Hey everyone. So I’ve written Timeless fanfiction before, but have always been too chicken to post it. I think with everything that unfolded this Thursday, we’re all in need of some good old happy fanfic. I started a collection of snapshots for a Garcyatt Soulmate AU in a world where when you first look your soulmate in the eye, you see color. Without further adieu, here is the beginning of that AU, taking place during the pilot.
Thanks to @lucyxswann for reading and making me feel better about my writing. I love you, and this is dedicated to you, my Garcyatt sister. Please excuse any errors; we’re both exhausted, I think.
Anyway, enjoy, everybody - and maybe validate me please lol
———
When it happens, it’s not quite what she expects.
She’s a thirty-something history professor trying not to show her fear in this armored room in a strange place - supposedly the headquarters for THE Connor Mason’s company - with scary guards blocking the exits.
She’s totally fine.
But that’s why when the sleepy soldier from Delta Force opens his eyes and smirks after she tells him off about his “ma’am” bullshit and their eyes meet, causing the world to explode around her... she says nothing.
She sees blue.
So that’s it, she thinks. He’s annoying, but he’s cute and he’s the one, apparently.
And this new sensation enveloping her entire world? That’s what color is. She knows now, and it’s all because of him... her soulmate.
Three decades of black and white and not knowing who or what to expect when the day would come, and here she finally is. The world is pretty damn saturated, even if it’s different than what she had imagined. It’s definitely a nice change to say the least.
She can see from his face that he notices the shift. There’s a look that tells her that he can suddenly see colors, too. It makes her breathe a sigh of relief. Flukes had happened before to other people and as awkward as this entire situation already is, she is relieved that this wasn’t one. With her mother sick, her tenure meeting cancelled, and this ominous evening waiting to unfold in front her, the last thing she needs is more awkwardness and disappointment - especially when it pertains to have a fucking soulmate.
Before the woman from Homeland enters, she considers saying something, or at least flashing him a smile. They’re interrupted before she can even decide against it.
She knows that etiquette - hell, even basic decency - calls for her complete candor with him in this life-changing moment.
But she’s scared, and more importantly, time travel is real, there’s a terrorist to kill and history to save... so now is definitely not the time. Who knows when it would be?
They both soak in everything around them as they descend the stairs to the landing, where a team and a debrief await them. The turquoise glow of countless computer screens and the violet grey aura surrounding that... that THING would be distracting and absolutely mesmerizing if it weren’t for the tasks at hand.
She says nothing.
Besides, as beautiful as the cool tones she sees around the room are, as exhilarating as finding your soulmate is, the wonderful world of color is actually kind of disappointing. She feels just a bit let down and doesn’t know why.
They go into the past and try their best to stop that man and preserve history. And they succeed as much as they can, in a way.
The Hindenburg is down. It’s gone. The whole chronicle of disaster unfolded much differently than as history had remembered it in her time. Their terrorist is still at large after causing all this, probably somewhere amidst the rubble and flames or perhaps, far far away.
Everything is burning. The sickening, sweet smell of - oh my god - singed flesh mingled with smoke and fuel fills the still static air. Flashes of purple and navy and evergreen and silver flood her new world as she tries to find her traveling companions and figure it out: what the hell just happened?
As she makes her way through the grass, which even at night, is illuminated by the embers in a bright spring green, she stumbles over debris and passes survivors, helpers, and onlookers.
She’s still shaking because she has failed to preserve history precisely as it was. She’s still reeling from the adrenaline rush and is convinced this had to be some type of dream.
Finally, she finds them both: the ragtag, but capable team that she’s saved lives alongside and started to bond with. (She can’t help but admit that he’s not a bad person to be fated to, even if he’s impulsive and erratic. The boy is passionate, fast on his feet, and he’s got moxie.)
She stands beside them: their pilot and her soulmate - his beautiful cerulean eyes still widened in shock. She’s still adjusting to the colors against the fiery disaster zone, as is he, when they see him. A tall, mysterious, and foreboding figure with a (her?!) journal in one hand and a gun in the other.
Garcia Flynn: the handsome, raging, murderous ex-NSA agent with the brokenhearted eyes. The time bandit and terrorist of time. The enemy.
He locks eyes with her - I know everything about you - and then with him - I know for a fact that you won’t shoot me.
And with Flynn having entered their lives, rather chaotically... there it is. The second explosion that neither of them could imagine had been missing to begin with.
For the drabble meme: 12, 16, or 43 for Lucy/Garcia or Lucy & Garcia, please, if any of them tickle your fancy. :)
12. “I think we need to talk.” For Lucy/Garcia with heavily implied Garcyatt. Forgive me for taking this opportunity to shamelessly play with a Bandstand AU for these beautiful broken darlings. Set around This Is Life. Tagging @ellascinders and @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels for Reasons.
Lucy leans heavily against Flynn as they make their way down the hallway to her room, not because she’s actually unsteady on her feet—she’s had a drink or two more than usual, but she’s far from drunk—but because she enjoys the closeness. Under his jacket, pressed against his side, she feels…safe. Safe and warm and home. Home.
(If it isn’t quite perfect, that’s only because she apparently doesn’t know when to quit, because she wants too much. Perfect would be more than her and Flynn, would be Wyatt as well, messy and flawed and broken as he is. They’re all messy and flawed and broken, after all—maybe his pieces could just fit theirs—but, no. She can’t think like that. Can’t let herself hope for the impossible. What is possible, or at least, what might be, is enough.)
“Thank you for walking me back,” Lucy says when they stop in front of her door. “I didn’t mean to cut short your first big night in New York with the guys.”
“No thanks needed,” he replies. “I would rather—I mean, I was glad for a reason to slip out anyway. It’s a little…”
“Overwhelming?” Lucy offers. It’s certainly been that way for her. A first class train ride, a night out on the town, the reality that they’re living the dream that Noah wanted, the one that’s been keeping them all moving for so many months now—she’s been torn between wanting to see and do absolutely everything and wanting to hide in bed all day.
Flynn nods. “Yeah. It’s…hard to believe it’s really happening.”
“All because of you.”
“And Wyatt,” he acknowledges. “And the rest of the guys. And you, of course. We never could have—I never could have—well, we wouldn’t be here without you either.”
Lucy wants to say that of course that isn’t true, that he and Wyatt are genius when they manage to actually work together, that they didn’t need her for any of it. But the look in his eyes..
I never could have—
(He’s not just talking about making it to New York.)
Sometimes it feels like she’s the only thing holding the lot of them together, her and the band. And yet, at the same time, they’ve put her back together as well, made her realize that she was drowning in her own way and pulled her head above the waterline. All of them…but especially Flynn and Wyatt.
“I should let you get to bed,” Flynn says before she can ultimately muster any response at all. “We have…a big day tomorrow after all.”
“Brunch in the morning, right?” Lucy asks, and Flynn manages a small smile.
“Yeah. And the audition at four.”
“We should…definitely get some rest then,” she agrees, but she makes no move to remove his jacket from around her shoulders, or even to step back from her close proximity.
Lucy’s breath catches as Flynn’s eyes flick to her mouth, then away. His throat works as he swallows hard, finally stepping back himself. This pull has always been there between them, but there have also always been reasons to deny it—she wasn’t ready to move on from Noah, Flynn was still grieving his wife in addition to everything he brought back from war, there were her feelings for Wyatt to consider as well—and yet, in this hall, this hotel, this city, on this night…god, she doesn’t want to deny it anymore. She wants to take that safety she felt while pressed against his side and keep it, to fall asleep with a warm body next to hers again, wrapped in strong arms. And more than that, she wants to give that safety back to Flynn—safety and healing and home—so that he might find some peace in her arms as well. Enough to sleep.
(Lucy know he doesn’t. Knows Wyatt doesn’t either. Has spent enough nights drifting off on the couch in Flynn’s apartment only to wake in the morning to find the two men at the piano still arguing over some chord progression or other to know better. But she would give anything, anything, to give either of them even half the peace they’ve brought her.)
