you made great paper chains."
"All I had to do was staple them together."
You turn around so you can see what he's doing and you laugh out loud.
"Oh, well ..." You bite your lip, "maybe we should just stick to paper chains."
Jack snorts a laugh, "I told you."
You lean over to press your face against his shoulder, still laughing. He stills when you press a kiss to his jaw, and it's not long before your scissors clatter to the floor, papers, crinkling under your ass as Jack lays you out on your narrow couch and you gasp as his fingers catch your hair, tugging against your scalp.
"Shit," he mutters, sitting back to brush your hair from your face, and he lets out a sigh as the sound of water boiling over onto the stove brings you back to your livingroom, as Snoopy scrabbles into your bedroom.
"Wait," Jack murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth as he stands up to deal with the pasta water.
You sit up, watching him pull the pot from the stove and you bite your lip as he guides the frying pan onto the pot holder and you trip over the blanket that's tangled in your feet, laughing as Jack meets you halfway and you collide into him - bodies slotting together from hips to chest as he bends down to slot his mouth over yours.
The spaghetti is completely forgotten as he licks into your mouth, and he groans as you card your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, guiding you back against your kitchen island.
"Mhm," you murmur, and Jack's hands are in your skirt, and he ruches it up, so he can stand between your legs.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes -" you nod, tugging his shirt from his pants, so you can get your hands against his back - humming as you span your hands across the planes of his back.
"God, you're so beautiful," you flush under his praise as Jack's stubble rasps against your neck as he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin along your neck and his left hand flexes against the curve of your ass as his phone suddenly blares to life.
"Jesus Christ."
You bite back as a laugh as he pulls his cell phone from his back pocket.
"What?" He huffs, and you watch his face change from annoyed to resigned. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes."
You pull your skirt down as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, "I have to go."
"I know," you nod, kicking your feet.
"I shouldn't be too long," he leans forward, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips. "We'll pick this up when I get back."
"Here," you jump down, walking over to where you keep your keys, grabbing your spare key with a black felt cat.
"I'll see you later!"
"Bye."
You wait until your front door closes before you drop your face into your hands.
"Holy shit," you mutter, quickly grabbing your phone, quickly texting Yasmin.
ˢᴼ. ᴵᵀ ᵂᴬˢ ᴰᴱᶠᴵᴺᴵᵀᴱᴸʸ ᴬ ᴰᴬᵀᴱ
𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶!!!
ᴴᴱ ᴶᵁˢᵀ ᴸᴱᶠᵀ ᶠᴼᴿ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ
𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺?
You snap a picture of the craft you'd been working on.
Summary: After leaving New York with Mr. Charles, Dex finds himself in Italy, doing his bidding. When he’s tasked with surveillance on a spoiled daughter of a prominent family member, he doesn’t think much of it. Things become complicated, however, when he meets her best friend; you.
Pairing: post!DDBAS2!Dex x reader
WC/Tags: 15k / strangers to lovers, eventual smut, romance in italy, hurt/comfort, lying, light stalking, oral (reader receiving), rusty, unprotected p in v smut
A/N: Masterlist for this linked below! For day 15 of @swoon-june ‘party’
Chapter Two: The Date
This…is bad.
Dex is on a new mission, in a new city. Still in Italy, still close by but it’s fully catching up to him, what he’s done by entangling himself with you.
He hasn’t seen you since that night that he was supposed to be watching Cassandra, since the night he kissed you outside of the club. You’ve texted on and off, have spoken on the phone a few times, and yet, you’re all he can think about. The first thing on his mind when he wakes and the last when he finds sleep. He needs to see you, to have you in his hands again, and it’s nearly eating him alive.
The hostel he’s hold up in is nice enough, free WiFi and private showers, but it’s confining. Too many variables of prying eyes, of strangers stumbling upon his things. Mr. Charles has train ticket back to Rome for that evening, and it can’t come soon enough.
Dex sits on the edge of his hostel bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the floor. His phone is in hand, again, and your last text (sent three days ago: Hey, what’re you up to?) still unanswered.
He should’ve replied. He wanted to. But then Mr. Charles called with this new assignment and suddenly Dex was packing a duffel bag instead of typing back a simple reply.
