Aw finally a post for our favorite Puck. Let's get into it.
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
He is so sweet. He's the sweetest boy you've ever met, and it shows each time you spend time with each other.
He shows his love through gift giving; buying you notebooks before you even asked just because he knew you've ran out of paper (he found this out by taking a peek at your desk when he visited you), finding floral hairclips at the store just to buy them for you because he thought they'd look "just heavenly" on your hair (lol).
He's lowkey obsessed with making you look like a Shakesperean dream. To him, you are already — but looking the part? Ohhhh boy, you'll get him breathless. And I'm talking about greek stolas, medieval wear, all that good stuff.
Accompanies you on errands (yes, he's big on quality time.) You probably cycled your bicycle around town to find some newspapers to read, and he'd be there with you. Either walking along, or riding the bike while you sit tight and hold on at the backseat. It's just so romantic.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
So annoying lol.
It's only fair since he visits you so often, but he'd find any — and I mean any — excuse to be with you. Maybe he'll say to his father how he's got homework (which he's probably smart enough to not need to be tutored by the girl across the street from his school), or he'll use the recreation time provided by Welton to plan anything with you.
Honestly, he's too much of a romantic to not be so obvious about it.
He might not tell his parents yet until he's ready because as far as he can allow it, to them you're just his "extremely good friend (for now)". But to his friends, he makes it clear as day — no matter how much he attempts to deny it.
They just know someone like him won't be going out for three hours without clear purpose, okay.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
HE LOVESSSS IT OMG.
Girl give this man a hug. Many hugs. Deep, devoted hugs with the sweetest kisses.
Any of you who volunteer to love on this man with faith, the entire fandom will THANK YOU because at least now he knows someone has true faith in him.
Kiss his hair, kiss the side of his mouth, kiss his forehead. He loves it all. There's no such thing as too much affection with him
If you're in public, he'll settle for holding your hand. It shows others that you're his.
If you kiss him in public, though, he probably won't be as good at kissing you back. He gets far too red, far too quickly. It emits that stifled, giddy laugh he always does.
Hold on to his bicep. It's his favorite thing in the world. Makes him feel in charge, like he's your husband or something. He eats that UP.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
YESSSSSSSS. (lol)
Almost to a fault since he's the rushing type. His dream, even if he hadn't realized it as strongly before he got inspired by Keating, is to love and be loved.
Slipping a ring on your finger is just the cherry on top then ^_^
Neil loves you. He loves imagining a future with you, the present with you, and how different his past would be had you been there for him and near him.
He kisses you so gently each time that he wishes no more for you two to have your own space, to have your own privacy, to love without the meddling of others (including his parents.)
That being said he is... not too good at cooking with a recipe.
He's amazing at doing individual tasks, though, we have to give credit to that. Neil helped his mother out in the kitchen often already, so he knows how to cut, slice, mix, blend. All that. He probably knows how to make a good stew, but you have to watch over him and guide him over the recipe or he'll accidentally knock over the food processor.
He's a clean guy, okay. Both to himself and his surroundings.
Neil irons his clothes himself, he steams them even, he washes them, he sweeps and wipes his dorm. You'll be satisfied.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
I SEE YOU ANGST LOVERS BEING SNEAKY WITH THIS LETTER
Thank you, next.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
He's gonna roar at this lol.
Like,,, really quick. Right after school. A maximum of a year.
He's just ready to treat and commit to YOU, okay... like please let him build a home and life with you.
His parents would expect that he settles down with a nice girl too, so having you is a blessing to them.
Speaking of their conventionality and conservativeness, Neil would probably find it so relieving if you do want to marry him just as quick.
Give this man kids y'all.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
♡o♡ He loves you. No question about that.
You know how he has big hands? He says their purpose is to hold yours when you almost trip after trying to manouver around a big oak tree.
That's your hangout spot btw lolz.
He always gives you those puppy eyes when he's admiring you, resting his chin on his arm when you're doing something.
Neil smiles wider when you poke his nose and nuzzle it against his.
Yeah, pretty self explanatory.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
They're warm, loving. It feels like home, like safety. He's so broad and tall that hugging him feels like a weighted blanket.
You love it most when he's rested against you when you both fell asleep after reciting Romeo and Juliet with each other.
He hugs you like you could dissipate from him any second; with desperation, a little bit of insistence, and a lot of devotion.
Sigh.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
This is adorable.
Neil saw you, his "best friend" (whom his parents already approve of, so thank goodness for that peace), sitting on his second play; a proud beam on your face and clapping the loudest applause.
It's only possible that he got to participate in it to begin with because you convinced his parents during dinner that theatre could "provide as a stress relief" for him before he entered Ivy League.
At the end of Hamlet, he pulls you onstage and kisses you in front of everybody. Yes, even his buddies.
He gave you his biggest bouquet full of carnations, delphiniums, lilacs, and pomanders and latently (not so much) declares you as his.
You can't help but agree since he's been the love of your life even before you've both verbally admitted it.
He kisses your temples right after, a show of gratitude, and whispers those words you've only heard in your dreams. Everyone's never been so proud of him. You're his success.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Ohhh yikes. This one is interesting.
He does. LOLLLLL
Let's say you've married (YAYY omg), and you've settled down for quite some time. Maybe a year or two. He's your loving husband, and you're his delightful darling wife.
One day, he got an invitation for a reunion (yes, at Welton.) You both attend and all went well, but there was a reason why he didn't tell anyone outside of the Dead Poets about you while you two were in high school.
You're pretty. So, so pretty. All he's ever hoped and dreamed of — and apparently others too.
There's a reason why he grasps your shoulder closer during the event when his other classmates came to say hello.
It's less jealousy and more protectiveness.
He's your knight in shining armor and he needs to know you keep viewing him that way :( even while others might not believe so.
But he's awesome, so a little rub on his chest and a nice "I'll get us some hors d'eouvres, darling? I know how much you love the raspberry tarts ^_^" gets him all settled
And a bit smug, let's not lie.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Oh, this is soooo ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚
He cups your jaw and caresses his thumb there, and he kisses you like a promise. Like he's going to war.
Don't be surprised. You literally married a theatre kid.
Neil makes sure you're both somewhat secluded, be it under a sycamore tree or by the corner of the library shelves, and backs you up before kissing you like he'll be the only one you'll love for eternity.
He loves to be kissed by his knuckles. It makes him feel so mighty and brave. Don't ask me why, it's a man thing. Lol.
Sometimes he'll bury his face on your neck and hug you from behind. You two will share stories and he'll be content just guarding you there.
Sigh. Love.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Neil loves them. Finds them especially adorable if you were the one to interact with them.
He's especially good at handling his baby niece. She's just two years old, but she calls him 'Ni-ni' each time she visits his parents' home.
They almost always make him babysit her when the parents are downstairs eating or just talking, and he always has such good fun.
He's an imaginative man, so he'll go out of his way to read a story to her and make funny noises until she cackles in her little voice and tumble backwards.
It all changed when you came into the picture.
He doesn't wait until he gets told to take care of her now — no, he offers himself to the position.
His parents love inviting you over for dinner or for thanksgiving and other holidays if you're not back at your parents' place, so he'll bring his niece to you and you'll both take care of her together.
It's the most fun he's ever had.
Let's say he'll probably talk about having kids that exact same night. Just entertain him. He's having a moment.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Once you're married, he probably works quite early. So you'll help fix his breakfast and he'll kiss you on the forehead, and while you're cooking, he'd tell you how gorgeous you are, how he's so happy to have you there, and how he's going to write you in his next playwright.
He groggily insists you should stay home beforehand, but both of you know you two are far too carpe diem-ish to sit still and do nothing.
You spend the day doing activities with the other in mind and heart.
Such a lovely routine.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Assuming he works long hours, by the time he's home you're both already tuckered out.
He mumbles something incoherent and slips behind to hug you like a grizzly bear preparing for hibernation
You just giggle and remind him to change and wash up first, since you've gotten a bit more sleep while waiting for him to return.
Neil pouts when you prompt him to get upright, but he eventually caves when you kiss him with the promise of more affection when he manages to change his clothes and get a nice wash.
Then he goes down to lock up everything before you two go off to peaceful slumber.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
He's the type to prefer the attention to be just around the both of you in the beginning.
He generally avoided talking about things surrounding his home life, or other things that revolve around that.
Once you've become familiar to one another and you assure him, with great vigor, that whatever he's been through or will go through in terms of family ties won't deter you from the relationship, then he'll open up.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
He's only ever angered by principle. If injustice is committed, if the people he cares about ever gets into trouble or unjustified danger, or something unfair ever happens.
He used to bottle it up and just say 'forget about it,' but you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms and berated him there and then.
Ever since, he's seen his anger as not a form of rebellion, but as an expression of care and genuine passion.
"If my love that envelops you is one of good passion, then I don't doubt that my rightful anger should be any less than."
Read that in his voice because yes, he said that.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He's a poet, baby.
Yes he does.
Even the way your fingers move in tandem when you wash your hair does not get missed out by him.
He's not perfect, though, and he knows you prefer him this way; he forgets your friends' names. Lol. I have to say it. Unless you mention them a lot of times or they're seen like 24/7 with you, he won't be able to tell who they are.
Everything else, he associates with you though. Like to him, your favorite color is his definition of you, your favorite flower is you. You become everything he's remembered about you.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
Ah, love.
He remembers the moment you first declared your feelings for him, backstage when everyone has started to go home.
He stayed a while to talk to you with the excuse of taking off his costume and makeup, but you stayed there.
You sat on top of the vanity, swinging your legs as you looked up to him with sparkles of admiration in your eyes.
He leaned closer, savoring you. He didn't want to kiss you yet. Neil just wanted to make sure you're there, you're his, and that moment was shared just between the two of you.
His greatest dreams of love had just been declared into fruition, and he couldn't have been happier.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
The first bit of this has already been answered so the second part it is.
He does it way more to you, but anytime you do it back, he finds it soooo ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ when you step up for him.
Like the time you had to convince his parents? Or that one time you snapped back a snarky retort at Charlie for teasing him? Ooh boy. Gets him going.
He just likes the feist in you, okay.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
This is the sweetest thing because tell me he wouldn't absolutely write a journal's worth of poems for each of your birthdays.
He has the money to buy you trinkets and he would, like heart-shaped pendants, flower promise rings.
But he also loves to put in effort for the DIY gifts. I'm talking about scrapbooks with the photo of you two together, complete with the lipstick kiss mark you've left on his old notebook, torn neatly and stuck to the journal with some patterned tape.
His concept of love is to go all out for his beloved. In this case, you ♡☆♡ ^_^
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
I'm gonna be so real...
He is such a crybaby when he's sick.
He'll go all out with the sniffles, the red nose and the coughing.
"Honey, come on. Please :(( I can't grab it myself," as he feigns reaching for the flu medicine. He hides himself under the pillow and whines for you.
You dated and married a theatre kid. Don't blame me for his dramatics.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Oh, man lol. Boy has his self perception changed since he's met you.
"Honey, don't you think I look just as divine as you are? My arms grew quite stronger," as he flexes in front of the mirror. And he is locked IN to his reflection as he mutters this.
He used to be quite modest about himself, but now he's thrown it all to the side. Thanks to your endless compliments and praise that he let into his head!
"Darling, won't you hold the mirror for me, please? Need to look my best as your man."
You smack his arm with a hearty laugh before you two go out. He loves it.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
He's a lovely, mature, and sane man.
Secure attachment is all I'll say.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
Let me just mention a couple of out-of-context phrases he'd say to you.
"But I wanted those bags of candies!"
"You promised to stay" (yes, he is guilt-tripping you. he does that often with his puppy, brown eyes)
"I love the way you smell. Honey, you're just as good as pie."
Like dude alright you're smitten leave all of us be.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
He has an unspoken (yet often expressed) disgust about porridge.
Yes, he eats it when he's sick because he couldn't possibly have said no to his mother. But yes, he does gag a number of times when she isn't in the room because of how awful the texture is.
If he's sick, just make him soup. He wouldn't ever tell you if he doesn't like your cooking, but for the sake of his stomach.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
Y'all r gonna laugh so hard but he's a drooler.
Like he drools and he curls up like a humbug.
It's okay, just put a napkin on top of his pillow and the problem will be solved.
You won't be able to deny his bear hugs anyway and you love him too much so.
I finally graduated….a few months ago. Imagine dropping a one shot and dipping, couldnt be me😮💨.. lowkey dont like the end but its been gathering dust in my gdocs ya'll im so sorry I didnt have the brain juice for smth better. I do hope ya'll like the "Act" format, mostly for that ✨theater✨ script effect.
muah, acantha
A now adult Neil Perry is an actor for a small NYC theater company. He’s had a wonderful time following his dreams without his father’s judgment, but for once in his life, he regrets getting cast in a lead role. He plays Romeo, and it seems he can’t stop tripping over his lines because of his Juliet, you.
He’s more surprised when you invite him to lunch after he messes up a run through.
🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄
ACT 1
Neil sits on the far right of the stage, holding his script book and running lines in his head over and over, occasionally repeating the ones he found himself forgetting a lot.
“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night”
His palms felt slightly sweaty, and he couldn’t help but keep glancing over across the stage, where you were sitting.
“As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear-
Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear.”
You seemed to be diligently practising your own lines with his understudy. He wished you were practising with him instead, but the director had asked you to practise with both Romeos “just in case” But he knew the exact reason why.
His eyes admired you from afar, as he kept reciting his lines. He thought you smiled so beautifully, with your eyes glistening like stars in the night.
“So shows a snow…so shows a snowy dove trooping with troves-! crows.” He groans under his breath, underlining his lines over again with the pencil tucked behind his ear.
He seemed to keep tripping over his lines when he looked at you for too long.
Neil was a confident actor, truly. He loved it so much. It was the reason he’d left his life in Vermont, the opportunity to attend an ivy league and become a doctor, to instead live in New York City and be an actor for an almost run down theater program for the last 4 years.
Since you joined last year, he couldn’t really pull himself together around you. You were so beautiful on stage and were practically made for the spotlight, so it was no surprise you got cast as Juliet this fall. He just couldn’t seem to stop his heart from racing when it was around you. You made him so nervous, more nervous than being on a stage in front of a crowd.
Neil re-read the scene again: Act 1, Scene 5…the kiss scene.
By far the most difficult scene he’d have to do in his career. And lucky for him, he just had to be cast as Romeo, huh.
He found himself biting his nails as he re-read the scene over again in his head, a bad habit he had picked up since getting this role. I guess he had you to blame for it, if only you weren’t so sweet, kind, beautiful-
“Hey Neil, are you ready to run the scene? Director’s asking” He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of your chirpy voice.