“Lucy…”
Before she can talk herself out of it, Lucy leans up on her toes and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Flynn’s eyes fall shut, his hand raising instinctively as if to take her waist, but he doesn’t allow himself to do more than grip the edge of his jacket where it hangs off her shoulders.
“I think—I think we need to talk.”
Lucy curls her fingers in the front of Flynn’s shirt and kisses the other side of his mouth. He shudders.
“We could do that,” she replies. “Or, we could…”
She ghosts a kiss across his lips, feeling not unlike she’s playing with a loaded gun. This could backfire spectacularly, but she knows how he looks at her, knows what she wants from him, knows what she wants to give him. Physical intimacy won’t erase his memories, won’t take away his nightmares, but she could at least give him something new.
(And maybe, if she’s honest, it’s something she needs herself. From Flynn, from Wyatt, from both of them. She never thought she would find this kind of love again, never thought she would want to risk hurting the way she did when she lost Noah ever again. But this man, these men are worth the risk. She loves, she loves, she loves them.)
Flynn groans quietly and then crushes her to him, one arm curling around her waist as his other hand cups her cheek. He kisses her until she’s breathless, until her knees are weak. It’s desperate and needy, as though he’s a drowning man and she’s the only air in the room. And only when her back hits the door with a quiet thud does he seem to recall himself and pull away.
His mouth is red, eyes dark, and he looks utterly wrecked, shell-shocked in an entirely different way. There are no grenades here, no trenches, no guns. Just her and Flynn and a hotel hallway. A bed, if she can convince him to come inside.
“Lucy, I—I shouldn’t,” he says.
“Why not?” Lucy asks. “Why shouldn’t we?”
Flynn closes his eyes and his hand flexes on her hip. “I’m—Lucy, I’m a mess.”
“I know.”
“I can’t give you everything you need right now.”
“I know,” she repeats. “I don’t care about that. What is it you need?”
Flynn kisses her again, light as a feather.
“You,” he admits. “You, and—”
Lucy bites her lip, heart skipping at the pause. Because as much as she knows how he looks at her, she also knows how he looks at Wyatt. But she didn’t dare to hope—
“And?” She asks quietly.
“Wyatt,” he replies. “Both of you. I know it isn’t—”
“Me too,” she interrupts, and Flynn’s eyes shoot to hers. “It’s—it’s both of you for me too.”
(Maybe it’s greedy, maybe it’s selfish, and hell, maybe she should hate Wyatt for what happened with Noah instead of forgiving him, loving him, but she doesn’t care. She loves them, she wants them, and if Flynn wants it to be all of them as well, then maybe…)
Lucy reaches out and takes his free hand, bringing it back to her cheek. His thumb passes along her cheekbone and she sighs.
“But…he’s not here right now,” she acknowledges. “And you are. So I’m asking…do you want to come in?”
“More than anything.”
“But?”
Flynn kisses her one last time before stepping back completely.
“If I come in, I will lose myself in you,” he says. “It would be so easy. But I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be okay. And Lucy, I—when I make love to you, I don’t want it to be an escape. To do that, I need to be okay. So…I can’t.”
(It’s not the declaration that Hollywood might flock to. A fictional romance would say to hell with the reality, love conquers all. But this is life, not fiction. And Flynn is right.)
I would love to see your take on how, with time served and good behavior, a lyatt relationship could happen.
@sharkflip said: Prompt: Garcyatt Fluff!
I’m putting these together because honestly if there was ever going to be Lyatt, it would (imho) be in the context of Garcyatt. Because… well, have you seen those fools? (I know you have. It has been RESEARCH!)
I’m also tagging @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels because of course I am.
It’s about eight months since the end of the war, and Lucy Preston has no idea when it happened, but she appears to have acquired two husbands.
(Really, it’s no use asking about it. Just write it off as time travel. Except it hasn’t been in this case, and if she thought about it more, she’d be alarmed, but then – perhaps it’s the only way it could have happened.)
It came about with Flynn first, because of course it did. It was easy when it shouldn’t have been, it was her refuge and her safe place, and every time she looked at him, she could feel his adoration in her bones. It steadied her when the world shook her off, and she took comfort in his arms. Perhaps she was always going to fall in love with him, since he’s been gone over her for God knows how long, and with Flynn, there is nothing but the simple delight of knowing she is cherished down to her soul and sinews, that he will protect her at every turn and every step. They are in love long before either of them gets around to admitting it. They spend nights and nights in each other’s bed (or she spends it, really, in his) and yet, when anyone asks, they insist it’s nothing.
Flynn is her stronghold, her truest soulmate, the man who understands her violence and her pain and her darkness, and somehow balms it away. Lucy cannot foresee any future she’d want without him. And Wyatt – well, she still wants him too, in a way. But Wyatt is far more difficult.
There’s Jessica, of course, and their baby. There’s the great, great deal of personal shit that he needs to figure out (helped by the equivalent of a verbal slap upside the head from his future self, who is just not impressed by him at all). There is the broken trust, and the very slow reparation of it. It’s Wyatt learning to shut his mouth for once when she says that she prefers going with Flynn, and to agree that he knows why. It’s Wyatt grudgingly admitting it’s pretty useful to have a six-foot-four Croatian murder machine who melts at Lucy’s briefest look, and a few glances at Flynn himself (when he is sure Flynn isn’t looking) that make Lucy wonder if it’s entirely Flynn he’s jealous of.
It’s not something she thinks of at first, though perhaps it’s the proper solution. Just that one day she discovers she might like this new Wyatt, a little, and he’s poked wry fun at himself and he’s had a beer with Flynn, and she looks at them on the couch and feels something strange. Her usual magnetic, overwhelming love for Flynn, the way she wants to touch him if they’re anywhere close, and yet a sensation that there might be space to change it up, a little. To see what happens. Now that the boys are actually getting along, that those looks still linger (honestly, Flynn is the master of the least heterosexual looks she’s ever seen from a man, and it turns her stomach over with the awareness of – it’s always been the word for both of them, and now the three – possibilities.)
They all get drunk that night. Things happen.
The next morning, Flynn and Wyatt steadfastly deny that they made out for a good twenty minutes, until Lucy threatens them that she has photographic evidence. She takes out her phone and shows them, which results in horror, more horror, and then Flynn, at least, deciding that heteronormativity is for losers and he sees no point in pretending he’s straight. He shrugs. “Well,” he says. “It was… an experience. And one I wasn’t totally averse to, if we’re telling the truth. But if Wyatt’s just going to – ”
Wyatt glowers at him. He is clearly thinking about telling Flynn to shut up.
(He doesn’t actually get there.)
After that, it’s… piecemeal. Lucy and Flynn are together, and there is nothing that is going to change that fact, but they begin finding space for Wyatt, and he is tentative, careful about joining them. He is softer now, he is less defensive, he is less determined to pretend to be the macho man, the guy with everything figured out. He looks at Flynn for permission before he kisses Lucy again for the first time, and Flynn graciously nods, and then they all end up in bed later, and Lucy lies between them, their legs tangled beneath the quilts, and thinks that if it’s this way now, if the war is done, and yet this is what grows in its place –
Dare I request more of that Bandstand au.....possibly the ‘reprise’ of This Is Life where our three favorite idiots finally come together?
Well, since you asked so nicely…Part One was here. Also tagging @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.
Flynn isn’t entirely sure how he gets back to his room—he walks himself obviously, but he doesn’t remember it at all, not when his jacket smells like Lucy, when his mouth feels branded from her kiss, when his fingers twitch at his side at the ghost of her waist under them. He could go back. Despite what he said, Lucy would probably be willing to repeat her offer. Which, of course, is exactly why he shouldn’t.
(He’s not a saint, just a man. And it has been a very long time. He could tell himself it would just be to sleep, that he wouldn’t do anything other than wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, but there wouldn’t be a chance in hell of him sticking to that if she kissed him again.)
If I come in, I will lose myself in you. It would be so easy. It hadn’t been a lie.