The guilt gnaws at him like hunger pains.
His mission here involved tailing some politician’s assistant who might be leaking documents, nothing violent or messy but it had required full focus- and Dex hasn't had that in weeks, not since you.
Instead of typing a reply, he dials your number, raising the phone to his ear. He chews at his thumb as it rings, and when you pick up, he exhales.
“Well hey there stranger.”
Your voice,?your actual voice, hits Dex like a punch to the gut. It’s softer than he remembered, warmer.
“Hey,” he says back, and damn if his throat doesn’t feel tight all of a sudden.
There’s silence for half a second where neither speaks because what *do* you even say after days of radio silence?
He clears his throat. “I uh… I know I haven't texted.”
“It’s okay,” you reply and he wonders if you mean that. “I understand you’re busy.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
The question comes out quicker than he anticipated. He hadn’t meant to say that, had meant to talk with you a little before approaching the idea of seeing you.
But now that he hears your voice, he can’t help himself.
“Tonight?”
“Yes,” his reply is thick. “I’m out of town, but I get back tonight.”
“Um, well,” you pause, and Dex stands so he can pace while you think. “Ah, fuck it why not?”
Dex’s chest swells, yes, yes, and he grins for the first time in days. A real grin, wide and stupid.
“I’ll be at your place around eight,” he says quickly before you can change your mind. “If that’s okay.”
He’s already mentally running through his checklist: shower, shave, he hasn't done either properly in weeks, fresh clothes from his duffel bag.
The train gets into Rome at six-fifteen; more than enough time to get to you by eight if traffic isn’t a nightmare tonight.
Dex has learned a lot about you the past couple of weeks.
You’re in Italy for work, something in marketing, but you’re originally from the states. You speak a bit of Italian, and you’re taking classes to get better, which is actually how you met Cassandra. When she isn’t flirting and being a little messy, she’s actually a great friend, according to you. Dex will believe it when he sees it.
You live a short walk from the colosseum, and you prefer taking the train then driving.
Within the first few days of getting your number, Dex of course had found your online life. He learned about your family, your hometown. You were married once, when you were young but it was brief. He wants to ask you about that, when he gets to know you better.
As Dex pulls his luggage into his bedroom, the space as untouched and crisp as he’d left it, you text him the address of your flat. You tell him that you’ll meet him in the lobby, so he knows you aren’t bringing him up to your apartment, your space. That’s ok. There’s plenty of time for that later.
He showers quickly, scrubbing off the grime of travel and mission work. Shaves too, even though he usually keeps a little stubble (Mr. Charles prefers it that way for disguises). But tonight isn’t about missions.
Tonight is you.
After dressing in dark jeans and a fitted black sweater, casual but clean enough to make an impression without trying too hard, he grabs his keys and leaves the apartment.
The walk from his place to yours takes twenty minutes; Dex uses half of it mentally rehearsing what he’ll say when he sees you again after weeks apart with nothing but texts between you.
He texts you when he arrives, standing outside in the open square with his hands in his pockets. He’s surprised to find he isn’t overly nervous, a step up from how he was in New York with Julie. But you aren’t Julie. He isn’t stalking you, isn’t obsessed- yet- and there’s no Fisk to ruin it.
He’s got time on his side, and anonymity, and that alone makes it easier to breathe.
Dex spots you before you spot him, your hair catching the golden light as you step out of your building’s entrance.
His breath catches slightly at how pretty you look: dressed casually in a flowy skirt and sandals, nothing fancy but effortlessly you.
He lifts his hand to wave subtly when your eyes scan the crowd for him.
You smile wide, waving as you approach him. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He isn’t sure what he should say next, just happy that he’s in your presence again and you nod towards the side walk. “Care for a walk?”
Dex nods eagerly, falling into step beside you as you start walking down the well-lit sidewalk. The Colosseum looms in the distance, illuminated dramatically against the night sky.
It’s peaceful here, tourists mostly gone for the evening, just locals out with their dogs or heading home from dinner.
He glances at your profile: your nose scrunched slightly when a breeze hits it.
“So…” he starts awkwardly before clearing his throat again.
