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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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Blow by Blow | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw au

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Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, suggestive content and mentions of nudity throughout

…

Foolishly, when you’re woken by the sound of the gym door downstairs slamming, you assume that Rooster has dragged himself off of your couch and gone to work for the day. It’s around time for you to get up anyway — Rueben agreed to train with you a little before his session with Rooster, after that you’ve got some things to take care of with Mav, and then you wanted to clear out that gross old closet by your bed this afternoon. Then, tonight is the charity fight.

It’s filled with junk, old tennis rackets, participation trophies from the sixties — Mav said that it can all be thrown out.

Pushing the curtains above your bed back, you turn over and let the sun warm your face. It’s not that late but it’s already beaming high in the sky, it’s going to be warm today.

Tank’s eyes widen at the sound of metal on the curtain rail, sitting up and cocking his head at you. Your lips lift into an amused smile, caught, as his tail begins to wag. He pushes himself up and steps over you, tail wagging furiously behind him as he tries to greet you with slobbery kisses.

“Let me up, let me up.” You laugh breathily, patting his sides and nudging him off of you until you can finally stand. “You want some breakfast?”

He hops down from the bed and brushes up against your legs like a cat, then pads happily to the door, looking up at you expectantly. You twist the door handle and let him lead the way, following him to the kitchen.

Usually, he waits right by your legs as you fix his breakfast, or by the door if he needs to go out right away. Today, he wanders away from you. Walking slowly into the living room, Tank inspects the man on the couch, sniffing his sides, poking his wet nose into Rooster’s warm cheek.

Rooster groans in complaint, just about startling the life out of you, making you drop the knife that you were separating Tank’s wet food with. The sound of the knife clattering against the towel makes him groan again, louder this time, letting you know that you’re both really inconveniencing him.

“What are you still doing here?” You clutch your chest, trying to reason with your heart to stop doing that flippy, thuddy thing that makes you all uneasy. Rooster shrugs, pulling the plush blanket up and over as much of his chest as it’ll cover, turning onto his side and settling back down to return to his sleep.

Tank prods him with his nose again, resuming the sniffing investigation. Rooster groans, gently pushing Tank’s cold nose away from his blissfully warm skin.

“Hey! Be nice,” You warn Rooster, crouching down to pick up the knife. He opens one eye and sighs softly, lifting his hand and stroking it over Tank’s thick head. “This is why he doesn’t like you.”

“He woke me up.” Rooster defends, shifting to get more comfortable, closing his eyes again as he tries to drift off back into the dream he was having. The kissing noise you make to attract Tank back over to you has him opening both of them.

You set Tank’s bowl down into the stand and then lean forwards on the counter, Rooster staring at you and you staring right back at him. His lips quirk slightly, folding his arms over his bare chest, nuzzling his head into the throw pillow he propped under it earlier this morning.

Bathed in a warm glow from the morning light, he’s golden and sunkissed. You’re also ninety percent sure that he’s flexing on purpose. He stretches up and tucks his arms behind his head, shifting his hips in an attempt to find the same comfort you just interrupted.

“You should leave.” You remind him, trying to keep the amused smile off of your lips. It’s wrong to encourage this behaviour, but he does look pretty funny. Barely fitting onto the couch, head propped onto a fuzzy throw pillow, a pink plush blanket wrapped around his hips.

Again, he groans. This time he lifts one arm from behind his head and drapes it tiredly over his face, blocking the sunlight from his eyes. “C’mon, Bambi… don’t be cruel.”

“If I was cruel, I would’ve made you walk home last night.” You answer back, tilting your head at him. He smiles softly, that’s true. “Everyone is going to ask questions if they see you leaving here.”

He smirks, lifting his arm from over his face and tucking it back behind his head. This time, as he shifts his hips again, the blanket slips slower. More tanned skin, defined v-lines disappearing into the waistband of grey boxers, sandy hair trailing up to his belly button, “You worried about what they might think?”

Maybe it’s a little on the nose, but after the dream he just had, he wants your attention.

“They already know I have bad taste in men.” You reply jokingly, playfully rolling your eyes. He chuckles, lifting his hand for you to come to him. Palm open, long fingers stretched out towards you. It’s a tempting offer.

You stare at him for a moment, then shake your head, turning for the bathroom instead. “You’d better be gone by the time I get out of the shower.”

Rooster groans. Half because you’re denying him, and half because your ass looks fantastic in those cute pajama shorts. You’re driving him crazy, all of this uncertainty, all of these summer outfits. He’s never had to fight so hard for a girl’s attention in his entire life.

“And miss out on seeing you in a towel? — Are you crazy?” He replies, grinning at you. Another eye roll and the bathroom door shuts behind you. You press your back to the inside of the door and smile softly. There are worse things to wake up to than that fine sight.

Truthfully, you’re surprised to see that he’s gone when you do emerge in a towel. Clothes picked up and the blanket dropped back into the basket by the side of the couch. At least he cleaned up after himself.

You press your lips together in brief consideration. Walking back into the bathroom, you close the door behind you and then inhale slowly. In a confusing way, you kind of want his attention too.

