#'that's two different tax brackets' fucking killed me

[cementcornfield]

Joe comes to work in a suit and a tie, Jake comes to work in a suit with no tie.

#'that's two different tax brackets' fucking killed me #this man is so funny #this is such a thoughtful answer #this man has been THINKING about this #and it tracks i think with what we've observed #ja'marr has said before how long it took him to make joe smile/laugh for the first time #and it's still not an easy thing to do! #but if anyone's figured out how to do it consistently it's him #(and tee. tbh) #ja'marr chase #joe burrow #jake browning

[ashestoashesjc]

Bad Witches (0.3)

Some towns sleep more than they’d care to admit. They claim to be the town that never does, but they sleep. They bustle until the wee hours when even the traffic lights must catch shut eye. (This is the leading cause of late night car accidents, in fact). But not in Riverwake. No matter the hour, Riverwake is alive and in motion. At the peak of dawn, the rumble of mechanized street cleaners is something of an alarm: A new day is here. The only challenge is survival. The road is now adequately shiny.

On a day this beautiful, a person would be mad to waste even a second of it inside. This is why when the coven meets at their favorite restaurant, Giorgio's, for cocktails and gossip, they ask for outdoor seating, beneath a veil of dark gray umbrellas.

After the waiter brings around the first tray of flutes, Bev flags him down and whispers in his ear. When he returns, he has a pitcher filled to the brim with a hazy, dim yellow. He places it at the center of the table and walks off to attend to other diners.

Shrugging, Bev says, "Save him some trips."

During a third round of mimosas, Kate off-handedly mentions her father-in-law and his rocky relationship with his son, but that he thinks gifting Dan membership to their familial country club is effective enough as tension relief. Dan's typically too busy to take advantage of it, she says.

"But you still want to," says Bev, drinking from her orange-tinted glass.

"I didn't say that," says Kate.

"You didn't have to," Bev says, swatting at the air, "Does anyone else hear that buzzing? What is that? Do you think a WASP snuck in?" The other witches attempt to stifle their giggles.

Turning bright red, Kate leans back into her seat, clutching at her glass and bringing it closer to her face so as to slightly cloud the next words she mutters, "I can invite guests, by the by."

The witches' ears perk up.

"You know, I don't think I've ever been to a country club," Matt says, "The wealthy have historically neglected basic hand-washing techniques. Seems like a petri dish, but in a higher tax bracket.”

"I'm from the country. And I've been to a club. Does that count?" Haley asks, still nursing her first mimosa.

"What should we wear?" Bev asks.

Kate sets her glass down to refill it from the orange pitcher, "Dress for spring."

So, they do. The next morning, they are all casual shorts and solid-colored polos and white visors. Only, it's a month away from the dead of winter and it's the middle of Massachusetts. Bev, Matt, and Haley stand outside of the given address and, with their miserable shaking, resemble a group of very posh street urchins.

Kate arrives in a cozy-looking fur-lined parka and upon seeing the other witches' bewildered expressions, snuggles affectionately into the mink hood, "Teach you to mock me."

The other witches follow Kate into the almost intimidatingly large, red-bricked building. What are presumably wings stretch nearly a kilometer in each direction.

"One of you couldn't have ch-checked the weather before leaving the house?" Bev admonishes, one shiver away from legally qualifying as an icicle.

"T-throwing a lot of stones in that g-glass igloo, aren't you?" Haley asks.

The combination of central circulated heating and at least two fireplaces (one in the den closest to the club's entrance; one in the more formal of the two dining areas) nearly melts the witches as they linger with Kate at the front desk.

"Okay, we're approved," Kate says, shaking hands with the attendant behind the desk, "Just don't touch anything."

"Damn. There goes my Grand Theft Itinerary," says Bev.

Looking at her sternly, Kate says, "Don't even joke about that. They will absolutely kick us out."

The witches huddle at the end of the entrance hall, dissecting the list of offered activities. Bev is interested in exactly none of them, but does wish to examine their stock of spirits. Matt begins spraying himself with hand sanitizer the moment he notices how many of the items have a "Group Activity" label.

A woman in a calf-length Houndstooth coat walks past the group but stops to gaze at Kate's jacket, fawning over its charm and subtle glamour. She asks if Kate also bought her coat from Nordstrom. She then asks if Kate plans to play in a tennis match later.

Kate happily confirms that, yes, she will be playing. They chat for a little longer and Kate is still smiling when the woman bids her farewell and walks further into the club's interior.

"How are you going to play?" Matt asks, pointing to the tennis poster pinned to the cork bulletin board at the lobby entrance, "It's Doubles and three of us will likely solidify if we venture outside."

"Oh, we're still playing tennis. Do you know how much I had to bribe the babysitter to come on such short notice?" asks Kate, "They have a heated indoor court," she says, taking off her coat to reveal a sensible, pale beige skirt and thin, rust red pullover.

"Oh, they're fancy fancy," says Haley.

Kate finds the sports center in the left wing, guided by the rambunctious sound of middle aged aerobics. It is a vast gymnasium filled with varied exercise equipment and a bounty of helpful regimens: elliptical trainers, stair masters, Homeless Person Avoidance Training, medicine balls, etc. There's even a rock climbing wall mounted in the back. There are no cables attached to it for fear that people may actually wish to use it, but it has its scenic benefits. She then sees the tennis court, a green square girded with a chain link fence. She spies the sign-up sheet on a plastic folding table at the entrance and begins scrawling her name.

As she flourishes the Barston-ending 'n' and admires her penmanship, an unexpected voice takes her by surprise.

"You're in the way," says the voice and Kate notices that it belongs to the robust, older gentleman looming behind her. He is accompanied by a smaller, leaner fellow and together they look like a before and after advert for malnutrition.

Kate nearly leaps out of the man's direction when she notices her folly. "Sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Never seen you here before," says the shorter, wheat blond man.

"Yes, I'm a new--" begins Kate, holding out her hand in anticipation of a handshake.

"Who's your husband?" interrupts the other man, a gray halo of hair situated on the perimeter of his scalp.

"I'm not sure how--" starts Kate, slowly lowering her hand.

"That's how you got in, right?" he asks as he bends down to add his own name to the roster, "Bring the 'Girls' for a 'Fun Weekend' at the country club and then fuck off to whichever Wellness Spa you crawled out of?"

"That's--" Kate tries to interject.

"We promise not to beat you too badly later, okay?" the blond interrupts as he saunters off, followed shortly by his friend.

She is left standing alone at the front of the sports center, not entirely sure she has correctly interpreted the preceding events. In her mind, she loops through their meeting again and again, wondering what she did wrong. When she does realize that she, in fact, ‘Just Got Dunked On’, grim is not the right word to describe the aura she emanates. It's pretty close, though.

Kate staggers into the common area and, seeing the rest of her coven lying haphazardly across an island of recliners, plops into one of the vacant chairs. Her entire demeanor is a haggard sigh.

Trading concerned looks, the witches aren't sure who should handle this. They play "Rock, Paper, Sigils" while Kate slumps further into the padded leather. The agreed upon worst candidate for helping someone through distress is also apparently really bad at games of chance because when she loses, Bev swears under her breath.

Bev very tepidly strokes Kate's back and whispers, "Now, now. Emotions are..." she gulps, "Perfectly normal. I have them all the time." She retches.

Taking Kate's hand, Matt asks, "What happened?"

A full body sigh later and Kate appears to have summoned the drive to retell the tale. By the time she's through, the witches bear the expressions of those personally wronged. How dare anyone make fun of Kate? And not even behind her back like a decent person. WASPS have feelings, too.

"You should've led with that," says Bev, cracking her knuckles, "I'll kill them."

Matt nods, "I don't know about getting someone else's blood on me, but yes, murder seems in order."

Haley can't believe what she just heard. She really can't. She stopped listening halfway through to stare at someone she thought might be her Little League coach. But why would they be here, ten states away in this country club common area? It just doesn't make sen-- Oh, no, that's someone else, nevermind. Oh, god, now everyone's looking at her. Make something up, make something up.

"Like a flock of crows in V-formation," says Haley. Nailed it.

"You guys... you have no idea how much this means to me," says Kate, a welling in her eyes, "I know with you by my side, Bev, we can--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I don't want to play," Bev corrects.

Clearly disappointed, Kate's face sobers a little, but she looks to Matt with hope.

"Sorry, me either. I didn't mean to mislead you," says Matt, sincerely apologetic.

Kate feels as though the dinghy she just acquired footing in has capsized beneath her.

Haley smiles.

Kate looks to her nervously, but the smile only widens. "Have... you ever actually played tennis?" Kate asks.

"Sure, I played a little at home," Haley says. Kate sighs.

"Of course, we had wooden rackets and the strings were made from goat guts, but how different could it be?" Haley asks. Kate sighs again and internally resigns to her fate, but still intends on having a very fun, very non-competitive time.

On the court, shortly before their starting match, Haley tests the weight of the carbon fiber racket. She tosses it from hand to hand and gives a few practice swats. Once, she sends the racket flying, leaving her to run to the middle of the court and retrieve it.

Their first few matches - one with a couple from Denver and the other with the woman they encountered in the lobby and her "chiropractor" who is definitely only half her age because it helps to be young and limber in his profession. Definitely - are nothing to write home about. Haley's home, in particular, is where you should not be writing to. Because they would not be very impressed with her performance. But after getting used to how light this inferior plastic racket is, the aerodynamics of its slender frame, the whistle of its whip through the air, she feels a touch more comfortable.

This comfort is promptly squished like a windshield mosquito when their next opponents enter the fence. Kate's heart falls when she recognizes the sheen of one man's head and the smarm on the other's lips, but her face is unflinching steel.

"Didn't think you'd still be here," the blond says, his eyes a sneer.

The walking comb over assumes his place across the court and, beginning to stretch, says, "They wanted to lose to real men. I don't blame 'em."

Haley exhales. The match begins.

