So happy belated 3000! I know I am a little late to the party but we’ll, here I am 😅 I kinda missed the post for the „I love you 3000 writing bonanza“… But if you still take request I gonna leave this one here:
What about some smutty CEO!Ari „I might be a terrible dancer, but I‘ve got great moves in bed“? Because… Ari is… 🥵
Ari is in a league of his own and it's been a while since I've written him so oh boy was this a treat!
Elementary - CEO!Ari Levinson x Reader
Summary: Too many shots of tequila plus an insanely attractive boss equals an unforgettable night
You had no idea how you got into this situation. Well… actually no you did. To break it down into a simple mathematic equation (office party + alcohol) + insanely attractive boss = incredibly awkward and frankly stupid social interactions.
From the moment you met Ari, you were completely smitten. You were surprised that you even got the job as his personal assistant after spending the majority of the interview drooling over his insane body which he teased with his rolled-up sleeves and one too many shirt buttons undone. Yet somehow you did, you guessed your extensive CV and experience did most of the talking because your mouth certainly didn’t.
When you were offered the job you weren’t even sure if you should accept it or not. If you did you would have unlimited access to stare and daydream about him, you would be the person closest to him in the entire company. But you weren’t entirely sure whether you could actually do the job with a distraction as good as him only a short distance away. You didn’t think you could bear the embarrassment of being fired by him.
Your friends and a couple shots of tequila gave you the courage to accept the job, because you were really, really good at being a personal assistant. So surely even if you were distracted you would still just be a good assistant.
Thankfully it was surprisingly easy. While your crush remained it definitely became less intense and debilitating after a couple of weeks. You guessed it was because of Ari’s easy-going, charismatic nature. It was impossible to not become friends with him and with that friendship came an air of ease between you. He wasn’t a big terrifying CEO, he was just Ari. Did you still have fantasies about him? Yes of course, but you were still able to walk into his office and not be a bumbling mess.
That easygoing friendship was irrevocably changed at the most recent office party. You couldn’t remember exactly why or what you were celebrating, you just knew that Ari asked you to book a private bar and make sure there was plenty of booze. Which you did, too well, because if there had been less booze you probably wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself.
In your defence Ari is a terrible influence, all it would take was a flash of his lopsided smile and you’d do whatever he said. Including drinking more shots of tequila than you should have. You could argue however that you were a bad influence too, you were the one who dragged him out onto the dance floor. With so much alcohol pumping through your veins you didn’t think much about how you were moving your body, you just danced. Ari had laughed and danced along with you, the warmth of his hand never far from you as he held your hand, or ran it down your back or sides.
“It’s a good thing dancing skills weren’t essential when I hired you” he laughed after you pulled out a dance move that was frankly criminal.
You shot him a smile as you turned to face him, hips twisting as you placed your hands on his shoulders. He in turn rested his on your waist, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as your hands shifted down to rest on his chest.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you said beckoning him closer so you could whisper in his ear “I might be a terrible dancer, but I‘ve got great moves in bed”
You could hear his quiet groan over the heavy bass of the music as he pulled away enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze turned so heated you were sure you were about to melt.
“Oh really? Are you up for showing me those moves?” he asked, voice low, his hands drifting to the small of your back.
You bit your lip as you smirked up at him. To hell with the consequences. You nodded your head.
Ari gave you a wolfish grin “Let’s go then” he said, turning you around, keeping his hands on your hips as he led you out of the bar.
You knew exactly where he was taking you, he’d asked you to book a bar in a hotel and to also book him a room so he could crash there without needing a driver to take him home. Your heart was pounding in your chest, electricity pulsing along your skin as heat pooled at your core.
You’d barely stepped into the suite when you both began devouring each other. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and practically climbed him like a tree as he walked you back towards the bed. Your dress was discarded on the floor, and his shirt ripped open before the back of your knees even hit the mattress.
Despite the amount of alcohol in your system, you felt 100% sober and aware as he knelt down, hooked your leg over his shoulder and dove in to taste you. If the alcohol was dampening your senses you wondered what this would be like sober because it was already so goddamn amazing. You weren’t even embarrassed at how quickly you came because it was the best damn orgasm of your life.