“How’s it going, kid? — Heard that you’re getting back in the circuit.” Lou’s voice is gravelly and heavy with an east coast accent. He moved here forty years ago, chasing his wife, refusing to let distance come between love. Rooster’s heard the story many times, but he doesn’t mind.

He smiles at the old man. He’s in his early thirties now and still being called kid by this guy, but it’s a sweet tradition, “Yep. Probably my last chance.”

“Yeah, so make sure you keep your head on straight and stick to the rules.”

“You sound like Mav.” Rooster scoffs playfully. Lou throws his head back and laughs. The conversation between Rooster and Mav is complicated, it has been since Goose died, but Lou knows that being compared to Pete Mitchell is not a compliment when coming from Rooster.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, son, sue me,” Lou chuckles, clapping his hand onto Rooster’s shoulder. “Anyway, Paulette was asking about you. Wanted to know if you were seein’ anyone since her niece is single… I tried to talk some sense into her but she thinks you’re a good kid.”

Rooster chuckles softly as his phone vibrates in his pocket, he shrugs his broad shoulders as he pulls it free and opens the notification. Two images from you, probably something to do with the site. He doesn’t think twice, absentmindedly replying to Lou, “I try to be good, it’s just that trouble keeps on finding me.”

Both of them stare at the phone screen for a split second before Rooster’s brain kicks back into circuit and tells him to lock it. The steamy mirror pictures disappear all at once, replaced by a black screen. He looks back up at Lou, finding the exact same amount of surprise in the old man’s face.

Curiosity almost makes him check again. He didn’t get a good enough look. Bare shoulders, a long length of spine. Condensation on the mirror. The music in here’s too loud. He told Mickey to stop screwing with the speakers.

“I’ll tell Paulie that you’re taken.” Lou chuckles. He pats Rooster’s shoulder again and takes that as his cue to leave, shaking his head as he goes. Rooster’s brows furrow slightly, still trying to compute what he just received.

He checks around him, then unlocks his phone again, staring at the pictures you just sent him. Both of them are taken in the mirror above the sink in your bathroom. The first, there’s no towel at all. Just your back turned towards the camera, bare spine and your arm covering your chest, the side of your breast visible in the reflection. Condensation covers the rest.

The second, there is a towel, pink and fluffy. You’re holding the corner of it in one hand, draping it down your middle so that it covers most of your chest and your core, but leaves no doubt that you’re naked. Bare hips and the curve of your waist, breasts threatening to spill out from under the thin cover of the towel.

He locks his phone quickly and his mind goes towards football stats as he drops his phone into his pocket and adjusts his boxers through the pocket.

Brows furrowing in confusion, he slips his phone back into the pocket of his gym shorts. His first thought it that you just took forever in the shower — long enough for him to have dragged himself off of your couch, showered and changed into his spare clothes before you’d even gotten out. His second goes right back to the confusion before.

“Nix!”

Natasha lifts her head, sighing softly as she stops in her tracks. Having just walked in the door moments ago, she practically rolls her eyes at Rooster already calling out to her.

“I need to talk to you about women.”

She frowns slightly, scrunching her brows at him and folding her arms over her chest. “What?”

He crosses the gym so that he can talk to her without having to yell over the music. There are only a couple of guys in here at the moment, a few of the regulars, but he doesn’t want to shout his business across the room for them to hear.

“You wouldn’t send a guy nudes if you didn’t want to fuck him, right?” His voice his low, suggesting that he’s serious about this. Still, Natasha was out last night too.

She sighs and shakes her head, “Is this the beginning of a joke or something?”

“No, I’m serious.” He answers back. She stares at him, brown eyes darkening as she searches his faces for answers. Truthfully, she looks just as confused as he does.

“I probably wouldn’t unless I wanted to fuck them, no. But, who knows — someone else might.” She shrugs her shoulders calmly. Rooster groans and shoves at her shoulder.

“You’re not helping.”

“Why? — Who sent you nudes?” Phoenix shrugs her bag off of her shoulder, resting it by her feet instead, then placing her hands on her hips. As soon as she asks, there’s a soft giggle and the sound of Javy cooing towards Tank from over by reception.

Phoenix studies the look on Bradley’s face, and the pink flush on his cheeks that only gets worse when he’s confused or embarrassed. She looks between him and the direction of the reception again, knowing that’s where you’re standing.

Then, she laughs and shakes her head at him, “If you’re talking about that angel over there, then, no, she doesn’t want to fuck you. Any pictures you might’ve gotten were probably an accident, you should apologize.”

“I don’t think they were an accident.” Rooster answers back, frowning at the idea of you not wanting to fuck him. You grinding against his thigh last night kind of gave him the opposite idea, but you keep not wanting him to touch you, and now this — he’s lost.

Phoenix narrows her eyes, “I thought I told you not to get in her head about this stuff, why would she willingly send you nudes?”

“I’m not — I didn’t— I just needed a place to sleep off my hangover, I stayed over last night.”

“And…?”

“And we kissed, a little.” Rooster’s leaving out some bigger details here. Like this isn’t the first time, or that you kissed him first over a week ago, or that somehow you’ve cracked the code on giving insanely good blowjobs.