For the first set, the court is a frenzy of movement. Rhythmic thwacking echoes across the gymnasium. The squeaking of sneakers, the breathy grunts upon each impact, the flicked beads of sweat as they dart to strike the racket. All four are giving it their all.

But Kate and Haley are just too accurate. Too fast. Too relentless in their fury.

Nearing the end of their third set, Kate and Haley have dominated the game, easily leading over their opponents' hefty score of one. What was only meant to be a playful diversion sees the girls one favoring play away from taking the whole kit 'n' caboodle. Reigning victorious. But, like, in a fun, non-competitive way.

This is what it all comes down to.

"They would be good at this," huffs the gray-haired man to his partner, "Chicks and tennis." He serves the ball, and Haley, in her distraction, swings and misses. A green blur zips by her head.

The gray-haired man chuckles, "I think that's our point."

"One of them even looks like Serena," his blond partner wheezes hoarsely. They burst into ill-concealed snickers.

"One more round?" Kate asks, bouncing a tennis ball.

"One more round," Haley concurs.

They trade the tennis ball back and forth with their opponents, the net flapping with every pass. For a few tosses, they are very light swings, measured and contained. But in one of her connections with the ball, Kate applies a considerable amount more force to the racket. The tennis ball responds with equal vigor, shooting from her racket's wired face and careening toward the other side of the court.

But it never hits either of the men's rackets. Or makes contact with the ground. It simply floats and whirls at a standstill just past the net.

No one moves a muscle.

The silent stillness of the moment is broken when the blond man appears to muster the confidence to approach the green rotation. He seems to have descended from glaciers with the time it takes him to close the gap. Mere inches away, he stares up at the tennis ball in the exact way that you're not supposed to stare at the sun.

He lifts his hand and reaches slowly upward with an extended finger.

The ball, still in a rapid spin, yet frozen in mid-air, comes undone and pelts the blond directly between the eyes. He goes to the ground and rolls onto his back, his scream slightly muffled by the hands now covering his face.

Exclaiming his name, the gray-haired man runs over to kneel and assist his partner.

Focused on tending to his friend, he is blissfully unaware when, under Haley's intense stare, his shoestrings loosen and then intertwine, lacing together.

"I think that's our point," says Haley.

The man clambers to a stand and starts off toward her with a warning, huffy "Why, you little..." before tripping and spilling to the ground like a freshly slingshotted Goliath.

The blond, a red burn at the center of his face, goes to help him, but his shorts sink quickly to his feet and he falls in a tangle to the green mat.

"That's set," says Kate.

"And match," says Haley.

They grasp hands in a high five and make their way to the fenced door.

As they exit the court, Haley shouts back to the groaning men, "And I would love to look like Serena! She's a goddamn Amazon!" Even after they've exited, Haley can still be heard shouting, "An Amazon!"

They've made it halfway into the main house when they run into Matt just outside of the kitchen, wearing a black apron, stamped with the country club's logo.

"Why are you--?" Haley begins before Matt raises a hand and cuts her off with a sharp breath.

"I went to the restaurant to sample their Chateaubriand," he says, pulling the apron strings over his head, "But someone mistook me for a waiter and one thing led to another, and I report for duty at 9 am."

Slinking down the hall to join them, Bev says, "That's really going to confuse your students."

"Where have you been?" Kate asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about," she says.

Occasionally looking over her shoulder to ensure she's not being followed by any of the club's staff, Bev leads the coven to the rear section of the expansive building. Despite the recently watered ficuses, it doesn't appear as though this area of the club receives much visitation.

Taking another cursory look, Bev waves the witches into a room and closes the door behind her. Once she flicks the light on, an old ballroom comes into focus. The dusty, white grand piano, tucked in the room's corner, has uneven keys. The floor is cedar coated in a thoroughly scuffed varnish.

At the center of the room is a freshly painted and ornamented circle, surrounded in thick, off-white candles.

"You've been busy," Kate says.

"Since we got here, I've sensed a mass of souls, trapped just beneath the floorboards," says Bev.

"I felt it, too," says Matt, "I suspected it was just the unease that comes with being in a country club."

"There's that, too," Bev says.

Bev stomps on the floor and a chorus of weak groans ekes up, "That's at least 30? Maybe 40 unhappy ghosts." She locks eyes with Kate, hesitates for a moment, and says, "We have to do something." 

Kate, all out of sighs for the day, brings her hands together and lets them go with a deep breath. "Okay," she says, "What do we do?"

There's no boom box available to blast "Wannabe" while they work, so their preparation lacks a distinct Spice, but they each have their jobs and they each complete them with an expected diminished enthusiasm.

Once Kate's finished lighting the candles, Haley flips the light switch and they take their positions.

Because it was her idea, Bev heads the ritual, and thus initiates the throaty, guttural chanting. As she nears the end, like a musical round, another witch starts from the beginning. And the cycle continues until, thrumming like a locust swarm, the coven is in overlapping cacophony.

As their chanting increases in volume and an impossible wind whips their hair to and fro, the candle flames grow into angry blazes. And in an instant, they extinguish.

And the room goes dark.

Then, suddenly, light returns as a host of faint, blue-white specters encircle the witches. As a few seconds pass and they regain more human forms, a great variety of age among them, the "Leader" of the group, a weathered man in an eagle feather-adorned headdress, nods to the coven. One by one, their forms dissipate. Soon, they've all faded, leaving one little girl, clutching a small toy bunny. She waves at the witches and too disappears.

The candles flicker back to life.

"So good of you to release them," Kate says, laying her hand on Bev's shoulder, "The afterlife will be kind to them."

"Right. Release," Bev says, tapping Kate's hand.

From outside of the ballroom there comes a scream. Looking a smirking Bev in the eyes, Kate pulls her hand away and makes for the door.

The chaos encapsulating the country club can be heard in its full intensity the moment Kate cracks the door open.

It's difficult to decipher exactly what is transpiring: a typhoon of well-clothed, well-fed patrons bounds in every direction. They wail and beg and stumble over each other, flown after by a roaring cavalcade of translucent figures.

The witches watch as the little girl who thanked them earlier flies through the bottom of a couple's table and into their roasted duck, chasing them with scornful, flailing drumettes as they scream for mercy.

Kate's face gets in the way of her palm.

"You know, I saw a hand sanitizer dispenser in the bathroom," says Matt, "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."

#i'm sure i'll catch a bunch of typos and things i want to edit later #but here's snippet 3 #Bad Witches

[7-wonders]

Inside Out

Summary: After one too many instances of Duncan being the token stuck-up rich guy, you’re ready to show him how the rest of America lives by taking him through a day in your life.

Word Count: 6746

A/N: Oofta, this is long. Sorry about that. Hope you guys enjoy; feedback is always appreciated, my inbox is always open, and I’d love it if you would reblog this. Thanks!

The first time that it happened while you were out with Duncan, you were willing to excuse it. He had been grappling with a stock market dip that threatened to send the Shepherd Foundation into a financial crisis, so him not bothering to look up from his phone to place an order, as well as not tipping the barista, was something that you had quickly forgiven. A smile towards the overworked employee and a folded ten dropped into the tip jar is sure to make their day better, something that you know from experience. Besides, there’s no way that Duncan would be the type of person to not tip; the man has more money than he knows what to do with. Even with that reassurement in your mind, your smile still falters when he takes the coffee from the barista without even bothering to thank him.

The second time that it happened, you were talking yourself through a list of errands that needed to be ran on your day off, trying to figure out the most logical plan of action for what you needed to accomplish. When you had shook your head before angrily muttering that you “can’t fucking afford taking the car to get the oil changed” and deciding to change your own oil, Duncan had scoffed.

“That’s a joke, right?” He had laughed, looking up at you over the thin frame of the glasses he wore for working at his computer.

“Uh, no? I’ve been putting off getting my oil changed for months now, and since I still don’t have the extra money to go and get it changed I just need to change it myself before my engine stops working.” You were sure that the look of confusion on your face was almost comical, but you had never met anyone who was baffled at the idea of a car’s oil being changed.

“Don’t people do that for you?”

“Yeah, but that costs a lot more money than just going to the auto store and buying the oil so I can change it myself. I’ve done it before; it’s not difficult, just tedious.”

Duncan mulled the words you spoke, the idea of goods being exchanged for services such as auto mechanics obviously not having crossed his mind before. He didn’t bring it up again, but you could see the disdain in his expression at the thought of you having to do something as low-brow as changing your own oil. The next day, you “found” a hundred dollar bill tucked in the pocket of your jacket, as if Duncan thought you were stupid enough to believe that you had just missed the money in your pocket before (you didn’t give it back though; although you had already changed the oil yourself the night before, the money was still more than enough to buy you groceries for two weeks and still have some left over).

The more time that you spent with Duncan, the more that you saw the less undesirable aspects of his personality that you had purposely turned a blind eye too when you first got into a relationship with the man. That’s not to say that you’re this perfect human who never makes a mistake; quite the opposite, in fact. You’re clumsy, opinionated, and prone to engaging in heated debates about topics that you’re passionate about with random strangers.

The one thing that you’re not? Entitled.

Duncan Shepherd, you’ve realized after three months of dating, is one of the most entitled people that you’ve ever met. It shouldn’t be too shocking that the heir of a multi-million dollar political foundation and one of the most influential lobbyists in Washington expects everything to be handed to him on a silver platter, but you had been wooed by his intelligence and wit far quicker than you could see how he treated those who he thought to be “beneath” him. The little one-off insults, which he probably thought nothing more of once the words left his mouth, were a daily occurence now, although you’re sure that’s because you’re looking for them now.

After a bicyclist blocked the lane because a police car was in the bike lane: “Maybe if they could afford to get a ride somewhere, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed on their commute.”

When the waiter at a fancy restaurant apologized for the delay in seating: “Do you people even know who I am? Who my family is?”

Upon seeing a food drive donation center in the lobby of his building: “Again? Didn’t they just do one a month ago?”