He looked up to see you looming over him, the overhead lights seemed to cast a halo over your head, “Fitting”, he thought.
Nodding frantically he mustered up a response, “Yes, yes…I’m ready.”
He knew he was lying to himself, as he certainly didn’t feel ready. He sucked it in though, and you both assumed the positions for the beginning of the scene and waited for your cue to enter the stage.
The beginning of the scene goes well, as multiple other actors take the stage to create the scene of the masquerade. He feels his heart thumping over and over in his chest as the cue to approach you is given.
He extends a shaky hand towards you as he speaks his lines, he’s nervous to meet your eyes, and he finds himself looking down at his own hand. Maybe by looking at it, it’d magically stop shaking.
“If I profane with my unworthiest h-hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
My lips…two blushing pilgrims, ready stand.
To smooth that rough touch with a…a tender kiss.”
He mentally slapped himself for his pauses and stutters, he hoped the director wouldn’t get frustrated at him. Usually, he was the one with the least issues to run over again. He had to wonder if this was how his friend Todd Anderson used to feel in front of Mr. Keating’s class.
You, on the other hand, easily take his shaky hand in yours, giving him a small and almost reassuring smile. Palm to palm you press yours to his and he prays you can’t feel the sweat beginning to cover them. Your touch felt electric.
“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saint have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”
He tried not to trip up as your eyes stared deeply into his. Your eyes seemed to glimmer in a particularly affectionate way.
You were good at playing Juliet, at making him believe you were falling for him.
“Have not saints' lips, and holy palmers too?” He continues.
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” Your smile seemed to grow more as you spoke your lines, you too, thought his eyes glimmered in a particularly affectionate way. You weren’t blind to how you had Neil Perry stumbling over words, if anything, you found it rather endearing.
“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do…They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” You couldn't help but improvise just a little, taking a step closer as he spoke, and intertwining your fingers with his.
His heart almost stopped as you did this, his eyes darting yours in a suppressed surprise as he heard the next lines escape your lips.
“Saint do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”
He gulped deeply, hoping it couldn’t be heard with you being so close.
“T-then, move not while my prayer’s effect I take.”
It was his cue to kiss you. He leaned in and it all felt like slow motion, your lips looked perfectly kissable. You thought his did, too…
“CUT!”
Neil found himself retracting a little too fast, his hand removing itself from yours to instead rub at his neck nervously. The director was staring right at him and really, he felt everyone’s eyes on him.
Which would be normal, if he hadn’t felt like he messed up the last part of the scene.
You had to suppress a small laugh, but were unable to hide the blush on your face. Truthfully, you were all too excited to kiss your favorite co-worker.
“Neil, lemme talk to ya’ for a moment.” The director called him over, calling for lunch break. Everyone was scattering to take full advantage of their lunch break, knowing them, they’d be running lines with a mouth half-full. You however, already had different plans in mind.
“You did great Neil.” You say, patting his shoulder in reassurance, which only made him feel slightly worse as he hopped off stage to where the director was sitting in the audience chairs.
“Yes, director?” The short, middle-aged lady looked at him over her glasses with an eyebrow half-raised.
“Look sweetie, you know I love ya’. You’re my best actor but c’mon!” She placed a hand on his shoulder leaning him in a little close to say something as if it were a secret. “You can’t keep letting your little crush on Juliet get in the way of the scene.”
His heart almost seemed to spot for yet another time as he shook his head.
“I-I don’t have a crush. I just need to practise more, is all…I’ll do better, I promise.” He found himself twiddling his thumbs. And Ms. Director was not looking too convinced.
“Sure you don’t Perry, sure you don’t” She simply shakes her head, giving him a knowing smile as she pats him on shoulder. “Just remember you’re good. And try to not look so scared of her when you speak to her…okay?”
He nods with a small smile, “Sounds good, captain.”
With that she lets him off the hook. He wasn’t fully off the hook just yet, however, as you stood at the front of the stage with your bag and seemingly waiting for him.
“Neil!” You call for him, pushing yourself from the edge of the stage to come up to him, watching him as he gathered his coat and bag.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go on lunch with me? Only if you want to.” You were asking him so nicely, the way you fiddled with the strap of your bag was making his heart stir again. He was surprised you wanted to go to lunch with him after he messed up his lines and kiss scene with you.
Truthfully, you felt nervous. You'd never gone to lunch just you and him, maybe he'd reject you.
In his eyes however, he couldn’t possibly deny you lunch, not when you were looking at him with doe-like eyes and such a sweet smile.
“I’d love to.” He responds, smiling back at you as he puts his coat on.
You looked at him with gleaming eyes as he agreed. The way his eyes turned to crescents as he smiled made butterflies go wild in your tummy,
“Great! Let’s go then.” Weaving your arm in his- an act that surprised him, you led him to a destination he did not know of just yet.
Act 2
You had dragged him to a small diner you had discovered on your first day in NYC. It was small, with usually very few but equally loyal customers like you.
This was your comfort place in the big city, and you wanted to share it with the one boy who seemed to have caught your eye in the short amount of time you’d spent in your new home.
You had surprisingly held back from talking his ear off since you’d gotten to the diner and ordered lunch. Your heart was beating out of your chest and for once, you found yourself feeling as shy as he often was with you.
“Hey, Neil…can I ask you something?” You said, sipping on the milkshake the waitress had just put down on your table.
“A-anything.” He stuttered, taking a sip from his coffee mug. He could barely glance back at you before looking into it like it was the most interesting thing ever.
Was the coffee more interesting than you? You wished he’d look you in the eyes more often, his own pair of eyes were like two warm coffee mugs. You wanted to savor them for much longer than he gave you the opportunity to. To sink deeper into their warmth.
“Are you nervous to kiss me?” You ask, twirling the straw in your cup around while still keeping your eyes to him. You were beginning to regret asking, the shameless question you’d just asked him after the small talk was starting to sound embarrassing as it echoed in your mind.
Yet…you found it hard to look away from him. In a room full of actors, or anyone really, he was the one that shined the most to you. He was the one you were most interested in, with all that passion shining in his eyes. Finding out you’d be playing lead roles together got you to be what was probably the most excited you’d ever been.
Even now, after asking such a blunt question, you were captivated by him, watching intently on how a rosy blush spread into the highs of his sharp cheekbones.
Neil felt embarrassed over the question. He was usually very professional when acting, truly. But it seemed he had become easy to read when he worked with you and he truly wished he wasn’t because now you knew he found it hard to kiss you.
He lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was even holding before sweeping a hand through his hair. It had gotten longer since his Welton days, he liked it like this much more.
“Honestly…you make me nervous. In general.”
His response makes you chuckle. Like actually chuckle.
He had admitted to it much easier than you had expected, and it was rather adorable.
“But why? I’m not difficult to work with, am I?” You knew you made him nervous but, you honestly just wished to see his talent up close. You wanted a taste of what his passion was like, but this was probably the most he’d spoken to you that wasn’t lines from a scene.
“You’ve been at the theatre longer than me and I’ve seen you, you’re an amazing actor Neil…there’s nothing to be nervous about with me.”
His heart seemed to burst from your unprecedented compliments and the fairy-like chuckle that followed. He found himself staring…like he usually does. His lips eventually curled into a smile, one he hid by taking another sip of his coffee.
“You’re an amazing actor as well…it’s just-” He traces the edge of the mug with his fingers, fighting hard to keep eye contact with you, “I don’t think you realize just how amazing, or beautiful, you are. That’s what makes me nervous, and yes, especially over kissing you.”
You found your own cheeks feeling warm, maybe he wasn’t as shy as you’d thought him to be.
Was he a romancer all along? There had to be a reason he got the role of Romeo…
“That’s really sweet Neil, thank you.” You diverted your gaze from his for just a moment before letting yourself be entranced by those eyes of his again, “I think it would help if we practised together more often, you know? Just you and me.”
There was an undertone of flirtation in that comment, just you and me.
It shocked him just a bit, but he reminded himself to stay calm.
“I’d like that. Practising, just you and me.” He smiled warmly yet again.
You sipped your milkshake as you tried to hold back from making him nervous again, when he seemed to have relaxed a bit. But an idea had popped into your head and you couldn’t help it.
“Hey, Neil. I think I know what might help you feel less nervous with me…”
He tilted his head to the side, giving you a slightly confused smile. He had no idea what you could possibly suggest for his nerves, he’d hoped you wouldn’t suggest something along the lines of switching roles.
Oh no, he would never accept having you play anything but Juliet. His Juliet.
“What would that be?”
Neil watched as a mischievous smile made its way to your face. Your glossy lips seemed to reflect the diner’s lighting as a show of attention.
“...Maybe we should just kiss right now.”
He almost choked up at your suggestion. He had certainly not expected that of all things.
“You…” He ran his hand through his hair, chuckling, “I have a sneaking suspicion you like making me feel nervous.”
“Hey, this is a very serious suggestion, Perry….you could consider it the beginning of our one-on-one practices.” You scooted yourself out of your side of the booth and into his, pressing yourself into his side.
From here, you could smell the scent of coffee on his lips and the light shining like speckled stars in his brown eyes. He was the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen.
You were hoping he’d say yes, if only to see if the black coffee he seemed to enjoy drinking so much would taste sweeter when it was from his lips.
Neil’s heart was thumping in his chest like a drum, yet he didn’t feel nervous, no. For once, he found it in him to hold his gaze in yours, shamelessly letting his gaze shift from your eyes to your lips.
The fact you’d not only invited him to lunch, but also invited him to kiss you if he wanted to, told him everything he needed to know.
That he most certainly did have a crush on you and that you might like him as well.
He was not about to give up this opportunity.
He smiled softly, reaching out to take your hand from atop the table. He held it tenderly in his, his thumb rubbing circles atop your hand. Romeo seemed to take hold of his soul.
“Then, move not while my prayer’s effect I take.” He speaks, before slowly leaning in to kiss your petal lips.
Soft, he thought as his mouth pressed into yours.
You seemed to also be feeling deeply into the moment, your other hand reaching to hold his chiseled cheek.
Your lips met for a prolonged period of time, more than was truly necessary for this “practise”. It was sweet nevertheless, sweet and tender.
Neil eventually found it in him to break it. Slowly, as he was savoring the taste of you.
“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged” He muttered.
The butterflies went wild in your stomach at his demeanor. It was a perfectly romantic act.
“Give me my sin again” you wanted to say, skip lines, just so you could kiss again. But you were too love struck to act clearly, to remember the line between you and Juliet.
“Neil…” You smile, “You did really good.”
You both were smiling silly, side by side like love-struck puppies.
“Thank you…” He mumbled, his hand slowly letting go of yours to run through his hair. “Maybe it’ll be easier to do it during run-throughs.”
“Well…we can always practise one-on-one more. Whenever you want.” You suggest and a soft blush appears on your cheeks. You were certainly becoming shameless about liking him so much, huh?
He finds the suggestion endearing, though, especially when you had been so straight forward before. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.
“I’ll be sure to take up the offer…thank you.”
You both decide to take full advantage of your lunch break, finally eating as your food arrives. You spend half of it talking and learning about each other, where you were from, your family, friends, theater…you both were falling deeper without knowing.
Act 3
Bright lights shine down on a tragic scene.
Romeo lays in Juliet's arms, poisoned. But she finds something.
“What’s here? A cup closed in my true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.—O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after! I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative.”
With no hesitation, she kisses his lips. Soft and warm.
“Thy lips are warm!”
The scene continues to unravel as watchers enter, but her eyes are only on Romeo’s face, illuminated like an angel’s in the bright lights of the stage.
“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief.” She lays Romeo beside her before taking his dagger, holding it dramatically “O, happy dagger, This is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die.”
She lets out a pained cry as she stabs herself, the scene fades to black and the curtains close.
Under the darkness, you shuffle along, grabbing Neil’s hand as you go backstage to allow the stagehands to set up the end of the story.
You sit off stage, watching the final scenes. But you weren’t really watching.
Neil’s lips were on yours, and you continued to let him steal kisses between quiet giggles. Your hands were intertwined, and you both felt happy.
It was the last night of the show, afterall. A very successful show with confident on-stage and off-stage kisses. Your Romeo looked handsome in his full costume, and you looked like the perfect princess.
Eventually, everyone was called to stage for a bow.
“Come, princess.” Neil held your hand as he led you out to the stage, he felt more exhilarated than ever before. He felt no regret playing Romeo as your names were called out. Stepping forward among the cast, he held you by your waist and kissed you in front of everyone.
He was absolutely shameless about his love for you.
The crowd roared in applause and cheered over this. You just blushed over the public display of affection as you walked back into the group.
You joined hands with everyone for one final bow. Both you and Neil felt an exhilarated feeling, true happiness over the success of your show…but mostly from the love you’d found in eachother.
The curtains dropped as you held your bow. But now behind the curtain you grabbed him in yet another kiss.
“Oh Romeo, my Romeo” you muttered, holding him tight.
“My Juliet…” Neil’s long fingers ran through your hair, kissing your face over and over.
He was happy you had invited him to lunch that day, and that he’d gotten to practice kissing you so many times.
a/n: far too few fics of him so i had to make my contribution! #KneelForNeil
"You still have tonight off?"
"Yep." Neil polished off his toast, following it with a swig of water from a repurposed highball glass; you stared much too long at his wet lips. "Have any ideas for date night?"
Many—one scenario of which came to you in a dream after last night's reading session. As afternoon crept into evening, the draw was too great to not indulge it.
"I had a dream last night…" was how you introduced it. He cocked a brow at you and pressed his hip into the counter as he listened, nodding at all the right times. It wasn't the first time you'd dreamt about fucking Neil, but it was certainly different to how the sex usually was.
Doting, worshipping, extensive. Those were words you'd use to describe it if you were ever asked. It hadn't exactly been what you anticipated; his playful cockiness was what endeared you to him initially, but that rarely dominated the bedroom.
Until tonight.
It was funny how things shifted; Neil was a force and personality in the workplace, out with friends, engaging with the general public; so much so that the thrill was usually seeing it slip away in the sheets. Making the socialable, suave man stutter and blush, you calling every shot with little resistance. To now…
"To clarify," he began, appearing to mull over an intensive mission request. You wrung your hands below the table as he recited your desire to be a little mean to each other tonight, a little bratty. You detailed your desire for him to control the room; to be patronizing, mocking, arrogant, rough—you emphasized slapping being on the table, which made him initially hesitate.
"Yes." You bit the inside of your lip to stave off your enthusiasm, twirling the ring on your finger.