“Rooster, you whore!” Natasha whispers angrily, smacking him in the stomach. It’s not the first time she has called him it and it probably won’t be the last.

“Can you like talk to her about it? — I just wanna know if I should leave her alone or not.”

“You should leave her alone, I’m telling you to leave her alone.” Natasha answers. Rooster’s head is all over the place and with him getting back into competitive fighting, and Maverick getting involved again — it’s all about to get way more complicated. You don’t need that right now.

“Talk to her for me, please,” Rooster frowns, doing his best to sucker Nat into helping him. The puppy dog eyes stopped working a long time ago. “I’ll get your car to stop making that weird noise.”

“By the end of the day,” Phoenix bargains. Rooster rolls his eyes, nodding his head slowly. Spending his day leaning over the hood of Nat’s car in this heat was not the plan, but he’ll do it. “And don’t expect me to fight your corner. I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Love you too.” He smiles, patting her shoulder and stepping around her to continue with his work for the day. Starting with fixing her car apparently.

Training with Payback is far different than training with Nat, you can tell that he’s trying to take it easy on you even when you ask him not to. Still, he’s got some good knowledge and even watching him work up close is helpful. He moves faster than you do, he’s more fluid on his feet, but he’s kind and he doesn’t make you feel bad about your ability.

Each swing, each correction, it all feels a little more professional with someone who isn’t holding back on you.

“Fitch, are we doing this or not?”

A swing and a miss. Your body weight thrown forwards with the punch, Rueben catches your bicep in one of his strong hands and stops you from crashing into the punching back. You turn sheepishly and meet Bradley’s gaze. If someone could master how to say I told you so with just their eyes, it’s Bradley.

Stumbling, clumsy, weak. You see the way that he looks at you. Just someone that he wants to fuck.

“Yeah, let me grab my paperwork from the car, you still need to sign off on my med sheet for later.” Rueben releases your arm and steps past you. Rooster looks you up and down and waits for his client to pass him by. Sweat sticking to your skin, embarrassment burning you to your very core, you stare back at Rooster.

Knowing that he received those photos and now only has one thing on his mind. Stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

“You’re so fucking confusing,” Rooster admits, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Bambi, I—“

“Don’t call me that. I have a name.”

He closes his mouth and watches as you walk by, catching Nat’s gaze over his shoulder. Their exchange is silent and knowing. He shakes it off, leaving the fog of confusion behind him, letting you go.

Rooster steps into the ring and inhales, cracking his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders back. Disappearing back upstairs, you can’t stand to look him in the eye. Sitting on dark wood floors with the closet doors tugged wide open, surrounded by memories that aren’t yours, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Wanting him so badly, wanting him at a distance even more.

Sex is complicated. It always has been. Sitting on an awkward stool that made your posture bad and your butt ache in the back of a science classroom, listening to meticulous and medical-sounding explanations of your reproductive purpose. Losing your virginity on a Saturday morning while your mother did laundry and your father mowed the lawn outside, five minutes and a lingering silence between you and Luke Hodge from second period English lit. Then, Jett.

Now, Bradley. It hasn’t happened yet but you’re certain that it will. Sooner or later, whether you rush into it or drag it out. It’s a strange thing. Wanting him but not wanting anything to change.

Slamming that door on your relationship with Jett was hard. Your wounds still feel fresh. Opening that door up again feels like an ice plunge. Hitting the water and your heart stopping, nerves freezing. His perpetually warm hands skimming along your arms, your sides.

Moving up onto your tiptoes, you reach for the back of the top shelf in the closet. You’ve cleared most of it, but you can’t quite reach the back. Tank circles you, watching in a mixture of adoration and confusion as you drag a stool from the kitchen into your room and use it as a boost up.

The top shelf is just a bunch of file organizers. You figure that they should probably be left alone, they don’t take up that much space anyway and there could be important stuff in there. But then, Mav did say that everything had to be thrown out eventually. No harm in sorting through them.

As you pull a box marked ‘92 down from the shelf, you’re startled by the sound of the apartment door swinging open. Bradley calls your name and checks around before letting himself into your room.

“Stop letting yourself in.” You mumble grumpily, turning your back on him as you pop open the file box, still standing on the stool.

Rooster wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “The charity fight got moved up, Mav’s going to be late so I’m taking you. Be ready at six.”

“Okay.” You shrug, stepping down from the stool without looking at him and flicking through the paperwork inside of the box.

“I don’t understand why you’re mad at me when you’re the one who sent me nudes.” Rooster decides, folding his arms over his chest, swinging your bedroom door shut like there’s a chance someone else might overhear you.

“I’m not mad at you,” You reply calmly. “And they weren’t nudes. You can’t see anything.”

“If you’re not mad then stop being such a brat and look at me.” He demands, heart rate finally coming down after his session with Rueben.

“No.”

“Why not?” Rooster prompts.

“Because you keep looking at me like I’m stupid for even trying.”