“How was your work trip?” You ask, keeping your voice light. You wonder if he’s nervous.
“Boring,” Dex lies and shrugs. “Glad to be back.”
“How long are you in Italy for?” You ask. “Since you’re here for work.”
Dex hesitates.
Work. Right. The lie is automatic now, but saying it to you, someone who actually matters, makes his stomach twist.
“Uh… indefinitely?” he says vaguely, then immediately hates how vague that sounds.
He doesn’t want you thinking he’s some wandering businessman with no roots or plans.
“I mean… I have a base here,” he clarifies quickly, gesturing toward Rome in general without mentioning Mr. Charles or missions by name.
You nod in understanding. “Me too. Well for now. I might go back to the states eventually but I dunno. I like it here.” You pause at a crosswalk, looking both ways before crossing and Dex is at your side. “There’s this good gelato place I know, if you’re..interested?”
“Yeah,” he says immediately, then softens his tone to sound less eager. “I’d love that.”
The idea of sharing something as mundane as ice cream makes him feel… domestic. In a good way.
You lead the way, your skirt swishing around your calves and Dex finds himself drawn to you in a way he struggles to describe.
walking inside the gelato shop, you smile at the owner before looking at the array of flavors. You press your finger to the glass at one labeled ‘strawberry’.
“normally I get this with chopped cherries,” you tell him. “But the chocolate and orange cream are good flavors too.”
“Right, okay I…” Dex considers his options while you and the employee watch, before nodding at the chocolate. “Can I have a chocolate with chopped cherries?”
You grin before ordering yours, and Dex nearly throws euros at the attendant before you can protest. You laugh, eyes squinting with a shaking of your head. “I can pay for it, I invited you here remember?”
Dex holds up his hands in surrender, but the cashier has already rung him up, his card is already swiped, so it’s too late.
“I know,” he says with a small smile, handing you your cone first before taking his own.
The chocolate gelato is rich and creamy, the cherries adding a tartness that cuts through perfectly. He takes an experimental lick.
Your laughter from earlier lingers in his ears; he wants to hear it again all night long if possible.
Sitting outside, you cross your legs at the ankles and take a bite of your gelato. It’s sweet and cool, the flavor you’d come to enjoy. Dex sits across from you, his foot nudges yours and he straightens, mumbles an apology. You have to hide your grin behind your cone.
And then, you talk.
You and Dex sit outside in the cool night air speaking until the gelato is all gone, until the sky has melted from creamsickle orange to a murky blue.
He tells you about his time in new York, that he ‘got into some trouble’ there, and Italy, along with his job, was a new start for him. You tell him about your job and your language classes, that you think sometimes Italy was always home before you knew it.
As the night goes on, the conversation never dulls, only deepens. He opens up about his parents, that he grew up in an orphanage. You tell him you’re scared that you’ll never be brave enough to live life to the fullest, like Cassandra. It’s a quiet back and forth of raw truths, and when the shop closes and you bid the owners goodnight, you feel full with something other than gelato.
As you walk under the night sky, your fingers brush the back of Dex’s hand. He looks at you sideways, his eyes pinched and then his fingers are sliding over your knuckles, intertwining as palms press together. You have to bite back your grin.
The contact, your hand in his, sends a jolt through Dex’s whole body. It’s small, simple, but it means everything.
He laces your fingers together properly now, thumb brushing over your knuckles as you walk side by side under the streetlights.
Rome is quiet at this hour; just the occasional car passing by or distant laughter from open windows.
Dex isn’t thinking about missions or Mr. Charles, he's not thinking about anything except how right this feels, holding hands with you like some normal couple out for a night stroll.
When he glances down at you again and sees that barely-contained smile of yours, his chest aches sweetly.
You see your building and you’re surprised at the disappointment that settles over you. Squeezing his hand, you look at him. “I had a really nice time tonight.”
Dex squeezes back, his thumb still moving absently over your skin.
“Me too,” he says softly, and it’s true, this was the best night he’s had in years. No schemes, no watching targets through binoculars… just you.
He hesitates at your building entrance. The lights from inside glow warmly through the glass doors but Dex doesn’t want you to go in yet, doesn’t want to watch as you disappear behind the old stones.