After you gave money and food to the nice homeless lady who sits outside of your building: “You know that she’s probably conning you? That’s their game, most of them go to their house after this and laugh at people like you, with your heart on your sleeve and always willing to blindly give.”

The negativity got tiring, if you were being honest. It’s entirely possible that he is right when he tells you that you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, but is it such a bad thing to see the positives in people? To understand their struggles and want to brighten up their day or help them in any way that you can? You really don’t think that it is.

The breaking point comes when Duncan comes over to your apartment after work. You’ve just barely finished putting the perishable foods that you bought at the grocery store away, yelling for Duncan to let himself in so you don’t have to set everything down. You don’t even have to look at him to know that his nose is crinkling as he takes in your small apartment. Small in Duncan’s world, at least. For you, it’s the perfect size and you love how cozy it is. Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, you turn and kiss him on the cheek when he wraps his arms around you.

“How was your day off?” He mutters into your ear. Finals are finally over, which means that you’ve been able to enjoy a rare day off before your work schedule kicks in.

“Busy. I still have to fold the laundry that I finished this morning, I cleaned the place for almost an hour, and I just got back from grocery shopping.”

“Do you need help putting the rest of your groceries away?” You’re mildly shocked that he’s willing to do any sort of chore, but nod nonetheless.

It’s silent for a minute while you both go to work at removing items from the bags and placing them on the counter. When you finish with your bags, you turn to see Duncan holding a package in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Uh, coffee?”

“No, it’s not.” You furrow your brows, snatching the bag from him and turning it to make sure that you did, in fact, buy your favorite brand of coffee.

“Yes it is. Same brand I’ve been buying for a year now.”

“But...it’s already ground?” He looks just as confused as you feel right now.

“What other form would it come in?”

“Everybody I know grinds their coffee beans at home.”

“I don’t really have time for that, and plus this is way cheaper than buying actual coffee beans.”

“I’ll have to buy you a coffee grinder.” Duncan muses, pivoting towards the corner where your coffee maker sits. “And maybe a new coffee machine, too? Seriously, (Y/N), did you get this at the Salvation Army? What if--”

Your vision goes red as he starts to nitpick at your personal assets, rage blocking your ears from hearing what else he’s saying. It’s infuriating, to have this man that you deeply care for, and who knows that you’re from two very different upbringings, go through your items and decide what is up to his standard.

“--are you even listening?” Duncan asks, suddenly looking at you now. Breathing deeply, you place a hand on the counter before looking up at him.

“You know, you’re extremely entitled.” His eyes widen, and he looks almost offended by your statement. Good, you think bitterly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not entitled, (Y/N).”

“You, Duncan Shepherd, are arguably the most entitled motherfucker I’ve ever met.” You raise a hand in warning when he starts to open his mouth, letting him know that you’re not finished. “You think you can come in here, look through all of my things, and tell me what I should do better? I’m so sorry that not all of us have the money or means to buy a fucking state-of-the-art coffee grinder.”

“Is this about money?” Duncan says after a long moment. “Because I’ve told you before, I will gladly pay for anything you desire.”

“No, it’s not about the money! Jesus, Duncan, I’m not a charity case.” You throw your hands up. “You think that everyone who isn’t in your tax bracket is below you, and it’s disgusting to watch.”

“Name one example.” He scoffs, leaning against the fridge and glancing at his watch like this is a waste of his time.

“Literally whenever we go out. When have you ever tipped someone?”

“I expect a high degree of service. They shouldn’t automatically expect a tip, they should have to work for it--”

“And when have you ever done a fucking honest day’s work in your life?” You cut him off.

“What are you even talking about?” Duncan asks in disbelief. “I work every single day for countless hours.”

“Yeah, at your family’s foundation.” You bite back, pushing yourself off of the counter and facing mere inches away from him. “The only job you’ve ever had is one in a comfy office that’s had your name inscribed on the door since the day you were born.”

“That’s not the only--”

“Oh, right, I’m forgetting your illustrious college internship with the Senate Majority Leader. Silly me! I forget, Dunc, did your mom stop seeing him four or five years ago?” Duncan grips your wrist in his large hand, yanking you against his chest.

“I suggest you take a few deep breaths before you say something that you’ll really regret.” He warns lowly, visibly seething when you laugh.

“‘Regret?’ I don’t regret anything about this! Do you know when I first got a job? It was right after I turned sixteen. My parents made it clear to me that I needed to work for what I wanted in life, and that it was time for me to start making my own money. I worked two jobs until I was nineteen, and the only reason I cut back to one is so that I could do a work-study and take some of the money off of my student loans.

“And please don’t mistake this as bitterness, because it’s not. I fully believe that money, if taken for granted, poisons people from the inside out. Rich people like you don’t understand anything about living a normal life. I can’t just hire somebody to go get groceries for me, or do my laundry, or drive me around, or buy my fucking stupid-ass goat shoes when there’s a limited-edition release and I can’t be bothered to stand among everyone else.” You shake your head in disdain, tears pricking at your eyes. “Your wealth has poisoned you, Duncan. You can complain about struggling all you want, but your only struggle is that you would be absolutely lost if you weren’t able to throw your money at all of your problems to make them go away.”

The air in the apartment is heavy, feeling much the same way as it does after a summer storm has swept through the area and washed away the heat of a Washington July day, only leaving behind the humidity and steam from the evaporating rain. Your chest heaves, a weight off of your shoulders now that the words that have been building up inside you are finally out in the open. Duncan stares at you, lips parted as he tries to form some sort of comeback to what you just said. You laugh lowly, wiping your eyes on your sleeve and gazing out the window to avoid looking at him.

“You should go,” you say quietly, “it’s almost time for dinner, and I wouldn’t want to soil your refined palate with the three-day old spaghetti I’ll be eating.”

You’re expecting him to leave, to storm out the door and not speak to you until you physically can’t handle the silent treatment any longer. That’s why, the more time that passes without any sign of movement, the more rage that starts to course through your body.

“Why are you still here?” You finally confront, spinning around to face Duncan. His eyes meet yours, the blue shade darkened by the tears he’s been holding back.

“I don’t care how mad you are, (Y/N), but I’m not just leaving after an unresolved fight.” Duncan’s calm demeanor only infuriates you more, and you huff loudly as you roll your eyes.

“Fine, whatever, go ahead and stay! But don’t expect me to say anything to you.” He wants to say something else, but instead he sighs and nods.

“Duly noted.”

It’s easy to ignore Duncan at first. He sits patiently at your counter, almost as if he expects you to apologize to him (for what, you’re not sure). If he’s going to annoy you with his presence, you decide, you’re going to annoy him as much as possible. The music on your bluetooth speaker is turned up as far as it can possibly go without you getting noise complaints from your neighbors, and you’re sure to play the rock music that Duncan absolutely hates. It’s kind of fun to purposefully ignore him, and the giant glass of wine you have with your leftover spaghetti makes you snicker everytime you furiously avoid eye contact with him. The only time you do make eye contact with him is when you go to bed, staring at the man sitting on your couch while you shut the door to your bedroom.

Unfortunately, Duncan’s a master of deciphering when, where, and how to pick his battles. An hour into tossing and turning in your bed, right when you’re starting to get lonely enough to consider opening up the door and begrudgingly asking him to move off of the couch, Duncan sneaks into your room and slides into bed next to you. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, but your body relaxes against his anyways.

“You were right.” Duncan breaks the silence with a sentence that you’ve never heard come out of his mouth.

“Seriously?” You’re shocked and tired, which doesn’t make your sentences the most coherent.

“I don’t understand what it’s like, and I do tend to use my wealth to my advantage and to belittle others. I just didn’t realize I was doing it to you, too.”

“Why is it any different when you do that stuff to me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“See, that’s another thing you don’t get, Dunc. Basic human decency towards everyone, even strangers, goes a long way. You should strive to treat everybody nicely, as opposed to just those you care about. Money can only get you so much, in terms of connections and friendships.” You mutter, breathing steadily so that you don’t launch into another tirade against him.

Duncan stays quiet, mulling over his next words carefully. He’s thinking for so long, in fact, that the steady feeling of his chest rising and falling almost lulls you to sleep. When he speaks, you don’t fully comprehend what he’s saying. Duncan has to shake you slightly to get your attention, making you whine before you turn over to pitifully glare at him.

“I was almost asleep.” You grumble, a yawn slipping out of your mouth.

“You can sleep after this,” he promises quickly. “(Y/N), I want to understand what you go through. Your life is incredibly different from mine, and at the risk of sounding conceited, I want to experience what it’s like to live ‘normally’ for a day.”

“You know that means you can’t use your black card? Or call your driver, or utilize any of your assistants, or--”

“Yes, I understand. I’m completely ready to do things for myself.” You cock an eyebrow at him, but nod nonetheless.

“Okay then.” Wanting to tease him more is quickly nullified by the fluttering of your eyelids as they forcefully drag shut, desperate for you to sleep.

Something’s off when you wake up, but you’re not sure what it is at first. Rolling your head to the side, the first thing that you notice is that your bed is empty of the man who laid there mere hours ago. The second thing you notice, and the thing that has you immediately awake and jumping out of bed, is loud cursing and the smell of something burning. Your mind is racing with all of the possible worst-case scenarios that could have led to the current predicament--faulty wiring, a charger exploding, somebody breaking into your apartment and lighting the curtains on fire (that last one is definitely a little far-fetched, but your anxiety doesn’t really care)--while you round the corner and slide into the living room.

Your fears are extinguished, but your confusion is only increased. Duncan curses between his teeth while he throws a smoking pan into your sink, flipping the water on to help quell the burning. Your nose crinkles at the scent of charred food, and you open the windows to help clear out the smell.

“What the hell did you do?” Duncan’s eyes are wide when he turns to face you, expression mirroring that of a child who just got caught with his hands full of forbidden treats.