Flynn takes a steadying breath as he forces the thought away and opens his own door. Not that his room presents any less of a minefield given that he’s sharing with Wyatt, but it’s a minefield of a different kind. He’s more comfortable with that one, like he has a map with marks everywhere he should avoid. With Lucy, his losses match hers. With Wyatt, it’s their scars that match. Somehow that’s easier to manage.
Wyatt isn’t there when Flynn walks in, and all Flynn hopes is that he’s sticking with Ethan instead of Connor—Connor’s jokes might be better, but the hangover tomorrow probably won’t be worth it. Not that he thinks Wyatt would do anything to jeopardize their shot here, but Flynn knows all too well there’s a lot of weight on those shoulders right now. The divorce with Jessica, Lucy finally demanding answers about Noah, all of them working themselves half to death to make this all happen—
And then there’s him. Them. A stolen kiss in the dark that they haven’t talked about to match the one from back during the war that they have. The only think Flynn knows about the second is that he should probably stop letting Wyatt kiss him when Wyatt’s been drinking.
(He won’t. Because Wyatt only does it when he needs it, and he won’t ask for it when he’s sober. Or, at least, he hasn’t before. And Flynn doesn’t have it in him to turn him away, even if he’s always stopped it from going any further than kisses.)
It’s funny in a dark, ironic sort of way. Flynn went to war to escape his grief, not caring if he died, welcoming the possibility even. And then he found a different sort of family to the one he’d lost. Another family and another love. Two loves, in fact. And by some miracle, Lucy wants the same thing he does. All of them. Together.
Wyatt’s the wild card. Always has been, always will be. Flynn understands the guilt and self-loathing and all the rest better than Wyatt probably thinks he does, but in a way that just makes it more difficult to know what the final outcome might be. He could decide, as Flynn himself has, that it’s better to work through the pain and grief and trauma with people who care for him, or he could decide that he isn’t deserving of that and run.
Flynn really hopes it’s the former.
A key turns in the lock as Flynn is in the middle of undressing, shirt unbuttoned and suspenders hanging loose. Wyatt comes in, steadier on his feet than Wyatt might have expected.
“Hey,” Wyatt greets, tossing his own jacket onto a nearby chair. “Lucy get to bed alright?”
Before Flynn can answer, Wyatt’s eyes drop to Flynn’s mouth, to where Flynn is sure his lips are still stained with Lucy’s lipstick. Wyatt goes still, his smile dimming.
“Oh.”
“Wyatt—”
Wyatt tears his eyes away and clears his throat, focusing his attention on divesting himself of the rest of his evening-wear.
“That’s great, man. I’m really happy for you two.”
Flynn sighs. “Wyatt—”
“Really, I am,” Wyatt continues. “You make her happy, and she makes you happy. You—you deserve each other.”
“Wyatt—”
“And you know, I think Noah—” Wyatt’s voice cracks and Flynn finds himself crossing the room without even thinking about it. “Noah would have wanted that for you. Both of you.”
“Wyatt!”
Wyatt’s head snaps up and his eyes widen at Flynn’s proximity. Flynn considers telling him what he and Lucy discussed, but there are some moments where actions really are better than words. Especially when Wyatt doesn’t seem to be in a state where he’s ready to listen to words.
Which is why Flynn pushes Wyatt back against the wall and kisses him. Wyatt makes a hurt sound and grips Flynn’s open shirt, pulling him harder against him. Their previous kisses were always tentative, soft, but this is wild and fierce and hard—Wyatt claws at Flynn as if he can’t get close enough, as if he wants to absorb him into himself. Flynn licks into Wyatt’s mouth and Wyatt shudders.
“I want you,” Flynn pants out when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “I want you. Lucy wants you. We both want you with us. So stop with the congratulations and the sad eyes because there is no us without you.”
Wyatt blinks slowly, his eyes dark and mouth wet. Flynn deliberately forces himself not to think about how that might look in a different situation.
“I don’t—” Wyatt clears his throat. “You—what?”
Flynn kisses him again and Wyatt goes pliant, falling into him like it’s the only place he wants to be.
“We can talk about it tomorrow, after the audition,” Flynn says. “But for tonight…go brush your teeth so you don’t taste like a bar and then get your ass in bed.”
Wyatt swallows hard, looking between Flynn and the two beds. “Which one?”
“Mine, if you want,” Flynn replies. “Just to sleep, but—”
“Yes.” The response comes so quickly, Wyatt looks as if he’s even surprised himself. But he doesn’t take it back, even when his cheeks flush. “I—I want.”
Flynn nods and steps back. What he said to Lucy applies to Wyatt as well, but with him even more so—neither of them are in a position where they should be having sex, as much as it might be an appealing thought. But that doesn’t mean they have to sleep alone when they’re already sharing a room.
Wyatt slips past him to the bathroom and Flynn finishes undressing before getting in bed. A few minutes later, the mattress dips and Flynn doesn’t hesitate to toss an arm over Wyatt’s waist. It’s not the first time he’s held the other man, but it’s the first time like this—in a bed, just because he wants to instead of it being a necessary way to keep warm in a trench.
He doesn’t dare tell Wyatt he loves him, just as he hadn’t told Lucy in so many words, but he does. He does. And as he curls close, he can’t help thinking he wants this every night.
“Flynn…” Wyatt murmurs.
Flynn presses a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”
Wyatt doesn’t argue. Flynn drifts off without another thought.
When Wyatt wakes up, it takes him a few minutes to reorient himself. He’s warm and comfortable, wrapped up in arms that are far too big to belong to Jess—Flynn. God, Flynn. Everything from the night before comes flooding back—the way his stomach had dropped and twisted when he saw lipstick on Flynn’s mouth, the way Flynn had pushed him up against the wall and given him the kiss of his life, “We both want you with us.”—oh, god.
He can’t breathe suddenly, the warm, comforting weight of Flynn turning constricting even though the man himself hasn’t moved. Wyatt slips out from under his arm as carefully as he can, then grabs some clothes and locks himself in the bathroom.
We both want you with us.
What? Flynn and Lucy want what? They can’t want him, they shouldn’t want him. He’s a walking grenade, a wrecking ball. He’s falling apart. He can’t drop that on them to deal with, no matter how much he might want to. No matter how much he wants them too. He doesn’t deserve them. He never could. And when they realize that…they’ll leave.
Wyatt’s hands shake so badly at the thought that he has to grip the sink to steady himself.
So…better that they don’t try to put up with him in the first place. They could be happy together. There’s no need for him to ruin that.
Flynn is still asleep when Wyatt leaves the bathroom. Small mercies. If he wakes up when Wyatt slips out of the room, at least he isn’t there to see it.
He just needs to focus, that’s all. He’s not running away, he’s just…giving Flynn space. Space to realize that he isn’t what either of them should want. And maybe he needs the space himself, to process the fact that Flynn kissed him, Flynn kissed him instead of the other way around. It doesn’t matter, shouldn’t matter, because either way he’s no good for Flynn or Lucy or both of them together—Jesus, that’s still a hell of a thought—but the memory of Flynn’s hands pushing him back, the strength in him, the confidence is enough to make Wyatt weak.
Wyatt kills time wandering around Central Park, the frigid winter air just bracing enough to chase away all the what-ifs and fantasies that threaten to undo him. When he makes it back in time to catch everyone else headed to brunch, he avoids Flynn’s eyes and tries not to think about the way Lucy’s fingers catch Flynn’s briefly as they walk together before she pulls away. Instead, Wyatt draws Rufus and Dave into conversation and tries to pretend like he’s not falling apart.
So, nothing new.
“Okay, what gives?” Rufus asks hours later, once Flynn and Lucy have left and Rufus, Wyatt, and Ethan are the only ones still lingering at the table. “Everything was great last night and now you’re acting like a spooked horse whenever Flynn gets too close.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Ethan agrees. “Even more than usual. So, yeah, what gives?”
Wyatt swallows hard and stares down at his near-empty plate. “Nothing,” he says. “Just, uh, I was thinking maybe I could room with you two tonight? If it’s not too much trouble.”
Rufus snorts. “Okay, like hell is that nothing. What, did he finally admit he’s in love with you or something?”
Wyatt freezes.
“…oh shit.”