"I'm not too sure of my thoughts on slapping," he mused, like his job wasn't notorious for its violence; well, the threat of it, anyway.
"I'll tell you if I don't like anything. Please…" your breath caught in your throat at the fantasies burned into your thoughts. "I trust you. I'll tell you 'no' or 'stop' if it's upsetting."
"Alright, darling." Neil tossed back the rest of his glass and set it in the sink with an ahh. "Sounds exciting."
When you got up and walked through the kitchen doorway he called after you.
"Right now?"
You admired him from over your shoulder. "Whenever you step into our room it starts."
A red mesh babydoll skimmed your skin, its oversized satin bow holding you up in lieu of an actual bra. You'd foregone the thong, but it wasn't like he'd be the wiser. He'd never seen this set before.
Sitting up on your knees with your hands flat to your thighs was how you imagined it. Your heart raced just as it had in fantasy. By the time he arrived, the bedroom was draped in summertime dusk and you were practically vibrating.
Neil stepped in slowly.
Oh so slowly.
His eyes glided over your lingerie; he took in your position at the edge of the mattress closest to the door, your wide eyes, pliant demeanor.
The door clicked shut. His warm voice with its British lull broke the silence. "So eager."
You nodded and he shook his head, taking his sweet time undoing his belt. The clink of the buckle and his unflinching gaze made you sit to attention; the thick leather sliding against itself made your thighs spread apart an inch.
A soft sound must've slipped out because he responded. "Mm-mm. Relax."
Focusing on his deft fingers working the top button of his pants rapidly melted your patience. Your composure cracked when you noticed a peek of his soft, blonde happy trail. "Please?"
He shot a measured glance at you and moved to calmly rebuckle—as if he'd never planned to take it off at all. "I'll take my time, darling."
Neil moved about the room like someone on a mission—cataloging each piece of furniture and every item strewn along the floor. It was too much to bear when he circled the bed, tracing his fingers along the wooden frame just inches from you.
"Room's a mess," he commented, plucking a shirt off the ground and turning it palm to palm. It was almost a scold—hell, it probably was one and you were just too horny to care.
Another shirt, a pair of pants, a sock. Was now really the time for this?
"A little."
He paused in his stoop for another shirt, his gaze locking on you. He maintained that pointed stare until your breathing shifted, convinced he was about to fling his pants off and pounce on you.
Rather, he gave you a casual once-over and resumed cleaning, muttering "A little." as he tossed clothes into the basket. The ghost of a smile on his lips made your heart flutter.
"Most of the clothes are yours anyway."
Whenever you spoke, he'd study you. He caught every part of the arousal you tried to stave off, each attempt to metabolize his teasing. His attention flitted to you fisting the sheets and he laughed to himself. The house never seemed so quiet.
He flipped the lid on the laundry basket and tapped his fingers mindlessly along the dresser. His sigh was titillating, but not unperformative—watching him try on dominance might've been cute if it your pulse wasn't thrumming between your thighs. "I was up early, love. All of this cleaning is… taxing."
Waiting is taxing.
"Might have to take care of yourself tonight."
Such. A. Fucking. Tease.
"Neil. Please, baby."
Your fingers strangled the hem of your babydoll until your knuckles bloomed light. After a passing glance, he went back to admiring the edge of the dresser.
"I need you inside me."
He pouted his lower lip out and pretended to consider it. Your vision went slightly hazy, the plush mattress pulling you toward a dream. Neil gestured toward you as he leisurely pulled up his sleeves. "You can start."
You laid down and placed your hand between your legs, shocked at how sensitive you were. The lingerie gifted beautiful friction across your breasts, which was a plus.
His laugh sparked through you. "That desperate?"
"Yes." Every crumb of shame left your body at the unapologetic sound of your fingers on your clit filling the staticky space between you.
"If you don't hurry," you warned, feeling your body light up. "I'll—"
His response was swift. "No, you won't."
Just firm enough of a tone to temper your pace.
Neil, as if he had hours to kill at an airport, continued wandering about the room while you touched yourself. It wasn't like you could do much without climaxing; you ghosted your fingers along your vulva while you studied him.
He thumbed through the book at your bedside table, flipping to the dogeared pages you'd pored over the night prior. He set it down with spread pages, using the table as a bookmark.
He approached the bed and flexed his fingers. "Can—"
Neil's attention flicked up to you and he cleared his throat. He dragged one finger up your entrance to your clit, wavering over where you'd just drawn circles. "You're soaked, sweetheart."
He sounded disgusted.
Your breath caught, dizzied. Exactly like your dream.
"Come on," you egged. "Don't make me wait."
"You get off on this, don't you?" His assertion had no hesitance, no hedging. His fingers stilled. "I'm fairly convinced you fancy waiting."
"I don't, I swear," you begged, the warmth of his fingers separating from you. "Neil, I need this."
"What's gotten into you?"
Fuck. He'd never looked at you so accusingly.
"Don't act like you don't get off on this too."
A thrill rippled through you talking back.
Neil was arrogant—argumentative too, yes, though he always knew his place. But holy fuck…
His grip tightened on the bedpost, his knuckles working around it. You were just close enough for the throw of his honey cologne. "Accusations, accusations."
Another leer rolled off your tongue. "Am I wrong, sweetheart?"
"Such a brat."
In a tone equally honeyed and arousingly firm. The last shreds of decorum in you wobbled.
"Learned from the best."
His hot hands, smooth but calloused, grazed the satin trim at the apex of your thigh. His fingertips drew swirls across your leg, now sensitized from goosebumps.
"Did I ask you to stop?"
"You think you can boss me around?"
"Can't I?" He cocked his head.
"Pretty cocky for someone leaving their fiancée hanging."
"We both know you'd wait for me."
God, he wasn't wrong. Like calling you pathetic without saying the word.
He stepped from the bed like he sought to keep cleaning and your heart leapt out of your chest.
"Does that make you hard? Is that why you believe it?"
It was an effective grappling hook; Neil leaned over the bed in an instant.
"Says the person with her hand between her legs."
It was difficult under his searing eye contact, but you managed to speak. "I'm only doing as I'm told."
"So am I, doll. Carry on." He stepped from the bed to grab the rest of the laundry. Despite shutting the bin. Despite how even moving your fingers away from your vulva was an obscenely wet sound. He smirked when he heard it.
Could he be any more gorgeously annoying?
Begging had only made the problem worse—when you discussed wanting him to dom harder when you acted bratty, you thought it might involve some rougher action, not just lead-up.
You sat up on your elbows and peered at him. "Aren't you supposed to be in charge?"
He continued like you hadn't spoken.
"Probably don't even know how to dom, that's why you're stalling."
Neil glared at you and headed to the ensuite bathroom. Just when you thought he might indulge a hot shower or bath to keep you waiting until you screamed, he emerged with wet hands and a hand towel.
"Feeling confident tonight, are we Y/n?"
Cheeky motherfucker.
"At least one of us is."
"You're unbelievable."
He stepped too close and you slapped him hard across the cheek. Your palm stung, the apple of his cheek was red, and the only sound was his sharp, pained inhale. You thought maybe this time would be different than the others—perhaps he'd stifle his enthusiasm and play it off, but no. Glittery eyes admired you, his grin so wide it pinched his cheek.
You slapped him again, throwing more force into it; you bit your tongue to abate a curse as the ache radiated to your wrist.
"Spread your legs," he demanded, moving swiftly to the foot of the bed.
You weren't about to fight him on that.
He fluffed the lace of your babydoll onto your stomach and grazed your vulva, teasing the entrance with the tips of his fingers. It was ridiculously mesmerizing and you nearly forgot about the power struggle you'd set up until he put his finger to his mouth with a shh:
"Be quiet or I'll stop."
Fingering was your favorite; it had been so before Neil, but his fingers elevated the whole affair. When he was especially moody before an exhausting mission, you'd joke about making sure he didn't injure his hands 'at the very least'.
Not holding back this time, he did that fucking euphoric come here motion until you felt slick splash down your inner thighs. As he worked his fingers in and out of you, your resolve dwindled. You'd do whatever he wanted if he kept making you feel like this.
The fantasy felt ludicrously tangible. It was becoming impossible to remain quiet against the pulses of pleasure flaring up your core, wanting oh so fucking badly to let it out of your system, to speak!—
"Of course you like this."
He circled your clit and his name fell out of your mouth. Neil pulled back instantly.
"No!" you gasped, and his focus lasered on you, the facade breaking.
"You want to stop, darling?"
Breaking the act gave you vertigo. You reassured him it was an accident and to continue—you were simply wonderfully overwhelmed by his teasing.
"It just feels so good I don't want it to stop,"
"But you were so cruel before," he purred, willing your back to arch as his fingertips grazed the pearl of your clit. "I don't know if you deserve it."
"I don't," you begged. Neil nodded in the slit of your vision. "I don't deserve it."
"That's right," he agreed and dipped two fingers into your pussy, his voice drawing soothing, tender. "But I'll make an exception just this once…"
He arched his fingers to your g-spot and groaned when your thighs shook. He worked his fingers deeper until you gasped, wriggling your hips at the stunning fullness. Following the movement in your hips, he fluttered his fingers until your head fell back.
"See what happens when you listen?"
Yes, but you couldn't get the word out. The ceiling blurred in and out of focus with each thrust of his fingers.
"But we can't have you arriving too soon, can we?"
Fuck.
Neil pushed it further, threading endless moans out of you. You were surprised he let you get away with it. As the sparks brightened and you swore you levitated above the bed, he hummed a question.
"Would you like a taste?"
Unsheathing left you awfully empty and vaguely disoriented. He waited for your nod to lean the soft weight of his body between your legs, then pushed two fingers into your mouth.
You accomodated him eagerly, staring at him as you sucked the length of his middle and index fingers. They were warm and slick, their slight saltiness making you crave the taste of him. Without anything inside you, your focus channeled to your next move. To brat or not to brat?
He cursed when you bit down and left a warning tap on your cheek. You'd slapped yourself harder doing your skincare every night. It hadn't even rustled a single hair on his dirty blonde head.
"Don't bite," he warned, pausing for emphasis before pushing his fingers past your teeth once more. His tone was deliciously authoritive.
Or what? Is Nonviolent Neil gonna do anything about it? You sucked a few lengths more to make him comfortable before biting with force, grinning up at him.
A sharp blast of heat instantly bloomed on your right cheek, his open palm retreating. Holy fucking shit.
His slap brought your body to attention in a way you'd never felt before. A throbbing warmth spread where he connected. You felt his eyes on you, checking in for a moment without saying anything, waiting until you smiled—which you did—to plant a kiss on the stinging skin.
You felt his hesitation like another limb. He checked in with tentative fingers on your clit, so much gentler than before. His gaze kept skirting to your cheek, his mouth opening like he might apologize before ultimately looking away. The first attempt wouldn't be perfect, right? His first time making you the subject of impact play needed some reassurance, perhaps.
"Don't bite?" You took his wrist and glided his fingers along your tongue, right back to the moment. Angling your face more to the left so he had a fresh canvas, you made direct eye contact and bit down, hard.
This time when he slapped you, you laughed. It made your head buzzy, heightening the sensation of watching him take his shirt off; of watching him walk to his bedside table; of feeling the cool burst across your stomach as he pushed your lingerie up until it stretched and dripped massage oil on the small of your waist; of feeling his left hand collect your wrists and pin your hands above your head.
Neil's mouth twitched into a grin as his free hand annointed you with honey-rose oil. "Biggest smile you've had all week."
Best I've felt all week.
He finally did what you thought he would when he arrived. His curiosity snagged on the shiny red fabric, persuading him to grab a tail of the bow. His tug unfurled the fabric and bared your breasts.
The tension in your wrists exploded when he skimmed his hand up to your nipples. He swirled a firm hand until they pebbled under the oil heated by his scorching hand. Goosebumps erupted over every part of your body the oil hadn't touched.
Your fiancé knew you too well and was far too invested in welding a smile to your face. Flashes of times at the bar where he'd bet to leave the second you frowned, proceeded by employing ridiculous scenarios to make you blush and grin all night. Of course he'd go all-in on anything you asked. Why the hell hadn't you explored this dynamic yet?
He swirled his tongue around your nipple until you were sufficiently relaxed and could feel a breeze between your thighs; until you began to miss him inside of you, started to forget the pleasant ache where he'd slapped. He was calculated, waiting for your eyes to droop and body to calm before nipping, biting, twisting your nipple with his teeth.
Red-hot desire corded through you at the impact. Neil bruised hickeys onto your breasts as your back arched again, his spare hand following the roll of your torso to pull you flush against him.
"Hold still."
At the end of that command laid a promise, you knew it; you bit your lip and steeled your body not to shake as delight rippled through it. This was exactly what you meant in the kitchen, and fuck, fuck, the thought of seeing the marks on your body when he finished with you, god!
His teeth grazed your other nipple as he pressed your wrists further into the mattress, making you jump. A sharp—yet loving—bite made your legs lock around his hips, yanking him on top of you.
"They're so sore, please,"
"Don't be so dramatic," he teased.
He sucked harder than he ever had on your nipple and you shouted, your head thrown back into the pillow with a groan. Just when you thought he was done he blew hot, concentrated air against them. And what the hell were you supposed to do besides—
"Darling." Your hips wanted against his and he made a disapproving sound. "Don't be greedy."
At the edge of saccharine and scolding, his voice barely tethered you to the stakes.
Duality had always existed with you and Neil; he was aggravatingly arrogant and unmatchingly sweet, and where he was grating, he also charmed. A perfect storm breaking each time.
You kept quiet and still, willing yourself not to react when he caressed, licked and kissed up your jaw… Taking each opportunity to drink every inch of his skin, his sweat glossed your lips. His sedated tempo was entirely on purpose and it was precisely what you asked for. You relished it as much as it grated.
Unsurprisingly, one of the most difficult things to avoid was brattily shoving your wrists up, trying to wriggle them free. The weight of him pushing them back down made your mouth flood with saliva.
But if you waited… if you were patient, if you listened…
Neil had his fun kissing and stroking every inch of you but your vulva, but your lips, only ghosting his mouth along your collarbone, his nose grazing your neck but never lingering. He cooed for you to breathe when you held your breath to resist moving, resist tackling him and taking matters into your own hands. He only tickled your sides with feathery kisses to force a laugh, force some air, bring some levity.
"Impressive."
And he stepped back, unbuttoning his pants to show just how impressive you'd been. You didn't take the bait of how slowly he stripped, the trap he set for you to rip his clothes off. You wouldn't…
He just stood in front of you in his boxers, teasing the tip of his finger along the waistband like waving around a treat. He was waiting for you to get up. He wanted you to jump him.
