Mangifera Indica
Older!Argyle x Older!F!reader
A/N: MANGO GREETINGS EVERYONE. Idk what this is. It’s the end of mango season here in California so… Both reader and Argyle are older…in their mid-late 40s probably. So no age gap of any kind here. Also that pic at the top of the eye was the only one i could find that fit the ~aesthetic~ (cringes). Do you know how hard it is to find a middle-aged, brown-eyed man with the sun in his eyes + a warm filter? I have a whole ass life outside of this webbed site, that’s as good as it’s gonna get with me. Writing for Argyle because he is my special guy who should get way more love than he does. Mentions of eating. Gets a lil spicy at the end so..MDNI. Wrote this for me, sharing with all of you. :)
You stood at the base of the tree proudly looking up. The mango tree this year bloomed insanely well. Perfect drupes hung ready to harvest. The warm, summer breeze carrying the fragrant scent all throughout your yard. It was slightly a scary amount of fruit. Exciting as it was, you were worried about what you were going to do with that many mangoes. As is, sorbet, salad, salsa, sticky rice…there were only so many ways you’d be able to consume them before you’d probably get sick of them.
If it was even possible.
You turned to look at the crate at your feet with the intention of filling it to put out for your neighbors to come and help themselves.
It made for pleasant and easy work. The sun was at your back and setting when you were about to climb down the tall ladder when you saw it. The perfect mango hanging from the end of a nearby branch. Expertly you extended the fruit picking pole and snatched it. The wooden rod of the pole slipping through your grip to bring the steel wire basket closer.
It was impeccably shaped and perfect in color. You brought it to your nose to smell its fruity, earthy scent. It made your mouth water. Almost too perfect to eat.
Almost.
No sense in waiting. You had to eat it then and there, oblivious to the fact that you had an audience.
Argyle’s favorite thing to do after work, when the afternoon had cooled, was to sit on the backyard patio and unwind. There was a time before where he openly indulged with a bong in hand. However, those days had come and gone since his mother, now elderly, moved in with him. And while he was very much a grown man, his mom would never let him hear the end of it. He had to get creative.
Cooking and baking had always come very easy for him. So naturally, edibles were the solution. He had been careful to decarb the weed outside on his grill to keep the smell to a minimum and it turned out just fine. And what a better place to store his cannabutter, edibles, and tinctures than in the fridge in the garage? His mom never went in there.
He slid the glass door to his backyard open and walked over to his goodie fridge. After taking a few drops of tincture, he also pulled a tamarind Jarritos and went to sit in his favorite chair. It had a prime view of all the birds that would fly by or stop at the bird feeders hanging from the mango tree in his neighbor’s yard. His favorite neighbor.
He smiled to himself remembering the first time he saw you outside watering your plants. Unfortunately for him, he had a reluctant meeting with the concrete. He’d been too distracted staring at you instead of manuevering his board away from a large crack in the cement.
—
“The new neighbor..” he had whispered just before he felt himself propel forward and the board below him abruptly stop.
Hearing the telltale grunt along with the clatter of polyurethane and wood, you turned in his direction.
“You okay?!” You had called to him in concern while he looked back to where his skateboard shot to. Putting your watering can down, you rushed over to him while he got up. As you got closer, his throat suddenly felt dry. He struck the tail of his board with his foot and it popped up into his palm. He felt his face burn in embarassment but he smiled all the same.
You expected some neighborhood kid when you had turned to see where the noise came from. You weren’t expecting the tall man with a veil of dark hair falling below his waist. His gray DIY muscle shirt was slightly sweat through at the chest. You liked the faded red bandana rolled up and tied around his head to keep the sweat from his eyes. Deep, brown eyes wrinkled at the edges when he squinted as his smile got bigger. A mustache and stubble framed his smile and covered his dimples.
“Yeah..these cracks, you know. Dangerous.” He held the skateboard by the truck and lamely pointed to where it got caught.
You nodded and mirrored his smile. “I’ll be sure to watch for them. Hey, you live next door. I just moved in–“ You gave him your name and stuck your hand out for him to shake. He took it readily but not before rubbing his palm on the side of his well-loved Gecko brand pants.
He told you his name. Unique enough to never forget. Argyle.