“I thought I would try to cook breakfast, but that didn’t really go to plan.”

“Ya think?” You tease, examining the stove to see where he went wrong. “For starters, the burner’s up way too high; that barely gives you enough time to cook your food before it’s starting to char. What were you trying to make?”

“Bacon?” Duncan says sheepishly, cheeks a bright pink as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “And then it started popping and sizzling, and the grease--”

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that pops onto your face as he holds a hand in your eyesight. Sure enough, he’s got his own battle wounds from the hot grease landing on his skin. It’s minor, but grease blisters are still a pain in the ass to deal with.

“Aw, Dunc.” You coo, kissing his hand where the blister sits. Duncan hisses slightly through his teeth at the sudden coolness of your lips against his irritated skin, but he doesn’t move his hand until after you pull away with a wink. “Have you never made breakfast before?”

“No. We always had kitchen staff when I was growing up, and I don’t even eat breakfast until I get to the office now and I can make one of the interns grab me something.” He admits, averting his gaze when he mentions growing up with a kitchen staff.

“At least you wooed me with your pasta-making abilities before you attempted to make breakfast.” You reassure him, kissing him quickly. It’s easy to see that he’s genuinely trying to stick to the challenge that he imposed upon himself last night, and you don’t want to dampen his spirits before the day’s even begun. “I think I have some cereal in the cabinet, if you’re hungry? That’s one food that you can’t burn.”

You notice with delight that Duncan already started the coffee, and you eagerly fill your favorite mug up with some. Stirring some creamer in, you readily take a sip in the hopes that it will wake you up. Although it does wake you up, it’s not from the caffeine being consumed. Instead, the bitter, burnt taste has you coughing in disgust, dumping the coffee out and filling your mug up with water to wash the taste out of your mouth. Glancing over at the table, Duncan smiles awkwardly at you, a mouth full of cereal.

“Sorry.”

Breakfast was rougher than you had thought it would be, so you decide the next ‘task’ for Duncan will be something much easier: laundry. Duncan had blanched when you told him to cancel his laundry service for this week, but he wasn’t going to back down when it came to showing you that he was more than capable of doing things for himself.

“You have this nice laundry room that you don’t even use?” Glancing around the spacious laundry room, that’s arguably the size of your bedroom, you’re shocked.

“No, it’s just easier to get it sent out.”

“It may be more convenient, but it’s also a lot more expensive than doing your own laundry.”

You sit on top of the dryer, waiting for Duncan to return with his laundry basket. You’re still mildly befuddled that you didn’t know this laundry room was a part of Duncan’s penthouse apartment, but it’s a very large place, and it’s very easy to get distracted when your sexy boyfriend makes it his mission to fuck you on every available surface of the capacious apartment. You were even nice enough to bring your own laundry detergent and dryer sheets; it wasn’t necessary to ask if he had the supplies to do his own laundry when you already knew the answer.

Finally he returns, pushing the sleeves of his black cashmere sweater up to his elbows after he sets the basket down. You’re momentarily distracted at the ripple of his muscles before looking away in the hopes that he didn’t notice, but the smirk that paints his face makes it obvious that he’s noticed. He always does. Holding out a large hand towards you, he effortlessly helps you off of the dryer.

“So where do we start?”

“Where do you start?” You correct, snickering at the panicked expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Laundry really isn’t that difficult, Duncan. Surely you did your laundry in college?” The guilty look on his face makes you groan loudly. “Really, Dunc?”

“Look, everybody I knew in college had their laundry sent out--”

“All senators’ sons and the heirs of influential families?” You barely pause, knowing what he’s going to say. “Look, I’ll help you with the first load, but after that you’re on your own.”

“Thank you.” He says brightly, kissing your forehead before dumping all of his clothes into the washer.

“Uh, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you gonna separate those?” He turns around, face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Like, one load for shirts and one load for pants?” You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Not...exactly. More like one load for all your lights and one load for all your darks.”

“Why?”

“So that way, the colors don’t bleed and turn your clothes different colors. Here,” grabbing the first item you see that isn’t black, you turn and hold up his light blue dress sock, “what pile would this go in?”

“The...da--lights?” He guesses, grinning when you nod.

“Yeah, exactly! It’s not as difficult as you think it will be; the lighter colors and whites go in one load, and then your darks go in another. Considering the majority of your wardrobe is black, I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“I think I’ve got it?” Duncan says hesitantly.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I want to do this myself, I want to prove to you than I can do this.” He’s so eager that it makes your heart twist painfully, but you nod and caress his cheek.

“Alright. Just yell for me if you need me, okay?” He nods, playfully slapping your ass as you turn to leave.

The experience of Duncan doing his laundry seems to go much easier than making breakfast, and eventually the sound of the machines doing their job and Duncan humming has you dozing on his couch. You’re barely propped up on your hand, only keeping yourself awake by your head dropping and startling you back awake momentarily. You’re half-tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and take a nap, since it really does seem like Duncan’s got the hang of this laundry thing. Of course, the second you actually do let your head drop back against the cushions, Duncan’s loud “shit!” has you jolting up off of the couch.

“What happened, did you set the laundry room on fire?” You’re having visions of Duncan managing to set anything and everything on fire; maybe his family had an actual reason for never teaching him how to do things for himself, maybe it’s because he’s a walking matchstick.

“No, worse.” He says sadly. You hustle into the laundry room, stopping in the doorway when you see the dejected look on his face.

“Oh no.” You try to look as sympathetic as possible, but it’s hard when Duncan’s sadly holding up a baby pink button down shirt.

“I could have sworn I separated all of the whites, but I guess this was stuck to something?”

“Dunc, what do you even own that’s red?”

“My red Gucci blazer that I got a month ago.” He groans.

“Baby, it’s okay.” You soothe, taking the shirt from him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“This has happened to you before?” He asks brightly, pleased that you’ve also experienced the same thing.

“Well, no…but I have friends who have had this happen to them!” Duncan sighs, clenching his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “Hey, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t even manage to do the laundry right.” Slipping past him, you glance inside the washer to look at the other clothes.

“Look, that shirt’s the only casualty! I’d say that you did pretty good.”

“Really?” He doesn’t believe you, but you’re determined to get rid of that heartbroken look on his face.

“Yes. Drying’s the easy part, we just hang up all your shirts and dress slacks to dry, and then we can use the dryer for everything else.”

You start sorting through the washed clothes, throwing the ones that need to be hung up on top of the dryer. Duncan goes to work at hanging those up on hangers, while you set the dryer to the needed settings. Looking at the man in front of you after you’ve finished, you’re struck by this moment of sudden domesticity. You’ve never really seen Duncan do chores before, and the quiet, comforting silence of working together to finish laundry is odd. Nice, but definitely odd.

“So? Ready to call it a day?” You ask once Duncan’s finished.

“No. I told you I was going to make it through a whole day, and I’m not backing out now.” It’s only noon, and at the rate things are going you’re a little worried that living life in the ‘middle class’ is going to absolutely wreck him by the end of the day.

“You sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. What’s next in a normal day for you?”

“Hmm, what sounds scarier to you: going to the grocery store or washing a car?”

“Neither of those are scary, (Y/N).” You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I know that, but which one strikes the fear of God into your soul at the mere thought?” Duncan’s entirely unamused, but plays along anyways.

“I guess washing a car?”

“Alright then, we’ll wash the car before we go to get groceries.” Duncan just barely bites back a whine, resolving to stay strong like he’s intended.

“Why is washing the car a big deal? We’re just going through the automatic one, right?” Duncan asks once you’re both safely in your beloved car and driving towards your destination.

“We could go through the automatic one,” you chuckle, “but considering I don’t get paid until next week and we’re making this as realistic as possible, I’m going to pay the four dollars for the manual wash and we can wash it ourselves.”

“You’ve washed your own car before?” Duncan’s legitimately aghast at this admission, the mere idea of such an act of labor incomprehensible.

“Why is this more surprising to you than when you learned I could change my own oil?”

“Huh...I don’t know, actually. Maybe the knowledge that I have to help out with this particular task?”

You pull into the empty car wash stall, pulling four dollars from your center console and handing it to Duncan.

“Here, go put that in the machine for me, please?” You smile widely, pecking his lips when he takes the money from you and opens the door.

Hopping out of the car, you grab the rubber floor mats and prop them up against the wall before meandering over to Duncan, who’s carefully reading the instructions on the machine.

“Ready? Once you put the cash in, the timer starts.” You grab the spray wand from its docking station.

Duncan feeds the bills into the machine, which beeps at him to let him know that the time has started. He tentatively takes the spray wand from you, and you press the ‘wash’ button on the machine.

“Just make sure to not stand too close to the car, or else the water pressure could damage the paint.” You remind him. Experimentally pressing the trigger, Duncan jumps at the sudden spray of water that douses your car.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He looks to you to make sure he hasn’t screwed this up.

“No, you’re fine! Keep going.” You encourage him.

It takes him a little bit to get the hang of it, but soon he’s spraying the car like he’s done this a million times before.

“What next?” He asks, watching while you press the ‘soap’ button.

“Now it’s the soap. Just do the same thing that you just did.” Duncan’s face lights up at the stream of bubbles appearing on the end of the wand, quickly maneuvering it so that it gets on the car. “That’s good,” you call once the timer beeps for the final two minutes, “now grab the brush.”

“And scrub the car?”

“Exactly!” Duncan’s hesitant at first, and you can tell that he’s worried about scraping your car.

While Duncan works on scrubbing your car, you turn the wand back to the rinse setting and clean off your floor mats. Your quiet hums abruptly turn to a loud squeal when something cold and wet touches your hair, jumping as it drips down your back. Whipping around, you playfully gasp at the sight of Duncan with soapy hands.

“That wasn’t in your job description.”

“Neither is this.” Your grin morphs to a look of shock when Duncan swipes his hand across your nose, leaving a trail of bubbles on your face. Duncan laughs loudly when the foreign object makes you sneeze, wiping his hands on the rag he grabbed.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You ask, lunging over to grab a handful of the bubbles.

