the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd
fandom:Â top gun
pairing:Â bob x reader
summary:Â the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps
notes:Â i fear i may never again experience as much joy as i did while writing this... guys, it was so much fun! i know it's long, but it's full of tension and pining and heat, please give it a read! i actually love this so much, and i hope you do too, so please let me know what you think!!! i literally fell in love with bob while writing this, the lewis pullman spiral is spiralling
warnings:Â swearing, big dick energy, movie references (the princess bride, the ugly truth, star wars), bob's big dick, tension, lots of horniness (18+ ONLY MDNI), italics, huge dick energy, jealousy, bob is secretly cut, emotional warfare but it's fun, and did i mention bob's massive dick? (let me know if i missed anything)
word count: 21143
your callsign is sunny
It wasnât long after the uranium mission that Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island and train as an elite, mission-focused unit under Maverickâs command. Not that anyone had to be askedâmost of the squad was more than happy to be reassigned and stick together.Â
Once everything was finalised and the official special operations squadron was born, the first thing most of you did was move out of the barracks. You needed more spaceâboth physically, and from each otherâand, frankly, something that didnât reek of stale socks and floor polish.Â
You and Natasha thought youâd hit the jackpot when you found a two-bedroom apartment right by the beach, with a spacious open-plan living area and not one, but two balconies. It was perfect. You could hardly believe it. Full of natural light, and just far enough from the boys you already spent too much time withâtraining, flying, doing push-ups every time someone pissed off Maverick.Â
It was meant to be.Â
Until the apartment across the hall went up for lease.Â
And thatâs how you failed to escape the boys entirely. Reuben and Mickey spotted the sign while helping you move in, and before you knew it, they were neighboursâcloser than ever and almost impossible to get off your couch.Â
A knock at the door draws your attention from the TV, and Natasha pauses mid-step on her way from the kitchenâbowl of popcorn in hand.Â
âTen bucks says itâs Fanboy,â she says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.Â
You know that Mickey is stuck on overtime tonightâpunishment from Maverick for mouthing off during a fly drill this morning. Natasha, however, hadnât been in the air with you and clearly wasnât listening on comms.Â
Your eyes flick to the door and back to her. âDeal.âÂ
She drops the bowl on the coffee table and doubles back, swinging the door open.Â
âUgh,â she sighs. âItâs you.âÂ
Reuben blinks, his smile faltering as his brow creases. âNice to see you too, Phoenix.âÂ
She heads back to the couch, Reuben trailing behind.Â
âWhyâd you knock?â she asks. âItâs always open.âÂ
âWasnât the other day.âÂ
You sit up straighter, rolling your eyes. âThatâs because it was two a.m. and I was home aloneâsleeping.âÂ
Natasha drops onto the couch, a little closer to you than before to make room for Reuben. âDo we seriously not have boundaries anymore?â she asks him. âWhat could you possibly need at two in the morning?âÂ
He plucks the popcorn bowl off the table and settles it in his lap. âFanboy really wanted to watch The Princess Bride, but Netflix logged us out and we couldnât remember the password.âÂ
You lean across Natasha for a handful of popcorn. âThen get your own Netflix account, you fucking freeloaders.âÂ
Reuben gives you a wounded look. âOkay, rude.âÂ
You roll your eyes again and flop back against the couch, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth.Â
âWhatâs got your panties in a twist?â he asks, peering at you from Natashaâs other side.Â
Natasha snorts but keeps her eyes on the TV.Â
âNothing,â you mutter. âMy panties are perfectly untwisted.âÂ
Reuben chuckles and shifts his gaze to the screen. âThen maybe someone should twist them upâget some of that tension out.âÂ
You flip him off without even glancing his way, your scowl still locked on the TV. He just laughs again, and Natasha shoots you a sidelong, knowing smirk.Â
Twenty minutes laterâand after Reuben has all but annihilated the popcornâthe front door swings open and Mickey breezes in, making a beeline for the fridge.Â
âHave you guys eaten?â he calls out. âBecause Iâm starving. I skipped lunch and Mav still kept me back.â He grabs a beer and spins to face the living room. âIsnât that, like, illegal? Something about duty of care? Iâm about to pass out, and it wasnât even my fault I got held back. Hangman was the one mouthing offâI just told him where to stick it. But no, now Mavâs all professional, like heâs a real CO with a stick up his ass. Honestly? I liked him better before.âÂ
He yanks open a drawer, fishes out the bottle opener, and cracks the beer. âAnyway,â he says, glancing up at the three of you, âpizza?âÂ
A long beat of silence stretches through the apartment as you all stare at him.Â
âJesus Christ, Mick,â Reuben mutters. âTake a fucking breath.âÂ
Mickey just shrugs, heading into the living room. âWhat?âÂ
He drops onto the floorâfiguring the couch is already squishy enoughâand sets his beer on the coffee table before reaching for the remote.Â
âNo oneâs watching this, right?â he asksânot that it matters.Â
He doesnât wait for a responseâjust clicks a few buttons and starts scrolling through Netflix. Frustration simmers under your skin, because yes, you were watching that, but you bite your tongue. You know youâre in a bad mood, and itâs not worth taking it out on your friends. No matter how irritating they can be.Â
He finally lands on The Princess Bride and makes a satisfied little hum as he hits play. Then he tosses the remote back onto the table, picks up his beer, and leans back against the couchâhis elbow jabbing your knee in the process. Your glass, balanced loosely on your leg, sloshes and spills cold liquid onto your lap.Â
âWhoops,â Mickey says, glancing back at you. âMy bad.âÂ
âUh oh,â Natasha mutters, scooting slightly away from you.Â
âSeriously, Mickey?â you snap, eyes narrowing. âCould you not act like a clumsy lapdog for five fucking seconds?âÂ
His eyes go wide at your tone.Â
âHow the hell did you even get into the navy?â you bite, rising from the couch. âYouâve got the spatial awareness of a drunk oaf and the grace of a newborn deer on ice.âÂ
You storm into the kitchen, slam your half-empty glass on the counter, and tear off a wad of paper towels.Â
âVery descriptive insults,â Reuben mutters.Â
Natasha lets out a dry laugh. âYeah, thatâs how you know sheâs in a mood.âÂ
âWhy?â Mickey asks, cautiously glancing toward you.Â
You shoot him a glare over the kitchen island, dabbing paper towel at the top of your thigh.Â
âBob didnât talk to her today,â Natasha says. âLike, at all.âÂ
âOhhh,â Reuben and Mickey sigh in unison, the sound laced with realisation.Â
You toss the damp towel into the sink before turning toward the fridge and yanking it open, bottles rattling.Â
âTo be fair,â Reuben offers, âyou two were on different drills today. He probably just didnât get the chance.âÂ
You whirl around, beer in hand, glare sharp. âHe asked Phoenix if she wanted to go for a run tomorrow morningâwhile I was standing right there.âÂ
You shut the fridge with more force than necessary, then yank open the cutlery drawer and grab the bottle opener.Â
âOh yeah,â Mickey adds. âHe asked me too. Wants to do the Coronado Island Loop.âÂ
You pop the cap off your beer and let it clatter to the floor. âGreat. Thatâs great. Thanks, Mick. Love knowing I was the only one not invited.âÂ
Natasha sighs, her eyes following you as you trudge back toward the lounge. âI told youâhe probably just didnât think you were interested. When have you ever wanted to go running?âÂ
Reuben nods. âYeah, you hate when Mav makes us run laps. Youâre always the first to complain.âÂ
You flop down into your spot and take a long pull from your beer, eyes on the screen. âYeah, well,â you mutter, âhe couldâve asked.âÂ
âYou couldâve spoken up,â Natasha points out.Â
You roll your eyes. âYeah, and invite myself to something I deliberately wasnât invited to? No thanks.âÂ
Mickey shakes his head. âBob wouldnât leave you out on purpose. Heâs too nice.âÂ
âExactly,â Reuben says. âItâs Bob. He probably just got awkward about it.âÂ
You scowl and gesture to Natasha. âHe asked Phoenix.âÂ
âYeah, but thatâs Phoenix,â Mickey says. âTheyâre crammed together in the cockpit almost all day, every day. She doesnât make him nervous.âÂ
You scoff and sink further into the couch. âI do not make him nervous.âÂ
Natasha sighs again. âYes. You do. Iâve told you before.âÂ
âAnd I donât believe you,â you say, despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. âYouâre always saying Bob has a thing for me, but I donât see it. Wouldnât he actually talk to me if he liked me?âÂ
âItâs Bob,â Reuben repeats. âHeâs not like the rest of us.âÂ
âExactly,â Natasha says. âHeâs polite and respectful. Way better than the rest.âÂ
Mickey turns from the TV, shooting her a wounded look. âOuch.âÂ
Reuben shrugs. âSheâs right. Thatâs why we canât tease him about it. We canât even ask him if he likes youâthough weâre pretty sure.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âHow can you be sure when heâs never admitted it?âÂ
âOh, itâs so obvious,â Mickey says with a giggle. âHe gets all googly-eyed whenever youâre around.âÂ
You shoot him a sceptical look, brows furrowed. âI donât see it.âÂ
âWell, of course heâs not going to let you catch him staring,â Reuben says, a smirk tugging at his lips. âHeâs a gentleman.âÂ
âYeah, and heâs not stupid,â Natasha adds.Â
âBut whenever youâre not paying attention,â Mickey continues, âhis eyes are glued to you, like a magnet.âÂ
You roll your eyes, determined to seem unconvinced, even though you can feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.Â
âOh, and every time youâre brought up in conversation,â Reuben says, âheâs locked in.âÂ
âUnless weâre talking about you and another guy,â Natasha adds with a knowing look âThen he gets all huffy and weird.âÂ
You snort a laugh before taking another sip of your beer.Â
âWhy donât you just ask him out?â Mickey suggests. âPut us all out of our misery. Bob will stop being so awkward, and youâll stop being soââ He stops when you shoot him a glare.Â
âSo what, Mick?âÂ
He turns his gaze back to the TV, muttering, âMoody.âÂ
You scoff. âYeah, okay. So, Iâm just supposed to believe you guys when I havenât actually seen any of these so-called signs myself?âÂ
Reuben and Mickey nod, but Natasha just watches.Â
âIâm not doing that,â you say flatly. âIâm not asking him out just to be humiliated.âÂ
The conversation dies as you turn your attention back to the movie, taking another generous sip of beer. Mickey pulls out his phone to order pizza, and Reuben heads to the fridge for another round of beers.Â
You keep your eyes locked on the TV, even though youâre barely watching. Instead, your mind is replaying the day, wondering if you missed the part where it was âso obviousâ that Bob has a crush on you.Â
Itâs hard not to agree with Reuben when he says, âItâs Bob,â because it just is. Heâs nice, considerate, raised to respect women and the navy. Heâs the perfect officer and the perfect gentleman, and thatâs half the reason youâre so damn attracted to him. A gorgeous guy with manners and respect to spare? Yes, please.Â
But, God, sometimes you wish he was just a little more basic. A little more in touch with his primal side, instead of always using the higher-functioning part of his brain that most guys donât even know exists. Youâve never even heard Bob say a woman is attractive, let alone spew some of the caveman shit that comes out of Jakeâs mouth.Â
And yeah, sure, you could ask him out. He might even say yes, just to be polite. But you donât want to put that kind of pressure on him or the squad. Him dating you out of pity would be worse than flat-out rejection.Â
An hour later, full of pizza and halfway through your fourth beer, youâre curled up with your head on Natasha's shoulder while The Ugly Truth plays on the TVâMickeyâs latest pick.Â
âMan, whatâs with you and romantic comedies?â Reuben asks, nose wrinkling as he watches Katherine Heigl flail on-screen.Â
Mickey shrugs. âDonât judge. Maybe Iâm feeling a little lonely lately.âÂ
âAww, Mick,â you coo, voice dripping mock-sympathy. âBetter get used to it. Youâre going to be alone forever.âÂ
His head snaps toward you, a scowl forming. âOkay, Miss-I-Refuse-To-Ask-Out-A-Guy-Whoâs-Clearly-Into-Me-Because-Iâm-Terrified-of-Rejection.âÂ
A smirk tugs at your mouth. âThat was way too long to sting.âÂ
âWhatever.â He rolls his eyes. âYouâre mean when youâre not getting laid.âÂ
âHey!â you gasp. âHow do you know Iâm not?âÂ
Thereâs a beatâa static moment where you realise youâve just fucked upâbefore they all burst out laughing. And even you canât help joining in, despite the embarrassed flush crawling across your chest.Â
Then suddenly, Natasha jerks upright, knocking your head off her shoulder. Her laughter halts as she stares wide-eyed at the screen, lips parted in a gasp. âHoly shit. I have an idea.âÂ
âAn idea?â Reuben echoes, brows lifting.Â
âYes!â She turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. âI know how weâre going to get Bob to admit it.âÂ
Mickey swivels on the floor to face her. âAdmit what?âÂ
Reuben rolls his eyes. âThat he likes Sunny. Duh.âÂ
âOh.â Mickey glances your way, then back at Natasha. âHow?âÂ
âHeâs only human, right?â she says, and both boys nod. âItâs obvious he likes herâheâs just too damn respectful. He probably thinks sheâs out of her league. Or heâs worried about dating someone in the squad. But deep down? Heâs still a guy. He has the same thoughts, the same... tendencies. Heâs just better at hiding them.âÂ
Mickey snorts. âOh yeah. If the way he looks at Sunny in a bikini is anything to go by, heâs definitely got those thoughts.âÂ
You shoot him a glare. âDonât be gross.âÂ
âNo, heâs right,â Natasha says quickly. âI hate it, but heâs right. Every time weâre at the beach and youâre half-naked, he looks like heâs barely holding it together.âÂ
You try to keep your face neutral, but your heart is thudding too fast against your ribs.Â
âWait,â Reuben says, leaning forward. âI think youâre onto something. Like when she squeezes into the booth at the bar and hovers over his lap for a secondâhe looks like heâs about to combust.âÂ
âExactly!â Natasha exclaims. âThatâs it. Thatâs what we need to doâwe need to make him snap.âÂ
You narrow your eyes, ignoring the spark of adrenaline beginning to curl in your gut. âOkay... but how?âÂ
Natasha turns toward you, her eyes wide and full of focus. The same look she wears just before take-off. âYou need to... tease him. Really make him suffer.âÂ
Mickeyâs grin turns wicked. âOh, this could work.âÂ
Your brow lifts. âTease him how?âÂ
âTempt him,â Reuben says, matching Mickeyâs grin. âPush every button. Get close. Make him want you so badly he canât hide it anymore.âÂ
You snort. âSo, seduce him?âÂ
âWorse,â Natasha says. âYouâre going to give this man the worst case of blue balls in naval history.âÂ