So instead of saying goodbye like a normal person would after a first date, if this even counts as that, he leans down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and presses his lips gently to yours. You let yourself fall into it, fall into him, and close your eyes. His hand is still holding yours, thumb still brushing as your lips meet.
The kiss is tender, softer than the one outside the party, less desperate. Dex takes his time exploring your lips, tilting his head just slightly to deepen it.
His free hand comes up to cup your cheek gently, calloused fingers brushing against warm skin as he kisses you like he can’t get enough.
It’s sweet and slow under the streetlight glow until Dex finally pulls back an inch or two, just enough so that when you blink open your eyes again, you’re inches apart.
“I-I know this is a little forward,” you say in a rush. “But, um, would you…” you pause, chewing at your lip and Dex waits, murky grey eyes watching you closely. “Do you want to come upstairs with me?”
His pulse jumps in his throat, but not from nerves, no, this is pure want.
“Yeah.” he answers immediately, voice lower than usual. He doesn’t even have to think about it, even though he probably should.
Before you can turn toward the door though, he kisses you again, quickly but fiercely, and then follows as you lead him inside through the lobby and up the stairs.
You untangle your hand from his to unlock the door, opening it wide to let him inside. The space is small but its home, and you set down your purse on the couch before you turn to him.
For a moment you both stare quietly at one another. You laugh softly, and Dex’s expression splits into a smile. Kicking off your shoes, you walk into him, cupping the sides of his face before you kiss him. He hums, his eyes shut as his hands find your waist, slipping to the small of your back to pull you close.
He lets out that quiet hum, contentment, as your lips move against his, and when you press closer, he tightens his arms around you.
The small apartment smells faintly of vanilla or something floral from candles probably; it feels lived in, safe. His fingers curl into the fabric of your dress at the back as he kisses deeper now, not rushing but wanting more.
With clumsy movements you make your way to the bedroom, neither of you ever breaking the kiss. Your hands slide under the hem of his shirt, feeling the taught muscles of his abdomen, and when your knees hit the mattress you sit down, tugging his face downwards to keep kissing and making him bend at the waist.
Dex drops to his knees in front of you, one hand on your neck as his tongue prods between your lips, the other rubbing and squeezing the muscle of your calf. You taste like cherries and promise, and his hand moves to the back of your knee before sliding to your thigh under your skirt.
“This okay?” He murmurs against your mouth and you nod quickly, your hands on the collar of his shirt. When his hand moves to the fabric lining of your underwear, you stand up, and Dex looks up at you from his kneeling position with wet lips. Inhaling, you dig under your skirt, and slowly pull your underwear down your legs. You kick it away, and when Dex realizes you’re bare now, he helps you tug up your skirt as you sit back down. He kisses the tops of your thighs before slowly nudging them apart and you lean back, panting a little at the proximity of his face to your naked core.
Your bravery now flickers, and you lick your lower lip. “Dex, I um- I’ve not really done this in a while?”
Dex pauses, his lips hovering just above your inner thigh. He lifts his head slowly to look at you and sees the flicker of nerves there.
It makes his insides soften instantly.
“That’s okay,” he says quietly, voice rough but gentle. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your hips in reassurance before he leans in again and presses a featherlight kiss right where it matters most, not taking anything yet, just testing with soft kisses that are more about comfort than hunger.
You gasp at the contact, your eyes widening from the electricity of it. Dex kisses your cunt again, slowly this time, and when his tongue flicks out you fall onto your back. His hands slide down to your thighs, hooking your knees over his shoulders, and then he licks up your center. Eyes squeezing shut, you try to hold back a moan but it’s practically useless.
The sound you make, that soft, involuntary moan, sends heat straight through Dex’s entire body.
He does it again on purpose this time: a long, slow lick right up your center before circling his tongue where he knows usually feels good.
His hands squeeze your thighs gently as he continues to explore with his mouth: kisses, little nips here and there between laps of that clever tongue.
When another whimper escapes you, Dex grins against your skin and presses an open-mouthed kiss directly over your clit.
“Oh.” you whisper, and your hand fists in the sheets. It had been so long since someone other than yourself had touched you there, had made you feel this good, and when Dex pulls back, standing up, you nearly let out a whimper of distress.