“It’s not—” Wyatt tugs at his shirt collar, wondering if it would be such a bad thing if it strangled him. “He kissed Lucy. That’s all.”
“Bullshit,” Ethan replies. “You wouldn’t be this twitchy if it were just about Flynn kissing Lucy. None of us are blind, we know how they look at you.”
“It’s—okay, fine, maybe something else happened,” Wyatt admits. “But it can’t happen again, okay? It’s best if it doesn’t, so I just—please, can I just stay with you tonight?”
Ethan and Rufus share a look over the top of his head and Rufus nods.
“Only tonight,” he says. “But we get the truth. And no color commentary from you either, just the facts.”
“What, now?”
“We’ve got time,” Ethan says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
Wyatt looks from him to Rufus, taking in their matching expectant looks. His stomach twists, but he isn’t ready to go back to his room and risk running into Flynn yet, nor is he prepared to consider the prospect of spending another night in Flynn’s arms. Or in a separate bed, just feet apart, with the memory of it replaying over and over again.
“Fine.”
When Wyatt finishes, Rufus’s face is impassive, but Ethan looks…upset.
“Ethan?”
“You know, I told Flynn to be careful with your heart,” he says, pushing back his chair. “I didn’t realize I should have been saying it the other way around.”
“Hey now,” Rufus interjects, standing as well. “Easy. That’s not fair, man.”
“Yes, it is,” Ethan insists. “They’re in love with him and he wants to just throw that away.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Wyatt argues.
“Isn’t it?”
The three of them are quiet until they get out to the street, heading back to the hotel.
“They’re better off without me. Given enough time, they’ll realize that as well,” Wyatt says then. “Lucy—”
“For god’s sake,” Ethan swears. “Lucy already knows the worst of what you could tell her. Flynn knows too, because he was there for almost all of it. They fell in love with you anyway. And you want to give that up because—what, you’re scared?”
“It’s not so easy as—”
“Fuck you, Logan, I know it’s not easy. We’ve all got shit, none of that is easy. But finding people who get it is a hell of a lot better than wandering in the dark until you eat the barrel of a gun one day.”
Wyatt steps back like he’s been struck, and even Rufus sucks in an audible breath.
“I haven’t—I wouldn’t—”
Ethan gives him a look that says Don’t lie to a fellow vet, and Wyatt stops trying.
“I’m not ready,” he admits instead. “I’ll fuck it up.”
“It you think they won’t wait for you to be ready, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought,” Ethan replies. “The point is, you tell them that. You don’t run.”
The thought of talking makes Wyatt want to break out in hives, but the look on Ethan’s face makes it clear that further arguing isn’t going to go well for him.
“Look, Wyatt,” Rufus says. “You were a pretty sorry bastard when we first started all this. But with them…they make you happy. And if there’s one thing I’ve realized since getting back, it’s that we have to take happiness when it comes. Just because it isn’t easy doesn’t mean it isn’t right. If it’s hard, that means it’s real.”
The three of them stop in the hotel lobby and Wyatt doesn’t know what else to say. Not that he was necessarily expecting them to agree with him, but he also wasn’t expecting…this…either. The elevator opens and Rufus and Ethan step in. When Wyatt doesn’t follow, Ethan holds out a hand to stop the doors from closing, dropping his voice so only Wyatt can hear.
“The man I loved drowned in the middle of the Atlantic,” he says. “I’ll never get him back. So if I have to sit here and watch you blow this for yourself because you’d rather be a self-loathing jackass than risk actually being happy, I’ll kick your ass myself. Got it?”
He steps back and lets the doors close before Wyatt can think of anything to say in reply. Wyatt takes the stairs.
Lucy doesn’t know what she expected from the day after kissing Flynn in a hotel hallway, but it’s surprisingly normal. The only difference is that when she sees him, she doesn’t worry about walking too close or pulling away when their hands brush. Instead, she welcomes the casual touches, letting their fingers catch and release, a quiet thrill sparking down her spine. Her only real concern is Wyatt—Wyatt, who looks more than a little like a dog that’s been kicked in the moments where he thinks no one is looking.
“I kissed him,” Flynn admits as they walk back to the hotel. “And I told him we both wanted him and that we could talk about that later today. But he was gone when I woke up.”
“Maybe it was too much at once?” Lucy wonders. “I mean, he and Jess just ended things a month ago.”
“I know, but—” Flynn rakes a hand through his hair. “You didn’t see him. He kept saying how happy he was for us and wouldn’t look at me and I couldn’t let him think—but maybe I pushed too hard.”
Lucy rests her hand on his arm, then lets it travel down so she can twine their fingers together.
“If you thought it was necessary, it probably was,” she says. “It just means we might have to be more careful with him. Go slow.”
“Slow,” Flynn echoes. He glances down at their tangled hands and squeezes gently. “I can manage slow.”
When they reach his door, Lucy drops Flynn’s hand in favor of kissing him ever so softly before pulling away. There’s none of the desperate heat of the night before, just pure sweetness and familiarity. Slow. She can also manage that. With both of them.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she says. “Have to go make myself contest presentable.”
“You’re already beautiful,” Flynn replies, and Lucy barely restrains herself from kissing him again.
Slow. They can do slow.
Of course, that thought goes out the window after the audition itself, when the producer, Nicholas Keynes tells them they’ve made it onto the broadcast before they even finish the number. Lucy, Wyatt, and Flynn sign the form his assistant—a Miss Whitmore—puts in front of them without reading it, and in the high of having cleared yet another step in their journey, Lucy forgets herself. They’ve barely stepped outside when she looks at Wyatt’s broad grin and pulls him down to kiss her.
Wyatt freezes when her mouth touches his, but then slowly, tentatively returns the kiss. His hands tremble when he settles them on her waist, and it just makes Lucy want to kiss him harder, to prove that he doesn’t need to be afraid, that she wants him, she loves him, she forgives him, and she isn’t going anywhere.
He wets his lips when he pulls back, as if chasing the taste of her, and elation and panic war in his eyes. Wyatt looks at Flynn over her shoulder, then to her, then back again.
“I wasn’t lying last night,” Flynn says quietly. “There’s no us without you.”
“I—” Wyatt shoves his hands into his pockets, as though that might stop them from shaking. “I’m not ready.”
“That’s okay,” Lucy replies, reaching out to touch his face. “We’ll be here when you are.”
“I’m not worth that—”
“That’s for us to decide,” she interrupts. Space, she’ll give him. Time, she’ll give him. But no one gets to put down the people she loves, not even them. “And I think you’re worth everything. Both of you.”
Lucy kisses his cheek and steps back.
“I love you, Wyatt Logan,” she says. She hadn’t needed to say it with Flynn, but she thinks Wyatt needs to hear it in a way that Flynn perhaps didn’t. “I love you, and I want to be with you, however long it takes. So…take your time, freak out if you need to, as long as you come back to us.”
Wyatt looks over at Flynn once more. Flynn shrugs.
“What she said.”
Wyatt blows out a breath and grabs his case. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Don’t say anything right now,” Flynn says. “Just think about it. Can you do that at least?’
Their eyes lock and hold for a long moment, and finally, Wyatt nods.
“Yeah, I—I can think about it.” With that, he walks off, and Lucy has to press her lips together to stop herself from calling him back.
“When you said slow, I didn’t think you meant the speed of a moving train.”
Lucy narrows her eyes at Flynn’s tease. “You weren’t any better last night,” she replies.
Flynn laughs and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Do you think he’ll run?” She asks.
“I think…we’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we’ll give him space, like you said. The ball is in his court now.”
Wait and see. Lucy hates that there’s a risk, hates that there’s always a chance Wyatt could decide to leave them both completely. Because no matter what, she needs him in her life, even if he doesn’t want it to be in a romantic capacity. She’s tired of losing people.
But Flynn is right. Pushing any harder might really unravel everything. So…they’ll wait and see.
As it turns out, they don’t have to wait long.
Lucy hardly sees Wyatt leading up to the broadcast, but he’s there with the rest of them when Ethan rushes in minutes before and tells them the truth about what exactly it is they signed.