“I can’t keep having this conversation with you, kid.” Bradley scoffs, shaking his head as he turns and reaches for the door handle. He glances back with an off handed comment on his kind, finding you glaring at him. It’s a cold look but at least you’re looking at him now.

Really looking. After a two hour session with Payback, he’s glistening with sweat, soaked in afternoon sunlight from the window behind your bed, his russet curls falling over his forehead.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really annoying?” You challenge.

“That’s a cute birthmark by the way.” He’s talking about the one on your hip, usually covered by your underwear. The one that’s oh, so visible in that second picture. Your face contorts into a scowl. Bradley waves you off and turns away, “Be ready later, I’m not going to wait around for you.”

6pm rolls around earlier than you would expect it to, but you’re ready nonetheless. You aren’t going to give Rooster any more opportunities to plead your incompetence. The remaining boxes abandoned on the top shelf of the closet, you’ll figure those out another day, you fasten the strap of your heel, flinching at the sound of an obnoxious car horn outside.

Asshole.

“Stay here, baby, be good,” You kiss Tank’s muzzle and then the top of his head, quickly wiping of the lipgloss smudge on his tan fur. “Won’t be long. I love you.”

He wiggles, plonking himself down by the back down and wagging his tail as you close it and lock up behind you. Rooster’s lips part slightly as he watches you come down the steps. A sleek, cute black dress and heels that make your legs look a mile long.

Rooster speaks before you’ve even got a chance to pull open the door to his bronco, “Bambi, is this a joke?”

The look on your face tells him that it isn’t. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to tell him that you googled what to wear to a boxing event and that google told you to dress formally. Your eyes rake over his neatly ironed blue button up, untucked over blue jeans. Smart casual at best.

“Should I change?”

“I can’t be late, I’m Payback’s acting manager, just get in.”

Just get in. You swallow softly and pull yourself up, sliding into the white leather seat and reaching for your seatbelt numbly. Rooster takes his time to look you over now. It’s too much, but it looks damn good. Your confidence is knocked, you fiddle with the tips of your fingers as he reverses out of the spot and turns towards the road.

Once you’re on the streets of downtown San Diego, Rooster turns the radio back up. Bob Seger’s velvety voice strums through the speakers.

“You look good.” Rooster says quietly, resting his elbow against the door, propping his head up on his fist. Traffic is almost at a standstill, typical for this time of night.

“My dad listens to this stuff.” You reply, folding your arms over your chest and sinking down in the chair a little more. Rooster’s lips quirk just slightly as he glances across at you.

“Is that you calling me old?” He quirks an eyebrow and waits for you to look at him. The scowl tightens on your face as you turn your knees towards the inside of the passenger door.

“Geriatric, actually.” Attitude dripping from your voice, only half joking. Strange, really — the way he finds your back talk to be so enamouring. He likes it when the meekness fades and he gets a glimpse at who you used to be.

His thick palm reaches across and secures itself around your thigh, fingers curling around the soft flesh. Instinctively, you press your legs together, sandwiching his fingers between your thighs. Gentle rock on the radio, stand-still traffic and rain starting to dot the windshield. His hand on your bare thigh, squeezing into your skin. It’s not an apology, but it settles the air of annoyance between the two of you anyway.

“Does your dad know that you moved into my place?” Rooster’s thumb strokes along the inside of your thigh, he glances down between a pause in the traffic to notice that when it’s fully extended, it grazes the hem of that short dress you’re wearing.

“Saying it like that makes it sound like I live with you,” You reply, reaching out and tracing the protruding veins in his hand with the tip of your index finger. Up, past his wrist, tickling his skin as you trail the veins all the way up his forearm and back down. God, he likes the way your wandering hands feel on him. He squeezes your thigh once more. “He knows that I’m staying at the gym.”

Rooster hums. He turns his head, watching your delicate hands and the way they look against his arm. You’re just stroking his hand and it’s got him stirring in his jeans.

“Does he know about Jett?” He asks. Thinking about that prick is the fastest way to kill any chance of a boner.

You’ve still not had a real conversation with Rooster about the janky little stick figure that you used to date. Uncertain of how much he knows thus far, sharing any more is completely out of the question. His thumb trails the inside of your thigh and you watch it, half expecting to see some evidence of the heat it leaves in its path. Scorching warmth that spreads up to the apex of your thighs.

“Knows that we broke up,” You reply calmly, resting your cheek against his bicep and looping your arms around his. “How come you’re so interested in my dad all of a sudden, Bradshaw?”

A convenient red light has the bronco stop at that exact moment, a space between two songs leaves you two in dead silence as he turns towards you with those big brown eyes, dark pools of endless hickory. “What’d you call me?”

You’re stuck. Quite literally, you’re not going to throw yourself out of the car into traffic. But something in the darkness of his eyes under the red glow of the overhead light has you completely frozen, unmoving other than your thighs squeezing his knuckles. Racking your brain for answers, you’re completely lost.

In sync with the world around him, oblivious to the other dimension he just knocked you into with that one look, Rooster presses his foot into the gas pedal the moment that the light turns green. He chortles, a dry chuckle and a shake of his head, curling his fingers into your flesh, “You’re spending too much time with Hangman, baby.”