As soon as he rose back up you grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him down on top of you, tasting yourself on his lips and his weight pressed down onto you. No time was wasted getting him completely naked and inside you. The stretch was so perfect that you were certain you were completely ruined. It was like a completely animalistic side of both of you won out as you clung onto him, nailed biting into his skin as he thrust deeply into you.
The rest of the night was a blur, yet one you could remember with absolute clarity. You’d lost count of how many rounds you had gone but you knew that you had performed more positions in one night than you had in your entire sexual history. If you had a sex bucket list it would be halfway completed by the time you and Ari collapsed back into bed, too tired and out of surfaces to carry on.
Which brings us to now. The moment you wake up, your body sore like you had climbed Mount Everest five times and your head pounding. You blinked a couple of times as your eyes tried to adjust to the light pouring in. Once they had it didn’t take you long to realise you weren’t in your bed, nor were you in your apartment. The weight draped across you was not your duvet, it was a long and muscular arm.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you followed the arm back towards its owner, alarm bells ringing when you saw Ari fast asleep next to you. Shit. You remembered every last detail from the night before, you didn’t regret any of it because how could you regret the best night of your life? But you were absolutely certain you were about to lose your job.
You didn’t have much time to dwell on that thought at all though as Ari’s eyelid fluttered open and his bright blue eyes immediately landed on you.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice deep with sleep.
You instantly melted hearing his voice, he already had a deep sexy timbre but adding sleep to it just took it to a whole other level.
“Hey,” you whispered.
His arm around you tightened, pulling you closer so your head was resting on his chest “I had a lot of fun last night… did you?” he asked, fingers tailing up and down your arm.
“Yeah… I did” you admitted because there was no way you could lie to him.
“Good” he hummed “wanna make it a regular thing?” you were silent for long enough that he added “And I don’t just mean last night, I mean dinners and all that other stuff people do together”
You were pretty sure your heart skipped a beat, you gazed up at him and saw that lopsided smile that made it impossible to say no. And why the hell would you say no, more nights like last night and mornings waking up next to him? You’d be insane if you said no.
A smile crept onto your face as you nodded “I’d love that” you said quietly.
Ari smiled back down at you, as he cupped your cheek and kissed you softly “Good” he grinned before shifting slightly beneath you “I don’t wanna talk about work but on Monday I want you to wear that cute little black pencil skirt” he smirked.
You chuckled “Done, anything else you want me to do boss?” you smirked.
“I want you to put out a job advert for another PA,” he told you.
It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you, yeah you loved the idea of being with Ari but you still needed a job “What?” you choked out.
Ari shushed you gently “Don’t worry, you still have your job if you want it” he reassured you “I just think we’re gonna need another assistant to help out while we have some fun in my office” he grinned.
Your smile returned to your face as you nodded “It’ll be the second thing I do Monday morning”
Ari arched a brow “What’s the first?”
You bit your lip as you shifted closer to him, your lips a breath away from his “you” you whispered before kissing him deeply.
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Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist
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Summary: An unexpected visit to the new OB-GYN in town results in a less than professional exam.
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, fingering, oral (f!receiving), allusions to infidelity, porn with (some) plot, gynaecological exam, undefined age gap, very unprofessional doctor!Joel lol, pet names, lots of fluff at the end!!
A/n: Thank you to the very lovely anon who requested this! You can find the request here. The idea is from a wonderful Bridgeton fic by @ao3loveisstrong, which you can read here! Thank you so much again for letting me use your idea ☺️❤️ hope everyone enjoys!
There’s nothing particularly warm about the waiting room. Of course, for all the gynaecology offices you’ve visited, that’s pretty par for the course. Just stone-grey walls, the paint chipping in parts, and posters stuck up that may have once added colour but have faded now into barely-legible antenatal support numbers and information on STIs.
The only noise that fills the space is the mechanical click click click of the receptionist’s typing, the only sound she’s made apart from a grumbled “sit over there” when you first walked in. Anytime you tap on your phone she shoots you a death stare from over her desk, so you instead opt for sitting with your hands on your lap and staring at your feet.