“Wait, so…if we go out there—”
“They’ll own your song,” Ethan replies.
“Then we’ll just have to play something no one would ever dare put in the pictures,” Flynn says. He and Wyatt lock eyes again and something passes between them before Wyatt looks at Lucy.
“Do you remember all the original words to Welcome Home? Could you sing it right now—the original version?”
“I—” Lucy’s heart skips a beat. “Yes, but…Wyatt, Flynn, are you sure? We could be blacklisted, or worse.”
“We’ve all been through worse,” he replies, and as she looks around, everyone nods. “And this is—they want a fantasy, they want to pretend that we all made it home and it’s this beautiful, heroic thing. But that’s—that’s not true. What happened over there, that’s true. What this band means to us, that’s true. What I feel—”
Wyatt’s voice cracks as he looks between her and Flynn, and he clears his throat before continuing. “What I feel for you, for both of you, is true. No matter how hard it is, no matter how much time it takes, I need—I need to be with you. Because I love—I love—”
Lucy kisses him then, kisses him as the band before them finishes and makes their way offstage, then kisses Flynn for good measure. And with a deep breath, she steps onto the stage.
Hi! Love your blog! What do you think of a Vampire Garcyatt AU? How do you think it could playout?
(tagging @dorothy-williams, @extasiswings, and @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels for reasons, ahem, also @sharkflip)
Ahaha, I invented a detailed modern vampire/werewolf world for my OUAT/CS fic Incarcerus, so it would be set in that same verse. It has a social network (Fangd), blood replacements (O-Neg), a government system and hierarchy and etc. Basically, the vampires become classified as Old Ones after the age of two hundred and fifty (I think, lol, that or two hundred, I can’t remember my own verse right now) and that’s when they have to go on a registry and be kept track of, because they could be dangerous if they chose to be; they have enough abilities and resistance to sunlight and so forth. There is a daylight shot that allows them to stay outside if they have to, and there was a lot of the history about how they became vampires and the lore that goes with that, and how that has changed their relations with werewolves and the laws they have now. (Anyway, it was a fun universe and I came up with a ton of stuff, so yes.)
In this setup, Flynn would be a dangerous Old One who has been out of sight and off the registry for quite a while, and nobody has heard from him. He is a loner without any territory, which vampires normally have, and there have been worries among the vampire community that he has resurfaced. He was made a vampire in 1780 when the powerful Old One David Rittenhouse and his followers attacked his family and killed them in retaliation for Flynn working as a Van Helsing-esque vampire hunter. One of Rittenhouse’s followers turned Flynn, he has never known which one and has killed a lot of them trying to find out; he is a vampire who hates himself and hates the others and thinks they’re all monsters, especially him, and yes, he is absolutely a Dark Prince of the Night and bad news whenever he turns up. And broods like a champ, obviously.
Lucy is younger; she is the daughter of the Vampire Queen of San Francisco, Carol Preston, and was born the normal way before Carol was turned into a vampire in the 1920s by Nicholas Keynes, who is also a member of Rittenhouse and was turned personally by David, making Lucy Rittenhouse’s blood great-granddaughter. Rittenhouse is a secret vampire society that has always insisted on the superiority of supernaturals – they have all these powers and abilities, they have a right to rule over humans and they resist all this wishy-washy soft inoffensive modern views of what vampires should be like. Lucy was made a vampire in the early 50s when she was biologically about 30, and has studied as a historian and learned a lot about both human and supernatural history. She does not know about Rittenhouse or her place in it, though due to her mother being a vampire queen, she’s always been some kind of princess. (Also, Emma is definitely a vampire who is super hella scary and tends to kill instead of just drinking from people – it’s possible for vampires to feed on humans without killing them, and human servants/fixers are known as drones, who live with vampires and get fed on, but anyway yes, Emma is vicious.)
Meanwhile, Wyatt is a redneck werewolf from Texas who has been in the army with his pack but a lot of them have gotten killed, as well as his wife (she was a human but she was murdered by Rittenhouse, which he doesn’t know, because Rittenhouse are all vampires and really still hate werewolves, even though the rest of vampire society kind of grudgingly tolerates them and vice versa). Wyatt is now kind of drifting and spinning out and has moved to the Bay Area in hopes of joining a new pack there, which is… not going well.
(Rufus is the snarky human friend to all these dramatic af supernaturals, and just spends all his time judging them and being like WELL LOOK WHO WOKE UP ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE COFFIN and DON’T PEE ON THE FIRE HYDRANT WYATT and otherwise making them stare at him like we could kill you But We Won’t)
Anyway, Lucy and Wyatt get thrown together to investigate these rumors of the Old One Flynn resurfacing, and Rufus has to help as well, and so it’s a vampire, a werewolf, and a human working together at first and it doesn’t go well. They of course don’t know about Rittenhouse, which Flynn is tearing through supernatural society trying to eradicate, and that goes kind of like canon with them trying to stop Flynn and him being Garbage and really extra sassy and garbage and Drama with 200+ years more experience. But eventually they of course realize that he’s right, and Lucy is drawn to him but Wyatt Hates Him ™, and that starts to change a little, and they end up on the same side, and then…
I'm somehow obsessed with the idea of a follow-up for that 'never have i ever' ask I sent you where garcyatt are already together on the down low and the gang is all drunk again (because listen, there's really only so much you can do in that bunker) and Jiya just leans over to Rufus, three shots in and already giggling, and whispers in a voice that's anything but a whisper 'hey remember th' last time we did this, when Lucy had a sex dream 'bout Flynn?'
And Rufus is flailing and trying to shush her; ‘hahaa yeah no, that didn’t-’ [glances at Flynn with a wide, unconvincing smile] 'that didn’t happen’, and Wyatt’s smirking it up in the background, and Lucy’s got her eyes closed as tight as possible because maybe when she opens them she’ll somehow have gained the ability to time jump herself back to 5 minutes before this happened.
And Flynn (absolute grumpy asshole cat roommate that he is) just raises one eyebrow like: 'Well, it’s not that surprising really. Lucy and I have been having sex for the past two weeks’. And for a moment it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop across the bunker, then Wyatt bursts out laughing. At least he does before Flynn’s lips quirk up in a smirk of his own and he adds “I don’t know why you’re acting like you weren’t an enthusiastic participant yourself, Logan’.
(I can’t write this up as a proper fic just now because it’s been a long day and I don’t have enough brain power but God Bless You.)
Because lbr there has been enough Romantic Drama (especially around the boys; Wyatt storming out because he cannot handle how good Flynn looks and at least 50% of his pissy fits are because of his Bisexual Crisis, Flynn being the UDTB that he is gives Wyatt Super Non Het looks to help out, for details see this scientific and informative post. Also @extasiswings is writing a fic about this for reasons). So finally Lucy and Wyatt and Flynn are just like, fuck it let’s fuck, but only on our off hours because Rittenhouse is still a thing and there’s nothing else to do in this bunker (which Flynn bemoans endlessly until he ~discovers it’s not so bad).
How does this happen the first time? Probably Spectacularly Garbagely. We don’t want to know. Anyway.
And yes it’s some various combination of them (two of them together or three of them together and they think they are being discreet but. Babies. This is not a large bunker and your roommates are well informed of you pervin’ up the place. Also Flynn swore really loudly in Croatian once, though that may have been deliberate because he’s an asshole, so yes.)
Wyatt and Lucy are super romantic and sweet when they are together. Lucy and Flynn are Hot Af and slightly kinky (at which Lucy is in charge because Let Us Be Fucking Real). Flynn and Wyatt are… yeah probably stay out of the way of that. The three of them together can be anything goes.
Denise, Mason, Rufus, and Jiya exist in a constant low-level horror that the other three people helping them save the known world are boinking each other in all number of combinations. Which, you know, good for them but Can We Focus Please. One time Jiya wakes up with Lucy sneaking back in late from the boys’ room looking super well-fucked and just gives her a look like “have a good night?” and Rufus obviously has just decided that literally no good can come from saying anything, he has gone blind deaf and dumb, omg white people.