Baby. You look him over. Sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, strong biceps and shoulders filling the fabric to an almost obscene point. The contrast of his golden skin against the powder blue of his shirt. The strain of his thighs against the denim of his jeans. The honeyed cadence of the way the word slips off of his tongue.

“You didn’t reply to the pictures I sent you.” You tell him quietly, index finger dragging gently along a vein on his forearm. Rooster keeps his eyes on the road, steadying the wheel with his knee as he adjusts the volume of the radio.

“I tried to talk to you about it and you freaked out at me.”

You squint at the accusation. At him being too damn old to just text you back. You watch the raindrops race along the windshield and feel him squeeze your thigh softly. Rooster’s brows furrow at the sudden sensation in his bicep, head turning quickly.

“Did you just bite me?”

You pull back and press your lips together, exhaling softly. Gaining the courage to look at him, your skin burns with either adrenaline or embarrassment, maybe some exciting mixture of both. You nod your head slowly and turn your gaze back to the road.

Rooster shifts slightly in his seat. His fingers don’t have to traverse much before they’re toying with the hem of your dress, truly not that far from the lace of your underwear. Your teeth nipping at his bicep, the sticky feeling of your lip gloss on his skin, the condensation on the mirror in those pictures. He shifts again and feels that red blush creeping up his chest. Strange that his body is able to still do that considering that all of the blood in his body seems to be rushing south.

He swings his truck into a space in the parking lot and retracts his hand from between your thighs, giving one last, firm squeeze before he lets go. “It’s gonna be really busy in there, so just, stick close. Okay?”

“Okay.” You comply, giving a soft nod of your head. Your gaze falls downwards as he shifts his hips uncomfortably again. You look back up at him again. He’s not embarrassed about it. He probably should be, but he just can’t find it in him to not enjoy the way those doe eyes widen slightly when he gets hard.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rooster murmurs half-playfully. “It’s your fault.”

Your lips quirk softly as you look past him towards the car window. He glances over his shoulder and flinches as Maverick taps on the window and smiles at you. Nothing kills a boner quite like that face. He sighs and shakes his head, pushing open the car door.

“You look nice, kid — you all dressed up just for this?” Maverick asks, tilting his head slightly. The tips of your ears burn as Rooster watches you walk around the side of the truck.

“Wanted to make a good first impression. You know, for the media stuff.” You try to make it sound like there was some kind of intention behind it. Maverick nods along with you, seemingly convinced. Rooster’s deep, brown eyes see right through you.

“Alright, c’mon. I’ve got shit to do.” His hand presses into the small of your back and he guides you forwards. “I’ll see you ringside, right, Mav?”

Maverick barely answers, giving a small nod as he follows along. You glance quickly between them. Their relationship is so strange for two people who own a business together. The venue isn’t the biggest, but it’s especially cramped with tonight’s turn out.

Hundreds of people. Competitors, family, fans, sponsors. All mixed in together, the sound of dozens of intermingling conversations buzzes in the air before you’re even past the reception. Somewhere along the way, Mav ditches to go in the opposite direction.

You’re not even sure where Rooster’s taking you, but you follow blindly anyway. He nudges you into the event hall. The ring here is higher up than in Bradshaw’s. Set up, surrounded by overhead stage lighting, empty.

“Rooster!”

Your head turns as you tuck yourself instinctively closer to him. Getting lost in this crowd isn’t something that sounds fun. It’s so packed that you can’t even see who’s calling. Rooster’s face twists into immediate recognition, practically rolling his eyes. His attention doesn’t falter from the dickhead trying to get to him through the crowd, but his hand slips into yours. You curl your fingers between his, letting him lead you.

There’s a small opening, a little bit back from the ring, where the crowd dissipates enough for you to not be smushed into Rooster’s side anymore. Your hold on his hand loosens, he glances back, brown eyes dark under these white lights, then drops your hand all together. His intention is to slip by without engaging, until the owner of the voice steps right into his path.

“How’s it going, man? — Heard you’re allowed to compete again.”

You step to the side so that you can finally see who it is that’s speaking. He’s tall, almost the same height as Rooster and strong looking, his arms straining against a black long-sleeved shirt. There’s a scar along his cheekbone, clearly from a recent surgery, following his eye socket.

“Good news travels fast.” Bradley’s voice is dry and serious, his face an even worse picture — you look between the two of them.

Immediately, green eyes are on you. His hand extends past Rooster, towards you, lips quirked up into a grin. “Who’s this? — Girlfriend?”

“She’s our social media manager.” Rooster answers coldly. Like you’re not even a friend to him. He juts out his elbow slightly and steps into your way, blocking the hand from ever reaching you.

“Wesley.” He introduces himself to you, even with Rooster’s shoulder blocking half of your face from his view. “I’m guessing he doesn’t want us to talk incase I mention the time he almost blinded me.”

Rooster stares ahead of him, eyes dark and stormy, looking straight through the puckered scar under Wesley’s eye.

“She knows why I took a break.”

“Taking a break implies that it was a choice.”

