Confidence Issues
Gordon Malloy x Reader
Word Count: 1950
PART 2 IS NOW HERE!
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Gordon had never been good at first moves. It was something he and Ed had talked about once, back in Point. He just… wasn’t the most confident with women.
Really, he just had a tendency to fall for women who were too out of his league, in one way or another. Too smart, or too pretty… ones who were just better than him in a way that made it feel like it wasn’t worth trying.
Even he had to admit, though, this was getting ridiculous.
You were sitting across the mess, just reading a tablet, alone. And here he was, staring. He could hear Ed saying something, but it just wasn’t really registering… until Ed elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow! Dude!” He cuts his eyes to his friend, who is just giving him an exasperated look.
“You’ve been staring for, like, ten minutes straight. Just go talk to her.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You are, man. This is the third day in a row.”
“What? No it’s not.” He pretends his face isn’t heating up, clearing his throat.
“It totally is. Look, I’ll even go say something first if you want-” He starts to stand, and, in a panic, Gordon tugs him back down.
“No, dude, I don’t want that.”
“At this point, your yearning is driving me crazy, man. Come on.”
“I can’t just people watch?”
“You’re not people watching, you’re just watching her.”
“And she is a people.”
“She is a person, one you could totally just go talk to instead of staring at across the mess every day.” He doesn’t need to look at Ed to know what kind of look he has on his face.
“Looks like it’s time to dip anyway,” he offers, getting up to toss his tray in the synthesizer, peering over again as a few of your coworkers greet you and take a seat.
Ed just shakes his head, wholly amused. “You know, they could end up with bridge duty. I can’t have you staring when you’re supposed to be working.
“Fuck you, dude.” He parts ways with his friend, heading for the sim to load up his newest masterpiece, if he should say so himself.
A simple, ancient town setting. He’s the blacksmith, of course, something mindless and easy to unwind from the day.
It’s late when he leaves, running almost directly into you, and he stops just short of bumping into you, sheepish. “Hey, Lieutenant. What’s up?”
You dip your head down, shrugging a shoulder. “Just now heading back to my quarters..”
“Oh yeah? You know, you gotta get off work sometime.” He ribs at you a little, feeling bold enough to gently elbow you as you laugh softly.
“I’m going home now, Malloy.”
“No, yeah, for sure.” He sort of waves you off. “See you tomorrow.”
You give him an odd look, and the realization of what he said and how it just slipped out of his mouth makes him flush.
“Do you expect to be in my department tomorrow?”
“No no no no, I mean, like, in the mess,” he explains quickly, turning on his heel to half-run to his bed.
When the morning comes, he heads for the bridge as usual, and his steps almost falter when he sees you sitting at one of the stations. Instead, he glances at Ed and his shit-eating grin before sitting at the helm, waving to his friends.
“Morning. Everyone sleep okay?”
He receives a chorus of affirmations and groans, but, noticeably, nothing from you. He hesitates, catching Ed’s eye, and swallows his anxiety to ask you directly.
You turn and blink at him, seemingly confused by it. “I slept fine, thank you.”
“That’s good, I know you were burning that midnight oil,” he shakes his head at you, turning back to the console in front of him and settling in for a long shift.
When it ends, he bypasses Ed completely, walking a little faster to try and catch you before you’re gone. “Hey!”
“Hello.” You glance at him, once again confused, and he tries not to deflate.
“Boring day, right?” He brings his arm up, intending to put it around you, but falters, letting it fall to his side again, and for a second, he thinks maybe you were blushing, but it fades.
“It was interesting, actually.” He hopes he doesn’t look like an idiot when you peer at him. “Seeing the way you all interact was… enlightening.”
Suddenly, he’s glad he couldn’t talk without prompting.
“You headed to the mess for dinner?”
“I am.”
“Do you want to… sit together? Chat it up?”
Your face is definitely a little flushed this time. “Don’t you usually take your meals with the Captain or Chief Lamarr?”
You’d noticed that? For some reason, he’s flattered.
“They can miss me sometimes,” he jokes, shrugging like it’s nothing.
“Well… well, if you’re sure.”
“Totally,” he nods his agreement as they enter the mess, beelining for the synthesizers with you.
It doesn’t take long to get your meals, and he leads you to a two-seater, ignoring the stares of his friends.
“What do you, like, do for fun?” He asks curiously, confused when you bow your head.
“I… am an avid reader.”
He mouths the word avid to himself curiously. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. Old scientific papers, fantasy, roma-” you cut yourself off, but he’s pretty sure he knows what you were about to say.
“Romance, huh? What kind?”
Your face is really flushed now. “Well, just your usual, generic-”
“What, like Outlander or something?” It’s a shot in the dark, but your face burns worse than before and you take a long sip of your drink. “I nailed it, didn’t I?”