Duncan grabs at your hand in an attempt to stop you, but you’re just quick enough to lightly slap his face and paint his cheek with the suds. He growls playfully, and you laugh while you try to pull away from his grip. He wraps his strong arms around your torso, easily lifting you up in the air while you shriek. The furious kicking of your legs does nothing to stop him, and he blows one last scoop of bubbles in your face.

The battle comes to an end when Duncan lowers you back to your feet, hands still resting on your ass. He smiles down at you, wiping the remaining bubbles off of your face with a gentle touch. Once he’s certain that your face is clean, he kisses you deeply. You have to stand on your tiptoes to even comfortably reach him, his firm grip on your ass helping slightly to keep you level with him. The shrill beeping of the timer sends you both jumping apart, glancing at the angry red LED screen as it reads 00:00.

“I think I have another dollar in my car.” You mumble, fingers intertwining with his.

“No need, I have one.” Sure enough, Duncan produces a dollar from his back pocket, feeding it to the machine without taking his eyes off of you.

The car is washed without any more incidents, and you and Duncan are on your way to the grocery store.

“Wait, why aren’t we stopping at Whole Foods?” Duncan’s euphoria at finally accomplishing a task today is quickly replaced with confusion as you pass by the chic building with its iconic green lettering.

“I already told you that I don’t get paid until next week, and even if I did get paid today, Whole Foods is the sort of place I only shop at when I get my tax refund.”

“So, where are we going?” You wish you had your phone camera out so that you could capture the look of absolute horror on Duncan’s face when you tell him.

“Walmart.”

There’s a reason you’ve been saving grocery shopping for the final activity of the day. Although these other tasks have been challenging for Duncan, you feel like this one will be the most eye opening. He’s never had to budget for food like you have to every week, deciding which staples are more important depending on what’s the lowest price. He doesn’t get the struggle of only having thirty bucks to buy enough groceries to last you two weeks, and he’s certainly never had to buy the generic brand of anything. This isn’t so that he can pity you; instead, it’s so that he can truly see what the people he treats like garbage have to go through. The baristas who depend on tips to buy their food, the homeless woman who can get fresh fruits for her kids with the money that you give her, even the canned goods that you buy from here so that you can donate to the food drive in his building.

Duncan holds onto you tightly as you enter the supermarket, eyes darting around as he takes in this uncharted territory. For you, this place is all-too-familiar, but Duncan’s experiencing a Walmart for the first time.

“Why are there so many screaming kids here?” He whispers in your ear.

“Just a hallmark of any Walmart, I guess.” You pull your grocery list up on your phone, mentally plotting out what aisles you’ll hit first. “Okay, I need eggs, juice, rice, pasta, breakfast foods, almond milk, bread, and peanut butter. Maybe some fruit and vegetables, too?”

“‘Maybe?’ Are the ones you like not in season?” You turn red, picking at your fingernail to avoid looking at him.

“No, sometimes they’re too expensive and I can’t afford to buy them.” You mutter quickly. For some reason, you didn’t think that the issue of money would be brought up while you were buying groceries; willful ignorance, on your part.

“Oh.” Duncan says, as though he hadn’t quite realized that sometimes people have to forego certain things in order to make ends meet. Maybe he didn’t realize that until now, you muse; it’s not as if his childhood nannies did the Shepherd family grocery shopping here.

“Let’s just go.” You try to change the subject, swinging the cart around to go down the aisles.

“Does that happen a lot?” Duncan asks as you begin to walk down the first aisle.

“Does what happen a lot?”

“You not being able to buy groceries?”

“Oh, it’s not that I can’t buy any groceries, but I like to have some leftover money in case of emergencies and so that I have some to give to Marta.”

“Marta?” Duncan asks.

“The ‘homeless’ woman that sits outside my building, the one you’re convinced is conning me? She sits there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while she works odd jobs the other days of the week until she gets a call back for a job interview. Her kids are in school during the day, and they don’t know that they’re on the verge of homelessness. I try to give Marta at least ten bucks a week, that way she can make it to the Dollar Store and get some food for her and the kids.”

“Really?” His voice comes out quietly, and you have to lean closer to hear.

“Of course. There’s good, honest people like Marta who have just fallen on some hard times, and I want to be able to help those people in any way I can. Being charitable isn’t a negative trait.” Duncan’s silent, mulling over what you’ve just told him.

“But you still have to limit yourself to do that?” He finally questions.

“No, it’s just that I have to sometimes skip a couple of items so that I can buy the essentials.”

“What are the essentials?”

“Stuff that I can make multiple meals out of. Bread is a big one,” you grab a loaf of bread from the shelf and toss it into the cart, “I can make sandwiches, french toast, garlic bread, and I can make breadcrumbs to top almost anything.”

“And rice and pasta?”

“Again, I can make almost anything using that as a staple. Chicken fried rice, casseroles, any type of crockpot meal. With the variety of noodles that there are, I could make a different meal every day of the week using just one box. You start with your staple foods, the foods that you know are the most important, and then you go from there.”

Duncan listens intently as you explain the intricacies of grocery shopping on a budget, hand resting on top of yours as he pushes the cart along with you. He watches while you look at the shelves, barely checking to look at the prices before throwing the generic brand of pasta into your cart.

“Why’d you pick that one?”

“Because it’s cheaper.” You explain simply, as if this is the easiest thing in the world to understand.

“But why is it cheaper compared to the other ones?”

“The other ones have name brands on them. Stores will often increase their profits by producing their own generic lines of products that they sell cheaper than everything else.”

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” He says suddenly, turning on his heel and walking out of the aisle. You’re a little confused, but brush it off as a phone call from one of his employees that he has to take before continuing on your way.

Duncan doesn’t come back for another ten minutes, and by then you’re nearly done with your shopping. You shouldn’t be getting worried over him, considering he’s a grown man, but the sheer size and dizzying labyrinth of shelves that make up a Walmart would disorient even the most skilled store-prowler. Right when you’re starting to mentally debate about whether or not you need to call him, his deep voice gets your attention. You snap your eyes up to see him carrying a blue shopping basket, loaded to the brim with food items.

“Think this will be enough for Marta and her kids?” You stare at him, lips parted as you try to think of something, anything, to say.

“You--you got all this for them?” Duncan nods, his full bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes seek yours.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be a nice thing to do.” You laugh in disbelief, nodding slightly.

“It’s definitely a nice thing to do. But...why?”

“If there’s one thing that today’s taught me, it’s that I really am an ‘entitled motherfucker.’” He references the words that you had thrown at him in anger yesterday. “I don’t want to be like that anymore, not when there’s people like you going without certain things just so that they can make someone else’s day a little better.”

You can’t think of any proper response to that, so you just lean up and kiss him.

“You, Duncan Shepherd, can be extremely sweet when you want to be.”

“You make me want to be ‘sweet.’” He mutters against your lips. “Oh! Look what I got for you!”

“Duncan!” Your face lights up when he pulls out a couple of cartons of fruit, making him grin widely. “You have most certainly redeemed yourself.”

“Enough for you to make some of that chicken fried rice you were talking about earlier?” He asks hopefully.

“I think that’s a fair trade.”

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe@let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774@queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58@dolceandchalamet @dandycandy75 @alexcornerthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @wroteclassicaly @langdonsdemon @trelaney @rocketgirl2410 @starwlkers @hexqueensupreme @divinelangdon

#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd imagines #house of cards #house of cards imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

[sachigram]

Hearts like Ours chapter 9

((click here to read on ao3!!!!))

Izaya has a list of odd habits Shizuo is starting to notice. It's impossible not to, since Shizuo insists on being in Izaya's space more often than not, but Izaya seems to take people knowing him so personally, like it's something foul and rude. Shizuo wonders a lot why Izaya is the way he is. That, at least, is something from high school that hasn't changed between them.

Izaya cares a lot about his appearance. It's funny, actually, that someone who belittles others for such flippant things probably cares more than anyone else. Izaya has a skincare routine that has at least ten steps. Shizuo never remembers to count them all, but Izaya's skin always smells like different things. Izaya also seems to have an obsession with his nails. He always mentions getting a manicure, but Shizuo doesn't really notice a difference in Izaya's nails. He just notices Izaya picking at them a lot.

“Don't you have a scale?” Izaya asks the day after Shizuo forcefully held him all night to make him sleep.

“No,” Shizuo says.

Izaya gives him an incredulous look, and then disappears into Shizuo's bathroom for a long time. He comes out looking perfect as always, but he looks unhappy about something. Shizuo knows better than to ask, since Izaya seems to just like to blurt out things on his own terms. Shizuo is in the middle of brushing his teeth when Izaya finally voices his thoughts.

“Your place is so basic. You don't have anything to groom yourself! Not even tweezers. How does someone like you even keep up with bleaching his hair?”

“It's easy. Roots show, go to the salon. It's not hard,” Shizuo says after he spits into the sink.

“But what salon do you go to? How do you afford it? It's not cheap. And you don't make jack shit, I already know how much you make,” Izaya says flippantly.

“Wha— Shitty flea! Don't snoop into my stuff!” Shizuo growls in vain. He knows Izaya already knows most of what there is to know about him.

Izaya hums and crosses his arms while he looks up at Shizuo inquisitively. Always thinking, that's two words Shizuo would use to best describe Izaya.

“Why don't I take you to my salon?” Izaya finally asks. There's a gleam in his eye Shizuo doesn't trust. Old habits die hard.

“No.”

Izaya pouts. “Oh come on. You aren't doing anything better, and you're going to follow me even if I go, right? So you might as well agree with me now.”

“Why do you care how I look?” Shizuo asks. Izaya rolls his eyes.

“I don't. It'll be fun just to watch you try to fit in with the other patrons. Also, it might be good for you to learn some proper grooming habits, lest your beastly facial hair consume your entire body.”