“Ma’am? The Doctor’s ready for you now.”
You look up to find the nurse looking right at you, her friendly smile about the only thing brightening up the room.
You follow her down the corridor, just as dull and drab as the waiting room, to the final door where a sign reads ‘Dr. Miller, OB-GYN’ in scratched letters.
“Just through here,” she gestures, knocking the door and quickly getting a “come in” in reply. You straighten your top, even the waistband on your skirt and give the nurse a quick smile before slipping into the office.
Dr. Miller’s room is brighter, the walls clearly treated to a fresh lick of paint, with ‘thank you’ cards pinned to a corkboard beside the window. You can tell he’s made an effort to make it more welcoming, more comforting, and it works. It’s still clinical, all-white with tools and sanitising solutions dotted around, but his touches of personality make it almost like a home. There’s a picture frame on his desk, a little too far away for you to see the detail on it, but the black-clad, larger frame holding the smaller white-draped one tells you it’s a wedding photo. It’s sweet.
And sat at the desk, of course, is the man himself, his eyes trained on you from the moment you walked in.
Doctor Miller stands, tugging on the shirt of his white scrubs. “Ah, hello -”
“Y/N,” you interject, and a small grin tilts his lips upwards. He’s cheeky, confident. He’s hot.
“Right, Y/N,” he pauses. “Your appointment was made quite last-minute today.”
He makes his way to the exam table as he talks, patting where he wants you to lie down.
You let your eyes wander from his hand, trailing up his arm to his jaw, covered in a soft, greying beard that gives him an irresistible ruggedness. He’s tall, with big broad shoulders that overshadow your own, the structure of his face harsh yet perfectly sculpted.
“Well, it was an emergency, Doctor,” you reply, leaving your coat and bag on a nearby chair before hopping onto the table and trying not to let your gaze linger on his frame. He’s just trying to do his job, after all.
You swing your legs onto the table and lay down, legs bent and knees in the air, exposed. Dr. Miller’s already towering figure hangs over you, his eyes on yours, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows.
“Comfy?” He asks, something playful underlaying his tone. Like he’s teasing you.
You shrug, “are these things meant to be comfy?”
The Doctor laughs and shakes his head, landing a hand on your covered knee. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so. But I’ll make things as comfortable as possible for ‘ya.”
His southern drawl is prominent, but for his rough appearance, it’s soft and gentle. Kind to the ears.
You just nod and smile, satisfying him as he takes a seat on the stool before the table and asks, “what’s the problem then, darlin’?”
Darlin’. A name that drips so easily from his lips, so smoothly, and yet it sets your tummy on fire and it’s all you can do not to squeeze your legs back together right there in front of him.
You swallow. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself, Doc.”
His gaze falls to your crotch, carefully pushing the mesh of your skirt up over your legs to reveal your underwear, the ones you can feel a puddle of arousal forming in. You know he must see your wetness when he sighs out, his eyes stuck on your crotch for a moment longer before he looks back up to you again.
“You’re married,” he observes, having noticed your wedding band.
You’d be hard-pressed not to notice his hands drifting along your thighs as you answer with a soft “mhm”.
“And how’s your sex life?”
The question is blunt, direct, genuine. Hopeful, perhaps. “It’s… okay. A little slow,” you answer, biting your lip when you see his brows knit together.
“Slow? You don’t have sex often?”
“No, no,” you answer quickly. “He’s just slow in bed. I think it’s ‘cos he’s so old.” There’s a firmer grip on your thighs now, and you try not to giggle, focussing on the ceiling so as not to give yourself away as he stares up at you.
“Right,” is all he replies, before startling you with how quickly he rips off your underwear and throws them onto the floor. Unprofessional, unsanitary, uncaring.
Desperate.
“How’s it look, Dr. Miller?” You tease. He slowly, painfully, brings a finger to your entrance; his thumb if its thickness is anything to go by.
“You’re wet,” he whispers, almost inaudible. “You always get this wet? For your husband?”