Both Mickey and Reuben flinch.Â
âHeâs going to end up in the hospital with a permanent boner,â Natasha adds, mischief blazing in her eyes. âCrying. On. His. Knees.âÂ
âBobâs a good man,â Reuben says solemnly. âHeâs respectful. Polite. Sensible. And weâre gonna have to break him.âÂ
âWe?â you repeat, pulse racing.Â
âExactly,â Natasha nods. âIf this were any other guy, you could get it done in a day. But Bob? Bobâs built different. If we want to unleash his inner caveman? Itâs going to take a team.âÂ
Your stomach flips, anticipation stirring beneath your skin.Â
âIt wonât be easy,â Mickey says, his smirk returning. âBut it will be fun.âÂ
âSunny,â Reuben says, locking eyes with you. âAre you in or are you out?âÂ
That spark of adrenaline snaps through you like a live wire.Â
You nod. âOkay. Iâm in.âÂ
-Â
The plan is simple. Straightforward. One objective. Everyone's clear on it. Itâs been mapped out and set into motionânow all you have to do is play your part. Which is probably why your heart is hammering against your sternum like a damn war drum.Â
âI donât know, Nat,â you mutter as the two of you walk across the crunchy morning grass. âThis feels wrong.âÂ
âWhat does?â she asks. âThe thong or the plan?âÂ
You roll your eyes. âBoth.âÂ
âWell, suck it up. Thereâs no backing down now.âÂ
You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Then you release it and reel yourself in. Sheâs right. You canât be a chicken foreverâand itâs not like youâre doing anything overtly humiliating. Besides, youâve got a team at your back, and theyâre not going to let you crash and burn.Â
Last night, Natasha had texted Bob to let him know she was inviting you on the morning run. Heâd replied with a simple thumbs upâsomething you found a little rude, but the boys insisted he only sends that when he doesnât know what else to say. Which, apparently, is a good sign.Â
This morning, youâd dug deep into your underwear drawer for a lacy black thong you bought a few years agoâback when you were more optimistic about your sex life. You pulled it on, despite the discomfort, and borrowed a pair of light blue workout tights from Natasha. Yep, thatâs a black thong under pale blue, skin-tight leggings.Â
âWithout being creepy,â Mickey says from a few paces behind, âthe plan is looking really good from back here.âÂ
You shoot him a scowl over your shoulder as Reuben smacks his arm, even though heâs wearing the same mischievous grin.Â
The four of you wait at a picnic table in the park where youâd agreed to meet, and it doesnât take long before you spot Bob walking across the grassâdark grey sweats and an oversized U.S. Navy hoodie, his hands tucked firmly into the front pocket. Quite possibly the most innocent, basic outfit he couldâve wornâa ridiculous contrast to yoursâand yet you still find yourself thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts.Â
About whatâs under those sweats. About how good theyâd look on your bedroom floor.Â
Even the soft smile on his lips as he approaches makes you want to scream. How is one man such pure, soft boyfriend material... yet still manages to awaken your most primal instincts? It doesnât make any sense.Â
âHey,â he says, eyes skimming over each of you before settling on Natasha. âWe ready?âÂ
Natasha nods, and the five of you start walking off the grass toward the footpath before breaking into a jog. She and Bob take the lead while you hang back, with Reuben and Mickey flanking you like a private escort. Exactly as planned. You might be trying to fluster Bob, but you donât need half of Coronado getting a look at your underwearâhence the two-man protection detail.Â
Two kilometres later, you all stop for a quick stretch. Bob wanders off toward a water fountain, and you seize the opportunity to move up beside Natasha, placing yourself at the front of the group. Againâexactly according to plan.Â
When Bob returns and joins in on Reuben and Mickeyâs conversation, you and Natasha shuffle a little closer. She props one foot up on the bench, leaning into the stretch as she gives a subtle nodâthe signal to begin.Â
You let out a shaky breath, then slip on your best cool-and-confident facade.Â
âIâm never doing this again,â you say to Natâloud enough for the boys to hear.Â
âIâm just gonna get a quick drink,â Reuben announces, conveniently cutting off their conversation. Right on cue.Â
Mickey busies himself with stretching, leaving Bob to âaccidentallyâ overhear what comes next.Â
âWhat?â Natasha asks. âRunning? I told you youâd hate it.âÂ
âNo,â you reply, pretending to lower your voiceâeven though you donât. âWearing a fucking thong.âÂ
She snorts, the laugh surprisingly genuine. Either sheâs a fantastic actress, or sheâs thoroughly enjoying herself.Â
âWhy are you wearing a thong?âÂ
You roll your eyes, falling deeper into the role. âBecause I forgot to do my laundry and it was all I had left.âÂ
She snickers. âWell, have fun on the next eight kilometres.âÂ
âOh yeah,â you sigh, âcanât wait.âÂ
You glance casually over your shoulderâand bingo. Bobâs face is bright red. His lips are slightly parted. And heâs blatantly staring at your ass like itâs the final clue to finding the national treasureâand Nicholas Cage is depending on him.Â
Beside him, Mickey looks like heâs about to lose it.Â
âReady to keep going?â Reuben asks, walking back upâperfect timing.Â
Everyone nods, and Bob clears his throat, licking his lips quickly. âYep. Letâs go.âÂ
You and Natasha take off first, keeping yourselves in the lead.Â
Every few minutes, you glance backâand without fail, Bob is staring. Each time, it sends your heart skittering, your cheeks heating, and your thoughts wandering into very unholy territory.Â
Maybe your friends have been right all along. Maybe he does like you. Maybe this will actually work.Â
By the seventh kilometreâwith only three more to goâBob looks like heâs hanging by a thread. He ditched his hoodie about two kâs ago, tying it around his waist. His hair his clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his glasses are fogging up slightly near the bridge of his nose.Â
You glance over your shoulder and give him a small smile. His lips pop open and he immediately averts his eyes, focusing instead on the pavement beneath his feet. You turn back, grinning to yourself, and thatâs when he picks up his pace and jogs past both you and Natasha.Â
Natasha nearly bursts out laughing, but she smacks a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. She shoots you a sideways look and a smirkâand the two of you push forward to flank Bob, jogging on either side of him.Â
âHey,â Natasha says, more than a little breathless. âYou trying to make this a competition?âÂ
Bob shakes his head, eyes locked on the path ahead. âNope. Just staying focused.âÂ
âWhatâs so distracting back there?â she asks, fighting a smirk.Â
âIs Fanboy being a pest?â you add, giving yourself a layer of plausible deniabilityâjust in case he starts to suspect anything.Â
Bobâs gaze flicks to you, then drops briefly to your chest before snapping forward again. âYeah,â he says, voice uneven. âHeâs breathing like Darth Vader.âÂ
âHey!â Mickey calls from behind. âIâm not deaf!âÂ
The five of you share a short, breathless laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. Youâre thoroughly exhausted now and decide to give Bob a break for the last few kilometresâmerciful, maybe, but also strategic.Â
Soon enough, the group slows to a walk as the cafĂ© marking the end of your run comes into view.Â
âThank God,â Mickey gasps. âIâm starving.âÂ
âYouâre always hungry,â you mutter, shooting him a flat look.Â
The cafĂ© is busier than expected, and youâre about to start crafting a subtle excuse to avoid going in when Reuben steps up behind you and unzips his jacket.Â
âCover your ass up, Sunny,â he says, smirking. âFor fuckâs sake.âÂ
You tryâand failâto suppress your grin as he hands you the jacket. You roll your eyes and tie it around your waist, grateful for the cover.Â
Once youâre feeling a little more decent, the group heads inside to order breakfast and find a table out back on the patio. The food and coffee arrive quickly, and soon everyone is digging in, quiet with post-run hunger. Though judging by how often Bobâs eyes keep darting toward you, his appetite might not be entirely food-related.Â
âSo,â Mickey says through a mouthful of bacon, âare we finishing the Star Wars marathon this weekend, or what?âÂ
Bob perks up instantly, eyes going bright, the usual stormy blue softening into something more sky-coloured. âYes. Tomorrow night?âÂ
Reuben frowns. âBut thatâs Sunday.âÂ
âMav gave us Monday off,â Natasha chimes in. âWeekend rotation, remember?âÂ
âOh, right.â Reuben nods. âYeah, Iâm in.âÂ
âHow many are left?â Natasha asks.Â
âSix,â Mickey replies. âNot including spin-offs.âÂ
âWeâre not getting through six in one night,â you point out. âWeâll be lucky to finish the prequels.âÂ
âUnlessâŠâ he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief as they flick between everyone at the table, âwe had a sleepover.âÂ
You snort into your coffee before taking a sip, expecting someoneâprobably Natasha or Reubenâto shut the idea down. But instead, their faces light up with the same devious smirk that Mickey is wearing.Â
âWe could,â Natasha says casually. âI think itâd be fun.âÂ
Bob blinks at her. âYou do?âÂ
She nods. âYeah. Why not? We could play some drinking games and not worry about getting home.âÂ
âDrinking games!â Reuben echoes with excitement. âYouâre a genius, Phoenix.âÂ
With the way their eyes keep bouncing between you and Bob, itâs clear now: theyâre scheming again. Plotting the next phase of Operation Bob's Blue Ballsâand your pulse is already quickening with anticipation.Â
âWe could do it at my place,â Bob offers, earnest as ever. âIâve got a spare room. Plenty of space.âÂ
Reuben grins. âWhat a great idea, Bob.âÂ
Bob glances around at his grinning friends, the smile on his face tinged with uncertainty. He has no clue what heâs just agreed to.Â
-Â
âDid you pack sexy PJs?â Natasha asks, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel.Â
You roll your eyes. âI donât own any sexy PJs.âÂ
She shoots you a sly smirk before her gaze flicks back to the road, her silence thick with something unspokenâas if she already has a plan to remedy your lack of Victoriaâs Secret-worthy sleepwear.Â
Bobâs apartment isnât far from yours. In fact, none of you live all that far from each other, but tonight, the distance doesnât seem to matter. Noâthe real reason for tonightâs sleepover is something far more sinister.Â
You know youâre the last to arrive, not just from the cars parked along the street, but from the group chat where Mickey has been demanding you hurry up so he can order dinner. Your heart beats in your throat as you ride the elevator up, and the ding when it reaches Bobâs level startles you more than it should.Â
Natashaâs smirk stays plastered on her face until she knocks on the door, and the second it swings open, with Bob standing there, sheâs all business.Â
âHey,â she says casually, walking past him like sheâs been here a thousand times.Â
A stab of jealousy twists in your stomachâcompletely unwarranted but sharp nonetheless. Has Natasha been here a lot?Â
âHi,â you mutter, offering Bob a small smile as you follow Nat inside.Â
Thereâs a chorus of hellos from the squad scattered around the living room. Bradley lounges across the two-seater couch furthest from the door, and Mickey is sprawled in a bean bag beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Jake and Javy are tangled together on one end of the three-seater couch, probably having just finished fighting over the remote. And then thereâs Reuben, sitting in the middle, with Natasha plopping down beside him.Â
âGuess Iâll take the floor,â you mutter, dropping your bag beside the pile of everyone elseâs stuff.Â
âThatâs alright,â Jake says with his usual cocky grin, âYou can sit on Bobbyâs lap for a bit of comfort.âÂ
Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect of his words. Instead, you roll your eyes and flip him off, then plop down onto the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets on the floor.Â
Bob reappears from the kitchen with another round of beers, while Mickey takes orders for dinner. Then Bob settles down beside you, his arm brushing yours just enough to send a sparks crackling across your skin. A moment later, Jake hits play on The Phantom Menace, and the room settles into a comfortable, albeit charged, quiet.Â
It doesnât take long before Jake groans that heâs bored, and Reubenâs eyes immediately flick toward Natashaâlike theyâd both seen this coming from a mile away.Â
âWe could play a game,â Mickey offers, all too innocently.Â
âYes,â Jake grins, already invested. âLetâs play a game.âÂ
âWhat game?â Javy asks.Â
Reuben opens his mouth, but Jake beats him to it. âTruth or Dare, obviously.âÂ
Natasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, but not before you catch it. That was exactly what Reuben had been about to suggestâand Jake is walking right into whatever scheme theyâve cooked up.Â
âHow old are you?â Bradley asks Jake, brows furrowing.Â
âNot as old as you, Grandpa,â Jake fires back. âBut you could at least pretend to enjoy fun.âÂ
Bradley rolls his eyes but shrugs. âFine.âÂ
Everyone else falls in line, shifting around until youâve all formed a lopsided circle on the floor, your back half-angled toward the movie. Jake claps his hands together like the ringmaster of a circusâwhich might not be far off from what this night is about to become.Â
âAlright. If youâre a chicken and wonât answer the truth or do the dare, you drink. Simple. Iâll go first.â He zeroes in on Bobâpoor, unsuspecting Bob, who clearly just wanted to enjoy some Star Wars in peace. âBob. Truth or Dare?âÂ
âTruth,â Bob says, almost too quickly.Â
Jake leans forward with a shit-eating grin. âWho would you rather go on a date withâPhoenix or Sunny?âÂ
You choke on nothing, smothering the sound behind your hand and pretending itâs just a casual cough.Â
Heat blooms across Bobâs cheeks and starts creeping up to the tips of his ears. He glances your wayâjust for a beatâthen over at Natasha, and your stomach knots. Is he seriously having to think about this? Have your friends been totally misreading Bob this whole time?Â
Then, after a moment of hesitation, Bob simply lifts his beer and takes a long sip.Â
Jake groans. âUgh, lame.âÂ
âDonât worry, Bob,â Javy says with a laugh. âThat was a trap. There was no right answer.âÂ
Bob chucklesâa low, rough sound right next to you that sends goosebumps up your arms. âI know,â he says, voice deceptively casual. Then he shifts his gaze toward Mickey. âFanboy. Truth or Dare?âÂ
Mickeyâs face lights up. âDare.âÂ
Bob smilesâand for the first time tonight, itâs almost a smirk. Thereâs something sharp beneath the usual softness, and it makes your stomach flip.Â
âText the last person you hooked up with âthinking about youââno context. And you can't reply until tomorrow.âÂ
Mickeyâs grin drops. âWhat the fuck, man?âÂ
Bob just shrugs, raising his beer like itâs a toast. âYou picked dare.â Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a generous swig.Â
