Dance With Me GN!Reader x Ted 'Hitch' Hitchcock Summary: a backyard bonfire, too many beers, one slow dance, and the confession that's been years in the making. Tags: Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Fluff, First Kiss, Feelings Realization A/N: Been watching one too many 2000's drama/hallmark kinda shows needed something soft and mushy. If there is any pronouns in her to not make this GN!reader please let me know.
divider by designlikenonsense & uzmacchiato
The fire crackles and pops, sending sparks spiraling up into the night. You're on your third beer, or is it your fourth? and the world has that pleasant, soft-edged quality. The string lights overhead cast everything in warm light, turning Hitch's backyard into something out of a movie.
"You're full of shit," you say, laughing so hard your sides hurt. "There's no way Shoresy actually said that to the ref."
Hitch grins, that easy, devastating smile that's been getting him out of trouble since you were kids. He's sprawled in the chair beside yours, flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos catching the firelight. "I swear on my mother's life."
"Jesus Christ."
"Got sent to the box, but it was worth it." He takes a sip from his beer, and you catch yourself watching the way his throat moves when he swallows. You look away quickly and focus on the fire instead.
The ocean air drifts in from the harbor, salt and summer and home. An old speaker sits on the weathered table between you, playing something low and easy. The kind of playlist you've both been adding to for years.
"Remember when we used to have bonfires down at the beach?" you ask, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands even though it's not cold. Just something to do with them. "Before you got all fancy with your first-round pick money and bought an actual house with a yard?"
"Fancy?" Hitch scoffs, but his eyes are soft when he looks at you. "This is Mt. Pearl, not Toronto. And if I recall correctly, you're the one who said, and I quote, 'If I have to sit on one more damp log, I'm going to lose my mind.'"
"I was young and dramatic."
"You're still dramatic."
You reach over and shove his shoulder, and he catches your hand before you can pull it back. Just for a second, just long enough for your breath to catch and your heart to do something stupid in your chest. Then he lets go, casual as anything, like he didn't just make your entire nervous system light up.
"Fair point," you manage, and your voice sounds almost normal.
This is the thing about you and Hitch: it's easy, always has been. You've known him since high school, watched him get drafted, celebrated with him when he made the show, sympathized with him when injuries sent him bouncing back. You've seen him at his best and his worst, and he's seen you the same way.
But lately you're not sure exactly when it started but, there's been something else. Something in the way his gaze lingers a little too long. Something in the way you're always hyperaware of how close he's sitting.
"You want another beer?" Hitch asks, already standing.
"I'm good."
He heads inside anyway, and you watch him go, admiring the way his jeans fit, the easy confidence in his walk. You're definitely buzzed. That's the only reason you're being this obvious about staring.
When he comes back, he's got two bottles anyway. "Just in case you change your mind." He settles back into his chair, closer than before. Close enough that you can smell his cologne mixed with woodsmoke and beer. "Big difference."
The song changes, something with a slower tempo, and you both fall quiet. The fire paints everything in shades of gold Above you, the string lights sway gently in the breeze, and you can hear the distant sound of someone's dog barking and a car passing on the street.
"This is nice," you say softly. "Just... this."
Hitch turns to look at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. "Yeah," he says, voice lower than usual. "It is."
You hold his gaze longer than you should. Long enough to see the way the firelight reflects in his eyes, turning them warm and dark. Long enough to wonder what would happen if you just leaned over and-
"Remember grade eleven?" he asks suddenly, breaking the moment. "When you dated that one guy?"
You groan. "Oh my god, why would you bring up Ryan?"
"Because he was a fuckin' idiot, and I hated him."
"You hated everyone I dated."
"That's not true." He pauses. "I just have high standards for you."
"High standards," you repeat, amused despite yourself. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What would you call it?"
The question hangs between you, loaded with meaning. You could deflect. Make a joke. Keep things safe in the friend zone where they've lived for years. But the beer and the firelight and the way he's looking at you make you brave.
"I don't know, Hitch. What would you call it?"
He opens his mouth before closing it. Runs a hand through his hair in that way he does when he's actually nervous. "I'd call it..."
The song changes again, and you both freeze. It's one of your songs. Not that you have songs, officially, but this one,, this one you've listened to together a hundred times. Road trips to St. John's. Late nights after games. That time you drove him to the airport at four in the morning when he got called up, and you both cried in the parking garage and pretended you didn't.