You squeezed your legs together as you started to throb and stared him down, fighting not to give anything away. Like you weren't imagining the angles of his rock-hard cock filling you, like your mouth didn't water for it, like your fingers weren't quivering with kinetic energy.
When you smiled, weakly, he cocked an eyebrow and dragged his waistband up the inch he'd teased it. "If you're not interested, I can leave."
Please god, no.
"I'm following orders."
His smile slipped to show teeth. "Wonder what happens when you break them."
Oh, YES.
A dozen people couldn't hold you back. In the span of a second you launched from the bed and tore off his underwear—in the next you slammed his back into the mattress and climbed on top.
You kissed him until your mouth went numb, grinding your lips on the length of his cock that he wouldn't let inside you. Feverish hands, him and you both; he tangled his fingers in your hair, palmed your breasts, filled your mouth with his tongue and stunningly low moans.
There he was, unraveling.
You grabbed his shaft, positioning him at your entrance as you steadied against his shoulder. His tip just pressed into you and your mouth opened in a groan, anticipating his familiar angle, his depth, his languid strokes.
But of course, of course, of course…
Neil pushed you up by the hips and flipped you underneath him in one smooth motion.
… he wouldn't let that happen.
He lined himself up and you grabbed to pull him deep. His left hand locked around your wrists again, stretching across your body as he secured them above you. Neil sunk into you inch by inch until his hips were flush with yours, facilitating a beautiful stretch. He always filled you so delectably and you couldn't even tell him without it stopping.
Or…
He pressed his hips forward until there was nowhere left to go. It was almost too full when he stilled inside you, but not quite. Barely, barely not quite. You drank some courage from his kiss, then gave him a disappointed stare as if you felt nothing.
"Is that all? Hmm." You looked down at where your bodies met for good measure.
"Cute." He smirked, rolling his shoulders back as he settled into his hips. "Now try not to wake the neighbors."
You didn't have time to laugh at his audacity before he snapped into you and a moan belted out. Instinctively, you moved to cover your mouth as he thrusted relentlessly, hip to hip, your thighs already aching at the thud of his hips against them, but he had you pinned.
In, out, throwing backbreaking force into each thrust. The bedframe squeaked against the wall, the hung painting shivered, and unrelenting pleasure crashed through you. Each shot of his hips was more intoxicating than the last, his flushed face dripping sweat onto your stomach. It was delicious and awful and perfect and terrible that you couldn't grab him, couldn't mark up his pretty little back until he bled.
His moans were hard-won; usually impeccably vocal, noises easily lulled and tilted out of him. He wrestled them back, tightened his face, clenched his abs. A strained sound slipped out and your brows knit together as your eyes squeezed shut.
"Look at me while you take it, angel."
You forced your eyes open, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. He'd never called you that but it sounded so familiar. "Neil,"
He grabbed his pillow and stuffed it under your hips, shifting the angle in a way that centered your g-spot. You couldn't look anymore, resigned to the pleasure coursing through you as he built you closer to the edge.
Your wrists relaxed under his dominance, your core tense, ribboning throbs of desire from your cunt to your throat with each drive of his cock. The weight of his whole body channeled between your sticky thighs, adorning sodden sounds between involuntary moans.
Neil released your wrists and urgently cupped your face with both hands. "Look at me."
Your eyes flashed open to see his dilated blue eyes an inch away. His cologne consumed all thought.
"I need you to listen."
All you managed was a stuttered nod. He hadn't stopped fucking you, hadn't reduced his pace in the slightest, and the new angle tilted his hips forward in a way that whittled the world to him and you.
"If you look away once more it's over."
His rhythmic panting gave you something to hold onto but it wasn't enough.
"Neil, I'm trying," you whined, the pressure in your core beginning to coil. Your brows knit together and mouth opened, your breath spilling out in heaves. He mimicked your expression, sympathetic.
"I know, you're doing so well, love, come on," he egged, diving all the way in and out, exaggerating the sound of your wetness. His strong hands still held your face in place, tethering your focus to him. Your diamond ring spun as you grabbed at his arms, torso, shoulders, digging your nails in as you rolled your body with his thrusts.
"Grind on it just like that, gooood job, you feel heavenly… ah,"
His intensity was unbearable; your pussy fluttered around him, your breath shallowing. His name came out in a squeak and you were unable to look away. "Neil!"
"So close." His cock dragged in and out of you as the fluttering intensified. "You're just—about—to—"
He swallowed hard and pulled out right as you would have peaked, the emptiness making you shriek. "NEIL!"
Neil heaved beside you, and in your periphery you caught his cock pulsing like he'd almost finished. He hung his head as sweat dripped from it onto the wrinkled sheets. A creampie was never an issue, no, neither of you ever had an issue with that, and he'd been so… fucking… close, you could've came at the same second.
"That was fun, Y/n."
He slid off the bed while you navigated the whiplash, slipping his underwear on, then his pants. He threw a knee on the bed to adjust your lingerie, carefully retying the satin bow.
"Let me draw us a bath." The plane of his chest glistened and his fingers trembled fixing his button and belt. Frustration bubbled through you when he met your glare with a sly grin. "Come in whenever you're ready."
Oh. My. God. He winked and walked off, leaving you warring with a body unsatisfied and a spirit pleased. Half a mind to finish the job, you tugged open the bedside drawer to grab your vibrator when you knocked the book with your wrist.
You caught it and opened to the earmarked page he'd left it on, page 173. You choked back an exasperated laugh as you heard the words in his voice, felt the descriptions on your skin. No wonder it all felt so familiar. It was like he'd popped it from the pages and added flair.
Discarding the book, you rolled out of bed onto weak knees and followed the rush of the faucet and Neil's rolling hum. He helped you out of the set, kissing down your back as it fell onto the cool marble floor, then slipped your ring off for safekeeping. The jewelry catcher he'd bought in Milan, cheekily gifting it to you a month to the day before the proposal.
The steamy water was a balm, wisping the scent of eucalyptus into the air. You rolled the heel of your palm over your well-stretched thighs, sliding into the soaking tub until the water flirted with your collarbone. As he undressed, his half-hard cock flustered you enough to ask.
"Can we… finish things?"
"Well, that depends." Neil sank into the water with a roguish expression. "What happens in the next chapter?"
𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ not gn reader because i dont want to think about that woman. apart from this vague a/n, no spoilers!
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.29k
cw: dombot/switch m reader, subtop neil, begging, edging, overstim, marathon s-x, multiple rounds, handjobs, riding, praise, bondage, dacryphilia, little mention of oral s-x, little mention of reader topping
"You're wearing my scarf."
"You gave it to me." You remind him, fiddling with it around your neck. He takes notice, of course.
"I did, didn't I? Gonna give it back?" Neil watches as you stalk over intently. He licks his lips then, when you stand in front of him yet do nothing. With that pretty golden scarf around your neck, you almost look like a gift. He reaches out a hand to unwrap you.
It's the perfect day, the perfect time. Just you and him in a safehouse, no orders to bother him for the rest of the day nor BT's outside the door or raiders or the goddamn UCA. He organized this, planned it out weeks in advance.
It is just you tonight, and he knows what he's going to do with you.
He didn't really think about what you'd do to him, though. He grasps the scarf and tugs to get you down to his height, but because the loose knot was to the side of your neck, his hand only falls through.
"Huh." He huffs out a small laugh, looking down at the scarf in his hand. "Cheeky, aren't you?"
"That," You reply, grabbing hold of the scarf as well and climbing onto his lap anyway, "and more."
"More? So you aren't just my sweet little boyfriend?" He grins persistently, still thinking that all is going according to plan. He wants to fuck you good tonight, it's what the both of you deserve. Some reprieve from this fucked up world.
"Oh, I am a lot more than just your boyfriend." You push him down onto the bed, one hand on his chest, and he follows willingly.
"You're like a cat, really." Poised on top of him like this, yeah, you really are. He bites his lip restlessly, then decides to kiss you, some part of you, to quell his anticipation. He takes your hand, the one you had on his chest, brings it up to his lips and kisses it. He's trying to be romantic.
Well, fuck romantic. You kiss him.
Neil kisses you hungrily as a man deprived of his lover. He trecked through mud and sand to get to your doorstep, and he was going to enjoy you. His tongue finds yours quickly when he licks into your mouth. Speed doesn't have to do anything with how he savours you. If he has you for a long, long time, he won't need to be slow. The kiss is a good distraction and you knew it was going to be.
You raise his hands above his head and he doesn't even notice it. No, he's much too preoccupied with the way your bodies press against each other and the heat of it all.
It's only when his own bandana is cinched tight around his wrists then double knotted that he notices your ploy. He breaks from the kiss, looking up at where you've got his hands restrained on the headboard.
Like this, he looks like a doll: skin dewy from the sweat of the trek here, yours for the taking, your little plaything. If you just had a little chiralium, you could make him cry. No, that's too easy. You can make him cry in other ways.
"Shit, sweetheart." He mutters. "You're a fox."
You raise a brow, "Thought I was a cat."
He struggles against the binding, but doesn't manage to break free because a thought runs through his mind. If he breaks free, there goes his precious little scarf. He hides that thought with a grin, still desperately fighting for control, "Just know you won't be able to take off my shirt now."
"Please," Neil cries, "ple–ease."
There goes his little grin.
You didn't need his shirt off. You only need it rolled up and over his pecs to ghost the pads of your fingertips over his sensitive skin. That was the first bit of torture. Then you'd grabbed crotch, a shock against the bare touches from earlier. Like a rollercoaster, the pants came off after that, but you'd gotten off his lap for it. He'd begged then, sure, for you to get right back on him, be done with this game already, but you'd decided it was too insincere.
So you kept up the torture.
You got between his legs, ignored his throbbing, hard cock, and pushed them up, exposing his hole. He would've been fine if you chose to eat him out instead, but you ignored that too. You went back for his dick instead, content with only contorting his body for the purpose of putting strain on it.
"Neil, baby, I can't decide between overstimulation and edging."
Without so much as a thought, he replied, "Overstim."
You edged him instead. You worked him up with nothing but his own spit and the friction of your hand, working him root to tip and making sure nothing was left unappreciated. When his first release was torn away from him, just a brush of his restrained fingers away, he let out a yelp.
He toughed out the rest of the times his orgasm nearly came and went and you—you just loved to feel him throb in your hand, knowing he couldn't do anything about it.
So we're back here again. "Please," Neil cried, fullheartedly, he cried. His eyes were all watery and tears streamed down his face, a lot more than a simple chiral reaction. No, this man was wrecked. He just wanted to cum, whatever way you'd give it to him. WIth your mouth, with your hands, using his prostate or his red, weeping dick. "ple–ease."
You just wanted to give it to him.
"You've been good, haven't you?"
"Yes." It's hard for him to say it, not because he doubts but because the crying makes his breaths come harshly. He swallows down a combination of saliva and mucus, making it easier to spew out his begging, "Please, I've been so good. I've taken it like a good boy—I just really really want it. I want you. Anything."
"Good boy?" You question, and he nods his head frantically. You didn't even have to bring up the little name yourself. "Yeah, Neil, you've been a good boy."
"C-Can I–" His hips jutted up into your hand, "please?"
You watch your finger bob up and down his heaving chest as you trail it down, between his pecs and over his abdomen, making it seem as if you're lost in thought. He does deserve it, doesn't he?
"Sure."
Sure?
"I'll give it to you. Promise. I'll let you finish. What do good boys say?"
"Thank you."
Neil watches you, though his vision is blurred, undress. With each item that comes off, his hands struggle against his scarf once more, the fight coming back to him. You don't need that. In fact, you don't want that.
"Hey. Hey, sweetheart." You tut, tucking a hair stuck to his sweaty forehead behind his ear caringly. "It's okay. Don't worry. It's comin'."
He settles back down.
It feels like an eternity when you're straddling his hips again, like how long each second lasts has been doubled. He just wants to take your hips and slam you down onto his cock.
But he can't, and he's at your mercy. When you wrap your hand around him this time, it's not for working him up, it's to guide his cock into you.
And when it finally, finally happens, he groans, but then he sobs too. It's the heat of your insides that he fuckin' loves here, and the feel of your gummy walls as opposed to the palm of your hand. Otherwise, it's still the same feeling of something wrapped around his cock, and his instincts tell him at the pit of his stomach that he won't get to release this time either.
It's almost a panicky feeling that persists as you ride him, even as you rock your hips and the pleasure shocks through him again. You touch him this time, hands smoothing over the expanse of his skin, flicking his nipples. He whimpers.
"What was that? It was cute."
Fuck, in his state of disarray, he can't even fathom how you're so calm right now. His cock feels like it's on fire.
His crying's mostly calmed down now. Now you want to hear him whimper. You flick his nipples periodically, causing shocks in his body like the pauses between letters in morse code or the pulse of a heart. But then you rub, a constant pressure and pleasure that leaves him overstimulated in seconds.
His back arches, hips jutting into you, chest falling back and away from your touch to no avail. He struggles against his scarf again. "Sto–please."
He's afraid to say it, almost as if it'll make you stop altogether.
You give him some reprieve when you pull your fingers away, but after that, it almost feels like something is missing. When you grind your hips down into him, rubbing your walls around his cock inside of you, he forgets all of it. He moans richly, head thrown back.
Any other day, this would be all he needs. But today, right now, he needs more. He needs to cum.
"Please, please, please." He keeps begging, even though you'd promised you'd give it to him. The panicky feeling grows higher when the knot in his stomach keeps winding and winding. The closer he gets to his peak, the more intertwined both feelings get. He's sure you're giving him a false sense of security.
"Neil?" You place your hand next to his cheek, an inch or two of air in between, and it snaps him back into reality. He leans into it, and you coo at him. "Oh, baby."
You kiss him. His saliva tastes a bit snotty, a remnant of his crying, but his breaths grow hotter and more rushed the closer he gets to cumming and he's desperate, for once, to be away from your lips. He's almost there, you know it.
It had calmed down for a little while, but now that he's close, he's crying again. It's subtler, more demure, but it is still more than one tear that he sheds. They stream down, past his jaw, and he can do nothing about it.
Like this, he looks like a doll: skin dewy from the sweat of the heat between your bodies and the strain of his own, yours for the taking, your little plaything. It was easy to get him to cry, and it just makes him look all the more pretty to you.
"Please," He calls your name, eyes rolling into the back of his head, "oh, please. I–I'm almost there. Please don't take it from me. I wanna cum so bad, I've been so good."