Your heart races, and you don’t realise you haven’t answered the Doctor until he pulls his hand away, tracing it back along your inner thigh. “You seem distracted, (Y/N). Maybe we should reschedule our app-”
“No!” You all but yell, an embarrassed flush quickly joining the heat in your cheeks. You can’t see his face, but you know Dr. Miller’s smirking, and you shuffle awkwardly on the table. “Need you to check up on me, Doctor,” you whine.
“Well in that case, ma’am…” he stalls, though you’re acutely aware of his presence at your core, so much so you can almost feel his breath hit your clit. “I need you to lay extra still for me. Can you do that?”
You nod, not saying anything, and he laughs. “Very well then.”
You jolt as Dr. Miller swipes his thumb over your clit, throbbing and sensitive at his touch, desperate for more. He goes lower, using two fingers to spread your folds apart, his voice noticeably deeper as he groans.
“You’re dripping, sweetheart.” The Doctor’s gentle cadence is gone, pure lust soaking his words.
“That a good sign, Doctor?” You ask, willing yourself to stay calm as you feel the tip of his fingers tease your entrance.
His other hand moves to the top of your knee, holding it in place as he pushes two fingers inside you, so big they stretch out your cunt with ease. “Very good,” he breathes, too occupied with watching his fingers push in and out to even register his own words.
The two of you are silent for a few moments then, the only sound in the room that of your laboured breathing and the wet slick of your cunt tensing around Dr. Miller’s fingers. He’s skilled, moving in all the right ways and finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl, straining against the table at his mercy.
“You need another one. ‘Ta make sure everything’s fine,” Dr. Miller mutters. His words are strained, like he’s resisting his own urge to moan out, to go completely feral on you while nurses and receptionists shuffle around on the other side of the door. You wish he would.
“O-okay, Dr. Miller. Whatever you want, sir, please,” you gasp, a wave of pleasure flooding you as he finally reacts to your words, groaning a “fuck” and quickly spreading you even further with a third finger. Your hands go to grab his hair on instinct, but your position on the exam table makes it impossible, so you grip the sides of the metal frame instead and squeeze as he curls his fingers deep inside you and fucks you with them harder, faster.
You bite your lip, desperate to halt the moans that threaten to break out far too loudly, sure to draw attention from anyone passing by. But the coil in your lower tummy tightens, led by the Doctor’s expert movements inside you, and you whimper “I’m cu- cumming, oh my god, I-” before arching your back off the table and -
He stops. He removes his fingers, the feeling of emptiness immediate, and you cry out as he goes back to caressing your thighs.
“Sh, shh,” he soothes, placing a gentle kiss to your knee. “I need to see how you taste, baby. Can I do that? Can I fuck you with my tongue?”
You don’t, can’t, even speak, just frantically nod and buck your hips into the air for some sense of relief. You hear the Doctor chuckle against your skin, his kisses trailing back down your leg until his nose is nestled in the crook of your pubic bone, not where you need him but just close enough to bring tears to your eyes.
“Please, Dr. Miller, I need it, please-”
He hears you. He hears you, and you know it gets to him when you call him that, and before you can even register his movements he’s driving his tongue inside you and nudging his nose against your cunt. You yelp, hands once again gripping the metal frame of the exam table, heels digging in to the cushioned mat where you’re lay.
The Doctor moans, the vibrations hitting your clit and making you moan back, the fast pace of his movements making it almost too overwhelming. “So good,” he grunts, flicking his tongue against your clit as he takes a moment to breathe. “So fucking good, baby. Such a gorgeous little pussy. So perfect.”
“It’s yours, Dr. Miller. Oh god, it’s yours. Please just - oh, just make me cum, Doctor, please.”
You sound pathetic, you know you do, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. You know he loves it because he groans again, still breathless but diving back into your cunt and pushing his tongue even deeper inside you, wet and warm and hitting all the right spots.
You’re getting close, and he must sense it because he releases his bruising grasp on your knee to thumb your clit, fast and needy, losing the rhythm he’s built in his own desperation.
“Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Cum on my tongue,” he demands, pushing and pushing until you stutter over the edge and finally reach your release. You clasp a hand over your mouth, ignoring the tears that fall down your cheeks and arching up from the table, seeing stars as Dr. Miller coaxes you through your orgasm and finally begins to slowly, gently, bring you down from your high.
