Well, here is my humble contribution to the Lewcest Weekend Drabble Event! *Sensory Edition* ❤️❤️❤️
Pairing: Jordan Weaver x Bob Reynolds (Blazed)
Wordcount: 1.8K
Prompts: -Walking into a warm room after being out in the cold -Coming home to your door cracked open -Warm water rushing over your body -Fingers brushing through hair -Eyes meeting for the first time -Clenched fists -Pain after punching something -Lights passing by as you drive at night
Warnings: Mentions of past drug abuse, physical fights, blood, Jordan being a pervert for a moment, cursing,
Tagging: @prettygirlwyattrussell @hi-res-tm @lalalunascope @iristheplanet16 @theboardwalkbody @fairyheart @rhettled @bowlingforgerbils AND @abbottsdarling (Lysa, I want you to know that when I went through with my editing, I shamelessly thought about this as some kind of prequel to your camboys fic, and yes, that would technically mean that Jordan lives in the MCU 🫣😂❤️)
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It rains approximately 35 days a year in Los Angeles. 35 days out of 365, of course, the night the police officers let Jordan Weaver go was one of them. The drops were thick and cold, drenching his thin tank top and pants that they arrested him in three days prior. His arms crossed, he tried to warm himself up, mumbling curses under his breath. „Fucking Cops, not enough evidence who would have guessed that huh?” He spat on the ground of the apartment complex, seeing red everywhere. „Fuck that Goldman bitch, who does she think she is?”
His hands shake, fumbling with his keys, he brings one of them to the lock and comes to the realization that the door is already open. Fuck, what was he supposed to do now? His bat was inside, if he called the cops, they would just laugh at him before shutting the line.
Well, it's not like he had anything worth stealing, maybe the intruder noticed that themself and left immediately. Careful not to betray himself, he opened the door, using the screen of his phone as the only source of light after closing the door behind him.
There were his clothes scattered around the floor, his kitchen covered in empty takeout boxes and half-full protein shake mixers. His workout equipment was still in its place. His heart jumped out of his chest when his feet met the baseball bat lying on the carpet, showing little droplets of his blood. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared with the only rooms left, the small bedroom and the even smaller bathroom.
Jordan could peek into the bathroom from the hallway, nothing strange, but from the bedroom, from beneath the door shines a dim light. Since the cops busted him in the middle of the day, Jordan is 100 percent sure he didn’t leave it on. His phone ends up in his pocket, holding on tight to the knob, shoving the door open with his foot.
The unnatural warmth of the room sends a pleasant shiver through his spine, the source of light being his bedside table and on the bed, well it was definitely not what he expected. Snoring mixed with mumbles filled the room. There was a man in his bed, nothing out of the ordinary except that Jordan had never seen this man in his life.
To make matters worse, he was in scrubs, maybe he left from the psychward, maybe he is a serial killer or a psychopath. With little steps, he approaches the bed further. If there is one thing Jordan had, it was extraordinary knowledge of humans, this man was definitely not dangerous. He put the bat down and accidentally hit the bedframe, the stranger seemingly unbothered by the noise. Technically, he could kill him; there is probably a law for that. He could ruttle him awake and throw him out of his apartment.
Yet the way the brunet man rolls around, clinging to one of the pillows, drooling a little from the corners of his mouth- how could he? Maybe that guy just needed a good amount of sleep, Jordan has been in worse places before. With an exhausted breath and a shake of his head, he walks to the bathroom or rather the shower. The warm water running down his body attempts to wash away the shame, memories and troubles of the past few days. To a certain extent it works, afterwards he feels at least a little better, his mind occupied with what he should do with the man, that is until he steps into the living room.
With only a towel wrapped around his hips, he observes as the stranger hastily searches through Jordan's wallet, holding a twenty-dollar note to his chest as if he just hit the jackpot. Everything that happened so far crashes over him in a big, dangerous wave, fists clenched so strong his knuckles turn ivory white, jaw so tight it may break his jawline.
The poor stranger doesn’t stand a chance. Jordan is on him in a heartbeat, punching the wall right next to his head. „What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Wow, the scared, horrified midnight blue eyes staring back at him were something else. Jordan has to bite the pain coming from his hand down as he grabs the slightly lacerated collar, pinning the man against the wall completely. Is that gold? Flicking between the blue? Anyway, „Answer me or I'll call the cops!”
„I’m- I’m Bob and I don’t remember, I don’t remember how I got here.” Jordan allowed himself a good look not missing the trembling and the injection sites. „You a methhead?” There would have been nicer ways to phrase it, but right now Jordan didn’t have the patience for it. Suddenly he is the one pressed against the wall, for the first time ever he clearly underestimated someone. He should have kept the bat nearby just in case.