He grins at you before pulling off his shirt, and you stand up, shoving your skirt to the floor. You go to grab your shirt but he beats you to it, gripping the fabric and you take the opportunity to press kisses to his collarbone before he tugs the shirt over your head.
Dex’s grin widens as he peels your shirt off, revealing the simple bra underneath. He takes a second to look at you, your bare shoulders, the way your chest rises with each breath, before kissing down from your collarbone to where his mouth can reach.
His hands slide around your back, finding the clasp of that bra while his lips trail lower over smooth skin. When it comes undone and falls away completely? Dex exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
“This feels uneven, ” you half whisper half laugh and your hands are on his belt. “I’m completely naked while you’re basically dressed.”
Dex hums, and pulls at the zipper as you sit on the bed, crawling up the headboard. “Well I’m not exactly the looker like you are.”
You tilt your head, letting your eyes rake over his biceps and define abs, the muscle of his thighs as he kicks off his jeans. His skin is splattered with scars, some long healed and others pinker, newer. You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you mean. You should see my view.”
Dex chuckles, actually laughs, low and warm, as he toes off his shoes, then pushes down his jeans the rest of the way.
The scars stand out under the dim bedroom light; most of them from his time in New York. He doesn’t usually care what people think of them but with you staring at him like that, it makes him self-conscious.
Still, when you say ‘my view’, something hot blooms in his chest.
He crawls onto the bed after kicking away the last of his clothes and hovers over you for a second before kissing your mouth again. His hand brushes over your neck, down to your chest and over your breasts. You groan, arching into the touch as your hands squeeze his shoulders, then his biceps.
“I-I don’t have any condoms,” You whisper and your noses bump. “Sorry I didn’t, know this…would happen.”
Dex pauses for half a second, shit, but then he shakes his head, brushing your hair back from your forehead.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “We don’t have to… we can just do other things. It’s your call.”
His voice is steady despite the obvious want in his eyes. He could feel how ready you both were but wants to leave it to you.
You exhale slowly before you nod. “I-I want this. I want you.”
That’s all the confirmation he needs.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding down to cup your breast while the other traces slow circles on your hip. Then his mouth moves lower, kissing down your neck, over your collarbone and chest, before capturing a nipple between his lips with a gentle suck that makes you gasp.
Every touch is deliberate; he wants to make sure you feel good before anything else happens.
You moan, your back arching again and you feel like a livewire, pulsing with need. You can feel his length between your legs, heavy and warm before you reach down, and take him in your hand.
Dex jerks slightly at the sudden contact, a sharp inhale escaping him as your fingers wrap around his length.
He’s hard, achingly so, and the way you touch him is careful but confident.
His hips twitch forward into your hand before he can stop himself, and for a second he just feels, eyes shut tight as pleasure zips through him, then he kisses you again, messy and hungry this time while guiding your strokes with subtle rolls of his own body.
You feel your cunt flutter around nothing before your thumb swipes over his head, coming away wet with precome and you sit up, pushing him back so you have space. He leans away immediately, sitting back and you shuffle forward on your knees, bending at the hips before your eyes meet his, then you drop your head, and lick the underside of his cock.
Dex groans, exhaling hard through his nose and one hand fists in the sheets. He watches you with a slack jaw as you repeat the action, tentative but eager, and then your mouth sucks over the top of his length.
The sensation of your warm mouth taking him in makes Dex’s entire body tense.
His free hand flies to the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there, as you suck gently. It feels incredible; better than he imagined, which is saying something because he has thought about this. A lot.
He bites his lip hard to stifle another moan but fails when you swirl your tongue around the head before sinking down further on him.
Your head bobs up and down steadily, Dex’s fingers a sort of comfort on your neck. He’s thick but you manage, your eyes only watering a little when you come up for air. You wipe at your mouth, and he looks so utterly disheveled that you smile. Dex grins, his chest rising and falling in quick succession.
“Cm’ere.” He murmurs, reaching for you. It’s a tangle of limbs as he presses you to your back, settling between your thighs and gliding his length through your wetness.
The slick heat of you against him is almost too much.