Shizuo rubs a quick inconspicuous hand over his chin to make sure he doesn't have stubble growing in. He doesn't. Izaya is grinning at him smugly when Shizuo returns to glaring at him.

“Don't you have something better to do today than to give me a makeover?” Shizuo huffs.

“Nope! I'm all yours for the day, Shizu-chan, isn't that exciting?”

“It's annoying. You're annoying.”

“And yet, you insist on being around me anyway. Perhaps you're a masochist. It would explain a few things.” Izaya turns on his heel and goes to grab his coat.

“Maybe I'll just stay here,” Shizuo says, but Izaya is already going out the door.

“That's fine. I've got no problems going alone. See ya!”

Shizuo waits a full ten seconds before following after him.

“Goddammit,” he mutters as he locks the door behind him.

***

The place Izaya drags him to is swanky and reminds Shizuo of the embodiment of a higher tax bracket. It's filled with women, some in chairs getting their hair done, others on the opposite side, getting their nails or toes done. The smell of acetone, bleach, and shellac burns at Shizuo's nostrils, but he has to admit, this is definitely nicer than the little hole in the wall he usually frequents every few months for touch-ups.

“Izaya-san!” A woman with wild red hair motions them over. Shizuo follows behind Izaya, who greets the woman like an old friend.

“Jeni, how are you?” Izaya asks, taking her hands in his and smiling in a way that makes Shizuo want to walk quickly in the opposite direction. He rarely sees Izaya being genuinely nice to people. It's weird.

“I've been great! Business is booming, as you can see.” Her curious eyes land on Shizuo. “You brought a friend?”

“More like a rescue,” Izaya says. “He doesn't even have tweezers, Jen.” Izaya takes his hands back and motion to Shizuo, then makes a face that the woman laughs at. “I'm hoping to shower him in my wisdom and have him actually retain at least a third of it. He's very stupid, you see.”

“I-za-yaaaaaa...” Shizuo growls menacingly.

“Well, this is something else!” Jeni laughs and then smiles warmly at Shizuo. “I don't see the great Orihara Izaya in forever, and when I do see him again, he actually brings in someone else.”

“Oh, make no mistake. I'll be getting my nails done while I'm here,” Izaya assures her. “Only if you're free, though. I don't want anyone else touching me.”

“Of course,” Jeni says flippantly. “I know how peculiar you are.”

They end up waiting a while. Izaya didn't call to make an appointment, and the salon is really very busy. Shizuo sits beside Izaya in cushy chairs, frowning as Izaya opens a fashion magazine. Izaya crosses his legs and seems completely content, and Shizuo has only sat for about five minutes before he can't stand it anymore.

“Oi.”

Izaya glances at him, closes the magazine, and offers his attention with only a hint of underlying smarmy asshole lurking beneath. It still makes Shizuo's teeth clench from reflex, and he's having to pry them apart before he slips and gives Izaya what he wants, which is clearly Shizuo's aggression.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” Shizuo asks.

“I've never been thanked in such a roundabout fashion before, but I'm still happy to receive your praise, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says.

“I'm not thanking you. I don't see why we're even here. If you wanna do this namby-pamby shit, that's fine, but maybe just do it to yourself.”

“The fact you consider basic grooming as 'namby-pamby' is exactly what's wrong with the patriarchy. This is a lesson in hygiene and masculinity.” Izaya hums, and then smirks in that way of his. “Besides, you're too high-strung. I don't even know what an amoeba like you has to worry about, but I get tired of hearing you think. I can practically smell the fumes from your brain short-circuiting.”

“Yeah? And who do I have to blame for that, huh? Oh, let's see, the same guy who's been a pain in my ass since the second I met him?” Shizuo barks.

“Yes, but I don't even have an ulterior motive here. I'm not bothering you. If you want to leave, leave. The door is there, and honestly these ladies would probably be happy to not bleach your hair today. It takes a while, you know? But I am staying. I need some r&r.”

Shizuo chews his cheek, tastes blood, and then huffs. He watches with irritation as Izaya opens the magazine back up, and then in a last ditch effort to annoy him, Shizuo takes the magazine and throws it as far as he can across the salon.

“You know what I hate?” Shizuo asks when Izaya glares at him.

“Is it me? Please say it's me.”

“I hate the way you do things. How hard is it to say 'hey you've been stressed so I am taking you out today'? Is it that hard for you to admit when you're doing nice things for other people? It's like you coat every action in bullshit and then expect everyone to get it.”

“I don't know what you mean, as usual. You're here because you refuse to leave me alone. I'm here because I want to be. Thinking I'm doing any of this for you is incorrect, but if you want to see it that way, I can't stop you.” Izaya glances wistfully at his nails. “I really do just want to be pampered by beautiful ladies. Surely you can relate.”

Shizuo can't, actually. The woman who usually bleaches his hair could probably give Simon a run for his money as far as muscles go, and she wrenches at Shizuo's hair with a Godzilla grip so tight it's a miracle he has hair left to bleach. Sometimes Shizuo considers going back to his natural hair color, but he doesn't want to get confused for Kasuka. People only ever say he looks like Kasuka after getting close to him, but from a distance, with his golden hair, it's easier to differentiate.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Shizuo says. “Thanks anyway.”

Izaya blinks, and then the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “You're welcome.”

Izaya is called first, and he chats it up with Jeni, who seems so immersed in her work it's a wonder she can carry a conversation. Shizuo is collected by another pretty woman, who comes to escort him to her chair, and wants to know how Shizuo usually gets his hair done.

Shizuo doesn't have any answers other than the obvious one, and the girl's smile remains a patient one, and she's more than happy to take the reigns. Izaya wanders over a little while later, and takes a seat on the arm of Shizuo's chair.

“You look like one of those conspiracy theorists who wrap their head in foil to stop the aliens from reading their thoughts.”

“Yeah, this is taking forever,” Shizuo says.

“It's supposed to.”

“I do this all the time. Swear it's taking longer than usual.”

Izaya rolls his eyes, and then lifts his hand to take a piece of Shizuo's foiled hair between his fingers.

“It's being done right. Learn some patience, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo considers this, and also considers his life at this point, which is definitely more bizarre than he ever could've imagined. He's in a beauty salon with Izaya Orihara, and they're behaving like old friends rather than two people who have tried to kill each other more than once.

He wants to voice these things and talk them out, but it's pointless. He can't articulate, and even if he could, Izaya is a human blender who mixes up the words and jumbles them into something else so it's insulting even when it wasn't originally. Izaya isn't ready to hear things that Shizuo wants to say. Still, Shizuo wants to say them.

“How do you know that chick anyway?” Shizuo asks, his eyes on Jeni.

“She works at the strip club Shiki frequents. She came to me for a job once.”

“What kind of job?”

“Ah, ah, Shizu-chan, what have I said about asking me about work? Don't. I'll never say anything you like.”

Shizuo wants to see Izaya's face but can't, mainly because Izaya is perched at his side and looking away, but also because Izaya rarely looks right at him anymore.

“Sorry, Orihara-san, but we have to rinse the bleach out now!” The peppy girl appears at Shizuo's other side and whisks him away to the sink, but Izaya is still perched on the chair arm when Shizuo comes back, though he's looking at his phone. He looks up at Shizuo finally and nods.

“Much better. Your roots were really bothering me.”

“Yeah, no shit. You only mentioned them all the time.”

“It had to be mentioned. Otherwise you would've kept thinking you looked fine, which you didn't.” Izaya goes with the girl and Jeni to pay the bill, which Shizuo doesn't even want to look at. Sometimes he feels bad about how little money he makes, but then he remembers it's not from lack of trying, and Izaya is the one who kept getting him fired, so then he just usually ends up angry about it.

“Your nails look the same,” Shizuo says bitingly when Izaya returns. Sometimes, most of the time, Shizuo can't help needling at Izaya, because he still thinks Izaya deserves it.

“You're lying,” Izaya says, clearly unconcerned. “If you're going to insult me, you should mean it.”

“I do mean it!”

“Please, Shizu-chan. You can't lie to me, and trying is pointless.” Izaya has his phone out again. “Shinra is adamant, and I'm tired of dealing with him. Don't you have your phone? He's trying to talk to you through me, and it's insulting.”

“Oh, no, I left it. Not working today, and you're here, so I don't need it.” Shizuo wishes now he'd sat still to have his hair dried, because it's cold and windy, but he's also just so happy to be out of that salon. Fair trade, he decides.

“How pathetically simple.”

“What does he want now?” Shizuo asks.

“Our presence. He's having a New Year's gathering.”

“I hate gatherings.”

“We can agree on that. Also, I'm not a fan of anything relating to the new year, though I do love watching people get so worked up about it. There's a certain thrill in the air when people convince themselves they can change everything in their lives in one night.”

Izaya has that manic gleam, and Shizuo tries not to be bothered by it.

“It's not even Christmas yet,” Shizuo says.

“It's almost Christmas, and Shinra always gets up in arms about the holidays. He uses them as an excuse to be even more obnoxious.” Izaya tucks his phone away.

“Do you celebrate the holidays?” Shizuo asks, feeling stupid because he's sure Izaya will be a condescending prick about it. Shizuo loves the holidays. Or at least, he loves what they represent.

“Not usually. My sisters sometimes invite themselves over, but we don't have a tradition. I suppose you do?”

“Kasuka is always busy, and I find reasons not to go to Shinra's. But yeah, I like Christmas. And New Year's. It's fun to do different shit.”

“Shinra would probably shit himself if we showed up to his gathering then. I never go either.” Izaya pauses. “I haven't been invited the last couple years, actually. But that's understandable.”

Shizuo can tell from Izaya's tone that Izaya doesn't find it understandable in the least, but surely some part of Izaya does understand just how intolerable he was for a while there. Shizuo understand how intolerable he was, so consumed by hatred. He and Izaya certainly used to bring out the worst in each other.