And holy shitâyou might actually combust from the sight alone. Bob being just a little cocky. Bob utterly destroying Mickey with zero remorse. You know thereâs a darker edge beneath that quiet, boy-next-door act. You know heâs got a mean streak. And God, you want to find it. Pull it out of him and askâbegâfor him to do things you canât even say out loud.Â
The group erupts into cackles as Mickey reluctantly pulls out his phone, Reuben peering over his shoulder to make sure he follows through.Â
âThere,â Mickey mutters, tossing the phone face-down on the floor. âYou better watch your back.âÂ
But Bob doesnât flinch. He just sits there, calm and collected, with that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.Â
When you finally tear your gaze away from him, you find Mickeyâs eyes locked on youâan evil grin stretched across his face. âSunny,â he says, voice smooth as silk. âTruth or Dare?âÂ
You steel your nerves, unsure of whatâs coming but already sensing the trap. âDare,â you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.Â
Mickeyâs grin widens, tipping his head forward like some sinister villainâand you just walked straight into his web. âGoogle a dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey... and whisper it slowly in Bobâs ear.âÂ
Jake snorts, his face twisted with amusement, and the rest of the group followsâdissolving into fits of laughter. All but Bob, whoâs already choking on his beer, turning an even deeper shade of red before youâve even touched your phone.Â
You blink, eyes going wide. âAre you serious?âÂ
âOh, Iâm very serious,â Mickey replies, practically vibrating with excitement. âAnd no laughing. You have to sell it.âÂ
You lock eyes with Mickey, your death-glare sharp as your hands shake slightly while you pick up your phone. Then, you reluctantly tap the search bar and type in âdirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey.â Before you realize whatâs happening, Natasha leans over your shoulder.Â
âOoh,â she giggles, pointing at the screen. âThat one.âÂ
You glance up at Bob, your expression a mix of apology and warning. He looks much less confident than before, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and a small part of youâone that feels dangerousâstirs with excitement.Â
The room falls into eerie silence, and you realize that Jake has paused the movie. All eyes are on you as you shuffle closer to Bob, getting onto your knees beside him. You plant one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and you feel the muscles in his leg twitch at your touch.Â
His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid.Â
You lean in close, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as you murmur, âI want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want to feel you everywhere until I forget my own name.âÂ
A beat of silence stretches, and then Bob exhales sharply, his hand tightening around his beer bottle as if itâs the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.Â
âJesus Christ,â Jake mutters under his breath.Â
âHoly shit,â Reuben says, breaking into laughter.Â
Mickey is howling, pounding his fist against the beanbag. âWorth it! So worth it!âÂ
You slowly pull back, biting back a grin as you settle back into your spot like nothing happened. Bob, however, is still stuck in the mental tailspin you just launched him into, blinking hard and adjusting his glasses like he needs a whole system reset.Â
You meet his eyes, and for the briefest second, you see itâburied beneath the shock and heatâthat glint of hunger.Â
God help you, you're not making it out of tonight alive.Â
The game moves on, but you canât quiet your mind. Youâre stuck on the way Bobâs thigh had felt beneath your palm, the way the muscles shifted under your touch. You canât stop replaying the brush of your lips near his ear, the hitch in his breath, or the way heâd smelledâclean, warm, intoxicating. You donât just want to fuck this manâyou want to ruin him. You want him panting and wrecked, bruised and breathless, oversensitive and spent. There are things you want to ask of him that would guarantee you a one-way ticket to hell. But if he said yesâif he gave you those thingsâitâd be worth it.Â
Youâve never wanted a man the way you want him, and itâs starting to feel like a genuine threat to your well-being.Â
âBob,â Natasha says, her voice snapping you back to reality, âTruth or Dare?âÂ
Youâre not sure how many turns youâve missed, but Bradley and Reuben seem to have swapped shirts, and thereâs a bottle of tequila on the table that definitely wasnât there earlier.Â
âDare,â Bob replies, seemingly recovered from your whispered indecency.Â
Natasha grins. âI dare you to pick someone in this room to do a body shot off ofâexcluding me.âÂ
Your heart stutters at the last part. Did she say that because she thought heâd pick her? Would he have? Out of comfort, knowing it wouldnât mean anythingâor for some other reason?Â
You shake the thought off quickly and join the groupâs laughter, mentally scolding yourself for the jealous spiral.Â
âSeriously, Phoenix?â Bob sighs, his brows knit.Â
She just shrugs, laughing. âYou picked dare.âÂ
He tips his head back and groans, giving you a perfect view of the long line of his throat, the sharp bob of his Adamâs apple as he swallows.Â
âCome on, man,â Jake chuckles, âThereâs only one clear choice.âÂ
Your cheeks flush as Jake nods toward you, green eyes sparkling like heâs the one about to do the dare.Â
âAs if youâre not going to pick Sunny,â Javy adds, watching as Bobâs eyes slowly scan the room.Â
Then his gaze lands on youâsoft, but laced with something heavier. Something simmering.Â
He licks his lips, and you canât stop yourself from imagining them on your skin. Imagining his tongue dragging over your body, slow and deliberate. The salt from your collarbone, your abdomen⊠or maybe lowerâright above the waistband of your pants. Would he use the glass? Or would he press his mouth to your stomach, lips sealing around your navel, tongue lapping up the tequila while you tremble beneath him?Â
Then the limeâbetween your lips, waiting for him. His mouth brushing yours as he leans in, breath mingling, tasting more than just the fruit. You imagine the sharp burst of citrus, the tease of contact, tequila heat still slick on his tongue. Heâd bite down, lips grazing yours, and it would wreck you more than any kiss ever could.Â
âHangman,â Bob says suddenly, his gaze locked on the man across the circleâwho now looks a lot less smug and a lot more stunned.Â
Jakeâs brows shoot up. âMe?âÂ
The room erupts into laughter. Bradley throws his head back, already fumbling for his phone to record whatever chaos is about to unfold. Mickey nearly falls over, gripping the bean bag for dear life, and Javy is doubled over, laughing so hard he canât catch a breath.Â
âWhy would you do this to me?â Jake gasps, eyes wide.Â
âYou said there was only one clear option,â Bob replies evenly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. âI agree.âÂ
âYou bitch,â Jake mutters.Â
âOh, this is so much better than what I thought was going to happen,â Natasha says. âShirt off, Bagman. Letâs go.âÂ
âThis could be considered assault,â Jake mutters as he sits forward on the couch.Â
âThen press charges,â Bradley says, half-choking on a laugh. âBut let him finish first.âÂ
Natasha bolts to the kitchen for lime and salt, and the rest of the group scrambles to clear space on the lounge like theyâre prepping for surgery. Jake peels off his shirt with the theatrics of a martyr, glaring at each of his cackling friends.Â
Bob, meanwhile, looks cool as everâfar more composed than Jake. And maybe thatâs the point. Picking you wouldâve set the room on fire. Picking someone else wouldâve gotten laughs. But picking Hangman? Thatâs just cruel and perfectâand from the slow curl of a smirk on Bobâs lips, he knows it.Â
âLetâs go, Seresin,â Natasha says, reappearing with lime in one hand, salt in the other.Â
Jake lies back with exaggerated misery, like a man about to be sacrificed at the altar. âI swear to God, Floyd, if you do anything weird with your mouth-âÂ
âI wonât,â Bob says, calm and unbothered. âUnless you want me to.âÂ
Your stomach somersaults. He didnât even look at youâbut somehow, it still feels like the line was meant for you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you, without even trying.Â
Bob Floyd is fucking smooth when he wants to be.Â
The room falls eerily quiet as Bob kneels beside the couch, one hand braced on the cushion beneath Jakeâs body, the other holding the tequila bottle. He looks sereneâlike heâs preparing for a sacred ritual rather than licking salt off another manâs chest.Â
âThis is happening,â Mickey whispers, wide-eyed. âThis is actually happening.âÂ
âFocus, Bob,â Natasha says solemnly, holding the shot glass as he pours the tequila. âWe believe in you.âÂ
Bob sets the bottle down and leans toward Jake slowly, both hands now braced on the couch as he lowers his head to the other manâs chest. The room is absolutely silent, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the charged hush of everyone holding their breath.Â
Jake stares straight up, completely stiff. âDonât look at me while you do it.âÂ
âIâm not,â Bob says, deadpan.Â
He dips his head and licks the salt clean off Jakeâs skin. Jake jerks like heâs been hit with a defibrillator.Â
âOh my God,â Javy whispers, clutching his chest. âThis is the best thing Iâve ever witnessed.âÂ
Natasha hands Bob the shot, and he tosses it back like heâs sampling a fine whiskey. Then he turns to the lime Natasha has jammed between Jakeâs clenched teeth.Â
âDonât you dare,â Jake warns.Â
âIâm just following instructions,â Bob replies calmly, and leans in.Â
Thereâs a ridiculous half-second where it looks like theyâre about to kissâand everyone knows it. You bite your fist to keep from bursting out laughing⊠or something else entirely. Because Bob? Cool as ice. Smooth as ever. He doesnât even flinch as his mouth brushes Jakeâs, teeth clamping down on the lime and tugging it free.Â
Jake makes a choked sound halfway between outrage and existential crisis.Â
Then the room explodes.Â
Bradley nearly falls off the lounge, still recording, laughter shaking his whole body. Natasha collapses into Javyâs lap, practically wheezing. Mickey is making noises like heâs being exorcised, and youâre on the brink of tears, shoulders shaking with laughter as Bob calmly returns to his seat, lime in hand, mouth twisted slightly at the tartness.Â
Jake bolts upright, wiping his mouth. âI need therapy.âÂ
Bob frowns. âYou needed therapy before that.âÂ
âYeah,â Jake spits, yanking his shirt back on. âWell, now I need more.âÂ
Youâre not sure youâve ever felt it beforeâand you definitely donât plan on voicing itâbut right now, you are incredibly fucking jealous of Jake Seresin.Â
It takes a while, but eventually the group settles down and the game fizzles outâmostly thanks to Jakeâs relentless sulking. Not long after, Mickey gets a notification that the food is nearly delivered, and everyone jumps into action to clear the table and grab whatâs needed for dinner.Â
Less than ten minutes later, youâre all crowded around the coffee table, shovelling Chinese food into your mouths and stealing bites off each otherâs plates. Jakeâs sour mood has mostly vanished, and everyone is focused on the final battle of the movie playing out on-screen.Â
By the time the credits start rolling, most of the food is gone. You and Natasha start carting plates, bowls, and empty containers into the kitchen while the guys finish polishing off their meals, scraping the last of the food off their plates and into their mouths. Â
âDid I mention I brought dessert?â Reuben pipes up, eyeing you as you stack a few plates in one hand.Â
You raise a brow. âAre you about to make a gross joke?âÂ
âNo,â he laughs, shaking his head. âYou know Barb, down the hall?âÂ
âNeighbour Barb with the yappy chihuahua?âÂ
He nods. âYeah. She bakes, like⊠the most amazing stuff.âÂ
You narrow your eyes, plates now balanced in both hands. âDo I even want to know how you know this?âÂ
Mickey answers for him, talking around a mouthful of Mongolian beef. âBecause weâre nice to our neighbours.âÂ
You give him a disgusted look before turning back to Reuben. âOkay. Get to the point.âÂ
He grins, a smug twist playing at the corner of his mouth. âShe made a huge batch of cream piesâI mean, puffs. So she brought some over, and I brought them here. Theyâre to die for.âÂ
Your eyes widen almost imperceptiblyâbut Reuben catches it, and you can see the spark of amusement flash across his face.Â
âHave you ever had a cream pie, Sunny?â Mickey asks, beaming up at you with sauce smeared on his face.Â
Jake and Javy snort, and behind youâyou swear you hear Bob snicker.Â
âYes, Mick,â you bite out. âIâve had a cream puff.âÂ
You turn sharply back toward the kitchen, but not before catching the small smirk on Bobâs lips, his cheeks pink as he spoons another mouthful of kung pao chicken into his mouth.Â
âThatâs not what I asked!â Mickey calls after you, giggling like a grade-schooler.Â
You roll your eyes and drop the plates by the sink, where Natasha and Bradley are already washing up.Â
âLookinâ a little red there, Floyd,â Reuben teases, his voice carrying from the living room to the kitchen.Â
Itâs the chicken,â Bob replies quicklyâbut thereâs something in his voice that makes a stupid, lovesick grin spread across your face.Â
Once everything is washed up and everyone has returned to the living room, Jake hits play on the next film. Youâre back on the floor, this time with your back pressed to the couch beneath Natasha, whoâs curled up with her legs tucked beneath her, leaving you space to lean. Bob is further away now, sprawled on his back across a fluffy blanket, a cluster of pillows beneath his head, hands folded neatly over his stomach.Â
You try to keep your eyes on the screenâit really shouldnât be that hard with both Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor to enjoyâbut your gaze keeps drifting to Bob. He looks so content, so cute, his lips tipped into a soft half-smile and his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Thereâs something about him that turns your brain to absolute mush, and you still canât figure out what.Â
Maybe itâs the dichotomy of him. How sweet and quiet he isâsome might even say shy, but you know better. Heâs just overwhelmingly nice, with a pretty face to match. And yet, you have to remind yourself that this man is in the navy. Heâs not spinelessâin fact, heâs the total opposite. Heâs sharp and quick-witted, strong both mentally and physically. Thereâs not a single thing about him thatâs weak, yet he lets people assume otherwise.Â
Maybe itâs confidence. The kind that doesnât need to be loud. He doesnât care what people think or say. Not that he isnât awkward sometimesâhe definitely can beâbut thatâs more about being introverted. He doesnât need to show off or run his mouth like Jake. He doesnât need to fly like an idiot to prove himself. Heâs just Bob. He knows who he is, and heâs not apologetic about it.Â
What is it they call that?Â
Oh yeah⊠big dick energy.Â