Dex shudders, pressing his forehead to yours for a second as he lines himself up, teasing, rubbing the tip through your folds without entering yet.
His breathing is ragged now; every nerve in his body focused while he pushes forward, watching your face for any sign of discomfort even as pleasure burns through him.
Your eyes widen, lips parting before your hand flies to his shoulder, gripping hard. A moan tumbles from your mouth but he catches it by pressing a hard kiss to your lips. When he’s fully sheathed, Dex doesn’t move. Just breathes, gets acclimated to the feeling of your walls around him and lets you do the same, getting used to his cock buried deep.
You nod once. “I’m…I’m okay.”
Dex exhales through his nose, nodding back at you.
Okay. Good.
He kisses you again, soft this time, before slowly pulling out almost all the way and pushing back in with deliberate slowness.
The stretch is perfect, your warmth clenches around him just right and Dex has to swallow hard to keep his rhythm controlled instead of losing it completely like he wants.
His hips find a steady pace, not too fast, not rough yet, just building something slow between you. Your hands run up his chest to his neck, slipping around loosely and he dips his face to capture your mouth.
You aren’t sure where you were expecting the night to take you, but this had been unexpected.
Unexpected and wonderful.
Dex kisses you like he’s missed you, like you’re the only thing on his mind. He slides in and out of you to perfect, and when his hand dips and hikes your leg just a little bit higher on his hip, you swear your eyes nearly roll.
That adjustment changes everything. It angles him deeper, hitting a spot inside you that makes your breath catch in the most delicious way.
Dex notices immediately; his eyes darken and he does it again on purpose, pressing harder with each thrust now that he knows that’s the right angle.
His kisses turn messier between pants for air, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking gently. One of his hands slides under your back to pull you even closer as if trying to meld into you completely.
Dex’s hand moves up, the one not propping his torso, and cups your face, sliding down to your neck and shoulder before getting to your wrist. You open your hand, and with a snap of his hips, his fingers lace with yours.
It’s maybe the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced.
The way your fingers interlock with his, skin on skin, pulse to pulse, makes something tighten in Dex’s chest. It’s simple but god, it feels like the most important part of this whole moment. More than the sex, more than how good you feel around him.
He squeezes your hand gently and kisses you again, slower now; less desperate urgency and more quiet affection mixed with pleasure. The bed creaks softly under your movements as you rock together in perfect sync.
His face dips, pressing into the crook of your neck and his cock is impossibly deeper, making you even fuller and your legs lock around his hips.
“Dex,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “I-”
Both his hands move to your hips, pinning you to the mattress as he picks up the pace, sensing what you know is coming. It’s a fuzzy feeling to you, a foreign one, and you let your eyes close as you exhale and let go.
He feels it the second you tip over—your body tensing, your walls fluttering around him in rhythmic pulses.
Dex groans, low and rough against your shoulder as he keeps moving through it for you, chasing his own peak now that yours has been reached.
The sensation of you coming apart because of him sends heat flooding through his veins. A few more thrusts, harder now, and then he’s following right after with a shuddering gasp into the crook of your neck.
For a moment, neither of you move. You breath him in, feel the warmth of his skin on yours and his breath on your neck. Then slowly you unlock your ankles, and Dex sits up, his nose brushing your cheek as he moves. When he pulls out you exhale and he lays down beside you, running a hand through his short hair with stuttered breathing. Dex turns his head to look at you, studying your face, the softness of it now post-orgasm, the way your lashes flutter as you come down.
Without thinking, he reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a light kiss to your temple.
Then he shifts onto his back beside you, arm still loosely draped across the pillows near where you are. The sheets are tangled around both of you; Dex doesn’t mind one bit.
“So…” you say quietly, and shift to look at him.
“So…”
You sit up, tugging the blankets to cover yourself and then you break into a smile. “I don’t know about you but I really enjoyed that.”
Dex’s lips curve into a rare, unguarded smile at your words, the biggest one he’s had in years probably.
“Yeah,” he says simply, voice still a little rough. Then, because it feels right: “A lot.”
He sits up too now and reaches for his discarded jeans to grab his phone from the pocket. It’s 12:03 AM.