"Yeah, you have. You've been such a good boy." You assure, keeping up the pace. You are giving him exactly what he wants and he's not even sure about it.
The anxiousness spreads up to his chest when he reaches the edge, knowing that just one little movement will send him over, but the absence of that will keep him from getting what he wants.
But then he's finally fucking over it.
He finishes with a deep, long moan that opens his mouth wide. The anxiousness, panic, leaves him too, and then his body only feels the pleasure. It flows through him like a tsunami, making him curl his toes and his fingers.
He cums enough for at least two orgasms, you think, and his hips don't stop bucking up until minutes later. "Fuck." He groans all throughout, a string of obscenities, "fuuuck."
"Feel good, Neil?" You ask once his body's finally melted back down into the bed, like putty.
"Mm," Neil hums, reduced to guttural sounds, "mhm."
"Good. That's good, baby." You say, voice soothing. Your hand is warm against his chest, rubbing and smoothing over his skin. It's a great feeling, something affectionate and loving rather than sexual, and it makes him sigh. You're too good for him.
He's about to ask you to free his hands after finally regaining his breath, but then your finger prods against his rim. "B-Baby?"
"You wanted overstimulation, right?"
Neil doesn't know when he passed out, only that when he comes to, it feels like you've slowed down a little compared to his last memory, and his hands are still tied up. You fuck into him languidly, allowing his legs to rest wrapped around your waist and atop your shoulder, rather than pressed into his chest.
"Safeword?"
It's pin-grenade. "N-No." He says instead, eyes screwing shut, but this time he's wide awake. He winces, not because he's hurt, but because his throat is hoarse from all the sounds he's let out tonight.
You pull another orgasm out of him like this, and he doesn't know which one it is. He only knows that it won't be the last.
The last one, actually, comes from one final time eating out his loose, gaping hole. It's slow, real slow, almost like you're making out with his hole. He laughs at the idea, into the air, head resting against the pillow. His arms are so sore, but the rest of his body is so soft.
When you're finally done with him, you undo the scarf. He doesn't let his arms fall, not yet, instead he wraps them around your neck and pulls you down into a kiss.
"Was it good?" You ask, falling into bed next to him.
Neil chases after you, curling around you. He gives his arms a rest, keeping them tucked into his body, but he intertwines his legs with yours and sighs contently when you wrap your arms around him. "More than I expected, but so much more than good."
I think neil is the most jealous poet, it's a feeling that lingers on him, clouds his thoughts slowly until it's all he can think about. he tries denying and hiding it so the jealousy consumes him until it's too damn difficult to ignore and he explodes.
he tries playing it cool at first like "oh they're just a friend? ok, nice, I see..." but there's a bitter taste on his mouth and he can't hide it for too long.
the thing is - he dislikes feeling jealous, it's such an ugly and controlling feeling he hates feeling like that. he only lets go when thoroughly reassured and showered with love.
Masterlist; Chapter 12
Summary: Tenet Christmas party and all that it entails. Namely, drunkenness, a terrible DJ, and jealousy that has no place existing in the first place.
Warnings: 18+ content (and I do mean that), swearing, stupidity.
Author's Notes: Hello, after six months. It's embarrassing as hell, but it is what it is. At least thanks to my insanely slow writing speed, the December setting in this chapter isn't as striking as the last time. Small victories, and all that.
This chapter has pretty much zero importance in the grand scheme of things (unless we consider a first bj important), but what it does have is fluff, dancing (obvs) and smut. It was fun to write, so I hope it will be equally fun to read ✨
Thank you for waiting on my updates, reading and in general hanging on 💕 Let me know what you think?
Taglist: @hollandorks, @cynem4, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added).
You sighed for the umpteenth time as you threw yet another dress onto the bed and eyed the growing pile. Because the thing was, no one had warned you just how bloody difficult it was going to be to find something to wear for Neil’s work Christmas party. Bordering on impossible, in fact. Glancing at the clock to ensure you were not yet late (albeit close to it), you assessed the choices with an increasingly critical eye. After another long-suffering sigh, you grabbed the first option that did not seem horrendous and put it on, mindful of the passing minutes.
You could already feel the anxiety building up, fully aware of the fact that attending an event of this calibre with Neil was not something you should be doing in the first place. But he asked. So earnestly and as though he actually wanted you there. There was no way in hell you could deny him that. Or anything. And that was the crux of things. The reason for all torment. And so on and so forth.
It was one of those things you refused to acknowledge. Naturally.
Having assembled the outfit with exactly one minute to spare until the pick-up time, you grabbed the handbag and ran down the stairs, just short of breaking your neck in the high heels. But, predictably, all pains of that stressful afternoon faded the moment you saw Neil inside the car as he pulled over to the pavement by your apartment and unlocked the door.
Yet another thing added to the list of topics you did not dare think about.
“Afternoon, sunshine,” Neil spared you a glance as he delivered the greeting with an unusual flair and pulled away from the curb, artfully joining the late Friday traffic “Are you excited?” the attempt at small talk was a noble effort; you had to give him that.
Except that after an afternoon like this one, the last thing you wanted was to pass empty pleasantries and lies to ensure things stayed superficial and artificially happy.
“More like terrified. I spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out my outfit, and I still look like shit” sighing, you undid the top buttons of your coat and turned up the aircon on the passenger side.
It was not an attempt to fish for compliments. More an expression of frustration and insecurity about the evening that was still reigning freely over your mind. But now it was too late to turn down the invitation and apologise to Neil. Now there was no turning back. And wasn’t that the most terrifying of thoughts?
“You most certainly don’t look like shit” Neil glanced at you briefly once more, much too quickly to perceive anything at all about your appearance.
Yet still, the gesture alone made you stifle an unbidden smile. Fuck’s sake.
“You haven’t even looked at me,” you deflected its simple pleasure by biting into the cynicism.
While aware it was much too late for Neil to be scared off with something this straightforward. The only thing it did was bring that infuriating smirk onto his handsome face.
“I would, but driving the car is unfortunately the priority right now,” shrugging apologetically, Neil tightened his left hand on the steering wheel, pausing briefly to navigate a diversion at one of the busier intersections by the Thames. Once you were driving alongside the river, Neil placed his warm hand on your knee, branding your skin like a hot poker “Still, though, you always look beautiful” his voice softened around the vowels of the praise as he squeezed your knee over the tights and shot you an easy wink “So deal with it, Cupid”
He did not take his hand away. It was a detail your brain latched onto as you processed multiple incriminating reasons for why it felt so good to be complimented so off-handedly, yet with sincerity.
“Thanks,” ignoring the thoughts, you allowed your hand to rest over his, gently caressing his skin. Even if only so that you had something to do with your hand, “I guess”
It was safe to say he was yet to convince you. If such a feat were even possible. Doubtful.
But the look Neil sent you suggested he was about to ignore the self-depreciating strand and keep on trying to change your mind.
“I also know that everyone will like you” the sheer conviction in his voice perhaps would have done the job if the claim did not sound oh so audacious. But before you could point out at least five things that were wrong with it, Neil followed it with something even more ridiculous, “Hell, they might like you more than they like me” his tone was filled with so much certainty that you could do nothing but stare at him in utter confusion.
And briefly pondered the state of his sanity. Not for the first time.
“Yeah, I certainly doubt it,” offering him your eyeroll, you pressed your lips into a thin line and looked away, choosing to stare outside the window for a moment.
Mostly because you did not see a point in arguing about the impossible and the ludicrous. But Neil disagreed. You felt his hand tighten over your knee, his thumb brushing soothing lines over the inside of your thigh, seemingly unconsciously.
“You’re cool. I’m a certified loser who likes physics a little too much to seem normal” his added argument did not help the cause, however.
All because it sounded improbable. You were a complete newcomer, about to step into a work Christmas party with nothing but charm and goodwill up your sleeve. Well, that, and the fact that, for some unknown reason, Neil wanted you there. As though he could not find a better plus one. As though he was not about to get one there. In which case, you would not blame him.
“Doubtful, but okay” feeling the tiredness seep into your voice, you quickly changed the subject, aiming for something at least a tiny bit light-hearted “At the very least, I’ll go nag your mates until they hate me, too” a dry chuckle broke through the silence between you without the subtlety you counted on.
There was no chance that Neil would not hear all that you did not say. You felt it in the fact that he wasted no second to return to touching your knee as soon as he had completed a turn on the roundabout. His next comment only confirmed the hunch.
“No, at the very least, you’ll go shag me in the cupboard, remember?” the grin in his voice made you turn sharply to meet his gaze with a bewildered look in your eyes.
Because surely it was just a joke? Right?
Not that you had anything against the concept. Faced with Neil’s bright grin in full force, without a shadow of uncertainty, you could only return the smile and give him a feigned disinterested shrug:
“If you so insist,” putting your hand back on his, you allowed your fingers to entwine with his and squeezed his palm.
Just once. Thank you.
***
Neil carefully manoeuvred Cupid through the doors to the HQ with his hand on the small of her back. Admittedly, that was not necessary. But who could blame a man for taking some liberties when his companion looked like that? Read: breathtakingly beautiful.
Plus, he still had considerable concerns regarding whether she was about to duck underneath his arm and flee the scene should he forget to pay attention. Not that Neil could blame her. If he were to be honest, the only hope for making this event decent was Cupid’s company and the unlimited access to the bar, set up specifically for this occasion by TP. Which was precisely why he asked her to come along. For perfectly selfish reasons.
Taking a fortifying deep breath as he had led her through the building to the auditorium, Neil could already hear the party gaining volume. The bass from the DJ’s booth reverberated through the walls as they neared the room. Turning his head to comment on the music choice (questionable, if Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’ being played at a Christmas party and before 8 pm even was indicative of anything), he got as far as opening his mouth before being rudely interrupted in the loudest of fashions:
“Oi! Glad to see you both finally honoured as with your presence,” Ives waltzed in from the side door like a character entering their scene in the act of Shakespeare’s comedy.
Naturally, he was not alone. Wheeler followed with her typical aura of nonchalance and judgment. She adjusted the jacket of her two-piece suit and shot them a cheeky smile. A true sign of at least a drink’s worth of alcohol in her bloodstream.
“That would be on me. Apologies,” Cupid sheepishly raised her hand in half a wave and smoothed invisible wrinkles on her dress.
The way she acted clashed so drastically with everything Neil thought he understood about her that he instantly protested:
“Nonsense, that would be entirely on the bloody traffic” waving off her concerns with something way too soft to be displayed so openly in front of two thirds of the muppets, he cleared his throat slightly before changing the topic “Is it already carnage over there?” he vaguely gestured towards the auditorium where now the tune has changed to ‘Freestyler’ (tragically).
“Not quite, but I think John might soon realise that opening the bar before serving food was not the right call” Wheeler winced as if picturing the hell that was soon about to unfold before their eyes.
Considering the previous renditions of the Tenet Christmas party, Neil did know what she meant. His face reflected her wince as Cupid frowned sympathetically:
“Ouch,” she hesitated just a second before asking the key question, “Shall we go get a drink then?”
Having already discussed their joint decision to come back via an Uber, lest Neil be forced to a night of sobriety during one evening in a year that specifically required some form of intoxication, he was quick to agree. But before he could voice the enthusiasm, Neil caught the pointed glance from Wheeler. A wordless signal that she wanted to talk. For bad or for worse.
“Definitely,” luckily, Ives was not partial to that silent conversation and readily offered Cupid his arm, leading her down the corridor before she could react.
Neil spotted her confused look and added the necessary encouragement before she could start drawing false conclusions. Like he knew she tended to do. Especially wound up and stressed, and too proud to let anyone know. And that was his most affectionate judgement, thank you very much.
“Go, I’ll find you in a minute,” sending her a smile, Neil watched as Cupid mirrored the expression and happily let Ives drag her towards the party.
His pathetic pining was interrupted not a moment later:
“I’m glad she came with you. She’ll surely be a breath of fresh air in this madness” hearing genuine fondness in Wheeler’s voice made Neil pause.
It was still something novel. Usually, she was the one who treated strangers and new acquaintances with the most reserve and suspicion. And she never complimented them at every turn, asking for a private number for whatever purpose, and willingly spending her free time socialising. And yet, with Cupid, Wheeler was doing all that and more. Not that Neil was complaining.
He would take this unprecedented friendliness over distrust any time. Especially since he had thoughts he wanted to share with someone. Anyone but Cupid.
“It’s what I’m hoping for,” smiling despite his better judgment, Neil allowed the frankness to take over the conversation. Because she was the only person he could say this to, “Even if one probably should not bring one’s fwb to a work event,” the self-reflection was yet another one of the many brain worms that skittered around his head whenever he left it unattended and without a distraction.
Because as much as Neil would have loved to pretend that inviting Cupid was something normal, he knew that it was everything but. She knew it too, if her hesitation was anything to go by. Once again, he was blurring the lines, fully conscious of the fact that it was going to complicate everything. And make him even more miserable at that point in the future (probably near one) when she decided to part ways with him.
Chancing a cautious look at Wheeler, he was met with her steady gaze, which stared into the depths of his soul. She was not judging him; that much was clear. She was, however, drawing her conclusions and storing them for future use. One that might require her to give him an ‘I told you so’ soon.
“One probably should not, indeed…” with a final all-seeing look, Wheeler softened her voice to muse aloud, “I wonder how Sophie will feel about this turn of events, though,” throwing him a cheeky side-eye, she leaned against the wall and anticipated implosion caused by her words.
Admittedly, Neil did not expect that. Sophie was a fellow agent in the organisation, a confident young woman who more than likely had a crush on him. It was not a secret, quite the opposite. Sometimes it seemed like everyone was aware of her feelings. And Neil personally did not mind. She was not annoying in her infatuation, and, once or twice, he did consider asking her out in the chance that something good could result from it.
But, as he was ashamed to admit, ever since meeting Cupid and the spark that it triggered, he did not pay much attention to Sophie.
“I… didn’t think about that,” admitting the embarrassing truth, Neil mirrored Wheeler’s pose and allowed the cold wall to cool his blooming blush.
That complicated things. Potentially. And in ways that Neil was not particularly excited to discover.
“Well, it’s not like you and Cupid are anything serious. Soph’s still has a chance,” as if fully aware of the extent of his tiny internal crisis, Wheeler cocked her head to the side and measured him with another intense look.
While knowing exactly what she did when she reminded him about the casual nature of his relationship with Cupid. While knowing that it was something Neil struggled with. Infuriating woman.
Except that, of course, she had a point. Sophie still had a chance. Cupid probably would not bat an eyelid if he decided to leave the party with somebody else. The only problem was that Neil did not particularly want that.