“It was a choice for me to not put my fist throu—“ You slip your fingers between Rooster’s and tug softly. He’s tense under your touch, but he stops, glancing back at you. Swallowing softly, you offer the man in front of you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Rooster has an interview he needs to get to.” You say quietly, pressing yourself into Rooster’s arm as you push him, hoping that he’ll just walk away from this. He does. He curls his fingers around yours and squeezes your hand, tugging you back through the crowd until you can break out into one of the hallways off of the room.

Your hand’s still in his when the two of you come to a stop. There’s no choice but to wait to speak as the fight begins with Jake’s opponent’s ring walk music. Once it fades out into the announcer’s voice, you can speak.

“That was weird.” You tell Rooster calmly. He glances down at your hand in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles and nodding.

“He’s a fucking idiot is all.” He mutters, shaking his head softly. You don’t need to know all of the details. That his family cost Bradley a father. Everything since then. That Bradley fractured his eye socket in three places not too long ago. That Maverick has barely spoken to Bradley since. Finally, he squeezes your hand in his and pushes away from the wall, “Come on, can’t let you miss your first boxing event.”

…

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sassylegshayne · 1 year

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support your local caffeine dealer chapter nine

okay, this is the final chapter of sylcd and it is SMUT SO MINORS DNI. please do not worry about reading this part if you don't want to, they fuck and that's basically it. I made sure to start their relationship in chapter eight that way this didn't affect the way this story is told.

anyways 2.8k words, SMUT with little plot, and again, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. and wrap it before you tap it, they don't in this story bc idc but enjoy mwah xx

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Another weekend passed, the two of you finding yourselves in good company as you splashed around Kimmy's pool, snacks and drinks flowing.

Shayne couldn't keep his hands off of you, even months after the two of you had become official; he was taking every opportunity to make up for lost time.

This was made apparent as you stood chatting with Damien, strong arms wrapping around your waist as Shayne rested his head on your shoulder, his lips pressed to your cheek.

You felt your heart flutter as you rested your hands atop his, enjoying your boyfriend and his best friends company. Courtney called out to you, inviting you to join her in a game with a few others. You excused yourself as you slipped from Shayne's embrace, his hand sneaking into your back pocket as he tugs you back to him.

You giggle, placing a peck on his lips before you wandered off. Shayne finally tore his eyes from you, turning to see Damien with a massive grin.

"I'm so proud of you dude. Yall are gross and feel like l'm gonna puke, but you two look really happy together."

Shayne felt the blush creep across his cheeks as he shrugged. Shayne was so fucking happy with you. He thought he was gonna pass out earlier in the month when you asked him to help you pick out a cat from the shelter. You called him after your opening shift one day, bringing up the idea, insisting he had to join you in the endeavor.

"The cat is gonna be around you all the time, Shayne, you guys have to get along." He could practically hear your pout as he remembered your argument to him. He almost found himself saying those three little words before he agreed.

Now you both had two tabby kittens from the same litter terrorizing your respective apartments.

The two of your kept your normal routine, seeing him every morning you worked and again, occasionally, in the afternoon for lunch. If times lined up, Shayne would pick you up, taking you out to eat after your shifts. You alternated movie nights, staying up late and talking about nothing while cuddled together your couches.

He didn't think he'd get here, to the point of being with you, being able to call you his. The boys quickly joined lan and Spencer in a contest for the biggest splash. When Shayne's turn arrived, he shot you a wink, proclaiming his win was for you.

He got a head start, jumping into the pool with a cannonball. He swam to the side, pulling himself out as he shook his hair dry. You grinned, cheering and clapping with the others.

"That's my man!" You called out, winking at Shayne as his heart began to race.

Your man.

My man.

The words echoed through his mind on repeat as he joined you, positioning himself behind you on the lounge chair, his legs on either side of yours.

Shayne let his lips ghost softly over the skin of your exposed shoulder, your hair now tugged up into a bun. The two of you laid back, your head resting back on his chest as you chatted with your friends.

Thankfully, no one quite noticed as the two of you had mentally checked out of the conversation.

You couldn't focus anymore as Shayne's wandering hands rubbed lightly at the skin of your hips, his fingers playing aimlessly with the strings of your bathing suit bottoms. You let your hands fall to his strong thighs, fingers tracing his muscles, the smooth skin warm and sunkissed.

You pushed gently at Shayne's hands as you sat up, feeling them rest gently on your bum. He gave your ass a playful squeeze before you stood, stretching.

You yawned, excusing yourself and Shayne, claiming you had an early shift the next day. A small smirk graced your boyfriend's sealed lips. You were off tomorrow and something in your eyes told him that he wouldn't be dropping you off at your place.

The two of you said your rounds of goodbyes, gathering your discarded clothes before making a quick exit, Shayne's hand tangled with yours as you headed to the car.

"You're a terrible person, lying to all of your friends like that." Shayne quipped as he put on his seatbelt, chuckling.

You leaned across the center console, guiding him toward you as you spoke softly, face inches from his.

"What they don't know can't hurt them, Shayne. I want to be alone with you as soon as possible and that is all your fault, sir." You grinned, your lips finally meeting his. The twWo of you moved in sync, lips slotted together perfectly as the kiss deepened, your hands gripping at Shayne's shirt.