Glancing back at you covered by the blanket with that sleepy smile? His chest does that weird tight thing again. He doesn’t want to leave yet but knows he should probably go home eventually, even if every cell in him wants to stay curled around you all night long.
You look at his phone and then back up. “You gotta go don’t you?”
Dex shifts, pulling on his boxers and you tug your legs a little closer. He nods, already regretting it.
“I should,” he admits quietly while pulling his jeans back up over his hips. “It’s late.”
But the way you curl into yourself, like you’re sad he’s leaving, makes him hesitate. Dex leans down and kisses your forehead before gathering the rest of his clothes: shirt, socks.
“I had a really good time tonight.” you offer in a soft voice.
When he straightens again with everything in hand, Dex sits on the edge of the mattress. “I did too.”
You smile but it falters and you shift uneasily. “I- you’re not gonna disappear on me, are you? Now that you got to fuck me, you’re not just going to…stop texting me?”
Dex’s heart drops.
The insecurity in your voice, like you genuinely believe he’d do that, hits him hard. He immediately shakes his head, setting the clothes down on the floor.
“No,” he says firmly, turning fully toward you again. “Jesus, no.” Without hesitation, he cups your face and kisses you properly: slow and deep enough to prove this isn’t just some fling to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You give him a small smile. “It’s okay if you do I would just prefer if you told me. I can take a hint if- if that’s the case.”
Dex shakes his head again, more emphatically this time.
“I won’t disappear,” he promises, voice steady with conviction. “And I wouldn’t just… stop texting you without saying anything.”
He hates that you even have to clarify this, that past experiences made you think guys would ghost after sleeping together.
So instead of leaving like he originally planned, Dex stands and takes off his jeans. Just in his boxers, he climbs back into bed beside you and pulls the blanket over both of your shoulders before wrapping an arm around your waist.
“I’d like to stay, actually,” Dex says softly. “If you’d let me.” Your heart sores in your chest. “I’ll have to leave early but…I’d like to stay.”
You nod, trying to suppress your grin. “Okay, yeah. Stay.”
Dex’s whole body relaxes at your agreement.
He settles in properly now, spooning you from behind with his chin tucked over your shoulder. One arm stays around your waist while the other reaches to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.
The room plunges into darkness except for faint streetlight glow through thin curtains.
It feels right, being here like this, skin to skin, breathing together, and Dex presses a soft kiss below your ear before murmuring: “Goodnight.”
Within minutes, his breathing evens out against you; he’s asleep.
-
The mattress is empty but warm when you press your hand to it.
You shift, blinking in the dark and that’s when you feel it. A pressure on your mouth.
Your eyes fly over completely and you scoot away, your back, pressing into the headboard. Your apartment should be empty, you should be alone, and then you hear a familiar chuckle.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dex says softly in the dark. “ I just have to leave because of work and I wanted to kiss you goodbye, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Your heartbeat thunders in your ears from the sudden scare, but once you recognize Dex’s voice, and that chuckle, you exhale sharply.
He looks guilty in the dim light filtering through the window; hair messy from sleep, shirt wrinkled.
Dex sits up fully now and rubs his face before glancing at you again.
“I gotta go,” he admits quietly. “Mr. Charles texted last night after we… fell asleep.”
His job, always his job, interrupting things like this again.
“S’okay,” you smile, a little sheepish. “ What time is it?”
“Nearly seven,” Dex replies, and his hand comes up to your face, brushing your hair back. “You should keep sleeping. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No I’m glad you did,” you reply, and you realize you’re still naked. “Can um…you pass me my shirt?”
Dex nods and reaches for your shirt on the floor, handing it to you before turning his back politely, giving you privacy to dress.
He pulls on his own clothes quickly: jeans, socks, then shrugs into his sweater.
By the time he’s done lacing up his boots, you’re sitting cross-legged in bed with just your shirt covering bare legs. Dex walks over and leans down again to kiss you properly this time: slow and sweet despite having to leave.
“I’ll call you?”
“Please do.”
He smiles as he stands, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You can tell he’s stalling, but you can’t say you mind and you settle back under the covers as he disappears down the hall. You hear the latch click and when he closes the door and you’re alone in your apartment, it’s almost comedic how quickly you miss him.