“Well, the historical setting is-”
He chuckles a little as you explain it, taken with the way you seem to really, truly like the novel.
When you finish, there’s a long silence, and his heart sinks a little as he fills it. “Well, I’m pretty big on, like, stuff in the sim.”
“Ah, I see.”
You don’t ask him to elaborate, and he deflates a little bit. Maybe the voice in the back of his head was right. You weren’t interested in him.
The thought feels more like reality as the meal goes on. You haven’t asked him anything about himself. He’d asked about your friends, your family, how you liked the ship, but… nothing in return.
You leave before him, too. Not even a goodbye tossed his way.
He gives it another hour before he takes his own leave, walking past his friends, who give him this pitying look. Just walks right out into the hall, through the lift doors, and…
“Oh!”
There you are. You look… nervous.
“I can wait,” he tries.
“No! No,” you reach out and pull him in by the shoulder pad. “Sorry I left in a hurry. I had to-”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s cool if you’re not, like, interested. I get it.”
You’re staring at him, mouth open in shock, and he tries not to cringe. “Wait, were you--”
“Just trying to, like, get to know you, feel it out,” he tries to cover.
“Oh my god. I… my friend was trying to, like, hype me up so I could ask you out.”
He perks up immediately, turning to actually look at you. “You were going to-”
“Hush!” Your hand flies to cover his mouth, and he chuckles a little. “Yes.”
Gordon takes your wrist, pulling the hand from his mouth. “I’ve been trying to just work up the courage to talk to you,” he admits, watching the flush on your face return as you pull him out of the lift and towards the sim.
“I know you probably barely listened when I was talking about that book, but-”
“I listened,” he half-lies, and for a moment, he’s astounded when the doors open to a lush rolling hill.
“It’s okay if you didn’t. It was… boring.”
“This is cool,” he shakes his head.
“You’ll like this more.”
He follows your pull towards a building, and is both surprised and not at all shocked to see a well-stocked tavern. He just lets you order the drinks, melting a little when you smile at him.
“I know it isn’t the most interesting place, but--”
“But you like it. That’s all that matters, right?”
He can feel your grip migrate to his jacket, and he doesn’t really think anything of it. At least, until you use it to pull him into your arm, one hand turning his face towards yours as you steal a kiss.
It’s more of a peck, really, but his brain still malfunctions a little.
“In case it wasn’t clear-”
“No, it's so clear now,” he assures, hand coming up to scratch at his scruff.
“Good!” You smile brighter as he lays his hand over yours. “I like you, Gordon. I’ve only heard good things!”
That doesn’t quite sound right to him. “Really?”
“Absolutely! Your friends speak fondly of you.”
He decides he’ll give that a pass, too preoccupied with the feel of your lips on his cheek. “Oh. Uh… okay.”
“Seriously! You’re cool,” you give his arm a shake, and he straightens up just a little. “I was thinking we could go for a ride!” He follows your pull once more as you lead him out the back door to a pair of waiting horses.
“That sounds like fun, actually.”
“Yeah, it sounded like a perfect chill thing,” you nod, and Gordon can’t help melting at the way your eyes light up. He barely knows you, really, but he’s seventy percent sure he could fall in love right this second and be okay with that.
The feeling doubles when you pretend not to notice him missing the stirrup.
You lead the way, talking almost nonstop, and the way the conversation just flows has him absolutely taken with you.
How did I go so long without even talking to you?
You give him this odd, embarrassed look, and he realizes he might have just said that out loud.
“I mean, I’m glad you finally did! All the staring was getting tiring! On both sides, I mean,” you wave a hand as his face warms. “You’re so handsome, how could I not?”
“Me?” He points at himself, dumbfounded, and you laugh, trotting to a stop and hopping off, patiently waiting for him to do the same. The moment he manages to get himself down without landing on his face, you push forward again, pressing your lips against his, and he sighs, content, arms wrapping around your middle to pull you in.
There’s a flicker behind his eyes, and as he opens them, his arms fall as you step back, looking sheepish. “I think time is up. Can we do this again? Tomorrow, maybe?”
“Definitely,” he agrees with another, more disappointed sigh, turning to head towards the doors, watching your form scurry out ahead of him.
He takes a deep breath before stepping out, almost running into… you. You, standing there in what looks like pajamas, and a bucket of popcorn, looking at him impatiently.
“You ran over your schedule, Lieutenant."
He glances around, sheepish, voice stuck in his throat as his face flushes. “Yeah, my bad,” he manages, turning only to wipe his program from the sim as fast as he can.
“Do I even want to know what you were doing in there?” The heat creeps down his neck when you add, “Do I need to call a cleaning crew?”
“No,” he assures quickly, half-running away from you. He really needed to get it under control. There’s no way you’d ever actually be interested in him if you knew he’s been practicing like that.
//Part 2