Or, the world sucks, let’s write more smut. Garcyatt (Flynn/Lucy/Wyatt) and yes, it goes all ways. Because angst and reasons and I will always hold onto these idiots being an OT3 in my heart. For @extasiswings, @onlymorelove, @gwennieliz, and @frankfreakincastle.
Rated E.
AO3.
With Lucy and Wyatt, it’s one thing.
They started out a little rocky, sure, but that didn’t last very long. When you’re thrown together in the circumstances that they are, you learn overnight how to trust each other, and let everything else come later. More or less, anyway. Wyatt helps Lucy face her fears in Nazi Germany; she does the same thing for him during the siege of the Alamo. They’re teammates, of course, but there’s something there that isn’t between them and Rufus. Wyatt has unresolved issues over Jessica’s death, to say the least, but he can’t help but be drawn to Lucy. She’s bright and beautiful and strong as hell, they are literally crashing through time and space at each other’s side, and Wyatt’s pragmatism balances Lucy’s compassion. They just work well together. They can turn to each other with questions that nobody else in the world has. Their attraction is not unexpected, and it blooms quickly, even if unacknowledged by both of them. They are both too focused on this ludicrous job to do much with it.
Still, though. You can only ignore something like this for so long before it will find ways to pop up when you least expect (or frankly, want) it. They have been orbiting around each other, drawn by the other’s gravity, the promise of comfort and safety and solace among the burning ruin of their old world. Why wouldn’t they want it, even if (much as they promise themselves) only for one night?
The kiss to put Bonnie and Clyde off the scent was a pretense, even if they both realized fairly quickly that they’d have to insist on it. The one in old Hollywood is less so.
Wyatt’s hands on Lucy’s hips, her arms around her neck, the lingering whiff of perfume and cigarette smoke in the air, the way they both stop breathing momentarily, the way even their endlessly spinning, upturned world seems to halt around them – neither of them can forget this one, or brush it off, or think less of it. Can’t ignore the half-tender, half-hungry ache where their hands touch, their eyes linger, the way they would give anything for Rittenhouse to cut it out for half a goddamn minute so they could even have a chance to see what might happen. Possibilities. It hangs over them, it’s always been something they’ve been latently aware of, but this is when it feels like more than that.
If it was that simple (ha, simple) it might have been, despite everything, straightforward. A man, a woman, and a mutual attraction. Most ordinary stories start out that way.
This, however, is – as well noted – anything but ordinary.
With Lucy and Flynn, it’s altogether different.
They start out as sworn enemies, and things don’t necessarily become any smoother from there. He tells her she’s more important than she knows while they’re standing by the burning Hindenburg, and follows it up by shooting Abraham Lincoln in front of her. And yet, complicated and fraught and dangerous as it is, there is clearly an attraction between them. It is everything her bond with Wyatt is not: raw, rough, uncontrolled, dark – and more than a little off limits, for more than one reason. To look at Flynn is to know what a bad idea it is to get closer. Even when Lucy is stealing glances at him under her eyelashes in 1780, when she’s watching him water the horses and he’s telling her about wanting to be a cowboy, that he can’t go back to his wife and daughter even if he succeeds, it’s not an intimacy that invites sustainability. Especially when Flynn, naturally, follows it up by kidnapping her. Lucy would be perfectly justified to tell him to get lost and never look back.
Except the next time they see each other, in 1927, she orders him to make his minion let go of her, and he does. And in 1954, she talks him out of his long-conceived revenge plot in just a few minutes, when she asks if God brought them together. And when they meet in 2017 for the first time, when their enmity has turned almost totally into an easy familiarity, bordering on flirtatiousness, when he tells her that she herself gave him the journal –
(Of course that crashes and burns and goes terribly to hell.)
Even after they fish Flynn out of jail and make him part of the team, he seems hell-bent on continuing to punish them as much as Rittenhouse, Lucy in particular. Yet there’s a reflexivity to his lashing out, a terrible sadness, that makes it clear he’s doing it only because he has no idea how else to live anymore. Lucy keeps trying, but she also can’t hold his hand if he’s going to throw a temper tantrum while they’re attempting to save the world as we know it. Flynn is undoubtedly effective, even if he takes just as few prisoners as before. The rational, sane part of Lucy knows that she should forget about this attraction, even more than she needs to put aside her draw to Wyatt. Really. Garcia Flynn. Garcia Flynn.
The rest of Lucy – especially after he saves her in Salem, punches his way through pretty much every Puritan in the damn town to get to her – wants nothing more than to tell Rittenhouse where to stick it, by having Flynn stick it somewhere else.
And then with Flynn and Wyatt – oh God, where do you even start?
They start out trying to kill each other, and it stays pretty much exactly the same from there. After multiple rounds of fistfights, gun battles, wrestling matches, snark-fests, staredowns, and other repeated and explicit expressions of how much they just cannot fuckin’ stand each other, anyone would be justified in taking them exactly at their word. For Flynn and Wyatt to exist in the same space is for them to be fighting, in low-or-high-level ways. Excepting the three seconds they fought back to back in David Rittenhouse’s parlor of nightmares, and the time Lucy forced them to work together in 1954, this has been the rule.
And yet. Even in the middle of that, in bits and pieces, they have become slowly aware the other isn’t entirely what they thought. Flynn told Wyatt what happened to his wife and daughter, and – albeit with ulterior motives up the butt – tried to help Wyatt save Jessica. They have tussled and tugged and twisted each other, physically and mentally, and Wyatt – bless his five-foot-ten heart – tends to come up on the literally short end of the stick. By all appearances, he’s completely relieved when Flynn finally gets thrown in the slammer, even if he knows it’s hard for Lucy. Finally. That’s gotten rid of that guy. Took long enough.
Of course, it only takes one disastrous mission for Wyatt to be the one to suggest getting Flynn out of there after all, even if he knows this will once more be a living hell for him. And of course, as noted, it is. Would it kill Flynn, would it actually, physically kill him, not to exceed maximum dickpacity at all times? Would it?
(And yet, there are moments when Wyatt becomes aware that Lucy isn’t the only one Flynn looks at with that tongue-in-the-mouth expression, the one that is clearly not far from picturing her without her clothes. Even more confusingly, he isn’t altogether sure he wants it to stop.)
(With all that bickering and fighting and fragile, unspoken kindred-spiritness, it would be more surprising if there wasn’t something, however much ignored.)
Ignoring it, after all, seems to be the attempted play for all of them. And hey, it works.
To a point.
It’s the night after Rittenhouse has come very close to destroying the Lifeboat – the one fragile metal eyeball that conveys various configurations of the unhappily-foursome Time Team through history after them, the one thing which they really can’t do without. The gang has made it back to 2018, but barely, and Rufus is shut up with it, trying to triage the damage and reboot the mainframe before the data loss becomes critical. Possibly Flynn, Wyatt, and Lucy should be helping him rather than sitting in the next room and drinking, but Wyatt and Lucy know bupkis about the delicate technical workings of the Lifeboat, and Rufus would be exactly as happy about Flynn trying to “help” him out as he would be to be sodomized with a cactus. They’re all in a weird mood anyway. There are moments when they actually click as a team, and moments – well, most of them – when they don’t. This misfortune, though, has pushed them briefly into more alignment than usual, and they’re almost enjoying each other’s company, maligning Rittenhouse and periodically suggesting they look in on Rufus, before agreeing once more he’s better off without them. There is a lot of booze, because frankly this shit is ridiculous, and they are not expected to suffer it totally sober.
After several drinks, the mood in the room is downright cordial – more than that, even. There’s an undeniable current that catches at them when they glance at each other, and in the way it does, alcohol has lowered everyone’s inhibitions, made them more sloppy about glancing away in time. Nobody has any clue what might be about to happen, but they seem to be aware that there’s a chance something might. As casually as possible, Wyatt drifts over to the door and turns the lock, as if Rittenhouse might come bursting in, when he’s actually trying to prevent Rufus from seeing something that might be burned into his brain. He’s still standing there when Lucy says, with the exaggerated precision of the rather drunk, “I think we should probably go home, shouldn’t we?”