He slowly pulls away, punctuating with a few small pecks before he shoots you a lazy grin.

"Back to yours, babe?"

Shayne's hands gripped at you, his nails leaving small scratches upon the soft skin of your hips, his hands trailing under your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up.

He breaks your heated kiss, barely getting your shirt over you head before his lips were on yours once more.

Your hands splayed across his bare chest, having undone the buttons of his hawaiian shirt on the drive home. Your heart was pounding so fast you could've sworn he would hear it.

You whined, pulling away slowly, tugging Shayne's bottom lip between your teeth, before pointing towards your froon door.

He huffed, taking the hint before he quickly locked the door, upset he was losing out on time he could be spending exploring your body.

Shayne was quick to turn to you, his lips were a bit swollen, his hair now a chlorine scented mess, sticking out in all directions, and he was barely even considered dressed. His bathing suit bottoms sat low on his hips as he moved back toward you.

You felt weak in the knees at the sight before you, shamelessly letting your eyes rake over him body, a small moan escaping you.

He chuckled, cupping your face gently, placing his lips on your's again. He let his other hand slide down your side, cupping the back of your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Shayne lifts you with little effort, a small gasp escaping you, allowing him to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. He moves the two of you down the hall quickly, pressing your back to the bedroom door after he kicked it shut behind you.

You hands tangled into Shayne's hair, tugging and whining as he trails his lips down your neck, suckling faint bruises into your skin. He groaned softly as his hands slid behind your back, fumbling a bit as he pulled at the strings of your bikini top, the fabric sliding to the floor.

Shayne couldn't hold back the grin he shot you, dreaming of having you just like this, but he always thought it was just out of his grasp. He moved you to the mattress, laying you on your back as your nipples pebbled from the cold air.

You felt your cheeks heating up as Shayne's eyes roamed your body, knowing his routine by now.

Shayne loves to let his eyes trace every detail of your body, his lip pulled between his teeth before he smiles brightly at you.

He can't help but take his time to admire you, to show you just how much he loves you without words, and this just might be his favorite way to do that.

His hands cupped your breasts softly, slowly moving them downward, gripping the edge of your pants in his fingertips.

You melt as he looks to you with brows raised, asking for your permission before he tugs your last covering off, laying bare for him as your bottoms and shorts hit his bedroom floor.

Shayne's mind and heart were racing as he let out a soft groan, drinking in the sight before him. He lets his hands wander, taking notice of every small noise you let out, every small twitch.

Shayne loved pleasing you, that you both knew. He'd even gotten off on making you come quite a few times now.

He removed his shirt, sliding himself down between your thighs.

He'd even gotten off on making you cum a few He looked up to you again, a soft smile on his lips as his face stilled just inches from where you wanted him the most. You whine and pout, huffing softly.

"You okay?" Shayne spoke softly, his hands finally resting on your thighs, massaging your skin with his thumbs as he moves them over his shoulders.

You nod eagerly, opening your mouth to protest.

"Shayne, please just.." You trail off, your head pressing back into the mattress as his warm tongue licks a trail between your lips, the butterflies in your stomach going insane. One hand tangled into his hair, while the other gripped the sheets desperately as he began a routine of slow, agonizing laps at your juices, Shayne savoring every call of his name that rang from your lips.

You couldn't help the mumbled begging you were doing.

"Shayne, please just.. yes.. please, fuck, yes.. right there, oh my god, Shayne!" You cried out as he switched his pace, his lips around your clit, suckling at the bundle of nerves.

Shayne felt like he was dripping sweat, his heart pounding as he sat between your thighs, savoring your taste.

He fucking loved how you tasted. It wasn't anything sweet or anything unpleasant like nost people tended to describe it as.You tasted like pussy and he loved it.

He knew now that he could die a happy man, buried between your thighs for the rest of his days.

Shayne knew he'd done something right when he felt you tense, his hand splayed across your stomach, pressing you into the mattress; he knew youd came, but that didn't mean he was done.

You couldn't hold it any longer, stars blurring your vision as you squeezed your eyes shut, a chorus of Shayne's name spilled from your lips as you came.

You'd never been that easy to get before, and you hadn't come from just oral in a very long time. Shayne took you by surprise in multiple ways today.

After cleaning up his mess, Shayne slid up, hovering over you as he pressed a few kisses to your jaw.

"You taste so good..." Shayne groaned, his nervousness pushed aside by the pure joy he'd been given.

You felt a shiver roll down your spine as you slowly raked your nails down his back. Shayne finally met your eyes, a grin slowly spreading across your face as you cup his cheeks.

"Shayne." You placed a soft, slow kiss to his lips before you pulled away. "Please fuck me."

The sickeningly sweet smile accompanying your filthy words drove him more insane than he could've imagined.

He placed his lips to yours feverishly, desperate to wipe the smile from your face. He pulled away slowly just as he felt you tug at his hair, knowing he was leaving you on the edge, again. Shayne kept his eyes on yours as he stood at the bedside.