“Alright baby, alright.” His voice is starkly different to how it was just moments ago; calm, gentle, caring. You lay still for a little while longer, the rising and falling of your chest starting to settle, the pattern on the ceiling more visible where it once whirred with your dizziness.
And then you sit up, Joel’s face already tracking yours, a grin playing on his lips.
“Too old, huh?” He recalls, less-than-impressed although you know he’s only being playful. “I may be older than you, sweetheart, but I doubt none of them younger boys could make you squirt in my office.”
“I squirted?” You ask, shocked. You didn’t even realise, too caught up in the pleasure and the way he filled your senses.
Your husband just grins further, and you roll your eyes, though you match his smile.
“You gotta start warnin’ me when you visit the office, sweetheart. You’re wearing me out,” he laughs, finally standing from his little stool to settle between your legs where they dangle off the exam table.
“Shouldn’t be a problem since you’re so not old,” you quip back, making him roll his eyes. He takes your hands in his larger ones, brushing a messy piece of hair from your eyes and kissing the spot just above your brow, whispering “I love you” against your skin.
You adore when he’s like this; so gentle, so sweet. And you know that no matter how much he complains, he loves it when you come to visit him at work. He’s only moved into this office recently, the both of you still getting used to the new area, and you couldn’t be prouder of how far he’s come.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, baby,” you tell him, nuzzling his bearded jaw and resting a hand on his chest. “I’m so proud of you.”
Joel only hums, modest as ever, holding you closely. He knows you mean it. You’ve been with him from the start, through everything, making the highs higher and the lows easier; every day he wonders how he’s gotten this lucky, even if you do leave him endlessly flustered with your surprise office visits.
You lean up to press a gentle kiss on his lips, grinning as he moans into you, and ots only then that you notice how hard he still is beneath his scrubs.
“What time are you home?” You ask, your hands playing with his collar and the scruff of his beard.
“Around 5:30, hopefully,” he replies, though he looks in his own world as his eyes flutter closed at your touch and his head tips into your hand.
“Alright,” you press another kiss against his jaw, “well as soon as you’re back, I’ll fix this.” You gently squeeze his throbbing cock over his pants, making him moan and his hips stutter.
“Baby, you ruin me,” Joel whines as you remove your hands and jump off the table, collecting your bag and coat before turning to face him with a giggle. You cup his jaw again as he rests his hands on your waist and you kiss him, deeper this time, not wanting to let go. “You love me,” you retort, grinning even wider as he cocks a brow but laughs all the same.
“I do, sweetheart. So much.”
He stares into your eyes, thumbing your hips, his forehead pressed against yours. It’s such a sweet little moment, intimate, and you wonder why you keep on visiting him at work when it means you can’t stay there all day. He wonders the same.
“I love you too, Dr. Miller” is your final reply as you head for the door, sending your husband a little wave and giggling as he mutters, “stop calling me that. Drives me crazy.”
Of course, you know he loves that, too. “Whatever you say, Dr. Miller,” you laugh, slipping out of his office and already thinking of how you’ll treat him when he gets home.
─── ･ .✧: .☽ . :✧. ･ ───
Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen
A commission for the fabulous @memaidraws, who has been an absolute star through the whole process - thank you, lovely!
Unravelled
Four cast pots, two iron pans, the campfire expanded to accommodate not only the broiling and boiling but also the baking and warming of various ingredients before they came together into a meal fit for kings.
Kings of the road, perhaps, but still kings for one night. Kings every night, when it was Gale of Waterdeep’s turn to cook. A man of dedicated taste and refined palate, he scoured each market and store they came across in search of new spices and flavourings, or to restock his supplies of those they already had. Rae was no slouch when it came to cooking himself, but he had to admit, Gale took it to an entirely different level. The others might complain about how long dinner took to make when the wizard was in charge of it, but there were never complaints about the quality when it finally arrived.