—
Since that first meeting a year ago, you’d exchanged smiles and pleasantries from the driveway on the nights before trash day. Come winter, his mom had made sure to send him over with a bag of tamales. Your heart might have skipped a beat when he told you he had helped. He sat with you that night as he insisted you give him a full review. He loved watching you practically lick the plate clean as you gushed at how insanely good they were.
Things carried on like that. Double-checking your reflection to just go outside and fetch the mail. Going on walks around the neighborhood as another excuse to run into him. You looked forward to seeing him around. And you got the same feeling from him as you caught him spending more and more time outside. You couldn’t help your giddyness when he walked over to chat you up about your new succulent arrangment you made on your porch.
He had seen you climb up the ladder and rustle the leaves, picking the best mangoes. He wanted to call out to you but decided against it, happy to watch you spend time within the leafy branches. You reminded him of a hummingbird. Busy and excited to be among the abundance of sweet fruit.
Argyle became entranced as the homemade sublingual tincture took effect. Your fluid movements slowed down as the sun shone behind you. The rays shifted this way and that. Argyle remembered a page in an art history book he had laying around. It had been labeled ‘Morning Star’ painted by a guy named Alphonse something. He couldn’t remember. And as you wiped the sweat from your brow, he contemplated how life imitated art. Or was it the other way around?? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you refracted the light in such a way that he wondered if you were magic.
Leaning an elbow on the top of a ladder, you buffed the mango on the front of your shirt. Utterly relaxed and uncaring of the dust that once coated it. You brought it to your lips and began peeling it with your teeth. The buttery, orange meat was as perfect as the exterior. Drops of juice traveled down your palm and continued down to leave a crooked glistening path across your arm.
The first bite sated the need to tear through the mound of pulp that sat on one side of the seed. You slurped at the gush of sweet nectar and swiped the back of your hand across your chin at whatever dribbled down it. You went for another bite. And another. And another. Until your teeth scratched the surface of the seed. You went to peel off more of the skin when you heard a shuffle.
“Damn. You sure do make that mango look good.”
The ladder wobbled at how fast you turned to look at your neighbor walking over to the fence that divided your yards. He carried the chair with him and propped it against the fence. You watched as he momentarily disappeared and reappeared. Not exactly at your level but he was close enough to touch now. His elbows rested against the top of the cinderblock wall.
You laughed, self-consciously still wiping at your chin and checking the front of your shirt. Face feeling extra sweaty now. “Well, that’s not embarassing. Didn’t expect to have an audience while I stuffed my face.
He smiled, “Embarassed? Pshh, no judgment here. If I had a tree with that many tasty-looking mangos on it, I’d sit under it with my mouth open.” He tilted his head back and mimed catching mangos with his mouth making you both laugh.
Catching yourself in a prolonged goofy-smiled staring contest, you looked down at the mango in your hand. Peeling away whatever skin was left. “You know, being my neighbor has its benefits.”
He nodded, pretending to be impressed. “Oh, really? What kinda benefits?”
You nodded along with him and climbed to a lower step to be eye level with him. “Mm, well for starters…” Holding out the mango to share with him, he took it from you without a second thought. You leaned against the fence next to him to watch him eat it.
He looked you in the eyes when he brought it up and sunk his teeth into the other side. In what felt like seconds, he bit at and licked the seed clean. He was smug as he wiped his glistening, full lips with the inside of his wrist. You were quiet and clenched around nothing.
The next words fell from your mouth in a breathless whisper. “You want more?”
The three word question hung heavy between you two. And to whatever you meant, all signs in Argyle’s brain pointed to YES. Were you this close to him the whole time? He felt very warm.
He cleared his throat when he realized he hadn’t responded. “Only if you want more. I mean– uh, because I’ve got some stuff over here in my fridge, that’s gonna make it feel– I mean taste, even better. The mangoes, I mean.” He swallowed hard.
“Your mom home?” Your brain was on one track and it was barreling to its destination.
He nodded. You mirrored his movements and the space between you both became infinitesimally small. His half-lidded eyes shifted between both of yours and dropped to your lips. The months of flirting and tension mounted to this moment. He didn’t waste any more time as he moved forward in whatever space was left between you to capture your lips with his. It was soft and warm at first. Breathy and sweet. But seconds passed and when he placed his hand on the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, the fire burning between you both threatened to engulf you. Reluctantly, you broke away. Speaking in only a whisper, afraid that the haze around you both would clear, “Grab it all and come over.”
In a blink of an eye you both fell away from each other. Rushing to meet at your front door.