"Oh," you breathe.
Hitch stands up, and for a second you think he's going to run inside, going to break this moment before it can become something you can't take back. But instead, he holds out his hand.
"Dance with me."
"What?"
"You heard me." His smile is soft, almost shy, and you've never seen Hitch look shy in your entire life. "Dance with me."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. "We're in your backyard."
"So?"
"There's no dance floor."
"There's grass. Come on." He wiggles his fingers. "Don't leave me hanging here. I'm being vulnerable."
You laugh, and it comes out shaky, but you take his hand. Let him pull you up and out of your chair. The grass is cool and slightly damp under your feet as you both kick off your shoes, and the whole thing is ridiculous and perfect and terrifying.
Hitch's hands settle on your waist, careful and deliberate, like he's thought about exactly where they should go. Like he's been thinking about it for a while. You rest yours on his shoulders, and suddenly you're swaying together in the firelight, barefoot in the grass, while the music plays and the ocean breathes in the distance.
"This is insane," you whisper.
"Yeah." His voice is rough. "Is it good insane or bad insane?"
"I don't know yet."
He pulls you a little closer, and you let him. Your bodies fit together like they were designed for this, and you wonder how you never noticed before or maybe you did notice.
"I'm gonna tell you something," Hitch says, and you can feel the words rumble in his chest. "And you can't chirp me for it."
"That's a big ask."
"I'm serious." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his expression is so open, so genuine, that it steals your breath. "I've wanted to do this for a long time. Dance with you. Hold you like this. I've wanted-" He stops, swallows hard. "Fuck, I've wanted a lot of things."
Your hands slide from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. "Hitch..."
"Let me finish." His thumbs trace small circles on your waist, and you're not sure he even realizes he's doing it. "Every time you dated someone, I told myself I was being a good friend. Being supportive. But really, I was just being a coward. Because I should've told you years ago that I- that you're-" He laughs, frustrated. "I'm fucking this up."
"No," you say quickly. "You're not."
"I'm trying to tell you that you're my favorite person," he says, the words coming out in a rush. "That every good thing that happens, you're the first person I want to tell. That when I'm on the road, I count down the days until I'm back here with you. That I think about you all the goddamn time, and it's driving me crazy, and I can't keep pretending I don't."
The world narrows down to just this: his hands on your waist, your hands in his hair, the space between your bodies that's getting smaller with every breath.
"You're my favorite person too," you whisper. "You have been for a long time."
His forehead drops to yours, and you both stop moving, stop swaying, stop pretending this is just a dance. His breath is warm against your lips, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding himself back.
"Tell me I'm not reading this wrong," he murmurs. "Tell me you feel it too."
"I feel it." Your voice is barely audible. His hands tighten on your waist, and he makes a sound low in his throat that does absolutely nothing to help your composure. You're close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the exact moment his gaze drops to your mouth.
"We're really doing this?" he asks.
"I think we are."
"If we do this, everything changes."
"Maybe everything's been changing for a while," you say. "Maybe we're just finally catching up."
He smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "You always were smarter than me."
"Damn right."
The song swells around you, and the fire crackles. Hitch's thumb brushes along your jaw, tilting your face up, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your eyes sting.
"I'm gonna kiss you now," he says, giving you every chance to pull away. "If that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
But he doesn't, not yet. He just holds you there, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air, letting the moment stretch and build until you're both trembling with it. Years of friendship, of almost-moments and missed chances, of loving each other in secret, it all comes down to this.
"Hitch," you breathe, and it sounds like a prayer.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Kiss me."
He laughs, soft and warm, finally he closes the last inch between you. The kiss is gentle at first. His lips are soft and taste like beer and summer, and when you sigh against his mouth, he pulls you closer, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your head. It's everything. It's perfect.
When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard, and Hitch is looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars and those string lights overhead.
"Holy shit," he says.
You laugh, giddy and breathless. "Yeah."
"That was-"
"I know."
He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you lose yourself in it-in him. In the way his hands map your body like he's memorizing it, in the soft sounds he makes when you tug his hair, in the way he smiles against your mouth like he can't help himself. The fire burns low, and the music plays on.
"Stay tonight," Hitch murmurs against your lips. "Not like-I mean, just stay. I don't want this to end."
"Okay," you say, because it's the easiest answer in the world. "Okay." He takes your hand and leads you back toward the house.
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