It was a fascinating process to watch, too; the meat carefully dressed and trimmed, seared to perfection before it was wrapped in sturdy, flavoursome leaves and tucked into the warm embers at the far edge of the flames to bake slowly as sauces and vegetables were prepared with diligent care and attention to detail to some rhythm only Gale knew. And there was rhythm to it; a musical quality to each spoon swirled through some sticky soft mixture, or fork speared into the flesh of a tuber or brace of greens, testing their readiness with expert knowledge.
But Rae wasn’t watching purely to enjoy the aesthetic of Gale’s form as he cooked, oh no. Gale of Waterdeep had spent long years in a tower with only a tressym for company, and he had picked up a habit in her presence that he had never quite lost in her absence. Gale talked to himself as he cooked, and the subject of tonight’s curious ramblings was none other than their not-so-glorious leader, Rae himself.
“If this were my tower, I could at the very least send out for pheasant or squid,” the wizard was muttering as Rae approached from behind. “Alas, a decent cut of beef and basic herbs shall have to do. But when we reach Baldur’s Gate, things will be different.”
His fingers flickered through a complicated sigil in mid-air, and a clutch of fresh rosemary appeared in his grasp, apparently freshly picked through the Weave from someone’s garden. Rae bit down a smile, hoping that garden was far enough away that no one would tie a mystery herb thief to the strange group that had just passed through their little town. Gale ripped the leaves from the woody stalks, crushing each just a little between his fingers before sprinkling his bounty into the pot before him.
“Baldur’s Gate will have everything I need,” the man continued, seemingly talking to mid-air. Rae couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually talking to Tara through the Weave somehow; anything was possible with Gale. “Perhaps I should forgo preparing the meal myself? It would make the evening seem more special, more deliberate. We could visit the Elfsong Tavern, though it is a very common sort of place. Perhaps one of the restaurants in the Wide ... The Heroes’ Feast, perhaps. It does have an excellent reputation, and Rae has expressed an interest in the heroes of the Bhaalspawn War. An evening of conversation with the grandchildren of Gorion’s ward might be just the ticket. And the food, I am told is excellent.”
Rae’s brows rose; Gale was making plans for time they could spend together, just the two of them? And worrying, as he did over everything, about what would make it perfect. It was somehow both infuriating and endearing that Gale seemed to have no idea that just his presence was enough to make an evening perfect.
”But he seems to enjoy my labours in this area; it would be a travesty if the food were below par,” Gale went on, lifting a spoon to taste some mysterious concoction that somehow managed to sparkle briefly in the flicker of magic at his fingertips. “If their tales are of good enough quality, they could be invited to the tower as company - entertainment for the evening, perhaps. But if we are to go that far to seek entertainment for one evening, then would it not be better to take him to experience the theatre?”
There was a pause, no doubt for the expected response from Tara who was not present and therefore had nothing to say. But Gale still seemed to get a response of some sort, whether from the real tressym at some distance or from the imagined version of her in his mind’s eye, for he nodded sagely as though in answer to some comment, stepping to one side to flip the bread frying in a pan to the other side before adding it to the stack of already perfectly created flatbreads resting on a plate close by.
“No, of course, the theatre is far too mundane,” he mused. “He has no doubt seen every production worth seeing already, and would know the quality of the players in the Gate far better than I. But in Waterdeep, we could take him - I could take him to The Yawning Portal; adventurers a-plenty there to whet his appetite for tales, and Durnan can be trusted to provide a more sheltered seat in one of the upper galleries in case the Undermountain decides to send a visitor to the main floor. It is a rather rowdy place, though, and quiet does seem to suit him better than raucous distraction ...”
He lapsed into silence for a long moment, unaware that the object of his eager affections was so close and so aware of every word he said. Rae felt his heart swell with each word; how had he not noticed how very much Gale wanted to impress and delight him? Had he been too acutely aware of his own uncertainties and perceived shortcomings that he had missed this adorable fumbling toward some grand gesture that might please? He couldn’t help but be grateful for the unspoken agreement among the entire party that anything Gale said while cooking was to be ignored and never spoken of again. Some things were too personal to tease about.
“I have it!”