Your eyes drift down his torso, lingering briefly on his handsâthe way his long fingers are laced togetherâbefore continuing down to the waistband of his dark blue joggers. Thereâs a bulge in his lap. A notable one. And a slight outline continuing down the left leg of his pantsâŠÂ
Wait. Thatâs like⊠kind of huge.Â
A hard nudge to your shoulder startles you, and you whip around to see Natasha staring at you. Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled into a smirkâhalf disbelieving, half smug.Â
Stop staring, she mouths.Â
You press your lips together to hold back a laugh, a little giddy from your fourthâor maybe fifthâbeer. Your face feels warm, and you know if you keep looking at Nat, youâll start laughing, so you quickly turn back to the movie.Â
âOkay,â Mickey pipes up, scrambling out of the beanbag and to his feet, âwho wants cream puffs?âÂ
âOnly if you serve them warm and full,â Jake shoots back.Â
The room eruptsâhalf groans, half childish laughter. Mickey just snorts and disappears into the kitchen, Reuben trailing behind him. A few minutes later, they return, each holding a heaping plate stacked with warm, golden cream puffs.Â
âFair warning,â Reuben says, setting one down on the table, âthese things are insane. Like... dangerously good.âÂ
You grab one without hesitationâsoft, golden, still warm to the touch. Itâs dusted in powdered sugar and practically bursting with cream. You bite into it andâholy hellâthe taste explodes in your mouth. Sweet. Rich. Ridiculously creamy. You moan without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut.Â
âOh, wow,â you say around a mouthful. âThatâs... actually insane.âÂ
The group hums and laughs in agreement, but you barely notice. You take another biteâbigger this timeâand it squishes a little too easily in your hand. Cream oozes out the side, trailing down your chin and, with an audible plop, lands squarely between your breasts.Â
âOh, shit,â you mutter, trying to swipe the cream awayâbut all you manage to do is smear it further.Â
Thereâs a beat of silence, and even the movie playing in the background seems to go quiet.Â
âJesus Christ,â Reuben says, somewhere between impressed and scandalised. âYou sure you donât need a minute alone with that thing?âÂ
Laughter rumbles around you, and only when you look up do you realise how provocative that just wasâthe heat in your cheeks deepening. But then your eyes catch on Bob.Â
Heâs not laughing. Heâs not even blinking.Â
The lazy smile he wore earlier? Gone. Heâs sitting upright now, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. His gaze is locked on you like he forgot what movie is playing, what day it isâhell, maybe even his own name.Â
âFloyd?â Mickey nudges his leg with a foot. âYou good?âÂ
Bob jolts slightly, as if waking from a trance. He coughs, shifts, and yanks the blanket from the floor to cover his lapâtoo quickly to be casual.Â
âThey, uh...â he clears his throat, voice rough. âThey look really good.âÂ
Your stomach swoops as he leans forward, still holding the blanket tight in place, and reaches for a cream puff from the plate right in front of youâstill avoiding your eyes entirely.Â
Natasha leans in from behind, her voice low. âYou are killing him.âÂ
You press your lips together to hide your grin, eyes flicking back to Bobâwhoâs now doing everything in his power not to look in your direction.Â
The cream puffs disappear in what has to be a record amount of time. Youâre pretty sure you watched Javy inhale at least four, and there was an unnecessarily loud argument between Mickey and Bradley over the last one, which ended in a begrudging decision to split it.Â
The rest of the movie plays out without incident, and afterward, everyone decides to change into their PJs for the final film of the night. Youâre honestly surprised everyone has made it to movie number three, but youâre not complaining.Â
The boys start rummaging through their bags, swapping out jeans for boxers or stretchy pajama pants while Natasha grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen to avoid catching a glimpse of something you definitely donât want to seeâbecause these boys? They have no shame.Â
âYou can change in my room if you want,â Bob offers.Â
You glance up, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on him, because just a little to the left is where Jake is still mid-change.Â
âYeah?âÂ
Bob nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestures down the short hallway past the kitchen. âItâs the door just after the bathroom.âÂ
âThanks,â you mutter, pushing to your feet and grabbing your bag as you slip past the othersânow teasing Mickey about his choice of boxers.Â
The door is open just a crack, and your heart thuds a little harder than it should as you ease it the rest of the way. The smell hits firstâclean and warm, with a twist of vanilla that makes you want to wrap yourself in it and never leave.Â
You flick on the light and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag to the floor. You know you should just get changed, but⊠you canât help it. Youâve only been to Bobâs apartment a couple times beforeâonce to help him move in (because of course the whole squad helped), and once with Natasha to pick him up before a night out. But never in here. Never in his room.Â
Itâs almost unusually tidy, but thatâs navy life for you. His bed is made neatly, topped with a soft baby blue duvet, coordinated beige and cream pillows, and a throw blanket folded at the foot. Itâs a little faded and looks handmade, like something passed down through generations.Â
On one side of the room, a bookshelf houses a quiet little collection of well-loved paperbacks, a few aviation manuals, and a line of model planesâsome pristine and precise, others clearly glued together by a much younger version of him. A framed photo of a beaming, pint-sized Bob in oversized glasses sits on the dresser, nestled between a small baseball trophy and a display of navy challenge coins.Â
A pair of worn sneakers sits neatly by the door, and his uniform jacket hangs off the closet handle, the door slightly ajar. The name tag catches just enough light to pull your eyes toward it. Everything about the room feels like himâmodest, thoughtful, quietly proud. Itâs the kind of unintentional intimacy that makes you feel like youâve slipped behind the curtain and gotten a glimpse of the real Bob.Â
And somehow⊠that makes your chest ache. Itâs just a room. But it feels so much like himâlike you could curl up in here with him for hours, doing nothing but talking and dreaming. Getting lost in each other. Letting the rest of the world wait. And then, later, getting tangled together. Soft kisses, whispered pleas, gentle moansâslow and unhurried, learning one anotherâs bodies until you know each other better than you know yourselves.Â
You shake your head hard and take a breath. Youâve already been in here too long. Pull it together.Â
You crouch beside your bag and pull out your pajamasâsoft lounge shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt. Itâs nothing special, but a step up from your usual: an old, food-stained navy tee and nothing but underwear.Â
You change quickly and shove your clothes into your bag before leaving the room. The lounge room has quieted down, everyone now back in their seatsâexcept for Mickey and Bob, who are in the kitchen grabbing another round of drinks.Â
Jake hits play as soon as they return, and everyone settles in again. Thereâs less chatter now, probably because of how late itâs gotten. Bradley is almost definitely asleep, eyes half-shut on the two-seater, while Mickey is having the time of his life seeing how many of Bradleyâs fingers he can get stuck in the top of his beer bottle.Â
Natasha is curled up behind you, her head resting on Reubenâs shoulder, and his blinks are getting longer and slower by the second. Jake is surprisingly alert and invested in the film, but Javy looks like his head might lull back at any moment. And BobâBob is still wide awake, his eyes sparkling with interest as he watches the screen.Â
Halfway through the film, Mickey pushes to his feet and offers another round of drinks, prompting a few sleepy murmurs of âyesâ from the others.Â
âIâll help,â you offer, stretching as you rise from the floor and follow him into the kitchen.Â
You open the fridge and start pulling out beers while Mickey pops the tops off. But when you close the fridge and turn back around, you spot Reubenânow suddenly very awakeâwatching Mickey with intent. Heâs wearing that little smirk that always means trouble, clearly trying to telepathically communicate something to his WSO.Â
Your brow furrows as you glance between them, trying to decode the silent exchange. Mickey looks equally confused for a second... but then realisation dawns and a wicked grin curls onto his face.Â
He turns to you and mutters, âSorry about this.â But he doesnât sound even remotely apologetic.Â
Your frown deepens. âWhat are you-âÂ
But you donât get to finish the question before he starts shaking the beer bottle in his hand.Â
âMickâ!â you cry, just as he pops the top off and sprays you with beer.Â
You shriek, throwing your hands in front of your face like thatâll somehow stop the onslaught. But it doesnât. Youâre soaked.Â
âWhat the hell, Fanboy?â Reuben calls from the living room, as if this wasnât entirely his doing.Â
âMickey!â you shout, dropping your arms and glaring at him.Â
âWhoops,â he says with a grin. âMy bad.âÂ
Natasha snorts and smacks a hand over her mouth. âSorry. Itâs not funny.âÂ
âWow, Fanboy,â Jake pipes up, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. âIs that the first time youâve made a girl wet?âÂ
Mickey glaresâor tries to. Heâs way too pleased with himself for it to land properly.Â
âHey, Floyd,â Reuben calls, âyou got any spare clothes for Sunny?âÂ
Bob is already looking at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He swallows hard before turning to Reuben and nodding. âYeah, of course.â Then he stands, eyes flicking back to you. âDo you want to shower?âÂ
Mickey gasps, scandalised. âRobert Floyd, are you propositioning her?âÂ
Bobâs blush deepens, colouring his neck and the tips of his ears, but he doesnât look particularly ashamed. He looks⊠flushed. Hot. Close to unravelling. His glare cuts back to Mickey, sharper than usual, a little too dark to be playful. And then his gaze shifts back to youâspecifically, your chest.Â
You follow his line of sight and immediately wrap an arm around yourself. Your nipples are pebbled beneath your shirt, the damp fabric clinging in all the worst ways. Or the bestâif you ask Bob Floyd.Â
âYes,â you say tightly. âA shower would be good.âÂ
The room dissolves into quiet laughter as you follow Bob down the hall. He slips into his room for a moment, then returns with a folded towel and some clothes stacked neatly on top.Â
âHere,â he says, offering them to you. âTake as long as you want. You can use whateverâs in there. Not that thereâs much.âÂ
He dips his headâblush still firmly in placeâand heads back to the living room.Â
You stare after him for a second, dumbfounded. He got embarrassed about his lack of shower products? Thatâs what embarrassed him? Not the full-body, post-beer-shower eye-fucking he just gave you?Â
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling hard. Youâre buzzing. Overstimulated. Untouched and on fire. You feel like youâre being edged and then abandoned, left to squirm. Youâre so sensitive it hurts. Bob is teasing you just as much as youâre teasing himâthose glances, the heat behind his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open like he wants to say something but never does.Â
You mightâve thought you were playing a game, but Bob Floyd is about to kill you without even realising it.Â
You strip quickly, trying not to dwell on the fact that youâre naked in Bobâs apartment. You keep the water on the cooler sideâa half-hearted attempt to wash away the heat still simmering under your skin. But it doesnât help. You shower fast and step out even faster, wrapping yourself in the towel Bob gave you. Itâs fluffy, soft, and smells just like himâwhich makes that spot deep behind your hipbones ache.Â
You dry off in record time, then turn to the small pile of clothes on the vanityâBobâs clothes. Your hands tremble slightly as you lift the satin boxers, dark blue with little white stars, and slide them up your legs. Then the shirt: a worn white tee with a faded Star Wars logo across the chest.Â
His scent wraps around you the second you slide it over your headâoversized and impossibly soft against your warm skin. You try not to focus on the rasp of cotton against your nipples. God, if he ever actually touches you, you might just combust.Â
You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire burning low in your belly, then scoop up your beer-soaked clothes and open the bathroom doorâsteam spilling into the hallway as you step out.Â
"Finally," Mickey says, popping up in front of you like heâs been waiting, holding out a plastic bag.Â
You blink. âWhat?âÂ
âFor your clothes,â he says simply.Â
âOh.â You take it and shove the damp material inside.Â
His gaze dipsâjust for a beatâbefore sliding back up. Then he grins, gives you a cheeky wink, and turns back toward the lounge room. You follow, every eye lifting to you the second you reappear. Warmth floods your cheeks. Youâre in Bobâs clothes. Bob's boxers. Bob's shirt.Â
âCan we play the movie now?â Jake whines, oblivious to the tension humming through the room. âIt was just getting good.âÂ
You nod, unable to speak, your gaze already locked with Bobâs.Â
His eyes rake down your body, slow and deliberate. He takes in the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the hang of his shirt against your chest. His gaze catches there, as if he can see straight through the fabric, then continues its journey down to the hem. The shorts are barely visible beneath the shirt, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he might be wondering why you're wearing pants at all.Â
You shift under the weight of his stare, hyper-aware of every inch of fabric against your skinâof how suddenly hot the room feels. Jake presses play, but no one is watching the screen. Every pair of eyes bounces between you and Bob, waitingâexpectingâsomething to happen.Â
Bob looks wrecked. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, jaw tight. Like he has to physically hold himself back.Â
Natasha clears her throat, startling you more than it should. You tear your gaze away and flash her a sheepish smile before finally forcing yourself to move, padding back to your spot on the floor.Â
Even then, you can feel Bobâs eyes tracking every step.Â
The rest of the movie plays out in near silence, broken only by the soft snoring that eventually starts up from Bradley and Javy. It takes a while for you to settle, but you finally curl up on the floor with a pillow hugged to your chest, watching Anakin fall apart on-screen and become Darth Vader.Â
Jake is the only one still fully invested in the film. Even Bob seems distracted now, his eyes flicking toward you more often than the TV. He shifts in place, uncomfortable, dragging the blanket higher across his lap and holding it like a lifeline. You try not to smirk.Â