„Not anymore. I think. Sorry for disturbing you. I-I leave.” Bob drops the bill but does not make it to the front door, the brutal knock freezing every cell in his body. „Jordan, you little piece of shit! I know you are there. You still owe me my money!”
Did he lock the door when he came back? The answer comes in the form of Terry pushing the door open until it cracks the wall behind it, ignoring Bob and coming straight for Jordan. The crack that follows lets Bob flinch, the blue in his eyes losing the battle, gold replaces it all over.
„Leave him alone.” Jordan, who is curled up on the ground, holding his nose and hissing, looks up, not believing his own eyes. That Dude is floating above the god damn ground.
Terry, who is probably stoned out of his mind, doesn't seem to notice and leaps at Bob and gets smashed through the wooden front door, head hitting the railing with a sharp, metallic crank. To their luck, nobody in that building seems to care or dares to come.
Bob collapses while Jordan manages to stand up, inspecting Terry and fortunately finding a pulse. The growl is what catches his attention next. Bob wants to stand up but falls again. With urgent steps, Jordan is on him, lifting him and placing him on a chair. „Fuck dude, you knocked that shithead down without effort, you have to tell me your gym routine.”
„My what? Oh my god, is he dead!?”
„Chill, just unconscious.” While talking, Jordan paces his apartment, shoving everything he can into plastic bags. “Listen, you can’t stay here.”
„Wasn’t planning to. What are you doing?”
„Can’t stay here either, too much shit going on. I can drop you off somewhere, friends, family?”
Gaze drifting off, and lips pressed together, Jordan doesn’t need long to count one and one together.
„You’re alone?” Bob nods in defeat, why should he even try to lie? „Well, if you want to, you can come with me, I guess everywhere is better than here.” Bob shyly looks over to the unconscious man, he wanted to become a better person, but apparently it only got worse.
„Hey, it's the least I can do for you since you got rid of that pig for me, no reason to get all shy.” Bob almost slides from the chair as Jordan throws some clothes into his lap.
„Take them or else people think you broke out of a psych ward, you didn’t, right?” Again Bob nods, even though he is not sure, his mind is covered in a layer of fog.
„Good, superboy, now get dressed.”
„I’m not a dog.” Jordan's smirk is as amused as the huff that fills the air. One step out of the living room and Bob gets stopped by him blocking the way.
„Well, you still slept in my apartment, don’t you think I deserve some compensation for that?”
Bob could do the same thing to him as he did to Terry still, he chooses not to. Why? Honestly, he doesn’t know. Bob turns around for the lower part, feeling Jordan's eyes on his ass the whole time, hearing a lick of his lips once. For the upper part, he turns around, and Jordan's jaw drops to the floor. „Damn, you are shredded.“ Poor Bob can’t help himself but blush and the stupid yet genuine comment.
Before Terry can wake up they are in Jordan's car, hitting the road, but that is not where Jordan's eyes are fixed.
„What?”
„I’m just jealous my clothes look better on you than they do on me.” After a while, a comfortable yet static silence settles between them, both having so many questions. As Jordan is about to ask one, Bob takes the word before he can. „Sorry, I’m just not in the mood to talk, okay? Later.”
Jordan can live with later, so he is not poking. Bob, on the other hand, feels bad since he is the one who agreed to the ride.
„What about you? You a dealer or something? Was that guy an unsatisfied customer?”
„No, no drugs, I’m a life coach actually.” Bob can’t hold back a giggle, the conviction in his voice not making it better. „So you are one of those dudes that tell you that meditation and waking up at 5 am is the answer to aaaaaall your problems?” Bob definitely hit a nerve here. Jordan's lips form into a thin line, his eyes widen, then turn into a hard glare.
„First of all, it is way more complicated than that. Some people need years, if not decades of practice…” Bob really wants to listen, and for the first five minutes or so he does, the second his head rests against the car window, admiring the lights of the traffic, the streetposts, and the apartment windows they pass. They lure him to sleep in no time.
At first Jordan doesn’t notice and goes on and on and on until a snore catches his attention. He should be pissed, he really should, but how? The rain has stopped, and given the high temperatures, the humidity causes Bob's curls to turn even more curly. There is already a stain of saliva on his shirt, and he looks just so peaceful. So all Jordan does is take a deep breath and reach behind him for a jacket.
The second he draped it over Bob, he clung to it, curling up like a newborn. Mindful not to wake him, he brushed the strand of hair that covers half of his face behind his hair. So it doesn’t tickle him, not because Jordan wants a better view of Bob's face, that would be absurd. On the other hand, what in his life wasn’t right now?
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Thank you for reading! I hope you had a good time! ❤️❤️❤️🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️❤️