Gale snapped his fingers, the sudden sound startling Rae almost into revealing himself as the Wizard of Waterdeep beamed at no one across the fire in front of him.
“We shall dine in my tower, but it shall be cloaked in the Weave, and wherever his fancy takes him, that shall be our entertainment,” he declared to no one in particular. “Exhausting for myself, of course, but nothing is too great a stretch for my love.” He sighed, seeming to sag for a moment, his voice softening with impossible desire. “I would give him the world, if I but had it within my grasp.”
Rae smiled, his heart somehow both melting and hammering in his chest at the tenderness in his lover’s voice. This was enough torture for one night, surely?
“I would rather a lifetime of ordinary evenings at your side, than watch you destroy yourself in the search for one perfect night.”
Gale straightened hurriedly, his head turning with affected nonchalance at the sound of his lover’s gentle approach.
“Ah.” He offered up a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to forget you heard all that, could I?”
Rae’s smile flickered, somehow awkwardly shy yet brimming with unexpected confidence, fingertips ghosting down along Gale’s spine as the other hand reached for the package of baking beef. It was ... rather wonderful, to know he was not the only one in this relationship still feeling his way toward certainty.
“I would rather forget how to touch the Weave than forget how much you love me,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm with how bold his words seemed, dropping his gaze to the food. “Any night with you is the perfect night, because I am with you. That is all that matters, Gale, truly.”
Gale sighed through a soft smile, unconsciously leaning into Rae’s side as they stood close together beside the busy campfire. His head lowered just enough to rest, temple to temple, against Rae’s, the two of them cloaked in a stillness of their own affectionate making amid the quiet bustle of their party’s evening camp.
“I would give you nothing but perfection, if it were mine to give,” Gale murmured, twisting a little to brush his knuckles against Rae’s smooth cheek.
“I don’t need perfection, love,” Rae whispered, daring to raise his eyes to meet the tenderly adoring gaze levelled upon him. “I have you.”
“That you do.”
The brush of knuckles turned, Gale’s gentle palm curling to Rae’s cheek to draw him close. Lips covered lips, softness flavoured with the delicate prickle of hair that somehow heightened the experience, sweet and sinful and oh, so wonderful. For just one moment, even the Weave could have unravelled and everything would still have been perfect.
“Oh, blast it all, I forgot the spice,” Gale suddenly declared, pulling from the kiss in a distracted huff at his own sense of failure.
Rae bit down a laugh at the abrupt end to what could have been a perfect moment for a lot longer, and reached for the little pot that was currently the focus of his lover’s ire.
“Show me what to do with it?” he suggested, tilting his head with curious interest.
Gale looked at him, his eyes flickering from the little spice pot in one hand to the sweet softness of the lips he had just abandoned, to the warm interest in the eyes that held him in thrall. His own lips curved in an unthinking smile, unable to resist the siren’s call of the man who had captured his heart so thoroughly without even seeming to try.
“Come here,” he said, gathering Rae into his side to draw him to the appropriate pot. “You need just a pinch, in this one ...”
And here and now, as they talked and touched and learned each other in ways more binding than simple lust-fueled intimacy, among friends in the wilderness between their respective worlds where each thread did not need to be woven to become a fabric of infinite possibility ... this was perfect.
Idk have a dialogue prompt. "I'm not interested in being polite or heterosexual!" Use that how you want
“I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual!”
“And as glad as I am about that second part, babe, that still doesn’t mean it was nice to shout at the cab driver.”
Bill managed to duck just before Stan’s arm hit him square in the face as he ranted about taxi rates and sticky seats, and used the momentum to push Stan the last few inches into the apartment and over to the couch. When they had gone out with the other Losers for Stan’s celebratory promotion dinner at their usual dive, he had no intentions of stopping Stan from downing the shots Richie had ordered. The least he deserved was a good night out with their friends, but Bill was wishing now that he had maybe cut him off just a bit sooner, mainly because Stan’s limbs seemed to turn themselves off at even the tiniest whiff of alcohol, and they might as well be non-existent for all the control Stan had over them right now.