You think you know what might be going on under there⊠but youâre not about to assume. It couldn't possibly be just because youâre wearing his clothes.Â
âŠRight?Â
Eventually, the credits start rolling and everyone begins to stir.Â
âWhere am I sleeping?â Mickey asks, already eyeing Bob like heâs got plans.Â
Bob shrugs. âWherever. Thereâs the couches and a couple beds in the spare room, but someoneâll have to sleep with me.âÂ
âI think Roosterâs good here,â Jake says, glancing at the man awkwardly passed out on the two-seater couch. âIâll take this one.âÂ
âIâll sleep with you, Bobby,â Javy says through a yawn, stretching so wide his joints pop.Â
âDamn it,â Mickey mutters as he walks past, bumping your shoulder with his. âMissed opportunity.âÂ
You roll your eyes but canât help feeling a twinge of disappointment. You know damn well you wouldnât get any sleep next to Bobânot when he smells like that, looks like that, and keeps looking at you the way he does. So itâs probably for the best, but still, the thought lingers.Â
Everyone takes turns brushing their teeth and shuffling off to bed. You end up in the fold-out bed with Natasha in the spare room, while Reuben and Mickey claim the air mattress on the floor. Apparently, thereâs no escaping these boysânot even for one night.Â
Mumbled goodnights fade into rustling fabric and shifting limbs, then finally, silence.Â
Too much silence.Â
You lie on your back, eyes on the ceiling, thoughts screaming through your head like theyâre in a race. You should be tiredâyour body achesâbut your brain refuses to shut up. You toss the blanket off, overheated, but even with the cooler air, your skin feels flushed. You roll to your side, careful not to jostle Natasha on the creaky mattress, but nothing helps.Â
You glance down at the boys, both snoring with their mouths open, and finally sigh. Swinging your legs off the bed, you wriggle out of Bobâs shorts, thinking maybe itâll help. You donât usually sleep in pants anyway.Â
It doesnât.Â
Ten minutes later, you quietly slip off the bed and tiptoe toward the door, easing it open with practiced care to avoid the squeaky hinges. Then you turn down the hallway, barefoot and warm-skinned, and pad into the kitchen.Â
The hem of Bobâs shirt brushes against your bare thighs, stoking the fire already simmering between them as you stop in front of the fridge and pull the door open. A cool flood of light spills across the kitchen tiles. You grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap, stepping back and tipping it to your lips. But the cold rush does nothing to cool the heat thrumming beneath your skin.Â
âYou always walk around other peopleâs places half naked?âÂ
You choke, almost spilling water down your chin as you turn toward the voiceâthat low, raspy sound that makes your skin prickle and your spine snap straight.Â
Bob stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning casually against the far counterâbut thereâs nothing relaxed about the way he holds himself. In the dim glow of the fridge light, he looks almost ethereal. His eyes are sharp, lit with something that borders on painâhunger, maybe, or full-blown starvationâand his arms are crossed over his bare chest.Â
Yeah. Bob Floyd is shirtless.Â
You register a flicker of jealousy for Javyâthe man who gets to sleep next to thisâbut you donât let yourself linger on it. Not when Bob is standing right there in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the impressive shape beneath.Â
You donât know if itâs because heâs a little turned on or just blessed, but damn.Â
âYou okay?â he asks, though it doesnât sound like a real questionâbecause he already knows the answer.Â
No. No, youâre not.Â
You clear your throat, dragging your eyes back up to his. âYeah, Iâuh-âÂ
Your words falter when his gaze drops to your legs. Thereâs something almost reverent in the way he looks at youâlike heâs trying to memorise every inch. His eyes drag slowly up your bare thighs, pausing at the hem of his shirt before gliding over your waist and stopping at your chest, where your nipples are clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton.Â
The heat of his stare burns hotter than any touch.Â
âCouldnât sleep?â he asks, voice quiet, like heâs just making conversation. Like he has no idea what heâs doing to you.Â
He pushes off the counter and walks straight toward youâslow, but sure. He stops right in front of the fridge, close enough that if you moved even a breath closer, youâd feel your nipples graze his skin.Â
You take a step backâbarely. Just enough to let him slip past you.Â
He nods slightlyâa silent thanksâand ducks into the fridge for his own water. When he shuts the door, the kitchen is plunged into darkness, save for dim moonlight filtering in from the far windowsâbut you can still see him. His outline, the dips and curves of his lean torso, the tilt of his head as he tips the bottle back and drinks.Â
You watch his throat move with every swallow, your lips parting slightly, craving his skin on your tongue. You donât move. You donât breathe. You just stand there, watching.Â
When he finishes, he turns to the sink and drops the empty bottle in before bracing both hands against the bench. His chin dips toward his chest, and you see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhalesâhard.Â
Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you forward until youâre beside him, your bare arm brushing against his. You place your own bottle in the sink, then turn toward him and lean your hip against the counter.Â
âBob,â you whisper.Â
Every sound in the apartment feels louder nowâthe faint snores, the creak of the floorboards, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.Â
He looks at you, only turning his head, not his body. âDonâtââ he says softly. âDonât say my name like that.âÂ
You frown, sliding your hand over his. His grip tightens on the bench like heâs anchoring himself.Â
âLike what?â you ask softly.Â
âLike you want me,â he murmurs. His voice is thickârough around the edges like itâs been scraped raw. Like he's holding something back with every laboured breath.Â
You press closer, your chest against his arm. The contact is electric. Your skin separated only by a whisper of cottonâhis cotton.Â
âBob,â you breathe, a little desperate now.Â
He exhales sharply and drops his gaze to the sink again, like something there might help him. âThis isnâtâŠâ His jaw flexes. âWe canât do this.âÂ
âDo what?â you ask, playing innocent, even as your fingers trail lightly up his arm.Â
You can feel your chest rising and falling faster than it should, your breasts pressing against his arm like some wanton, starry-eyed girl. But you canât bring yourself to step away. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve ending singed and tingling. You want him to turn around and take youâbend you over the counter and make you scream his name. Who gives a fuck whoâs listening... or watching. You just want Bob. You want him to know how much you want him, how deeply you need him. How desperate he makes you without even trying.Â
âDo you have any idea,â he whispers, finally turning to face you fully, âwhat you do to me?âÂ
You feel itâhard and thickâpressing against your lower belly. Thereâs no mistaking it now.Â
âBobâŠâ Your voice is a sigh, wrecked and begging.Â
He catches your wrist, his grip firm, nearly bruising. His eyes are wild as they search your faceâfrom your eyes to your lips, down to your chest, and back againâlike heâs torn between reason and ruin.Â
You hold still. Waiting. Daring. Wanting him to snap.Â
But then... heâs goneâhis warmth, his scent, the burning look in his eyes. All of it, gone in a breath.Â
âGoodnight,â he mutters, so low you barely hear it before the soft click of his bedroom door⊠and then the snap of the lock.Â
Youâre left standing there, chest heaving, skin burning. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your mind is a mess. What the fuck just happened? Your panties are damp, and your chest aches like you've been torn in two. You want to cry, but you also want to break down his door. How dare he build you up like that? Look at you like that, talk to you like thatâand then just walk away.Â
It takes several minutes before you can move, your legs shaky, your mind racing. You stumble back to the spare room, collapse into bed, and stare at the ceiling, flat on your backâBobâs shirt clinging to your skin.Â
You donât sleep. Not at all.Â
-Â
âHe what?â Natashaâs eyes go impossibly wide. âAnd then he justâhe left?âÂ
You nod slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on your lunch. The mess hall is loud enough to muffle your conversationâone you shouldâve had yesterday but couldnât summon the strength for. So here you are, in the middle of the hall, with the boys a couple tables over, surrounded by lieutenants you donât knowâblissfully unaware of your current crisis.Â
âYeah,â you sigh, stabbing at another piece of pasta you donât plan to eat.Â
You havenât eaten much in the last twenty-four hoursânot since the run-in with Bob. Everything feels bland now, drained of colour and taste, too dull to bother with. Anything that isnât Bob just feels lacking, and you're starting to worry that one momentâone heated, breathless momentâhas completely ruined you.Â
âThatâs insane,â Natasha mutters. âThatâs so... not Bob. How could he be soâI donât know... rude? I justâI have no words.âÂ
You shrug one shoulder. âIt wasnât rude. He just seemed... confused, I guess. And I donât blame him. If Iâm not what he wants, then-âÂ
âStop right there,â Mickey interrupts, sliding into the chair beside you.Â
Reuben drops into the seat next to Natasha, eyeing your tray of food.Â
âSorry,â he says, reaching across the table to steal your apple. âWe couldnât get away any faster.âÂ
You glance past Mickey, down the row of tables, and catch Bobâs eyes on youâjust for a secondâbefore he quickly looks away. Bradley, Jake, and Javy are still deep in conversation with the other guys, oblivious. Bob seems to be the only one noticing Reuben and Mickeyâs absence.Â
âStart again,â Mickey says. âFrom the beginning. We knew something happened.âÂ
Natasha snorts around a mouthful of pasta, and you sigh, knowing thereâs no point arguing. Theyâd get it out of you one way or another.Â
Twenty minutes later, when you finally finish recapping the story for the second time, Natasha taps her watch and nods toward the exit. âWe better get back before Mav, or heâll keep us late tonight.âÂ
Mickeyâs brows are nearly touching as he processes everything youâve said. âWhat does he mean, âyou canât do thisâ? He clearly wanted toâso why didnât he?âÂ
You pick up your tray and follow Natasha toward the return station. âYour guess is as good as mine.âÂ
âI mean,â Reuben says, brows furrowed, âyou said he was... at attention, right?âÂ
You blow a half-hearted laugh through your nose. âYeah.âÂ
âSo he definitely wanted to,â he says as the four of you exit the mess hall. âI just canât think of why he wouldnât go for it.âÂ
âI think itâs because youâre in the same squad,â Natasha offers. âHeâs probably worried itâll get weirdâor worse, if it doesnât work out.âÂ
You roll your eyes as you cross the hot concrete, heading back to the hangar. âBut weâre both adults. Why canât he just sack up and fuck me, and weâll worry about the consequences later?âÂ
Your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you donât miss the odd looks a few passing officers send your way.Â
Reuben chuckles. âMaybe you should just say that to him.âÂ
âNo,â Natasha says, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. âIâve got a better idea. Call it Plan B or whatever, but now... weâre bringing out the big guns.âÂ
âSo Sunny pressing her tits against him wasnât the big guns?â Mickey quips with a grin.Â
You smack him lightly across the chest before looking back to Natasha. âI doubt anything will work at this point, but... Iâm curious. Whatâs the idea?âÂ
âHowâs your gag reflex?â she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.Â
You rear back, eyebrows raisedâand both Reuben and Mickey choke on laughter.Â
Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. âNot like that. I mean youâre going to need a strong stomach and a Juilliard degree to pull this off.âÂ
You frown, slowing just slightly as the hangar looms into view. âOkay...âÂ
She straightens up and faces forward, a proud smirk tugging at her mouth and her chin tilted high. âWeâre going to make Bob jealous.âÂ
-Â
Out of Mickey and Reuben, you all collectively decided that Reuben was the more convincing option. Not that you donât think Mickeyâs gorgeousâyou do, and so does heâbut his acting skills are questionable at best. You at least have a little more faith in Reubenâs ability to fake flirt without making it weird.Â
The plan is simple. Convince Bob that heâs lost his shotâor that heâs just about to. Make it clear youâre happy to move on. If he wants you... well, now heâs going to have to fight for it. Because tempting him wasnât enoughâapparentlyâyou need to dig deeper. Tap into something primal and pull it to the surface. Exploit what lingers under the skin of every man: jealousy and competition.Â
Youâre going to make this a game he canât afford to lose.Â
âYou ready for Phase Two?â Natasha asks as you cross the base, the sun still barely above the horizon.Â
You take a deep breath of fresh morning air. âLetâs do it.âÂ
She and Mickey take off ahead of you and Reuben to arrive in the training room first. Itâs a known fact that Bob is always ridiculously earlyâso you know heâll already be there. You hang back with Reuben, rehashing the plan and trying to get used to flirting with him without cracking up.Â
At exactly ten past six, Natasha texts you to give the green lightâno doubt having casually pointed out to Bob that youâre not with her, which you always are.Â
âWhat if he doesnât care?â you ask Reuben softly as you climb the stairs.Â
He rolls his eyes like youâve said something utterly insane. âHeâll care, trust me. He might be Bob, but heâs still a guy. And heâs obviously down bad for youâjust needs a little push.âÂ
You snort. âLittle?âÂ
Reuben chuckles. âOkay, more than a little. Itâs Bob.âÂ
You laugh too, quietly, and then steel yourself as you reach the doorâslipping on your game face. You glance at Reuben, catching the smirk tugging at his mouth.Â
Then you both nod. Itâs show time.Â
âSo, youâre saying eye contact makes it better?â he asks as you step through the door, voice pitched perfectly.Â
You nod, casual but with a hint of something else. âYep. A thousand times better. And bonus points if you know where to put your hands.âÂ
He raises a brow, lips twitching. âWhere do I put my hands?âÂ
You giggle, soft and flirty, pausing a few steps into the room. âHow about I show you later?âÂ
His grin breaks loose. âPromise?âÂ
âPromise.âÂ
You head toward the rows of seats, sliding into your usual behind Natashaânot missing the way Bobâs gaze locks onto you like heâs been caught mid-thought. His head swivels as Reuben sits beside you instead of next to Mickey.Â
âSee,â Reuben says, leaning in a little, âall these years I thought speed was the key. But youâre saying itâs finesse?âÂ
âOh, definitely finesse,â you say, holding his eyes. âGo too hard and too fast, and itâs just... messy. Sloppy. Unimpressive.âÂ