“So, let's go together,” Shizuo says. Izaya looks up at him like his head is on fire.

“Why, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, a grin forming on his face, “are you asking me out?”

Shizuo frowns. He shrugs. “Sure. Yeah, I am. Let's go.”

“In that case, it's a definite no,” Izaya says, going back to walking. Shizuo growls and wraps a hand in Izaya's hood, pulling him back forcefully. Izaya glares hatefully up at him, his hand in his pocket, probably holding a knife handle.

“What's wrong, flea? Scared of a crowd?” Shizuo baits. He can see Izaya not wanting to rise to it, but Izaya's eyes darken at the challenge.

“Of course not. But going with you—“

“So then we're going. Or I'll drag you there myself.”

Izaya's eyes narrow further, and then he huffs, looking away. He kicks his legs out, and it's only then that Shizuo notices he's lifted Izaya off the ground a bit. Izaya really does weigh nothing.

“You're the worst. I hate you.” Izaya straightens as his feet land safely on the ground, and then he turns his back on Shizuo again, resuming his walk. Shizuo follows, of course, noting that Izaya never said it wasn't a real date they're going on.

***

Christmas comes and goes. Neither of them acknowledge it. Shizuo meets up with Celty in the park to exchange gifts, but otherwise life remains the same. Izaya gets himself some swanky hotel room and Shizuo is given the privilege of having his own key, though Izaya maintains it's only because Shizuo would break down the door otherwise.

He's sitting on a bench with Celty, smoking a cigarette as she fawns over her alien stuffed toy Shizuo gifted her with. Finally she turns to him, her PDA already lifted.

How are things with Izaya?

Shizuo blows out some smoke. “Fine.”

Her helmet turns to the side. Define “fine”.

“We don't fight as much. But we sill fight a lot.” Shizuo shrugs. “I don't think we'll ever really not fight. But he's not so bad.”

Celty's shoulders shake with silent laughter. Wow. I never thought I'd see this day. You and Izaya. Who would've thought?

Shizuo smiles. “I used to think if I'd given him the time of day back in school, things would've been different. If maybe we'd have been friends. He was always around people though, and it pissed me off because I thought I couldn't be. And now I see he was around them, but he wasn't part of them. Izaya has no idea how to be with anyone. I think we could've helped each other there.” Shizuo takes another puff of his cigarette. “But maybe I'm overthinking it. Things probably wouldn't have changed much.”

Celty takes a moment to respond. You've grown so patient. It's wonderful to see, Shizuo. I'm glad you and Izaya have worked things out. You've even made him more tolerable. I'm happy for you.

Shizuo laughs. “He isn't more tolerable. He's the worst guy I know. Don't put those expectations on me.”

The next message on Celty's PDA has him choking on smoke.

Do you love Izaya?

He coughs, accidentally crushing his cigarette and splintering some of the wood of the bench in the process. He looks at Celty with watering eyes. “Celty—what the fuck, don't ask me that!”

It's funny that even without a head, he can see her expression perfectly. She's pouting at him, it's clear to see.

I think it's okay you love him. I was worried about you for a while. But then Shinra said you two were the only ones who could handle each other, and I thought about how right that sounds.

Shizuo grinds his teeth together. “I never said I love him!”

But you do.

Shizuo stands and brushes the ashes off his pants, hating where this conversation has gone. This isn't how any conversation should go.

“I'll see you later. Gotta get back to work.”

Her hand catches his wrist.

Are you coming over New Year's Eve? It would mean a lot to Shinra and me!

“Yeah,” he says.

Is Izaya?

He chews at his cheek. “Yes.”

She lets him go, looking entirely smug, and never has Shizuo so badly wanted to throw a bench in his life. He hurries away and tries not to think about what she said.

He fails miserably.

By the time New Year's Eve rolls around, Shizuo feels anxious in a way he never has before. He's never had to worry about things like this. No one has ever wanted to date or be around him. He has an awful reputation, which he built himself to keep people away, but somehow he still ended up in this position with Izaya, who is very vocal about not wanting to be around Shizuo either.

But Izaya is the only person who really ever stayed.

“This is so stupid,” Izaya says for probably the tenth time in an hour. “Why did you agree to this? Why did you insist I go? I already suffered one gathering with these people.”

“You were gone a long time,” Shizuo says, pulling on one of the sweaters he brought to Izaya's hotel room. Izaya's apartment will be ready in the morning actually, but Shizuo has already gotten used to this huge hotel. Still, the TV can't compare to Izaya's. Neither can the couch.

“It's not like I was missed,” Izaya says. “They only want me to come because they know you won't go without me.”

It's actually funny how mad Izaya is getting about this. He somehow seems more pissed than he was that night they tried to kill each other. Izaya is huffy and keeps throwing stuff around. His shirt is short sleeved because Izaya hasn't been able to find anything else to wear yet, and Shizuo is getting an eyeful of the mark on his arm.

“What are you looking at so smugly?” Izaya snaps, looking from Shizuo to his own soulmate mark. “You've seen it before. Stop looking at it like it means something!”

“You're so mad. Just pick a sweater. They're all overpriced and swanky, what does it matter which one you pick?”

“Appearances are everything in my line of work,” Izaya huffs.

“You aren't working. You're going to a party.” Shizuo crosses his arms and grins at Izaya, who scowls at him.

“I'm always working!” Izaya snaps. He finally picks a soft black sweater and pulls it on. The static dishevels his hair, and his expression is still sour.

“Cute,” Shizuo says without thinking. Izaya pauses and looks up at him, some of the anger replaced with surprise. Then he scowls again.

“Don't look so smug, you stupid beast,” he says, but his cheeks are tinted pink. Shizuo's stomach tightens, and then feels weightless somehow.

“Are you almost ready? It's been an hour of you throwing around your clothes.”

Izaya throws a pair of socks at his head in answer.

By the time they arrive at Shinra's it's after dark and freezing outside. It's already snowed a bit the last week, but the clouds are ominous overhead, promising a snowstorm soon. Shizuo loves the snow, but he doesn't want to get stuck at Shinra's. They'll have to keep an eye on the weather outside.

“You guys made it!” Shinra shouts, hurrying to them. He lunges at Izaya, capturing him in a nonnegotiable hug, which Izaya looks mortified over. Shinra releases him and turns to Shizuo.

“Don't even try,” Shizuo says, holding his hand in front of himself. Shinra laughs in that stupid way of his.

“Come on guys, it's an exciting holiday! Live a little.”

“You're more annoying than usual. Have you been drinking all day?” Izaya asks.

“I've had a bit! It's a holiday!” Shinra reiterates.

“On that note, I'll be going to where the alcohol is,” Izaya says, leaving Shizuo's side. Shizuo frowns after him.

“Remember last time!” he calls. Izaya waves him off.

“Well,” Shinra says, “if there's ever a time to drink too much, it's a holiday.”

“If you say the word 'holiday' one more goddamn time, I'm throwing you out the window.”

Thankfully, Celty comes over and saves him from a drunk Shinra, who goes back to his usual mode of clinging to Celty, barely caring at all when she shoves her fist at him.

Don't mind him. He's been cut off until further notice from drinking.

“Probably best for everyone here,” Shizuo says. Celty nods sagely while Shinra wails, somehow knowing what her screen said without even reading it.

There are a bunch of people in the apartment. Some people, like Kadota's gang, Shizuo recognizes. Others, he doesn't. But he's wary of everyone. Some of these people could know the guys going after Izaya, and Izaya is probably going to drink himself stupid again.

Speaking of, shit, Shizuo should find him.

Izaya is speaking to some guy in a suit, a glass of wine in one hand, his other hand moving through the air as he emphasizes his words.

“Everyone here is probably thinking of how different they'll be tomorrow. It's like an archaic process that still holds true and has meaning for a month or two, but then everyone gives up on the resolution and goes back to their basic habits. It's ridiculous to celebrate but somehow we get roped into it every year,” Izaya is saying.

“Is this your way of saying you don't have a resolution, Orihara-san?” Suit Guy asks.

“Of course not. True change comes from life experience and human trauma. But I do love hearing what other people are doing. How about you, Nikimura-san? Are you starting anything new tomorrow?”

“My wife signed us up for weekly pottery classes.”

“How nice. Do you have any interest in pottery?”

“No, but it makes her happy. And the deposit is non-refundable. So we'll be sticking with it.”

It's incredibly amusing to see Izaya partaking in such mundane conversations. It seems more likely that Shizuo should approach and find Izaya talking about blowing up the world or something. Then again, Shinra works with the same people Izaya does, and the suit guy has probably killed more than a few people. Shizuo decides to go get something to drink himself, because unlike Izaya, he does enjoy the spirit of letting go on a holiday. At least a little.

“Shizuo!” Simon barks at him. Simon is in the kitchen, standing by the food and drinks. “You come to party, too?”

“Wow, Shinra even roped you into this, huh?” Shizuo asks.

“I bring sushi. Sushi good for New Year.”

“You think sushi is good for everything.” Shizuo decides on some of the fruity looking punch he finds. It's sickeningly sweet. He's sure it's filled to the brim with alcohol, too. Who makes stuff like this?

“Shizu-chan!” Erika calls, bounding over to him. “You're drinking our punch!”

Of course.

“What's in this shit?” he asks.

“Stuff,” Erika says, grinning deviously. “It's a tipsy punch.”

“It's full of bad decisions,” Walker says, joining them.

“I'm not drinking this,” Shizuo decides.

“Good, your teeth will fall out,” Izaya says, suddenly beside Shizuo. “Why not drink something nice? Then again, your alcohol tolerance is through the roof. I don't suppose anyone brought straight vodka, did they?”

“Shut up, I can drink what I want.” Shizuo sees beer, doesn't want it. He grabs some of the same wine Izaya has. It doesn't taste good, but it'll shut Izaya up for a moment. He can nurse this all night and keep an eye on Izaya, who has a flea-sized alcohol tolerance.