You shuffled, resting up on your elbows as he placed his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear.

You were shameless, you eyes raking over his defined chest and abs before your eyes followed the trail of hair downward.

A small moan left you as your eyes followed the falling of his shorts as they hit the floor, then back up again.

Shayne tried his best not to let it go to his head, but he loved the look in your eyes each time you saw him like this, no matter how often that may be.

You couldn't stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together at just the sight of him.

"C'mon, don't get shy now, you always have something smart to say." Shayne chuckled as he crawled back on to the mattress, resuming his previous position. He sat back a bit, lining himself up with you.

You both moaned quietly as Shayne pushed himself into you. You almost had to admire just how well he fit you as you took a few seconds to adjust.

Shayne started off slowly, letting his lips feel every curve of your body that he possibly could, his hands touching every part that his lips couldn't reach.

A mixture of your moans echoed off the walls as your nails dug softly into Shayne's shoulders, your lips trailing his jaw. It seemed like Shayne knew things about your body that you didn't even know as he moved perfectly, making you melt as his hand slid down.

His hand pressed against your hip, stilling your movements, as he crashed his lips to yours, muffling your sounds as they grow louder. Shayne circles his thumb over your clit, your lips and tongues tangling as you moan into the kiss, your walls tightening around him.

Eventually Shayne gave in to his want, a soft moan of your name escaping him as he lifted you legs, setting them over his shoulder.

You gasp, causing him to still as he looks to you, about to to question if you were okay before the most beautiful sound hit his ears.

You moan, loudly, almost seeming unashamed, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. The new angle brought pleasures you never could've expected.

Shayne's eyes widened at your sound, leaning forward as he spoke softly, rolling his hips a bit, another moan leaving your lips.

"Y/N." Shayne began, his tone warning you enough already. "I have neighbors, baby." He chuckled a bit as your cheeks burned.

Shayne gripped your thighs gently, his nails leaving small marks on your skin as he presses himself into you once more. You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping in pleasure as you suppresseda moan. Shayne felt like he was going to explode at the sight before him.

It pushed him a bit further, his pace quickening as he moaned softly, his hands gripping at your waist.

You felt yourself reaching the edge again as you looked to Shayne, following his eyes downward as he watched himself fuck you.

Your walls fluttered as you let go, a loud moan of his name leaving you as you came around im. You felt Shayne tense, his hands gripping at the mattress beside your head as he came, your name spilling from his lips like music to your ears.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment or two, catching your breaths before Shayne pulled out and lowered your legs, resting them on the mattress.

Shayne grinned at you before leaning down, your sweaty foreheads pressed together.

"We should stretch before we fuck next time, we're too old for that stuff." You chuckled, pressing your lips to his. Shayne pouted softly as he got up, heading into your bathroom.

"Are your legs sore, love?" Shayne laughed as he turned on the shower, warming the water before he headed back in to you.

You laid on your side, checking your phone when he entered.

Shayne grinned, biting his lip before he scooped you up, pressing his lips to every bit of your face.

He almost said it, he wanted to say it so badly.

But he settled for a different time, he'd tell you eventually.

The two of you shared a slow, lazy shower, enjoying the quiet time together before drying off and dressing.

You wandered into your kitchen after him, dressed in a pair of his sweats he'd left and one of his many pizza place shirts.

Shayne wanted this moment engraved into his brain. This was everything he ever wanted and he never would've guessed he'd be here. He was quick to pull you into his arms as soon as you were within reach. The two of you stood at the fridge, Shayne's arms wrapped around your waist.

"Alright, I am out of pretty much everything, so.. cereal?" You grinned, looking to him with your brows raised.

He finally said it. He couldn't stop himself, the thought nagging him more and more the longer he ignored it.

So when the two of you began playing some video games, Mario Kart was apparently the wrong choice.

The both of you became playfully competitive, shoving, calling names and yelling at each other. After a few rounds of some different games that always ended the same, no matter who won, the two of you decided on another bowl of cereal.

You tilted your head a bit as Shayne told you a story about Spencer's last birthday, bringing up his infamous screaming.

"How loud can you scream? You measured it before, didn't you?" You questioned before taking another bite. You had heard Shayne's screaming quite a few times, but you couldn't tell if you've heard just how loud he can get.

A quick scream catches you off guard, your hand covering your mouth as you almost spew your cereal. Shayne can't help but cackle, surprising himself.

"l'm sorry!" He was quick to defend himself before his laughter. "I really only do that in the studio, and that's where my screaming gets brought up the most, so, yanno, just a habit to.. scream."

Shayne trails off, doubling over in laughter as you shake your head. The two of you get lost in a fit of giggles together before you eventually calm, taking a few breaths.

"I know you said that you only do that in the studio but better hear that in bed next time." You laughed, giving your boyfriend a wink.

"I love you."

He spoke, his laughter never faltering as he gave in, knowing that the timing might not be perfect but that it would be perfect for you two. He was right, this was a weird time, but it felt right.

"I love you too."

Your cheeks were bright pink as your heart fluttered, your lip tucked between your teeth as you admired Shayne. Your heart had never felt so full of love.

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