Reuben licks his lips, his eyes flicking sideways to Bobâjust for a second. âSo, youâre offering me private lessons?âÂ
You lower your voice slightly, knowing itâs still perfectly audible to the rest of the room. âDepends. Can you follow instruction without getting too flustered?âÂ
Reubenâs grin sharpens. âI donât fluster, sweetheart. I excel under pressure.âÂ
You pause, your pulse a little too quickâpartly from Bobâs stare, which heâs not even trying to hide now, and partly from the fact that yeah, itâs been a while. And if this whole plan does blow up in your face... well, Reuben doesnât seem like the worst option for a little stress relief.Â
You fight down a laugh at the idea and finally drag your gaze toward the front of the room. Bobâjust one row aheadâsnaps his eyes forward like heâs been caught eavesdropping, but the bright red of his cheeks, the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes say it all. Heâs tense. Heâs listening. And heâs absolutely not okay.Â
A moment later, Maverick strolls in, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare brewing right beneath his nose.Â
The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Each evening, you regroup with your friends to scheme and strategize, brainstorming new antics to pull off the next day. Nothing over-the-topâjust enough to catch Bobâs eye.Â
On Wednesday, you get Reuben to help you into your flight suit. You both time it perfectly: he exits the locker room just ahead of Bob, and you appear a second later, flashing a flirty grin before asking sweetly for his help. You giggle and call him a sweetheart while Bob nearly trips over his own feet, glancing back with a clenched jaw and a look that could burn a hole through steel.Â
Thursday morning, Reuben brings you a coffeeâexactly how you like itâstraight to the briefing room. You proclaim, not so quietly, that heâs giving total boyfriend material before he drops into the seat beside you and you both giggle over a (completely fabricated) inside joke.Â
That afternoon, during a short break between drills and the next briefing, he offers you a bite of his protein bar. You take it right from his hand, licking your lips and throwing him an innocent little wink before sauntering off like itâs nothing.Â
By Friday, Natasha warns you that the others are starting to notice. But youâre in too deep to pull back nowânot when Bob looks like heâs about to unravel. Heâs been tighter than ever, watching you like a hawk, eyes dark and stormy instead of their usual calm denim blue. Youâre close. So close. And honestly? Youâre kind of having a little too much fun.Â
That afternoon, during post-flight checks, Reuben sidles up behind you under the guise of pointing out something âmechanicalâ on your jet. Youâre not actually doing anything with it, but that doesnât stop him from standing unnecessarily close, guiding your hand with his as he gestures toward something supposedly critical. The two of you are seconds from cracking up, but Bob doesnât know that. Bob, from all the way across the hangar, looks frozenâeyes locked, breath held, jaw tightâas Reuben presses flush against your back.Â
Natasha really shouldnât be enjoying this as much as she is, but honestly? She canât help it. Itâs too damn entertaining.Â
âHey,â she says, nodding at Bob as she approaches. âYou good?âÂ
He blinks, then turns his sharp gaze on her, jaw tight. âYeah.âÂ
She snorts. âThat was very convincing.âÂ
He rolls his eyes and turns robotically back to the maintenance logs heâd been filling out.Â
Natasha glances at the paperwork, noting the hard press of his pen and the uneven ticks and crossesâsome scribbled over multiple timesâdown the checkbox column.Â
âWow,â she mutters, raising a brow. âYou sure you earned your pen licence? Or should you still be on pencils?âÂ
Bobâs blue eyes flick up, darker than usual beneath his furrowed brow. âHa. Ha.âÂ
âOkay,â she says, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. âSo, bad day?âÂ
âBad week,â Bob grumbles.Â
Natasha nods slowly. âWell, hey, why donât we fix that by hitting up The Hard Deck tonight?âÂ
He snaps the logbook shut and tucks the pen into his pocket. âPass.âÂ
âOh, come on,â she sighs. âIt might make you feel better.âÂ
His eyes flick toward you again, watching as you and Reuben dissolve into giggles beside your jet.Â
âI doubt it.âÂ
âSunnyâll be there,â Natasha says, her voice light and teasing.Â
Bob doesnât respond. Just keeps packing up his thingsâevery motion a little too sharp, a little too fast.Â
Natasha exhales. âCome on, dude. Just come for one drinkâit doesnât have to be beer. Blow off some steam. If you hate it, you can bail early. But it wonât be the same without you.âÂ
He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a beat before letting it out slow. âFine. One drink.âÂ
Natasha grins, her eyes sparkling even in the dimming light of the hangar. âPerfect.âÂ
Later that night, Natasha drives the four of youâReuben and Mickey includedâto the bar. Everyone else agreed to meet there, and she insisted on driving so you could have a few drinks. Not just to loosen up for another round of torturing poor Bob, but to actually let loose a little. She can tell this whole thing is winding you up, and she figures a few beers and a night with friends might help ease the tensionâand the guiltâand maybe even the gnawing fear that this whole plan could blow up in your face.Â
âNat, are you sure this dress isnât too short?â you ask, holding the hem down against the curve of your ass as you follow her toward the main entry door. âI havenât worn it in years.âÂ
âThereâs no such thing as too short,â Mickey says, deadpan.Â
You roll your eyes and step inside, into the warm glow of golden lighting and the low hum of half-drunk conversation. You let go of your dress now that thereâs no breeze threatening to lift it, and try to relax, even with the strange sensation of bare legs in public. Youâre used to flight suits, not feeling this on display.Â
âReady to put on your best performance yet?â Reuben murmurs, slinging an arm over your shoulder.Â
You take a deep breath, feeling it rattle faintly in your chest. âLetâs do this thing.âÂ
Natasha shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already striding confidently across the bar, her gaze locked on the usual booth where the rest of your friends are waiting.Â
Thereâs a chorus of greetings as the four of you approach, and you all grin and wave, waiting as Bradley, Jake, Javy, and Bob shuffle around to make room. Natasha pointedly takes the spot beside Bob, with Mickey sliding in next to her. You claim the seat beside Jakeâwhich puts Reuben on your other side. Just as planned.Â
Itâs a little squishy, but after so many nights like this, none of you really notice. Except Bob. Heâs noticed tonight. His eyes are locked on the way your side is pressed to Reubenâs, his arm is slung casually over the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.Â
âHe looks like he wants to kill me,â Reuben whispers in your ear, low enough that you can barely hear him over the chatter of the bar. âPretend I said something funny. Laugh like youâve got a secret.âÂ
You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and let out a soft giggle as you lean toward him just a little.Â
âYouâre a pretty good actress,â he mutters before pulling back slightly.Â
You glance up at him through your lashes, feeling more at ease with the close proximity after the past week. Then you straighten your spine and lean in, your lips grazing his jaw as you whisper in his ear.Â
âYouâre annoying.âÂ
He chuckles quietly, though you know he really wants to snort and smack you on the shoulder. Youâre both enjoying this just a little too much, getting a kick out of your undercover roles.Â
When you turn back to the rest of the group, Natasha is very deliberately not looking at youâand you know itâs because sheâll laugh if she does. Mickey, on the other hand, is watching with wide eyes, as is Javy. Jake and Bradley are still arguing about something on your other side, and Bob⊠Bob still looks like heâs ready to commit first-degree murder.Â
âDrink?â Reuben asks after a beat, his smile smooth.Â
You nod. âAbsolutely. Iâll help you.âÂ
You both stand and offer a round to the rest of the table, most of whom acceptâwhich makes it less suspicious that youâre going together. At the bar, you make sure to stand just a little closer than necessary as he orders a round of the usual from Penny.Â
âAre you sure weâre not pushing it?â you ask, your voice laced with quiet worry.Â
Reuben shakes his head. âNah, not yet.âÂ
You frown. âYet?âÂ
âHeâll snap one way or another,â he says, leaning casually against the bar. âHeâll either lose it and blow up over something totally unrelatedâand thatâs when weâll know weâve gone too far. Or heâll wake the fuck up and fight for what he wants.âÂ
You open your mouth to voice another concern, but Penny is already sliding the tray of drinks across the bar. Reuben thanks her with an easy smile as you grab the two beers that didnât fit, flashing her your own grateful grin before following him back to the table.Â
When you set the beers down, you feel the neckline of your dress slip just a little lower. Your eyes flick up to see if anyoneâs noticedâand of course⊠Bob. His gaze is dark and locked on your chest, clearly able to see right down your dress. He doesnât hesitate, doesnât even try to look away. He just stares.Â
But then he blinks and glances aside, not flustered or ashamedâjust determined not to meet your eyes.Â
You straighten up and clear your throat. âIâm just going to duck to the bathroom.âÂ
Then you turn and begin weaving your way through the bar, desperate for a moment to yourselfâeven though you havenât been here that longâand to check that you donât look completely ridiculous in the dress Natasha convinced you to wear.Â
You take your time in the stall, then rinse your hands under the cool water for a little longer than necessary. When you glance at your reflection in the full-length mirror, youâre surprisedâand a little impressed. Because damn⊠you do look good. Maybe this dress deserves to see the light of day more often. And if Bobâs stare is anything to go by, itâs definitely not a bad idea.Â
You take a deep breath before pushing open the bathroom door, ready to continue your little charadeâbut you barely make it a few steps before someone blocks your path. You blink and stumble, stopping short before you run right into him.Â
You sigh when you realise who it is, that cocky smirk etched across his face. âWhat do you want, Hangman?âÂ
âI want to know whatâs going on.âÂ
Your pulse spikes, but you do your best to keep your expression calm. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âBetween you and Payback,â he says, narrowing his green eyes. âBecause I know thatâs not real.âÂ
Your breath catchesâtoo quicklyâgiving you away as your gaze flicks to the side. âI donât know what youâre talking about.âÂ
He rolls his eyes and leans in slightly, keeping the conversation low and private in the hum of the bar. âDonât try to gaslight me, Sunny. Iâm not an idiot. I know Phoenix is in on itâbecause of course she isâand Fanboy too, judging by the way he giggles every time you and Payback so much as look at each other.â He quirks a brow, daring you to challenge him. âThe only reason Coyote hasnât said anything is because heâs too polite, and Rooster hasnât noticed because heâs too wrapped up in his own shit.âÂ
You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, matching his bravado. âYou missed one.âÂ
He frowns. âWhat?âÂ
âYou listed all the members of the squad⊠except one.âÂ
âRight,â he chuckles dryly. âBob. Thatâs the funny thing, because ever since we got to this island, youâve been starry-eyed over Floyd, and heâs either too clueless to notice or too stupid to ask you out.â He pauses, letting it sink in, then leans just a bit closer. âWhich is exactly why Iâm not buying whatever you and Payback have been trying to sell this past week.âÂ
You stare at each other for a beat, both stubborn and scowling, waiting for the other to fold first.Â
Then you sigh. âOkay, fine. But you have to swear yourself to secrecy.âÂ
His smirk stretches into a full grin. âI knew it.âÂ
âSwear it.âÂ
âOkay, okay,â he says, holding up a hand. âI swear. I wonât even tell Coyote, and my pillow wonât hear a thing about it.âÂ
You nod. âGood. Now come over and pretend to pick a song so this doesnât look suspicious.âÂ
You grab his wrist and tug him toward the jukebox, leaning over it and pretending to scroll through options while you give him a quick summary of Operation Bobâs Blue Ballsâleaving out a few of the more... intimate details.Â
âSo there,â you finish. âItâs underhanded and immature, but thatâs whatâs going on.âÂ
His expression barely shifts the entire time, just the usual entertained glint in his eye and that ever-present smirk.Â
âUnderhanded and immature?â he says. âIâm surprised I wasnât in on this sooner.âÂ
You roll your eyes.Â
âI want in.âÂ
You blink, brow furrowed. âWhat?âÂ
âI want to help,â he says, plainly.Â
You narrow your eyes, sceptical. âWhy?âÂ
He sighs and braces one hand on the jukebox, leaning in like heâs about to reveal some classified information. âBelieve it or not, Iâm not the worst guy in the world. I have a few ideas, and I think you two would be cute together.â He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, âBesides, Iâve been going through a bit of a dry spell, and I figure helping other people get laid might buy me some good karma.âÂ
You snort softly as he pulls back, his cheeks faintly pink.Â
âAlright,â you say. âYou can help. But nothing obvious and nothing stupid. The last thing I need is Bob figuring this out and hating me for it.âÂ
He rolls his eyes, that signature smirk firmly back in place. âBob could never hate you. But Iâll be subtle.âÂ
âGood.â You glance past his shoulder toward the booth across the bar. âWe better get back before they get suspicious.âÂ
âWait,â he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. âOne more question.âÂ
You raise your brows, prompting him to go on.Â
âWhen you fantasise about Bob, is he the top or the bottom? Because I just think you should manage your expectationsâow!âÂ
He winces, rubbing the spot on his chest where you smacked him, watching you with a wounded look as you shove past with an exasperated sigh.Â
Great. Now Hangman is involved...Â
You spend the rest of the night practically glued to Reubenâs side, as planned. But now youâre a little on edge. You keep half an ear tuned to Jakeâs voice, waiting to see when he might strikeâand what he might say when he does. You trust him not to blow the whole thing, but youâre more than a little nervous about what his version of âhelpingâ might actually look like.Â
âAnother drink?â Reuben asks, just as you finish the last of your third beer.Â
You nod, a bit too eagerly. âYes, please. Maybe something stronger this time.âÂ
He chuckles and slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it, letting him guide you up toward the bar. Youâre so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the feel of his hand slipping from yours and settling at the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles there.Â