Still, one was supposed to keep an open mind. Or something.
“I suppose so…” sighing, he tried to shake off the resentment towards the idea and asked, “Do you think I’ll be seduced?” pushing himself off the wall to start walking towards the auditorium, Neil offered Wheeler a wry smile.
“I’d expect nothing less, mate” her laughter complemented the statement as she fell into the step next to him and schooled her features back to the trademark nonchalant smile.
***
While you had come up with a million ways this evening could go, with a million scenarios of how Tenet agents behaved during a Christmas integration, the reality of it still managed to shock you repeatedly. You did not expect to see at least two people walk into a wall or fall over a table in a drunken haze before 9 pm. Or to have at least half a dozen people, who had licences to kill (Neil told you as much), dance to the sounds of Shaggy’s ‘Bombastic’. Or that Neil would be right next to you for most of the evening despite your sincere encouragements that he did not have to do that.
Because once you had successfully convinced him that he was free to go anywhere he wanted, even if just for a couple of minutes, John joined you quicker than you could let out a sigh:
“Enjoying the chaos?” the older man smoothly slid into the booth seat opposite yours and set down his pint of Guinness with a clink.
His presence was just as surprising as it was wholly welcome. While he was readily taking part in all the previous outings you had with Neil’s friends, John was the one you talked to the least. He usually stayed silent, observing the scene with almost unnerving levels of attention and awareness. It would not even be an exaggeration to say that the man intimidated you as much as you wished to know him better. Well, no time like the present, apparently.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” offering him a small smile, you made a show of looking around the room and its various Renaissance-like tableaus of action “Entertaining your employees or policing the alcohol consumption?” as if on cue, you both watched another person wobble on their feet on the dancefloor, clearly reaching the limit in their tolerance.
The Bambi on ice impression, enacted to the sounds of Kelis’ ‘Milkshake’ made you both snort with laughter.
“My employees are probably already sick to death with me. And it’s much too late for that second thing,” shrugging, John arched his eyebrow and prompted, “So?”
Supposedly, this was your invitation for honesty. Reclining slightly in the seat, you measured him with a long look before responding:
“I mean, it’s surely chaotic enough. More so than I thought possible. I kinda expected Tenet agents to be much more… subdued” the raucous laughter acting as background music to your statement, contrasted the words as you added, “Collected, perhaps”
Not that you were complaining. In fact, the levels of melodrama you had encountered during this evening were the main reason you were still there. That, and Neil’s unwavering presence, that is.
“They are, but not when there’s unlimited alcohol involved and the only chance to let down their guard for an evening” John’s thoughtful hum supported his answer as the man mirrored your relaxed position and regarded you cooly over the rim of his pint.
Somehow, whether it was due to your own dose of liquid courage or the fact that he had approached you, you did not feel judged. In fact, his openness served as the perfect trigger to voice your thoughts. Especially those that you could not tell anybody else.
“Makes sense. Except that Neil doesn’t seem as eager to relax,” as a tinge of worry crept into your voice, you dropped your gaze to the tabletop and traced the wood marks, unwilling to give him more vulnerability.
That was quite enough already. You were not supposed to care this much. Or, at all. And yet.
“That sounds like him,” letting out a sigh, John measured you with another long look. You did not have to raise your head to feel its weight “Still, I appreciate it that you’re trying” it was the genuine gratitude in his voice that made you look up at last.
It was utterly unprecedented. Unearned. Undeserved.
Surely, he knew.
Unease twisted in your gut as you fidgeted in the seat, forcing yourself to keep your eyes glued to his face as you replied:
“Well, he’s my friend, so…” of that much you were sure. But your brain did not wish to stop there, instead making you blurt out another set of questions that was uncalled for “Does he talk to you about me? About what we’re… doing?” a pathetic blush bloomed on your cheeks as you noticed John’s knowing smile.
Though what was it that he knew, you did not want to discover. In fact, you did not understand why it felt so crucial to ask, or why you desperately needed an answer. You got as far as opening your mouth to retract the questions and beg John to forget it ever happened before he replied:
“Rarely. That man is the opposite of kiss and tell. That much I can assure you” his reassuring grin only worked half as well as he probably wanted it to.
Sure, it was encouraging to know Neil was not out there dissecting every nanosecond of your nights together for an audience. Because as much as you were confident about your skills and had a whole plethora of sounds and memories to back up the argument that you could get Neil off no problem, it was still something that felt almost… sacred. Only yours and his to keep and cherish.
But there was something else in John’s gaze that made you pause and keep dwelling on the subject with a simple question:
“But?” ensuring the openness towards answers of any kind was clear on your face, you arched your eyebrow as you watched John hesitate.
It was a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, barely there. But you noticed anyway. Except that neither this nor the honesty in his gaze prepared you for the answer.
“But I know that he’s very much into you and that what you share is helping him become more confident, so thank you” John bowed his head with sincerity as his hand breached the table to give your palm a brief pat.
Your cheeks heated up as you bowed your head and dropped your gaze to the wooden pores again. Shame seemed stuck to your throat, impossible to swallow or ignore. You did not deserve that. Not in the slightest. Not at all.
And John needed to understand. Just in case he was the one comforting Neil in the inevitable moment of your fuck up.
“I’m not sure I deserve that,” dropping your voice to a whisper, you pressed your lips into a thin line and flattened your fingers against the cool wood.
To feel something different from remorse.
You were half expecting John to leave it at that, to stand up and abandon you to your embarrassment, but instead you felt his light touch on your chin, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. There was no judgment or doubt on his face as he added a reassurance with near startling conviction:
“You do. Trust me that I know you do” there was something unreadable in his eyes as he urged you to believe his words without question.
As if he knew what he was saying was true, instead of it being a mere platitude or an expression of hope. As if it were something he could vouch for. Except that made no sense. Did it?
After a beat, you shook your head lightly to clear it from ridiculous thoughts. Before you had to find some coherent response, you felt a familiar hand touching your shoulder.
“Dance with me,” Neil leaned in to whisper the words into your ear.
Before you whipped your head to the side to look at him, you registered John’s pleased smirk as the older man quietly stood up from the booth and walked away with the air of someone much too confident for their own good.
But there were many more pressing matters to attend to.
“Really?” as soon as you turned your head to look at Neil, you were shocked by his proximity.
The mere centimetres between your faces felt much too dangerous for a moment in public. And in front of all his coworkers, at that. Yeah, that would not do.
“Yep. I’d like that very much” Neil only nodded, clearly more than convinced that was exactly what you were supposed to be doing.
And it is not like you could say no. Admittedly, you had been loosely tapping the rhythm of every song that came up for the past few hours. Admittedly, you were always up for dancing. No matter the time and place. You could feel the resistance crumbling like a sandcastle during a high tide. Stifling an eyeroll that you did not mean at all, you sighed and reached out to smooth a lock of hair that was falling in his eyes:
“Okay, fine. But if the next song is some rubbish straight off the charts, I’m changing my mind,” stating the condition you shifted in the seat to give Neil a space to join you in the booth.
You did not need to give him further instructions as he wordlessly slid into the seat, pressing his body against yours in a move that was everything but accidental.
As was the knowing smirk he sent your way.
“I knew you’d say that. Which is why I requested a couple of songs to come on next, perfectly selected just for you,” finishing the sentence with a wink, Neil shrugged as though it was not revelatory.
As though you were supposed to expect that kind of dedication. All to convince you to dance with him. Utterly incomprehensible.
“…What songs?” blinking, you tried to find the answers to your questions in the depths of his blue eyes.
But to no avail. His face remained infuriatingly handsome and mysterious as Neil only nudged your shoulder with his and undid yet another button on his shirt. Yes, you were counting.
“You’ll see, Cupid,” he flashed you an enigmatic smile, surely rivalling the Mona Lisa, and casually reached out for your drink to steal a sip from the glass. Your glare did nothing to quench his thirst “Admittedly, the DJ looked at me as though I’ve lost my mind when I gave him the list, but he agreed,” he added after a greedy swig, only adding to your puzzlement.
What was one to expect but the absolute worst?
“I’m scared” the shiver was only half-feigned as you watched him closely, trying to predict what to expect.
But, as you probably should have anticipated from a special task force agent, practically a spy, he was impossible to read when he did not want to be. And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?
“You should be,” Neil winked as the final beats of Sean Paul’s ‘Temperature’ reached closure.
Before you could fully perceive his movement, he stood up from the seat and extended a hand towards you with a flourish. You raised your head with eyes wide open as familiar sax and percussion filled the room.
“Glen Miller? Seriously?” you choked out the question with your gaze already darting between the people to measure their level of consternation.
It did not take too long to determine that it was high. Understandably.
Yet, still, even in your shock, you could not fight the grin threatening to take over your face.
“Deadly,” Neil kept his steady gaze on you as he wiggled his fingers, wordlessly asking for that promised dance.
You already knew there was no point in fighting it. Without another word, you accepted his hand and let Neil lead you through the confused audience to the centre of the dancefloor. Neil smiled as he smoothly arranged you in the correct position for a slow swing number. You could only grin back as the instincts took over, instantly transporting you back to the Suncastle in Skegness and the Timeless Twirls. To what was probably one of the best evenings in your feeble existence.
It was not difficult at all to find your rhythm, to twirl around the room with the almost practised grace of two people who had done this before. Although this time, Neil did not seem to hold back, fearing judgment and falling short of some non-existent standard. On the periphery, you could feel the stares, you could hear a laugh that sounded suspiciously like Ives, but none of that truly registered. And especially not when Neil picked up the long-tested move of twirling you repeatedly, making your head spin and laughter spill from your lips, unbidden in its simplicity. You tried not to let your thoughts linger on the rightness of the feeling. Or on how you could not think of any other place you would rather be.
The final fanfares of the timeless tune found you both grinning like idiots, just barely managing to sync your moves to the music. But once the last notes rung out, you let go of Neil to drop into a courtesy and offered him a cheeky smile. Before you could think about stepping off the dancefloor, he snatched your hand in a loose hold and smirked:
“I did say songs. Plural” the smugness looked way too good on his face.
So good that you could not find it in you to put up a fight, apart from a weak glare:
“Really?” your subconscious perked up upon the first sounds of the next song.
That, too, sounded familiar.
‘Wise men say
Only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you’
When you registered Elvis’ rich croons, an eyeroll was inevitable. On the edge of your perception, you could see a few other people tentatively step onto the parquet, swaying in pairs with all the hesitancy of people fearing critique. And, in any other scenario, perhaps you would have been the critic. But not like this.
“Certainly, darling,” Neil seemed utterly unfazed as he squeezed your hand and took a step back, dragging you with him “Come on”
And who were you to argue with that?
Much like that night on the Leicester Square station platform, it was not tricky at all to fall into the correct, gentle rhythm. The weight of his palm pressed against your waist was as close to a comforting touch as you could imagine as you smoothed the wrinkles in his black button-down over the shoulder. You allowed him to lead you, carefully dodging other couples. It seemed Tenet crowd preferred Elvis to Glen Miller. You did your best not to take offence at that.
It was not a challenge either to keep your eyes on Neil’s face. In fact, the moment you looked up, you could not find any reasons to let your gaze stray again. Because it was there, in the blue of his eyes, that you found affection and something almost resembling peace. As though Neil did not want to do anything but dance with you. As though it was his haven, too. And although you knew you were not supposed to have thoughts like this or feel this level of comfort with someone who could be gone from your life within days, you also knew that it was much too late to do anything about it. That ship has sailed. You were utterly screwed.
No thanks to Elvis, either.
This time, as the ballad finished, you did not try leaving Neil’s side. You have learned your lesson in that department. Plus, that glimmer in his eyes was still there. Enticing you to stay and discover what more he had planned. And you did not have to wait long. The last piano chords were quickly replaced by a groovy rhythm. Inadvertently, your brows scrunched up as you concentrated on the music. Before your brain could identify the song, Neil reached out to smooth the crease between your eyebrows, cutting all thought processes. Your quiet gasp breached the silence between you as you opened your mouth to say something.
But you never got that far before the vocals kicked in, answering the most pressing question:
‘I see ya blowin' me a kiss
It doesn't take a scientist
To understand what's going on baby’
Your eyes widened as you took in his choice. The late ‘90s staple was not something you had expected to hear. Yet, still, your body already knew what to do. Loosening the formal ballroom position, you slid your hands up Neil’s chest to tangle them loosely around his neck, fingers playing with the hair on the nape. You did not need to ask him to put his hands around your waist and pull you closer. Close enough, you were still able to dance, but not without feeling the heat of his body. Close enough that you could not help but wonder whether this choice meant something more.
It took you a longer moment to collect your thoughts and ask a question:
“Why?” anything beyond that one word was too difficult to voice.
But, as always, it was enough. Neil knew exactly what you meant. You could feel his thumb stroking your back through the dress. You tried not to shiver once your brain had latched onto the sensation, tuning out everything else.
“Dunno. It just seemed fitting” seemingly unaware of your thoughts, Neil only shrugged.
The picture of innocence would have probably worked on anyone else. But you knew him too well to let that answer be the end of it.
“How so?” your attempted nonchalance probably got lost somewhere between your neutral tone and the eagerness in your eyes.
It was just that you wanted to know. Wanted to hear it from Neil, despite already suspecting what you were about to hear. And Jennifer Paige’s breathy voice over the speakers did not help to dismiss the allegations.
You watched him intently as Neil paused, gathering his thoughts. When he did look back to meet your gaze, you were surprised to see no hesitance in his eyes and a soft smile on his face. Utterly unapologetic towards what he was about to disclose.
“Because I’ve got a crush on you,” when Neil delivered those memorable words, you could do nothing but gasp quietly, unprepared to hear what you had pretty much deduced on your own.
Because as much as that made sense, as much as you knew it already, still, it was something else entirely to have Neil say it so openly. And not in the height of an orgasm, but rather on a crowded dancefloor, filled with his friends. It seemed a far cry from the shy man you had met months before. Almost as though John did have a point. Impossible as that seemed.
And although you briefly wanted to give him more, to let that softness shine that you only sometimes let him see, this was not the right moment. Not with the curious eyes boring holes into your back throughout the night. Not with the stifling weight of your thoughts that you did not want to contend with this early. So, instead, you just smirked, opting to fall back onto the cheekiness of your banter:
“That’s hardly anything new,” grinning, you hoped at least the affection in your eyes would reassure Neil that you did not mind his admission.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
His gentle hold, a thumb tenderly brushing the back of your hand, told you he received the message. The second layer of your conversation worked just as well as the words did.
“And here I thought I was hiding it well,” unashamed to the t, Neil only offered you a blinding grin and led you into a dizzying set of twirls.