Wyatt turns around with a raised eyebrow. “So someone’s calling a cab, then?”
There’s a pause as everyone considers that. It’s pretty obvious that they’re in no state to drive, and unless Connor Mason feels like using one of his doubtless several expensive supercars to ferry three-quarters of the plastered Time Team home to sleep it off, they can either Uber it or walk. Leaving Rufus behind to work late into the evening seems cheap – they might not be helping out much here, but at least they’re here. For, you know, moral support. So he can walk in and see them faithfully there, know they’ve got his back. It’s the principle of the thing.
Flynn, for his part, doesn’t say anything, until Wyatt unwillingly wonders where exactly home is for him, these days. He doesn’t have his super-secret villain lair or the Mothership. His previous accommodation used to be an undisclosed location. Did Mason Industries buy him a shitty apartment as part of the “sorry about that SWAT team” arrangement they swung with him? Does he just go to a motel room and stare at the wall until the next call comes?
“We can stay,” Wyatt says, almost impulsively. “Rufus might – ”
There’s a pause, and then his companions nod, earnestly and drunkenly. Of course, Rufus. That’s why they’re staying. It’s almost adorable.
“Well, we should – ” Trust Lucy to try to stay focused on the mission, even at the present moment. She gets up, then stumbles, and Flynn reflexively flashes out a hand, catching her elbow. It’s not a particularly compromising touch, and yet both of them freeze. They briefly both seem to have forgotten how to breathe.
Lucy is standing, yet she’s not much taller than Flynn is seated. She looks down into his face, and Flynn is the first to look away, look down, almost ashamed. What just passed between them, Wyatt can’t be entirely sure, but he has something of an idea. Something stirs in his stomach, dark and strange and hungry. The world twists sideways in a way it didn’t a moment ago.
Telling himself (oh, familiar refrain) to ignore it, Wyatt rationalizes that it’s the gentlemanly thing to assist a lady who might be light on her feet, even if Flynn already has that covered. He strides over in as straight a line as he can. “Lucy, you all right there?”
“Fine.” Lucy sounds oddly breathless, as Flynn is still holding her elbow (he seems to have forgotten how to let go) and now Wyatt is standing close as well. Her eyelashes flutter, her gaze flickers between them, until the energy is both strong and unmistakable. Both Wyatt and Flynn seem to be holding in check, waiting for Lucy to tell them if they’re mistaken or not. She is the connecting tissue, the hypotenuse that draws this triangle together, the star which both of them have followed. If she says jump, they’ll ask how high. It’s just how it is.
Lucy’s tongue unconsciously wets her lips. She shoots a glance at the door, as if judging the likelihood of a Rufus entrance. This isn’t exactly the prime setting for scenes of passionate romance – it’s just a generic waiting room, with uncomfortable laminate couches and beige area carpet, the table scattered with the booze bottles in various stages of empty. Sunset at a Tuscany villa, it is not. And yet. They’ve been plenty of strange and fabulous places by now. The sheer mundanity of the setting is, in a way, a gift in itself.
Slowly, Lucy’s fingers tighten on Wyatt’s sleeve, and on Flynn’s arm. For her part, she also isn’t sure what she’s asking for, only that now that she has, she doesn’t want to pretend she didn’t. Flynn slowly rises to his feet, towering over both of them, but his gaze is intent and silent and almost tangible, physical, on her skin. Lucy doesn’t want to decide which of them to kiss first, so she reaches up and puts a hand on each of their heads, pulling them down toward her. As if they can hash that out between themselves, but she needs it anyway.
Wyatt and Flynn each kiss half of her mouth, both of them uttering startled noises in the back of their throats, but it’s not as if they have any remote capacity to do anything but that. Flynn’s hand presses into her back, as Wyatt’s cups her head, and Lucy stands on her tiptoes, turning her head first toward one, then the other. Wyatt’s kiss is gentle and warm and tender, unspeakably sweet, a desperately needed balm for a bruised and weary soul. Flynn’s kiss is like lightning and thunder and a cloudburst over the desert, hot and bright and relentless as a falling star.
Lucy is the one to give a choked sigh this time, fisting her hands in their shirts, as their arms come around her and each other in a tangle. They go slowly to their knees, Flynn more or less on the bottom – he’s the largest, Lucy thinks, it’s only fair. He has her in one arm and Wyatt in the other, the latter two on hands and knees before they slide down closer. Lucy tucks herself into Flynn’s side, hand running along his chest, at the untucked edge of his shirt, the sharp line of his hipbone. He bucks inadvertently up into her, which has the effect of knocking Wyatt off balance. Because of course of all the people in the world, only Wyatt Logan and Garcia Flynn would trip and accidentally fall onto each other’s mouths, that is exactly what they do.
Both of them freeze again, for a split second. It’s not clear if either of them have ever kissed another man before, much less what they think about it being this one. They can be seen debating whether to pull away and go for the tired old “no homo” card, truthfully or not. But that likewise does not last very long. Wyatt pulls himself up, grips Flynn’s face in his hands, and kisses him altogether differently from how he kissed Lucy: hot, rough, biting, tasting, taunting. It’s not so much a kiss as a declaration of war and a proposal of a truce all at once. Flynn’s free hand comes up and grips the back of Wyatt’s neck, shifting him closer, their eyes half-closed. Even if it’s come in fighting, the two of them know each other’s bodies the best of anyone here. The tension is coiled and curled and unfurling, thighs pressed between the other’s, mouths opening, hands grabbing. For a moment, for two, they almost forget about Lucy altogether.
It’s a dazzled half a minute later when they finally, slowly pull apart, eyes opening to stare at each other, Wyatt’s hand alongside Flynn’s face, Flynn looking like he’s been hit with a speeding – well, pick your period vehicle. As if to check that they did not in fact just dream that, they duck heads and kiss again, slightly less bite-y this time, before recalling Lucy and turning toward her. They roll over on the floor, Wyatt kissing her mouth as Flynn slides down her, pressing kisses into the unbuttoned part of her blouse, undoing the other buttons, and making a leisurely exploration down her stomach. Lucy wriggles and sighs, one hand coming down to clutch hold of his dark head while her other pulls Wyatt closer. They keep kissing, Lucy’s back arching, which gives Flynn a better angle at her hips. He starts to tug at the zip of her jeans, then stops, as if coming to his senses. “Lucy,” he mutters. “Lucy, do you really want – ”
In answer, Lucy pulls him back between her legs, never breaking her kiss with Wyatt. Flynn hesitates, then fumbles at her jeans, probably less efficiently than he could, as if once more giving her a chance to change her mind. She pulls away from Wyatt long enough to utter a deprived little whimper. “Garcia – ”
It isn’t entirely the first time she’s called him by his first name, but it’s rare enough that it catches his attention. He looks up at her, waiting, and she lifts herself, angling herself toward him. With fingers that have turned to mud, he undoes the jeans, slides them down her slender hips, and hooks down the lace-edged panties. When a final questioning look has produced the same answer, he leans down and licks her very, very lightly.
Lucy makes a noise that is hell on his determination to do this – for once in his miserable life – carefully. He reaches up to grip one hip, thumb in the hollow of the bone, holding her in place as he makes a thorough exploration of her. She is wet and sweet and slippery on his tongue, as he curls it against her clit, then noses down to her entrance and ventures to taste inside her. She makes another of those maddening noises, grips his hair, and clearly does her utmost not to smash his face into her, but needing more friction, more pressure. Wyatt is kissing at her cleavage, her bra straps sliding down her arms, as he takes a nipple into his mouth and toys it. The dual sensation leaves Lucy flushed and gasping and prostrate, shivering, starving.
After a few more minutes at their respective places, Flynn and Wyatt switch, almost as if they actually planned this. But enjoyable as it is to be physically adored and intensely pleasured by two men who, let’s face it, nobody is kicking out of bed for eating crackers, Lucy has had enough of lying there like an objet d’arte to be passively admired. She sits up and pushes Flynn down onto his back, then climbs up to straddle him, grinding on him hard through his jeans, which have also managed to slide low on his hips. She lifts herself off long enough to slide them further, then settles squarely athwart him, pressing his hardness against her through his briefs. Flynn makes a noise as if he genuinely fears his heart might give out on the spot.