But Bob notices.Â
And Jake notices Bob noticingâtaking special joy in the way Bobâs hand tightens around his bottle of Coke, knuckles going white.Â
Jake clears his throat and casts a glance toward the bar, leaning forward slightly. âTheyâre cute, donât you think?âÂ
Thereâs a beat of silence as Bob swallowsâhardâand Natasha just blinks, clearly trying to catch up. Then the lightbulb goes off, and a wicked grin stretches across her lips.Â
âYeah,â she says, her eyes following Jakeâs. âI think theyâd make a good couple.âÂ
Bob snorts. Actually snorts. But he keeps his gaze fixed on the label heâs been picking at on his bottle.Â
Natasha arches a brow. âSomething funny?âÂ
Bob shakes his head. âNo.âÂ
âReally?â Jake presses, grinning. âCouldâve sworn you just laughed, Floyd.âÂ
âIt wasnât a laugh,â Bob mutters. âMore of a⊠breath.âÂ
âOh, a breath,â Natasha echoes, clearly amused. âBecause it sounded suspiciously like judgment.âÂ
âOr jealousy,â Jake adds, leaning back with a smug grin.Â
Bobâs gaze flicks to the barâand to youâthen just as quickly snaps away. âI donât care who she dates.âÂ
Natasha hums, fighting a smirk as she lifts her beer to her lips, âDidnât say you did.âÂ
Shortly after you and Reuben return to the table, giggling like idiots, Bob leaves. He mutters something about not feeling well and ducks out before even saying a proper goodbye. Part of you feels wrecked with guiltâbut another part⊠is quietly hopeful. Because Bob isnât like this. Heâs good at regulating his emotions, even better at staying calm under pressureâheâs a fighter pilot, for Godâs sake. But this? This is different. Heâs never stormed out on the brink of losing control. Sure, he can get a little frustrated sometimes, maybe throw a snarky commentâusually at Jake when he pushes too farâbut thatâs as far as it goes.Â
If you didnât know any better, youâd say heâs starting to unravelâŠÂ
You spend most of the next day on the couch with the aircon blasting, while Natasha works through some paperwork at the kitchen table. Itâs too hot to go outside, and youâre too distracted to do anything that requires even an ounce of brainpower. So instead, you let your mind rot with cartoons, obsessively checking your phone for signs of life in the group chat.Â
âI canât believe Hangman is in on this now,â Natasha mutters, not even glancing up from her papers.Â
You sigh and roll from your side onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. âI canât believe he hasnât cracked yet. If the roles were reversed, Iâd be like a feral cat in heat by now.âÂ
She snorts and lifts her head, flashing you an amused smirk. âYou were already like a feral cat in heat for that man. Hence this whole situation.âÂ
You laugh softly. âYeah, not wrong.âÂ
Your head drops to the side as you half-watch the TV screen, until the apartment door swings open with a dramatic gust of air.Â
âI hate to say it,â Mickey says as he breezes in, eyes wide, âbut the man is a genius.âÂ
Reuben follows close behind, and then Jakeâgrinning like he just solved world peace.Â
âOh, God,â Natasha mutters. âTheyâre multiplying.âÂ
âI donât know why you didnât come to me sooner,â Jake says, strolling toward the couch. âIâm the king of seduction.âÂ
You sit up, curling into the corner to make room for Reuben and Jake as Mickey heads straight for the fridge.Â
âI wouldnât go that far,â you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him.Â
âJust wait until you hear the plan,â Reuben says, practically buzzing. âItâs perfect.âÂ
Intrigued now, Natasha gathers her papers into one neat pile and joins you on the lounge. âAlright, Bagman. Letâs hear it.âÂ
Jakeâs eyes sparkle with mischief as he settles in beside Reuben. âTomorrow, weâre going to the beach.âÂ
âYouâre already way off,â you cut in. âBob wonât agree to hang out again. Not after last night.âÂ
Natasha nods. âSheâs right. He needs to cool off before we wind him up again.âÂ
âAbsolutely not,â Jake snaps, brow furrowed. âYou need to strike while the ironâs hot. You need to push his fucking limits.âÂ
Mickey appears from the kitchen, a bag of pretzels already open in his hand.Â
Natasha frowns. âOkay, but how? He wonât agree to go if he thinks Sunny and Payback will be there.âÂ
Jake grins. âWhich is exactly why heâs going to think they wonât be there.âÂ
âYou want us to lie?â you ask.Â
He gives you a flat look. âAfter all this emotional warfare, now youâre drawing the line at lying?âÂ
You shrink back slightly. âI guess not.âÂ
âExactly.â He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. âSoâIâll pitch the idea in the group chat. Sunny, you reply immediately that youâre busyâbefore Bob gets a chance to decline. Then Payback says something vague, like he might come or might not. That way, it looks like low numbers. And if Bob says no, the rest of us can guilt-trip him into coming. Which he will, as long as he thinks youâre not going to be there.âÂ
Natasha tilts her head. âSo... she will be there though?âÂ
âYes,â Jake says. âJust not right away. Give him time to relax, have some fun. Weâll play gamesâIâll rile everyone up and get that competitive energy going.âÂ
Everyone nods along, faces weirdly serious, like this is some highly classified mission briefing.Â
âThen, you two show up together,â Jake continues, gesturing to you and Reuben. âItâll throw Bob off, but we wonât give him a chance to leave. Weâll keep the games going. Something with contact. You need to get right up in his space. Go all in. Because then... youâre going to knock him off his feet.âÂ
âLiterally,â Mickey mumbles, chewing a mouthful of pretzels.Â
You frown. âWhat?âÂ
âBump into him,â Jake says. âLiterally knock him over. Skin-to-skin contact. Iâve seen the way he looks at you in a swimsuitâitâs borderline pornographic. Touching him? Itâll fry whatâs left of his self-control. And then, when thereâs a momentâjust a second where you could apologise for being too competitive or whatever... youâre going to say something that makes him snap.âÂ
You lean in, heart pounding now. âWhat am I going to say?âÂ
-Â
The sun is high and brutal in the sky, and youâre already sweatingâeven though youâre still sitting in Reubenâs car with the aircon blasting.Â
âDo you really think this is going to work?â you ask, nervously bouncing your knee.Â
Reuben snorts. âIf it doesnât, the man isnât human.âÂ
âI feel bad,â you mutter, eyes scanning the stretch of gold sand through the windshield.Â
âYou wonât feel bad when you finally see whatâs in his pants,â Reuben says, barely paying attention as he scrolls through his phone.Â
Your eyes go wide and your head whips toward him. âSo it is huge? I wasnât just imagining that?âÂ
He chuckles and looks up. âOh yeah, heâs big. Like... big big. I remember the first time in the locker roomâno oneâs trying to look, obviously, thatâs just not the vibeâbut... damn. We couldnât not look. Then everyone lost it. I think Hangman nearly cried.âÂ
You press your lips together, trying to hold back a grin, but itâs no useâyour cheeks are on fire, and your whole face feels like it's bright red.Â
âDamn,â you murmur, turning your gaze back to the front as your heart slams against your ribs.Â
Reuben laughs again, then cuts the engine, killing the aircon. âAlright. Pull yourself together. Itâs go time.âÂ
You climb out of the car and immediately wince at the lick of heat curling across your skin. Itâs blisteringâalmost hostileâbut at least youâre at the beach. Worst-case scenario? Youâll drown yourself in the ocean. Just walk into the surf and keep going. No one would blame you.Â
âRelax,â Reuben says, sliding a hand into yours like this is nothing. âThis is going to work. Hangman might be insane, but Iâm pretty sure itâs because heâs an evil genius.âÂ
You roll your eyes, exhale hard, then square your shoulders and lift your chin.Â
You let Reuben lead you onto the sand, legs already working overtime to stay steady in the heat-softened grains. You can hear the chaos before you see it. Shouts and thuds echo over the sand as your friends tumble and crash around in a messy game of what looks like overgrown keepy-uppies.Â
âNo hands!â Javy yells, just as Mickey swats the ball to avoid a direct hit to the face.Â
âDamn it, Fanboy!â Jake shouts. âYouâre giving away points.âÂ
Mickey drops his hands to his knees, panting. âCan we play literally any other game? I hate this.âÂ
âYou only hate it âcause you suck at it,â Natasha says, catching the ball like itâs second nature and bringing the game to a halt.Â
You swear you can see Mickey roll his eyes from here. You and Reuben are still on approach, trudging through the soft sand, unnoticedâso far.Â
âWhat about football?â Jake offers, tossing the round ball aside and already pulling a proper football from their pile of gear. âDog-fight football?âÂ
âThree versus three?â Javy asks, sceptical.Â
âWhat about four v. four?â Reuben calls, hand cupped to amplify his voice.Â
Everyone turns, and thereâs a beat of stillness as they clock you. Then Natasha flashes a wide grin beneath her sunglasses, and Jakeâs face lights up like a very satisfied evil villainâhis plan falling perfectly into place.Â
âWell, if it ainât Sunny and Payback!â he calls, spinning the football lazily in one hand. âYou two done playing your own games already?âÂ
You ignore the jab and focus on not rolling your ankle in the damn sand. At the pile of bags, you stop to drop your stuff and hesitate at the button of your shorts.Â
Jakeâs eyes are practically gleaming. âHow about a swim to cool off first?âÂ
Reuben strips his shirt with a single tug. âYou read my mind, Seresin.âÂ
The guysâalready in their swim trunksâbolt for the water, crashing into the surf in a chaotic stampede. Natasha peels off her shirt and shorts, shoots you a wink, and strolls in after them like she owns the ocean.Â
Reuben doesnât say anything before he leaves you, but he gives a barely-there nodâdirected past your shoulder.Â
You donât need to turn around to know who itâs aimed at.Â
Bobâs still standing where he was when the game fizzled out, statuesque. His hair is tousled and his lips parted just enough to make your stomach flip. Youâre at least ten feet away, but you can see the rise and fall of his chestâtoo fast, too hard. But heâs not out of breath. Heâs not flustered.Â
Heâs furious.Â
And those blue eyes? Laser-locked on you. His entire focus narrowed like a sniper sight. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted on anyone but you.Â
You swallow and force your body into motion, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying out of them before pulling your loose shirt over your head. You drop your clothes on Natashaâs pile and turn toward the water, steady on the lumpy sand.Â
And then you hit the firm partâwet, packed, perfect footingâand you dig in. Hips swaying, deliberate and lethal.Â
You donât need to look back. You can feel the heat of his stare on every inch of exposed skin. Itâs scorching. Possessive. Almost punishing. Like if he could touch you right now, heâd brand you.Â
Hangman might be a genius after all.Â
You hit the water with a sigh, not even hesitating before diving beneath a wave before it can knock you off your feet. Itâs the perfect temperatureâdelicious against your too-hot skin.Â
You dive under the next wave, cool saltwater rushing over your body, and come up laughing as you slick your hair back. Natasha is standing beside you, arms outstretched as the water laps at her waist, her eyes fixed on the shore.Â
You wade closer, smirking. âDid you see his face?â you ask breathlessly, heart still pounding from the walk down the beachâor maybe from the way Bob had looked at you like he was plotting your murder. âI thought he was going to spontaneously combust.âÂ
She doesnât answer. Just keeps staring past you.Â
You frown as her jaw goes slack and her brows creep up, sunglasses slipping down her nose as she stares at something on the shoreâexpression caught somewhere between shock and awe.Â
You freeze. âWhat?âÂ
She still doesnât speakâjust tips her chin the slightest bit, silently gesturing toward whatever has her stunned.Â
You twist around.Â
And promptly forget how to breathe.Â
Bob Floyd is pulling his shirt over his head.Â
Bob Floyd, the man who never takes his shirt off. The man who wears it in the ocean and somehow isnât bothered by the soaking wet material clinging to his body like a second skin.Â
And holy shit.Â
Itâs glorious.Â
Sure, youâve seen him shirtless before. Once. That night. But that was in the darkâhis body tense, your mind scrambled, neither of you thinking clearly enough to appreciate what was right in front of you.Â
But in the light of day?Â
Alabaster skin. Broad shoulders. Deep-cut abs like he walked straight off the set of a Marvel movie. Lean muscle rippling across his chest and arms in a way that feels criminal on someone so quiet and careful. Droplets of sweat cling to his torso like even the heat doesnât want to let him go.Â
The sudden silence behind you confirms itâeveryone else is staring too.Â
You blink, dumbfounded, mouth dry. âThatâs illegal.âÂ
Natasha huffs out a laugh like sheâs short-circuiting. âI mean, I knew he was strong butâwow.âÂ
You swallow. Hard. âI think Iâm going to pass out.âÂ
Your eyes follow him as he drops his shirt and turns toward the water, cutting through the waves like theyâre nothing. He doesnât glance at any of you. Just keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw set tight, his body moving with single-minded purpose.Â
Before you can say somethingâor even blinkâa surge of water smacks you in the face.Â
But itâs not a wave.Â
You cough and splutter, wiping the salt from your eyes and checking to make sure your sunglasses are still intact. When your vision clears, Jake is standing right in front of you.Â
âWipe the drool off your chin,â he says, deadpan. âYouâre supposed to be teasing him.âÂ
You narrow your eyes, resisting the urge to shove him aside and keep watching Bob. âHow did all of you know how cut that man is and not tell me?âÂ
Jake blinks, thrown for a beat, then grins like the devil. âWaitâyouâre mad because we didnât tell you how ripped Bob is?âÂ
You nod, arms crossing tight over your chest. âCorrect.âÂ
He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. âWell if thatâs got you steamed, youâre gonna be beside yourself when you find out heâs got a massive-âÂ
âI know,â you cut in smoothly, a wicked smirk curling at your lips. âPayback told me.âÂ
Jake gapes at you, brows knittingâbut before he can get another word out, you shove his shoulder and send him sprawling into the water.Â
When he resurfaces, sputtering and grinning, he points at you like a man on a missionâthen lunges.Â
You squeal, laughing as he barrels toward you, sending up waves in every direction. The two of you splash around like kids, Jake playing it upâgrabbing you, poking at your sides, both of you pretending to wrestle. All for show. Because you both know Bob is watching.Â
Eventually, the others join in, playful chaos erupting around you. And before long, youâre panting and breathless, dragging yourself back to shore, your cheeks and chest aching from laughter.Â