Whether that was another diversion tactic was yet to be determined.
‘It's just some little thing (crush)
Not like everything I do depends on you’
And by God, you tried not to take those lyrics to heart. But it was getting harder to do so, especially in the face of Neil’s earnestness, shining so beautifully. So, as you completed the set of turns and fell back into the safety of his arms, no longer even willing to pretend that this was not precisely what you wanted, you met his blue eyes and offered the only truth you could give him:
“You weren’t, but neither was I” you watched as the surprise painted itself across his face, highlighting the features you have come to adore. Mindless of the audience, you detached your hands from their place on the nape of his neck and gently ran your finger over his face, tracing invisible lines down the slope of his nose and the lethal sharpness of his jaw “Gorgeous,” the comment was as much for him to hear as it was for you to admit aloud.
And, as Neil smiled in that beautifully bashful way, you were glad you had found the needed courage to speak it into existence.
***
The bliss of those moments spent on the dancefloor lasted for at least an hour and a half. You had spent most of this time either making a spectacle of yourself on the parquet or talking with Neil and his trio of muppets (a collective nickname disclosed less than an hour ago but fitting). You did not particularly like to dwell on the fact that you had been fully embraced by the three of them. Or on the fact that you almost felt cared for in ways that were rarely attainable by someone like you. Someone who never stayed too long. Or was asked to.
But, like most things during a work Christmas party, it all unravelled at approximately seven minutes past midnight and to the fading sounds of Texas ‘Summer Son’. Because of course it did. Having been asked by Ives for a dance, you happily allowed the man to twirl you all around the circumference of the dancefloor, while shouting the lyrics with too much passion for it to look normal. It was only when the song was fading into the next, whiplash-enduring tune that sounded suspiciously like the opening notes of ‘Puppy Love’, that you allowed your heart to slow to a more comfortable rhythm and glanced in the direction of Neil. He was still seated in the booth you had been occupying since the beginning of the evening. But he was no longer alone.
That same heart stuttered in your throat as you took in the picture – a beautiful young woman had deftly slid into the seat next to Neil and was now happily giggling away at whatever he had said. With her chin propped on her hand and her doe eyes trained on him, she certainly looked relatable. And judging by how Neil was leaning in her direction, none of this was particularly unwelcome. A bitter aftertaste lingered on your tongue as you quickly assessed your options. One, the most desired of all, was to just casually walk out of the party, taking your leave as you perhaps should, considering that you were not really needed anymore. But there was a catch. One, tragic, infuriating catch to the easy escape you had hoped to make. Namely, that all your belongings were still safely stowed in the clutch you had left by Neil’s side. For safekeeping. Allegedly.
A curse lodged itself in your throat as you slowly made peace with the reality. There was no way out of this without a humiliating walk back to the booth. Back to whatever it was burning through your chest and coating your tongue in a bitter film. And then there was always this cruel bitch of a curiosity that simply wanted to understand. To see it all unfold, like a car crash one cannot look away from.
With a sigh, you squared your shoulders in a similar manner you had often done before stepping onto the stage and quickly breached the space separating you from the booth. Averting gaze lest you were about to see something you should not, you casually slid back to your side of the table and, not so casually, met Neil’s look with a too-bright smile. On their own accord, your eyes drifted to his companion, taking in her pretty smile and sparkling eyes. She looked entirely harmless. Completely like someone you had no reason to dislike.
And you didn’t. Not all. Not in the slightest.
You got as far as placing your clutch in your lap to take out the phone and perhaps open the Uber app, before Neil’s voice broke through your increasingly chaotic thoughts:
“Cupid, this is Sophie,” joyfully, he forced you to focus on the one person you would rather ignore and glanced at her before adding the second part of the introduction, “Soph, this is my friend, Cupid”
Supposedly, a “friend” was a more appropriate label for the occasion than calling you what you were – a friend whom he was shagging. Or, more elegantly, an fwb.
It did not look like Sophie caught on to what Neil did not say as she directed her blinding smile towards you and extended her hand across the table:
“It’s nice to meet you” her damned green eyes sparkled as the woman (too) happily grasped your reluctant palm and shook it heartily.
“Ditto,” your attempt to muster even a quarter of her enthusiasm failed as you forced a pleasant smile and quickly let go of her hand.
Luckily, she did not seem to notice that, either. An uncomfortable layer of silence descended upon the three of you, coating the scene with awkwardness that had you grabbing your phone like a shield. But before you could go as far as actually investing the costs and possibilities of ordering an Uber to the Isle of Dogs, Neil yet again dragged your attention back to himself.
“How are you rating Ives’ dancing skills?” casually leaning forward, he adjusted the rolled-up sleeves over his forearms and measured you with his familiar blue gaze.
For a second, you bemoaned the fact that it was impossible to phase him out completely. But as it was, you had no choice but to play it cool. To ignore the likelihood of what you predicted happening at the beginning of this night, coming true. Because, despite your conflicted feelings and knowing that you were in no position to be upset about it, the idea of being replaced as Neil’s companion for the evening did sting in ways you never expected it to.
Except that your feelings on the topic hardly mattered. Nor should they. You felt Sophie’s curious gaze as you swallowed past the multitude of thoughts and feelings and replied:
“Well… he didn’t step on my toes, so that’s always a good sign. He’s managing. Maybe not as brilliantly as you, but that would be difficult to do” admittedly, the overt compliment was not necessary.
Nor did you have to admit that you had danced with Neil before, just in case Sophie had missed it. But you could have. And so, you did.
You did not dare glance at the woman to see her reaction. After all, what she did or did not think about you or your relationship with Neil hardly mattered. Right?
“Why, thank you, sunshine” Neil’s easy grin for once did not feel too much like a benediction, and more akin to a curse you could not be rid of.
Even if you tried your damnedest to shake it off. Perhaps if it were any easier, you would have bid him goodnight a long time ago.
“I need to ask you for a dance then, next time,” Sophie’s flirty line cut through the what-ifs with a necessary force.
Stifling another curse, you quickly unlocked your phone once again and opened the Uber app before you could hear Neil’s response. You did not want to know what it would be.
But, unfortunately, the desire to stay in the dark did not coincide with your sudden inability to hear a conversation taking place over a small table. With such luck, you heard every word spoken.
“Why not tonight?” Neil’s simple question, or the fact that he asked with a casual amount of interest, did not quell the unease in your stomach.
A symptom you were keen to blame on the unseemly mix of alcoholic drinks you had consumed during the past few hours. Because what else could it have been?
“We could, but I was thinking about leaving soon. I’m a bit tired” Sophie’s conversational response made you glue your eyes to the phone screen, already predicting what she was about to say next “Unless…”
At the strategic pause, you rolled your eyes, feeling a bitter smile appear on your face. It was a perfect set-up, one that Neil was sure to walk right into.
“What’s up?” bingo.
It was a trick you had tried before and succeeded. One that worked more often than it did not. And you could hardly blame the girl for trying. Urgently studying the dynamic prices, you refused to look up even for a moment. It was much simpler like that. You would hear Neil take up the proposition that was surely following, bid them goodnight and go your way. Possibly for good, not to complicate things further. Pretty straightforward, right?
“Would you like to go back to mine? We could have another drink, talk some more…” her voice dropped to a familiarly flirty timbre, and if you dared to look up, you know you would have seen her caress Neil’s arm.
Or his back. Or his thigh. You did not wish to know. Your finger hovered over the button ordering the ride to your flat as you willed your brain to stop registering sounds, just for a moment.
“I… I think I’ll pass this time” the moment Neil’s response came, it was the last thing you expected to hear. Your eyes widened as your phone clattered to the floor, forgotten. You whipped your head up as the sound of the falling object made both Neil and Sophie flinch. He only glanced at you before adding, “I’m a little bit tired myself” the remorseful tint to his tone was easily overlooked as you studied his face for a moment too long.
Long enough to notice that it lacked any true sorrow. Only after a beat too long, you remembered your phone and glanced away, folding yourself under the table to retrieve it. The stickiness of the floor did nothing to lure your brain away from hearing Sophie’s response.
“Maybe another time, then” her dejection was almost palpable as she sighed quietly and stood up from the table, clearly eager to get away. You avoided her gaze as you slid back into the seat “Goodnight, Neil,” the other woman glanced at you again and offered a parting nod, which you could only mirror “Cupid,” she turned away without waiting for your response and quickly headed towards the exit.
The space she left behind almost felt like a gaping silence, except for the loud music and numerous people still scattered around you. A strange sense of relief rose in your chest as you met Neil’s waiting gaze and gave his face a once-over. It was still devoid of sorrow or regret. Instead, he seemed to be deeply contemplating something which you wished to know and would rather never learn. His blue eyes stared right into your soul as if able to see the conflicted feelings you had been battling for the past ten minutes. It was a terrifying thought.
One you needed gone this instant. With no empty words at a ready, you chose to say the only thing on your mind:
“You could’ve gone with her, you know” it was the universal fact of the universe as you understood it.
It was also something you needed Neil to explain. He had every right to leave with her. And so then why didn’t he? That part made no sense. You needed it to make sense.
Neil measured you with another one of his all-seeing looks and shrugged. But the puzzlement must have stayed glued to your face because he quickly followed the gesture with an answer:
“I could’ve, but I didn’t want to” a corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile as if it was really this easy. You did not want to name the lightness suddenly spreading inside your chest, too akin to relief to be safely labelled. But before you had to find another way of distracting yourself from it, Neil extended his hand over the table, palm up, and asked “One more dance and we get out of here? What say you?” the familiar glimmer in his eyes reflected the dispersed light making it seem like an ember of fire had been caught within the blue of his irises.
Too used to feeling the burn, you looked away and offered a joke:
“You trying to be Aragorn, or something?” it was also a way of diverting your attention from the question you were itching to ask.
Namely, whether you were to expect a continuation of this night at yours or his place. Whether you were any different from Sophie in this regard. At the same time, a large part of you also did not want to know. The prospect alone threatened to freeze the warmth spreading over your heart and lungs.
“Maybe,” Neil only grinned, the previous pensiveness seemingly gone for good. He wiggled his fingers, still patiently resting over the tabletop, awaiting your move “So?”
Your gaze dropped to his hand, so open and ready for you to accept it the way you had always done. You glanced up again, suddenly needing to see the look in his eyes. To know whether he meant it.
To know what would be happening next. But there was nothing there to see in his beautiful face but an easy smile and glimmering curiosity. You took a deep breath and covered his hand with yours, palm to palm.
“Fine. Let’s do it,” it was the only choice you really had.
Neil’s answering grin was more than a reward for your leap of faith.
***
If someone asked you to describe how exactly you got from the Tenet party to sharing an Uber with Neil to somehow being sprawled across your couch next to him with a glass of wine in your hand, you would not know what to tell them. Admittedly, alcohol might have had an influence on that decision process at some stage. As did Neil’s blue eyes. And who could’ve blamed you, really?
You were quite sure it was him who suggested it, solving your internal dilemma whether you were to follow Sophie’s fate. And if the relief you felt in that moment clouded your judgment, then you were never the one to admit it. It did not matter anyway.
What did was the taste of tannins on your tongue and the lazy circles Neil was drawing over the bare skin of your shin now that you had taken off the tights and allowed yourself the luxury of putting up your feet in his lap. He did not seem to mind. Some repeats of the past season of ‘Love Island’ were playing on the TV in the background as you allowed the stupidity of that show and the buzz of alcohol to settle your brain.
It was already way too late in the night for reason, anyway.
You did not know how you got from watching these empty-headed hunks and polished up girlies amping up the drama with their antics to discussing what was unfolding on screen with Neil, but you were grateful nonetheless. It was at some point during your winded tirade about the selfishness of some tattooed idiot on the show, aptly named Kyle, that the vibe shifted yet again. It was not a moment you could pinpoint, exactly. But it was that heady combination of Neil’s touch, gratitude for the kind of man (and lover) he was, and desire for him that was never too far from the surface, that made you finish the complaint over the egoism of his sex with a praise only meant for him:
“Luckily for me, you’re the least selfish man I know” reaching out to pat his knee briefly, you flashed him a slightly manic grin and leaned back into the cushions.
But your brain did not stop there. It was already miles ahead, breathing life into thoughts that had been lying dormant till that moment. And sparking heat in your veins, getting warmer with each stroke of his fingers on your skin.
“Well, I-” whatever Neil intended to say hardly mattered to your lust and alcohol-muddled mind.
Because once an idea had taken root, there was no getting rid of it. Neil should have been more selfish at times. You wished he were. Especially where you were concerned. And now, this late, after so much had happened tonight, you were unable to keep yourself from expressing that thought.
“In fact, sometimes I wish you were a bit less… selfless” you turned your head to look at him, while your hand reached out to mute the TV, somehow already aware that you would rather have this conversation without a distraction.
Neil only blinked at your wolfish smile and stared blankly:
“What do you mean?” confusion knitted his brows adorably as he tried to read your meaning from your face.
Later, you wondered whether it was just the alcohol that was responsible for your daring and lightning-quick reflexes when you took less than ten seconds to put down your glass and straddle Neil’s lap instead of answering. But perhaps it was just him. With his confused gaze and parted mouth that let out a sharp gasp as soon as you settled on his thighs. Even with the element of surprise, Neil needed no time to steady you with his hands that instantly landed on your hips. You could not help but smile as you measured him with another heated look and crashed your mouth into his like you had been longing to for most of the evening. Neil met your pace as his lips parted on a quiet moan, inviting your tongue inside.
At some point, your hands found their way from his shoulders into his hair, messing up the golden strands between your fingertips. As you pulled lightly, Neil scraped his teeth over your bottom lip, eliciting a sharp gasp on your part. It seemed to have spurred him on, for the very next thing he did was to lick over the bruised lip while somehow pulling you closer. In effect, you felt his undeniable hardness brush against you. Smiling against his lips, you made sure your hips bumped into his again, lightly rolling your pelvis to increase the impact. That only played into your hands perfectly.
You repeated the move a couple of times, while still kissing Neil senseless. Only when you began to crave oxygen desperately, you leaned back after a chaste peck and opened your eyes just in time to see Neil’s wrecked countenance. He blinked his eyes open after a few seconds of delay. His hair was mussed beyond saving, and his lips were bruised red from your kisses. He panted in exertion as he leaned against the cushions of your sofa and met your gaze with another confused look. You were eager to follow the demonstration with an explanation, this time.
“What I meant is that each time you eat me out like it’s nobody’s business. You also finger me like your life depends on it, and I love it, but-” the words tumbled out through your mouth, encouraged by the lust-addled mind and the lack of a filter wiped off by the wine.