Wyatt, never one to resist needling Flynn, spots an opportunity. He slides up behind Lucy, kisses the back of her neck and runs a hand down her stomach, then shifts around and settles alongside Flynn, using one hand to grip Lucy’s thigh and intensify each of her movements. With the other, he gathers Flynn’s head up to his mouth and resumes kissing him like a straight uppercut to the jaw. It is clearly a revelation to both of them that they enjoy this almost as much as hitting each other – dare one even say, more. Wyatt works his slow way down Flynn’s neck as Lucy keeps up her grinding, the sort of teamwork they’ve always been good at, no matter the situation. If this now means making Flynn hot under the collar in an altogether different way than previously – well, it’s not too surprising.
Therefore, it’s Flynn’s turn to grab hold of both of them and try to roll back on top, but Wyatt and Lucy don’t let him do that. God forbid Flynn give up control for more than five minutes, and they’re not done with him yet. Lucy leans down atop him as he pulls one arm free, gets hold of her head with one hand, and they dive into a devouring and savage kiss. Wyatt slides around from behind and pushes Flynn almost upright (it takes a lot of pushing – he’s obnoxiously tall), wrapping his arms around his waist. Lucy wraps her legs around both of them, Flynn’s arms encircle her, and everyone loses track of their own boundaries just then. Wyatt kisses Flynn’s neck and shoulders, Flynn kisses Lucy’s mouth, Lucy leans over to kiss Wyatt as well, and distantly and vaguely, Wyatt hopes the Lifeboat is seriously gorked after all. Not fatally. Just enough to keep Rufus occupied for another, oh, forty minutes at least.
That scrap of rationality is, however, quickly eradicated in the ongoing distractions of the moment. They end up all together on the floor again (this cheap-ass carpet is going to leave rug burn, Wyatt thinks – Connor Mason is a damn billionaire, why couldn’t he upholster his waiting rooms more comfortably for the event of his employees having an impromptu ménage a trois?) and their legs get tangled together on all sides, their arms the same. Everything is kisses and hands and strokes and darting touches, Lucy’s leg hiked up as Wyatt’s chin rests on her stomach and Flynn’s chin on Wyatt’s back. At one point Flynn ends up on top, and has just enough time to look triumphant before Wyatt rolls him flat, slides down him, and discovers the best way of all to make Garcia Flynn shut the fuck up. (Also Wyatt, because his mouth is full, but never mind.)
Flynn swears in one of his multiple foreign languages, grabbing at Wyatt’s shoulder, but Lucy catches both of his wrists, pushes them over his head, and holds them there while she kisses him thoroughly. Flynn is actually almost whimpering. Poor Flynn. His predicament is terrible, after all, and Wyatt is catching onto this whole idea rather quickly. Maybe this isn’t his first time batting for the same team, or maybe he’s just a fast learner. Either way, the results are indisputable.
Flynn has just about lost his damn mind (and other things) entirely when Wyatt relinquishes him at the very edge of satisfaction, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are hooded, cheeks flushed, shirt hanging off his shoulders. Hey, it’s the first time he’s decisively beaten Flynn in – well, possibly ever. You gotta let him enjoy the little things.
Lucy sits back on her heels too, thoroughly enjoying the sight they are presented with – if they knew that all they had to do to defeat the big bad time terrorist was to fuck him, they would have. . . well, probably not done it before now anyway. God, the lot of them are stubborn. Her pulse is hammering in her fingers and her throat and her chest, she has possibly never seen anything so incredibly arousing in her life, and one way or another, she wants the main event of this party. Flynn is still dazed and wheezing and probably seeing double, and the humane thing to do is let him have a moment, so Lucy moves, almost shyly, toward Wyatt. It’s not as if this is a likely moment for any of them to discover scruples, but still.
Wyatt reaches out for her, taking her by the hips, as she stops in front of him. Their eyes meet, and hesitant, timid half-smiles cross their faces. “You sure, Luce?” he murmurs, slurring his words just a bit, between alcohol and lust and late nights and wanting this probably forever, but never saying so. She can sense he’s asking himself as much as her. “You sure?”
In answer, Lucy moves up against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he catches his breath, gazing at her with that quiet, simple adoration. Her panties are already most of the way down her thigh, and it doesn’t take long for him to undo his belt and shuck his. He moves closer to her, between her legs, and nudges at her. Both of them turn halfway, as if inviting Flynn to watch, as Wyatt – slowly at first, carefully, reverentially, as if doing this too fast might make him wake up, and he wants to stay asleep just a little longer – slides into her.
Lucy bites a gasp, gripping his thighs, steadying herself. They stare into each other’s eyes, know that this has long been coming, as she moves her knees apart and he takes hold of her hips. He draws her onto him until he rests his chin on her shoulder, both of them breathing hard, coming to terms with this connection in the way they have with all their others. Flynn seems to have somewhat recovered himself by now, but he doesn’t move, watching them as if oddly unsure if he should interrupt. If this is what they want, he’ll stay out of it.
“You,” Wyatt manages, in one of the more considerable efforts for intelligible speech in his life. “Here.”
Flynn hesitates a final instant, then moves closer. Wyatt ventures a thrust, quick and slick and sweet, and both he and Lucy gasp. Then he pulls out of her, turns her, and holds her against him, her back pressed into his chest. He caresses her arm and shoulder and breast, kisses the nape of her neck, and lifts her slightly, as Lucy reaches out with her other arm to wrap around Flynn’s shoulder, drawing him against her, and then – after the finest and most minute of hesitations – into her.
Flynn does not enter her the same way Wyatt did, with that restrained softness and care. He comes in all at once, just like he always has, filling and stretching her to the point of a sweet burn, their foreheads brushing and their mouths open, as her fingers grip in his hair and his hands search for purchase somewhere, anywhere. They end up settling on Wyatt, the three of them swaying on the spot, Wyatt sliding between Lucy’s thighs from the back, as he and Flynn lean over her shoulder to kiss one more time. They might tell themselves it’ll just be tonight, but it will almost surely end up being just one more lie.
Flynn moves, strong and deep and thorough, sliding and rasping on Lucy, as Wyatt matches the pace from the other side. They grasp hold of each other, working – for once – in perfect harmony. You can almost hear the distant strains of Elton John in the background.
It’s a tumbled, messy, three-way thing, the end of it. They wind up on the floor again, losing track of who is who, what is what – it barely seems to matter, anyway. Flynn bites at Lucy’s shoulder, and Wyatt bites at Flynn’s, and Lucy is pressed into both of them, and they collapse in a total boneless tangle, heaving for breath, undone, unmade. The silence thunders, except for their hammering hearts.
It takes a long time to untangle, to badly and slowly draw apart, to chase down scattered clothing. Their fingers don’t work as they used to, and nobody can catch their breath. Their cheeks are flushed, their mouths bruised, their eyes shining, faces tracked with sweat, hair tousled and necks marked. Even if they don’t say a word, if Rufus walked in right now, he’d not be in a whole lot of doubt about what just happened.
Wyatt, Lucy, and Flynn get to their feet. Make a perfunctory effort at clearing up the booze bottles. Really hope Mason doesn’t have CCTV in his waiting rooms, because that would just be awkward. The world feels strange and unsettled and fragile as thin glass. As if, no matter the absurdity that is their real life, this is something else again.
They check. Rufus is still working, God bless his heart. Saving their asses while they are doing decidedly different things with them. None of them deserve Rufus.
(None of them want to tell him, either. Though they are, of course, less subtle than they think. It’s entirely possible he’ll guess anyway. Yet it almost sounds nice to have that kind of problem. A problem that ordinary people have, wondering whether a mutual friend will catch onto their romantic shenanigans, rather than the fear that any mistake could doom the entire world and all of time and space. One that, one day, they might even allow themselves to have.)
But not yet.
Not just yet.
They have to fight until the war’s done, and it isn’t.