Everyone settles for a few minutes, drinking from their water bottles and trying to knock water from their ears. But then Jake stands up, football in hand and a wicked smirk on his lips, ready to commence Operation Bobâs Blue Balls â Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.Â
âAll right, Iâll pick teams,â he announces.Â
Normally, this would cause an uproar. But since most of you are in on the plan, everyone just nods in agreement.Â
âPhoenix, Payback, Bob,â he says. âYouâre with me. The rest of you are on Roosterâs team.âÂ
You narrow your eyes and cock your hipâit would seem strange if you didnât challenge Jake just a little. âWhy are you two always team captains?âÂ
He winks. âBecause weâre the best.âÂ
You roll your eyes and turn away, joining the huddle with your teammates as Bradley and Javy argue over what your game plan should be.Â
After a few minutes of strategizing, the game kicks off. Youâve never loved dog-fight footballânot like some of the othersâmostly because it can get a little rough. But today⊠itâs more than just a game. Itâs a full-blown performance.Â
You hang back for a bit, letting Jake and Bradley rile each other up and fire up their teams. Bob is still shirtless, which is a tactical advantage he isnât even aware ofâbecause every time he has the ball, every time he runs or blocks or is just generally in your line of sight, your knees wobble.Â
Youâve nearly forgotten what youâre supposed to be doing when Reuben jumps in front of you and snags the ball before you canâthrown by a very disappointed-looking Javy.Â
âGetting tired, Sunny?â Reuben teases, his grin smug. âIâm just getting started.âÂ
Right. The plan. Flirting. Banter. Teasing Bob.Â
You step closer, slowing the game down a touch as you stretch onto your toes and drop your voiceâbut not too low. âTired? Please. Iâm still waiting for you to make me sweat.âÂ
Thereâs a beat where you worry Reuben might break, might laughâhigh on adrenaline and endorphins.Â
But then Jake hollers, âCut it out, you two! Save the dirty talk for the bedroom!âÂ
And the game is back on.Â
The sun beats down mercilessly, making every flexed muscle shine, every drop of sweat slide in slow, glistening trails. The sand is hot beneath your feet, but itâs nothing compared to the heat building as you and Reuben turn the game into one of Bobâs personal nightmares.Â
You dart to the left, brushing past Reuben with a smug grin, your fingertips dragging across his chest like youâre checking his heart rate.Â
âCâmon, hotshot,â you tease. âYou could try a little harder.âÂ
He laughsâlow and amusedâbut gives chase, throwing a hand around your waist as you pivot. Itâs all too easy to make it look a little too intimate, a little too tight. He lifts you off the ground to âblockâ your goal and your head falls back in a laugh thatâs just shy of indecent.Â
And Bob sees everything.Â
You feel itâhis stare like hot coals dragged across your skin. When you glance up between plays, heâs standing at the edge of the group, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands flexing like theyâre ready to throw a punch. His eyes follow your every move like heâs marking a target, and if looks could kill, Reuben would already be six feet under.Â
You catch a toss, and Reuben crashes into you to intercept, spinning you both until you fall together into the sand. You land side by side, giggling like idiotsâsome might even say lovesick idiots.Â
He pushes up first and grins down at you, tipping his head suggestively. âNeed a hand?âÂ
âOh, I donât mind being on my back,â you say sweetly, just loud enough for everyone to hear.Â
You take Reubenâs hand and let him haul you off the ground, pulling you into his body just a little more than necessary.Â
âDamn, Sunny,â Jake calls from the other side of the makeshift field. âTakinâ a few hits today. Hope it doesnât affect your game.âÂ
You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you dust sand off your body like everyone else paid to watch. âYou know I like it rough, Hangman.âÂ
Thereâs a chorus of oohs and a whistle from Mickey, laughter rippling through the group.Â
Except Bob, of course. Heâs suddenly very interested in the sand, eyes locked on the groundâeven though his rigid posture is telling you everything you need to know.Â
The game revs up again, and after a few scuffles, you snag the ball off a fumbled toss and break into a sprint, cutting across the sand with laser focus. Reubenâs behind you, winded, and the others are tangled up with the second ballâleaving only one person standing in your way.Â
Bob.Â
âStop her!â Jake shouts, too far behind to intercept.Â
Bob plants his feet like heâs ready to blockâmuscles tensing, arms coiled. Itâs almost enough to distract you. But youâre feeling competitive. A little reckless. And youâre seconds from a goal.Â
He hesitates when your eyes lock, just long enough for your wicked grin to register as you blow past him and skid to a haltâwell over the line.Â
Your team erupts into cheers behind you, and you throw your hands up, chest heaving as you catch your breath. When you turn back around, heâs still watching youâeyes wide.Â
You flash him a slow smile as you walk past, brushing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.Â
âDonât worry, Lieutenant,â you murmur. âIâll go easy on you next time.âÂ
After a breather and a drink of water, everyone lines up for another play. Jake and Bradley drop the footballs into the sand, crouched and ready. Jake turns his head your way and gives you a subtle nod.Â
This is it.Â
Your heart thunders behind your ribs as you sprint and block and laugh along with the others. The competition hasnât cooledâeveryone is still hungry. Even Bob has snapped into focus, finally playing like it matters instead of just standing there watching.Â
And for a moment, it is just fun. No schemes, no strategy. Just friends, shouting and stumbling and laughing too hard to score.Â
But then the ball is in your hands againâand itâs time.Â
Bob is on defenceâJake made sure of that. You just have to get past him again. Or at least⊠make it look like youâre trying.Â
You tear forward. Jake is already behind you, Natasha lunges and misses by a breath, and Reuben very dramatically wipes out in the sand.Â
Itâs just Bob now.Â
He sets his stance, head tipped down in focus. Heâs going to stop you this time. Poor thing. He has no idea thatâs exactly the plan.Â
You charge, feet kicking up sand, heart in your throat. His eyes widen just a second before you collideâyour body slamming into his with just enough force to topple you both.Â
The ball flies from your hand as you hit the sand hard, clutching at whatever you canâhis shoulders, his arms, solid and warm beneath your grip. You spit sand from your mouth and sit up fastâonly to freeze, breath caught in your throat.Â
Youâre straddling him. Hips locked against his. Chest heaving. His hands on your waist.Â
You donât move.Â
Youâre both panting. The air between you buzzes like static, and everywhere your skin touches his feels sunburnt and alive. His blue eyes are locked on yoursâwild and stunned. Bright enough to drown in.Â
Your chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but you stay put.Â
âDoes this count?â you ask, voice low and rough with adrenaline.Â
His lips are parted, soft and pink, breath coming in short bursts. His curls are wild, tangled with sand, and his glassesâcrooked from the fallâare still somehow on. He looks wrecked. Shattered. Like youâve stolen every coherent thought out of his head. His gaze flickersâsearching your face, desperate not to meet your eyes.Â
You lean in just a little.Â
âIf anyone else looked at me like that, Iâd probably kiss them,â you murmur, squeezing your thighs around his waist. Then you bring your mouth dangerously close to his ear. âBut we canât do that... right?âÂ
His breath catchesâand his eyes finally snap to yours.Â
Theyâre wide and stormy now, brows drawn tight. He doesnât breathe. He just looks. His mouth parts a little further, and you can see it all happening behind his eyesâevery thought, every realisation.Â
Everything falls into placeâthe flirting, the giggling, the deliberate touches, the stolen glances. All of it. Youâve been baiting him. This whole time.Â
Before you can say anything elseâbefore you can blink or breatheâÂ
He snaps.Â
He flips you, smooth and fast, moving your body like you weigh nothing. Suddenly, youâre on your back, pressed into the sand, and heâs the one on topâstraddling you, his weight holding you down.Â
And the look in his eyes could burn the sky.Â
He leans in, gaze sweeping over your faceâyour lips, your eyes, the pulse at your throat. He watches it thrum, just for a second.Â
Youâre frozen beneath him. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of your body sparking. Your lungs are screaming for air, but you donât know how to breathe. You canât think. You can barely feel anything except him.Â
His breath ghosts your lips as he whispers, âOh, youâre in trouble now.âÂ
And then he kisses you.Â
Hard.Â
Itâs not careful. Itâs not sweet. Itâs months of tension and stolen glances and aching wantâevery second of restraint finally unravelling in a dizzy, reckless crash. His mouth claims yours like heâs starving, like heâs waited too long and canât wait another second.Â
His chest presses into yours, slick with sweat and dusted with sand, and you arch into it with a gasp. He groans against your mouth, a low, broken sound that feels like fire in your veins. You can feel every inch of himâsolid and hot and so hard against your hip, unmistakable and unignorable.Â
You shift beneath him, dragging your leg up around his waist, just enough to tease. His breath hitches, and then heâs kissing you deeper, hungrier, like the noise you just pulled from him unspooled something he canât reel back in.Â
You claw at his backâmuscles tense and trembling under your fingersâtrying to pull him closer when thereâs no space left between you. The kiss turns feverish, tongues sliding, lips parting in desperate sync. Youâre panting into each otherâs mouths, completely lost.Â
Thereâs sand in your hair, in your mouth, sticking to your sweat-slick skin, but none of it matters. All that matters is the way he moves against you, the way he feelsâlike every bit of control heâd been clinging to has shattered.Â
When he finally tears his mouth from yours, he doesnât go far. His forehead drops to yours, both of you gasping. Heâs pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, lips swollen, pupils blown.Â
âJesus Christ,â he mutters, voice wrecked, âyouâre gonna kill me.âÂ
And the way he says itâlike a confession, like a prayerâmakes you want to do it all over again.Â
âYES!" Mickey shouts, loud enough for all of North Island to hear.Â
Your friends erupt into cheers and screams, laughter lacing their gleeful proclamations as they jump and dance just a few feet away.Â
âWell, fuck me,â Jake drawls. âThat was the hottest thing Iâve ever seen.âÂ
You both slowlyâreluctantlyâturn your heads toward the noise.Â
âI canât believe it worked,â Reuben mutters, grinning wide, eyes sparkling. âPhase Three actually worked.âÂ
Youâre still pinned beneath Bob as they all close in, every face lit up with smug satisfaction.Â
âYou named it?â Bob asks, closing his eyes as his cheeks somehow grow even hotter.Â
âOh yeah,â Mickey says, beaming with pride. âOperation Bobâs Blue Balls. Phase One was the run and the sleepover. Phase Two, Reuben. And thisââ he gestures wildly at the two of you tangled in the sand, âthis is Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.âÂ
Bob makes a noise. Somewhere between a strangled groan and a whispered prayer for death.Â
âYou planned this?â he rasps, forehead dropping against yours again like he might just burrow into the sand and disappear.Â
Reuben shrugs, all innocence. âWorked like a charm.âÂ
âHonestly,â Natasha adds, âwe were starting to think youâd never get there. So⊠youâre welcome.âÂ
You bury your face in Bobâs shoulder, mortified. Heâs burning up beneath your handsâstillâand breathing like he just ran a mile with you on his back.Â
Jake snickers. âGlad we could help you two get laid.âÂ
âWe havenâtâ!â Bob blurts, redder than a stop sign.Â
You slap a hand over his mouth, grinning wickedly now despite the embarrassment. âYet.âÂ
Thereâs a beatâa millisecond of silenceâbefore they all burst out laughing again.Â
Mickey curls over, clutching his stomach. Reuben walks away, cackling with his head tipped back. Natasha mutters, âJesus Christ,â but sheâs definitely smirking, and Jake claps his hands once as he says, âGod bless the U.S. Navy.âÂ
Bob drops his face into the crook of your neck and groans again, muffled, âI hate all of you.âÂ
âEven me?â you ask, voice soft and teasing.Â
He lifts his head, chuckling softly. âNo. But for all that? Youâre definitely still in trouble.âÂ
You lick your lips. âThereâs no place Iâd rather be.âÂ
He sighs like youâre actively trying to kill him, then sits up and pushes to his feetâonly to glance down at the massive bulge in his shorts, which looks borderline painful.Â
âShit.âÂ
You scramble up after him, stepping in close and pressing your body to his, barely able to contain your giggles as you shield him from the rest of the beach.Â
âNeed a minute?â you tease, laughter lacing every word.Â
His eyes flashâdark, hungry. âYou and I are gonna need more than a minute to deal with this.âÂ
Heat floods your face and pools between your legs, thick and insistent.Â
âBut,â he says, glancing toward the water, âIâm just gonna go for a quick swim.âÂ
You nod, eyes wide and dreamy, watching him from beneath your lashes like an absolute idiot in love.Â
And he looks at you like you hung the sun. Like youâre everything. Itâs enough to make your heart stutter and your pulse race. He has no business being this beautifulâthis sinfulâa perfect contradiction of sweetness and respect, with just enough hunger in him, just enough darkness, that you know youâll be walking funny tomorrow.Â
And probably for the next few weeks while you learn how to handle his massive dick.Â
âDonât look at me like that,â he mutters, a shy smile curling his lips. âYouâre making it worse.âÂ
Your jaw drops. âIt gets bigger?âÂ
He laughs, then leans in to press a kiss to your open mouthâchaste, but lingering. Like it physically pains him to pull away. But he does. And when he flashes you that boyish smileâequal parts sexy and shyâit knocks the breath out of you.Â
Then he turns and jogs toward the water.Â
It takes you more than a minute to remember how to moveâhow to functionâbut eventually, you manage to drag yourself back to the others, who are still laughing and chatting like the beach hasnât just tilted sideways.Â
Natasha passes you your water bottle. âWhatâs Bob doing?âÂ
You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him ducking under a wave. A smile tugs at your lips.Â
âCooling off.âÂ
© 2025 geminiwritten. this work is protected by copyright. unauthorized use, reproduction, distribution, or training of artificial intelligence models with this content is strictly prohibited. all original elements of this fanfiction belong to geminiwritten. characters and settings derived from original works belong to their respective creators.