Making sure his boyfriend was at least sat up straight, Bill went into the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and downed it in three swift gulps before filling it up again and bringing it out to Stan. Half expecting his boyfriend to be passed out on the sofa, as he was wont to do when shit faced, Bill was only a little bit surprised to find him sprawled out on his stomach, cheek pressed into the couch with his mouth smushed open, humming 9 to 5 while the arm hanging over the edge swatted Silver on the head in time with the song, the patient dog obviously woken by the pair of them coming home.
“Stop hitting my dog.” Bill chastised, handing the glass to a now sitting Stan who sipped carefully.
“Our dog.” Stan reminded, eyes closing contentedly as Bill smoothed the sweaty curls away from his head.
“He’s my dog when you’re hitting him.”
“I’m not hitting him! ‘Sides, he loves it, don’t you boy?” Stan cooed at Silver, words slurring only slightly now as he doled out two more pats to the top of Silver’s head. Their dopey dog was nonplussed, tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail thumping the floor.
With a chuckle, Bill rubbed behind Silver’s ears. “Well in that case I-”
When he looked back up Stan was, of course, falling asleep, eyes fluttering closed as his head tilted down. Sighing, pressed a kiss to his cheek before standing up, taking both of Stan’s hands in his, trying to pull him to his feet.
“Come on Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you to bed.”
Getting Stan to their bedroom was, surprisingly, quite easy. Getting him out of his clothes, however, was decidedly not.
“Stupid- fucking, Biiiiiill-” Stan whined, flopping his arms out next to him on the bed, having completely given up with the buttons of his shirt which were far too fiddly and far to small and he was absolutely going to have to do something about that in the morning.
Heaving a sigh, Bill finished kicking off his own jeans before resting one knee on the bed next to Stan, leaning over him to make light work of the buttons of his shirt while Stan unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and started to wiggle them down his hips. Any other time, and just the sight alone would be getting Bill hot under the collar, but flushed from the alcohol and still humming Dolly Parton under his breath, Bill thought he looked like an, adorably, frustrated octopus with too many limbs and no idea what to do with them. At least, Bill thought, he had at least managed to shrug his shirt off.
Taking pity on him, Bill stood at the foot of the bed and started to pull Stan’s jeans down from around his legs, and Stan took it upon to help the journey of the denim by kicking his legs.
“Woah!” Exclaimed Bill, grabbing one of Stan’s ankles to stop it before it hit him in the face. “Watch the money maker.”
Rolling his eyes, Stan giggled. “Oh please, we all know the money maker lies a little bit further south.” And he punctuated his point by pressing the toes of his other foot into Bill’s crotch.
Barking a laugh, Bill nipped the angle he had captured, soothing it with a kiss as Stan flailed and laughed on the bed.
“Behave.” He warned, only half joking, as he finally pulled Stan’s jeans off and flung them on the floor, more than happy to deal with them in the morning.
Casting a last glance at Stan burrowing under the covers, Bill made his way to the door, but only got about three steps in before another whining Bill made him turn around, and he was faced with Stan, cocooned in blankets, reaching an arm out to him with a pout.
“Come to bed.”
A smile tugged at Bill’s mouth. “I need to brush my teeth, babe.”
Stan groaned, petulantly hitting his mountain of covers with his fist. “Fuck your teeth, I wanna cuddle.”
Bill tried to be strong, he really did, but he was already halfway across the room and then he was sliding into bed, pulling Stan close to his chest.
“My breath is gonna stink tomorrow.”
Stan hummed happily, the way he always did when he got what he wanted (which was more often than not), nuzzling into Bill’s chest and slinging an arm around his waist, covering Bill with the warmth of his body and his blankets. “S’kay, I’ll still love you.”
That immense, encompassing warmth that engulfed him whenever he thought of Stan made itself known, and Bill had no choice but to take his dozing boyfriend’s face into his hands and kiss him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/6
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Malia Tate, Brett Talbot, Melissa McCall, Sheriff Stilinski, Everyone else is in the background
Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Slow Build, First Kiss, theo gets hurt a lot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Summary:
five times someone in the pack realised that Liam and Theo had feelings for each other plus the one time Theo and Liam realised it themselves.