And you would have kept going, getting to the point of it all, if it were not for Neil interrupting your tirade:
“You know that I love doing it. It practically gets me off just as good as having sex with you does” the sweetest innocence shone in his eyes as Neil eagerly attempted to defend himself against something he clearly did not yet understand.
You could only smile as Neil caressed your cheek, as if trying to quell your doubts without even comprehending their source. You covered his hand with yours and quickly amended the statement to ensure no miscommunication could occur:
“I know. But sometimes I’d just like to… return the favour, so to speak” a glance down to drive your point forward served its purpose as Neil blushed at the implication.
It was astounding how he could still be so sheepish around you despite having literally been inside you more than a handful of times. It was not a stretch to admit you were entranced by that fact.
Especially in this instance, for as soon as Neil understood and processed what you were suggesting, his blush turned crimson, and he was quick to jump with reassurance:
“You don’t have to-” only that was what you expected him to say.
And it was entirely unnecessary. Your smile sharpened as you mirrored his touch by swiping your thumb over Neil’s cheekbone and replied:
“I want to,” you batted your eyelashes to strengthen the intended effect and asked, “So, may I?”
There was no way of explaining why it suddenly felt so vital that you made Neil feel good, without dipping into an utterly unhinged territory. You only knew that it was something you had to do. Now, if possible. As soon as you got that non-negotiable consent, or even just a nod. And, as you met his gaze without daring to blink, you knew Neil was only a second away from giving it to you. Desire battled with the remaining sense of selflessness as he shifted underneath you, clearly uncomfortably hard.
Thankfully, it was just the thing you could help him with.
Finally, Neil swallowed hard and nodded sharply, delivering the final blessing with the reluctance of someone who has convinced themselves they did not deserve what they were about to be given:
“…Yes,” leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, seeking closeness you were eager to give him.
At least for a moment. After a beat, you pressed a lingering kiss to the crease between his eyebrows and, as gracefully as it was possible given your slightly inebriated state, slid onto your knees on the floor:
“Great. You can do whatever you want. I trust you,” flashing Neil what you hoped was an encouraging, and not manic, grin, you smoothly undid his belt buckle and pulled down the zipper on his jeans.
He only needed another moment to catch up with reality before helping with your task and shimmying his jeans down a bit so they would not be in the way. Presented with the sight of his black boxers, barely hiding what you already anticipated, you thoroughly licked your lips and braced your arms on his knees to gain the perfect angle. As your hands touched his underwear, Neil hissed and leaned back, resting his head on the cushions. Perfectly relaxed as a man could be when utterly possessed by desire. You were not particularly eager to extend his suffering. This time.
Without another second wasted, you lightly massaged him over the boxers before taking his length in hand and taking him out of his underwear. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s hands tighten over the sofa cushions, almost in sync with your hands stroking his length. Leisurely at first. But soon, after noticing the pearls of sweat on his temples, you decided to cut to the chase. So to speak.
Leaning forward, your tongue darted out to circle his head, eliciting an instant moan. Gratification lit up the fuse in your brain as you flattened your tongue and began licking up and down his shaft, letting his vocal cues choose the paths and the intensity of your actions. After a moment, when the silence of the room had long been replaced with Neil’s moans and gasps, he lifted his hand to tangle it in your hair. Almost too carefully, his thumb swiped over your warm cheek and caressed the blushing skin. It was all the assurance you needed to know you were doing a decent job of it.
Naturally.
It was also the time to take it one step further. To do what you had been itching to do for months. You glanced at Neil for a split second, taking in his hazed gaze and panting mouth. He looked just as ruined as you wanted him to be. All thanks to you. The reminder alone made you clench your thighs together as the heat in your core started to simmer. The wet patch on your underwear was a given, too, and you felt it stick to your skin as you took one fortifying breath and bowed your head over his length, taking as much of it as you could into your mouth.
A broken moan rang out in the room as Neil instinctively tightened his hold over your hair and breathed out, as though trying against all reason to keep himself from coming just yet. Except that was not necessary at all, from where you were standing. And you had to let him know. Your head bobbed as you repeated the motion, stroking his shaft with your hand and sucking on him with renewed vigour. All to elicit more fascinating sounds and taste him on your tongue. You already knew that this particular tinge of salt and sweat would be one of your favourites. If that were a normal thought to have.
After a short while, you could tell Neil was rapidly losing the battle. The knuckles of his hand that was still clinging to the sofa were white, and you knew that it was only due to his self-composure that all you could feel was a light pressure on your scalp from where his other hand was fisted in your hair. He never yanked at your hair, never pushed, even though you permitted him to. And that, on its own, was another reason why you felt the gusset on your panties somehow get even wetter.
Or maybe it was just Neil.
Your steady focus, driven by the singular need to make Neil come so hard that you would make a lasting impression, was only interrupted when he urgently tapped your cheek and rasped out a simple warning:
“Fuck, I’m going to-” Neil never quite managed to say what he intended as you flattened your tongue over his head and tasted the first drops of what was coming.
A shudder travelled through his body as he moaned loudly. You briefly wished you could record the sound and play it again later. Especially during those moments alone when memory could not fully get you off. When you needed something more, and Neil was not there to help.
But there were other pressing matters to attend to. You raised your head, while your hand continued its bold strokes, and met his heated gaze with a devilish smirk:
“Good. You should” it really was that simple.
Because Neil holding back or him taking it away from you was an unfathomable thought. You moved your head to put your mouth back on the task, but before you could do as much, he cupped your cheek and tried to interrupt again:
“But-” squeezing his eyes shut, Neil seemed unable to put together the words, finally resorting to a simple plea you could not ignore, “Cupid”
You knew what he was asking. What he needed to be told. And what seemed to be that final line of resistance that kept him from coming.
Using your unoccupied hand to tap his knee, you waited until he blinked his eyes open again to offer a simple assurance:
“I want you to,” and by God, you did.
Desperately so.
It seemed to have been what Neil needed to hear because the moment you put your mouth back on him and swiped your tongue down his length, his whole body tensed like a string. His hand tightened around the strands of your hair, lightly tugging at your scalp as he came with a moan and your name on his tongue. A wave of exhilaration washed over you as you greedily swallowed each drop. He tasted just as good as you knew he would.
It was only once Neil finished and his body seemed to relax a fraction, utterly spent and sated, that he opened his eyes again and met your waiting gaze. You could not help but put on a performance as you licked your lips clean, savouring every last taste of him on your tongue. It was even more fascinating to see Neil’s eyes darken at the sight. But before you could do anything about that observation, you had questions to ask:
“So? What’s the verdict?” resting your cheek on his knee, you batted your eyelashes and smiled angelically.
As though your brain was not full of other debauched daydreams. Neil slumped against the cushions and breathed heavily, his hand still gently resting against your cheek. After a beat, he answered:
“Good God, Cupid,” another groan acted as punctuation as he chuckled and brushed his thumb over your parted mouth. You did not waste the opportunity to dart out your tongue and press it against the pad of his finger. That only made Neil’s eyes darken further “You’re incredible,” sighing out the praise, he picked up your hand still clinging to his thigh and pulled it.
You did not need further instruction to get up from the floor and perch on his lap. You did try not to pout as Neil tucked himself back in his boxers and swiftly arranged you so that you were back where you had started – straddling his lap, a breath away from his inviting mouth. You eyed it for a moment, barely able to resist, before you flicked your gaze up to meet his again and grinned:
“Fab. I hope I’ll be allowed to repeat the performance,” you also hoped Neil knew how much you meant it.
You were pleased to see that he, too, was waging a battle, trying to focus on anything but your lips. When he finally managed to refocus his gaze, his blue eyes were darker than ever.
“You will. But now I need to return the favour” the resolution in his voice was something you knew you had no chance arguing with.
It was a done thing, really. Not that you were planning to resist what you knew Neil was hinting at. How could you resist that?
But before you could allow yourself to give in and let him smoothly proceed onto what would undoubtedly end with you writhing in pleasure (as always), you could not deny yourself a tease:
“Need to?” leaning closer, you flattened your palm against his chest, right where his shirt buttons were undone, and you could touch his bare skin.
Deeming it close enough when the tip of your nose brushed against his, you offered him a small smile. Knowing he would understand what you were getting at. What you needed from him.
Neil perfectly mirrored your smile as he covered your hand with his and glanced at your lips again. You could feel the tension between you slowly simmer, about to reach the boiling point anew. Forcing yourself to stay still instead of addressing the increasingly distracting ache between your thighs, you allowed your unoccupied hand to dive into his ruffled hair. That move alone had Neil swallow hard and visibly pause, as if needing another moment to regain coherence. Once he could speak, he replied:
“Want to,” amending the previous statement to your gleeful giggle, Neil paused to feign thoughtfulness before adding, “Have to,” which seemed to be the final version of the sentiment.
One that you could not help but fully agree with. Without another word, you nodded, signalling your approval and pulled Neil in for another kiss.
For a long while afterwards, every other thought or concern was deemed insignificant. As always.
can I request platonic headcanons Nikki, Max and Neil with a child fem reader who can read minds and acts like Anya Forger from Spy X Family, basically the reader recently escape from a lab facility and somehow sneaks onto the bus going to Camp Camp in order to get away and arrives to camp with the three trio, the one thing that made them stand out is that she wears a hospital gown and is barefoot and the nobody seems to think it's odd besides David and the three trio, one thing is that she doesn't want anyone to find out that she has mind reading powers and the reason why she looked extremely nervous around them when she overhears their thoughts and likes to keep at a distance a lot of the times but it didn't stop from wanting to know how the outside world is like since spending her whole life in a lab and being experimented on by scientists but they also doesn't know certain social clues like how to introduce herself or how to talk to people or certain manners and she sometimes accidentally sprouts out their thoughts or secrets which got them suspicious on how did she know about it and is until they confronts her about who exactly she is and how did she know about their secrets which she reluctantly that she has mind reading abilities and that she was an escapee from a lab facility and she wanted to start a new life as well as tearfully beg them not to tell anyone about her true identity or her powers or otherwise she would be captured and sent back, this would eventually leads the gang and the reader slowly becoming close and the reader became part of the gang, Max may also sometimes use the reader's mind reading powers to read David or others people's thought to pull a pranks on them or blackmail them but he does care about the reader as a person/friend even if he doesn't express it that much
Platonic headcanons Mind Reader
💙 Max x child fem!Reader 🧸
Max has seen a lot of strange things since he was at summer camp, but it would seem that the others did not notice it. You were weird too. When he first saw you, you were barefoot and wearing a hospital gown. Max understood that it was strange and told his friends about it, but pretty quickly David, who was worried about your health, gave you a change of clothes, and you didn't stand out among the other campers. Max was sure that something was wrong with you, so he preferred to watch you, wanting to find out what kind of secret you were hiding
You always tried to stay away from the others, but David tried to make sure that you communicated with the others. Thanks to this, Max had a better chance to find out about you. Every time you talked, you behaved strangely, as if you were nervous about something, you didn't know some basic things about communication, and sometimes it felt like you were guessing the thoughts of others. Max could have sworn that you knew several times what he was thinking before he even had time to say a word
When Max's patience came to an end, he came to you and directly asked who you were and why you seemed to be reading minds. He wasn't going to leave you alone and you understood that, so honestly, albeit reluctantly, you admitted that you had escaped from the laboratory where experiments were being performed on you and that you really could read minds, but you wanted to start a new life. That's why you asked him not to tell anyone about it. Max saw that you were ready to cry and he understood that your freedom depended on keeping your secret, so he promised that he would not tell anyone. Max was the first person you could trust and call a friend
You became a part of his company and the four of you could often be seen together. At Max's request, you read the minds of David and other vacationers, so he had the opportunity to blackmail them or just make fun of them. But despite the fact that from the outside it might seem that he was just using you, in fact, he cared about you and did not let you offend. Max didn't have many real friends and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt you
🩹 Nikki x child fem!Reader 🐾
From your first day at camp, Nikki thought you were weird and didn't hide it. You were barefoot and wore a hospital gown, which was soon replaced by clothes that David had carefully given you, Nikki thought you smelled of medicines, but there was something else unusual about you. Your behavior when you were talking to someone looked unusual, if not strange
You might not have known about some simple rules of communication and were very nervous when talking to someone. But Nikki was much more interested in the fact that you seemed to read her mind. You could have answered the question she didn't have time to ask, or just guessed what she was thinking. Nikki didn't understand how you did it, and when her curiosity got the better of her, she asked you directly about how you did it and if you could teach her to do the same
You looked very worried, but you honestly told her that you can't read minds. You told her that you had escaped from the laboratory where you were being experimented on, that you had just begun to learn about the world outside your cell and that you did not want to go back, so you begged her not to tell anyone about your secret. Nikki was delighted with this news but promised to keep your secret, realizing that it was really something important
Thanks to Nikki, you have made friends. She didn't tell Max and Neil about your ability, but you used it to pull pranks on David or other campers. For Max and Neil, you were just good at noticing details, but for Nikki, you were practically a wizard
🔬 Neil x child fem!Reader 🧪
Neil considered many people strange. He preferred to stay with his experiments, but you stood out even among those who rested at the camp. You were wearing a hospital gown and you didn't have shoes. You arrived quite recently and behaved as if you had never been among your peers before. It was especially strange that you seemed to guess the thoughts of others. The first few times he was sure it was just a coincidence, but when you answered the question that Neil was just thinking about, he realized that something was wrong
For several days, he watched you, trying to figure out how you guessed the thoughts of others. You behaved strangely, as if you knew about his plans and because of this tried to behave in such a way as not to arouse suspicion, but from the outside it looked quite the opposite. Neil tried to find out your secret, but he didn't see anything that could help him even a little. At some point, his patience broke down and he directly demanded that you explain how you manage to read people's minds. When he saw the fear on your face, he was very surprised, not understanding the reason for this
You asked him not to tell anyone about it. As it turned out, you really could read minds and you spent your whole life in a laboratory where experiments were performed on you. After escaping from there, you were able to hide on the bus that took you to this camp, where you began to learn about the world that you could only dream of before. You didn't want to go back, so you asked him to keep your secret. Neil would never have believed your words if it wasn't for what he saw with his own eyes. He was interested in learning more about your ability, so he promised not to tell anyone
You became part of his social circle and Neil became more and more convinced that you weren't lying. You helped Max with the practical jokes, even though he didn't know that you used your ability for this, and Neil watched, trying to determine a pattern or at least something that would help figure everything out. Although sometimes he perceived your communication as a scientific experiment, but he still cared about you