Izaya smirks at him, and Shizuo is reminded again of the last time they drank together, and how Izaya wound up sick and miserable.

“Relax,” Izaya says, seemingly reading Shizuo's mind. “I won't overdo it.”

“Good. Don't.”

“So, are you guys fucking yet?” Erika asks loudly, drawing stares from everyone around them. Shizuo spits out some wine. Walker slinks quietly from the room. Izaya gives her a placid stare.

“Yes,” Izaya says. “Shizuo is a power bottom.”

“What?!” Erika shouts, looking at Shizuo with glee. Shizuo glares at Izaya, who looks pleased with himself.

“What's that even mean?!” he barks.

“Erika, really, clearly he's a virgin. I don't know what you want from me,” Izaya says, motioning to Shizuo.

“I can give you some pointers...” Erika starts, and Shizuo stomps over to Izaya, picks him up with one arm, and carries him to the other side of the apartment.

Throughout the course of the night, Shinra somehow gets even drunker despite being “cut off”, and at some point he starts playing music on the stereo, some fast, techno music. He dances, and no one really joins him, but clearly no one is as drunk as he is either.

“This reminds me of high school,” Izaya says into Shizuo's ear. He has to get close to be heard over the music, and Shizuo thrills at the feeling of Izaya's breath against his skin, feels goosebumps.

“Why?” he asks.

“Shinra and I have drank together before. He came over to my place because my parents were never home and of course I knew how to get alcohol. He said Celty would never forgive him for underage drinking so he stayed the night.” There's a gleam of joy in Izaya's eyes. “He got wasted, danced, and threw up the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like you, minus the dancing,” Shizuo says. Izaya pouts at him.

“I rarely drink that much!” Izaya defends. “Clearly I overdid it last time, but here I am, on my second glass of wine, completely fine!”

“Did you dance with Shinra? Back then?” Shizuo asks, trying to picture it. He never really hung out with the two of them together. Each and every time he got near Izaya, they would start their usual shit despite Shinra's wailing.

Izaya smiles widely.

“Yes,” he says. “Does that make you jealous?”

Shizuo grumbles. “Yes.”

“Well then,” Izaya says, downing the rest of his glass in one gulp. Shizuo tries too late to take it from him. “You're about to get really jealous.”

When Izaya crosses the room to Shinra, Shizuo at first can't believe what he's seeing. But then, Izaya has always been good at pretending to not care what other people think. At the end of the day, he's always posturing, but for now maybe, with wine coursing through him, he really might not give a fuck. Shinra makes a gleeful noise and the two of them drunkenly sway together to the cheers of the crowd. Celty is shaking her head, helmet gleaming in the apartment lighting. Shizuo is jealous, but he's also glad to see Izaya having fun. He doesn't notice Kadota by him until Kadota speaks.

“Man. You've got it bad.”

“What?” Shizuo asks, turning from Izaya's laughing face to Kadota.

“When Shinra told us you were Izaya's soulmate, we all didn't really know what to make of it. But clearly it's working out. You're good for each other.” Kadota takes a swig of beer and nudges Shizuo, who feels extremely warm.

Maybe he is tipsy. He forgets how much he's had at this point, has been too focused on making sure Izaya hasn't had too much.

“Shut the fuck up, Kadota,” Shizuo grumbles, but of course Kadota isn't bothered by it at all.

“Are you having The Talk with Shizu-chan?” Erika suddenly shouts, coming over and draping herself over Kadota's back. Togusa is with her, who waves at Shizuo.

“Yeah,” Kadota says.

“I tried to, but he ran from me!”

“Probably because you made it nasty,” Togusa says.

“I don't need a talk!” Shizuo snaps. “Get away from me!”

Celty appears like an angelic vision and shoves her PDA in Kadota's face, who shrugs. She turns to Shizuo and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Don't listen to them. You can make move on Izaya in your own time!

“Is everyone here drunk but me?!” Shizuo shouts, wondering how the hell Celty even could be without a head. “Shut up about me and Izaya!”

“Are we torturing Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, joining them as Shinra basically tackles Celty, begging her to dance. He holds his hand out and Erika hands him another glass of wine. Shizuo growls at her.

“No one's trying to,” Kadota says.

“I am.” Izaya grins deviously and pulls Shizuo to him, who goes willingly, albeit confusedly. “You're going to dance with me.”

“You're drunk,” Shizuo accuses, but he still holds onto Izaya, who is swaying in his grasp.

“Guilty,” Izaya agrees. “But I'm not wasted. That's about all you can hope for.”

“It is a holiday,” Shizuo says, and Izaya smiles up at him in such an unguarded way and Shizuo can only think of how beautiful Izaya is like this, and like always, even when he's being a pain in the ass. Other people are dancing now too, though Shizuo doesn't notice anyone else really. He can't look away from Izaya, who seems to really enjoy the attention.

The party winds down later after people start filing out due to increasing snowfall outside. Celty invites them to stay the night, which they both turn down. Izaya is definitely verging on wasted by this point, and so is Shizuo for that matter, who had to drink twice as much just to match Izaya. Shinra hugs them both, weeping big tears, saying they're all going to dance at his and Celty's wedding.

Izaya arranges a cab for them and they stumble outside together, Shizuo drunkenly holding Izaya upright, though Izaya is draped over him for the most part. It's even colder than before somehow, and the snow is drizzling on them threateningly, telling them to get home soon or else. Izaya's cheeks are red from the cold, and he still just looks so happy. Shizuo's mind is a hazy fog and he finds he's forgotten half the night but he doesn't think he'll ever forget this, Izaya looking up at him through glazed eyes, windswept and gorgeous. Shizuo touches his cheek and leans down, capturing Izaya's lips in a kiss.

Izaya pulls away quickly, wide eyed and panic stricken.

“What are you doing?” he asks, though it comes out soft. “You can't do that.”

“Sorry,” Shizuo says dumbly.

“We're drunk,” Izaya says. “So it's...excusable.”

“I wanted to do it sober, too,” Shizuo says. Before Izaya can respond, their cab comes, and they get into the warm car in silence. The driver looks back at them and asks where to, and Izaya gives him the hotel address.

“Looks like you guys will barely beat this storm,” the driver says. Izaya strikes up a conversation with him but Shizuo barely listens to it, too busy thinking of Izaya's lips on his and how much he liked the feeling. And maybe it's because he's drunk and barely aware of what's going on, but when the car stops and Izaya helps drag him outside, Shizuo is confused by how they got back so fast.

“Really,” Izaya huffs, tugging at Shizuo, “you were worried about me overdoing it. You're the wasted one.”

“Sorry,” Shizuo says again.

“Whatever,” Izaya says, a sturdy anchor at his side. They reach the room and Izaya helps Shizuo reach the bed. Shizuo topples into it face-down, ready to sleep a thousand years.

“Oh,” Izaya says suddenly. Shizuo looks up at him blearily. “It's after midnight.”

“Wha...”

He finds himself cut off by Izaya's lips on his again, Izaya's weight settling beside him on the bed. Shizuo groans and lifts his hands, pulling Izaya closer, licking wetly at Izaya's lips until Izaya opens to him. It's definitely uncoordinated, but neither of them are sober. And Izaya isn't pulling away even if Shizuo is sloppy. Izaya tastes like wine and like everything Shizuo wants, and when Izaya pulls away at last, pupils fat and lips red from abuse, Shizuo decides he loves him more than anything, then and there.

“Happy New Year's, Shizu-chan.”

#shizaya #hearts like ours #drrr!! #Shizuo Heiwajima #Izaya Orihara #drrr!! fanfiction

[delta-roseblr]

It Is Here People!!!!

Delix’s first time!

Thank the snow because it gave me the day off from work and I spent it editing.

Warning: This Fic contains smut (Duh). It also contains cursing and two insecure boys. It is also long as fuck (as Felix would say)

I hope you love it and that it was worth the wait!

Why am I fucking this up? Dean wondered as he gave Felix a tour of the house. He wanted it to go well, but Felix was clearly uncomfortable (which was probably his fault), and every time he said something it felt like a jab. Dean had known this was going to be awkward, and he thought he was prepared, but he wasn’t. Instead of just dealing or maybe trying to explain his nontraditional homelife, he just got defensive and kept sounding like an asshole. He was honestly surprised that they made it to his bedroom without Felix telling him to fuck off and straight up leaving.

If there was anywhere in his house that Dean felt most like himself it was his room, but as he pushed open the door, he felt like he was walking up to the gallows. Felix was a half a step behind him and walked into the room silently. He had been quiet since noticing the recycling bin full of liquor bottles which Dean still couldn’t believe he had fucking forgot to take care of.

Dean turned and just sort of watched as Felix looked around. He examined the books stacked on Dean’s desk, looked around at the few posters and pictures Dean had hanging on the walls and ran his fingers over Dean’s comforter. Dean watched all of it feeling completely nauseous because it drove home something he had never fully realized before: Felix was completely at odds with everything else in Dean’s life. Felix was the human personification of quality. He made Dean think of reading The Great Gatsby (which he hated) because there was all that talk of the old rich vs. the new rich. Felix was like the essence of the old rich: he wasn’t flashy or over the top, but everything about Felix had a quiet sort of luxury. Seeing Felix standing there with his perfect hair and his casual clothes that all came from stores Dean didn’t have enough money to even walk into, Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it. It was like driving a Lexus through a Burger King drive-thru.

“So now you’ve seen everything…..,” Dean admitted as he pushed his hands into his pocket. Dean wanted to find the nearest Time Lord and hijack his TARDIS, so he could go back in time and stop this entire thing from ever happening.

Felix looked toward him curiously and that only made Dean feel worse. This was a horrible fucking idea, Dean thought as he looked away because it was all just too much. “I could take you home if you want,” he offered softly. He told himself not to come into this day with any expectations, and he didn’t, but he still felt disappointed as he spoke those words.

“Why would I want that?” Felix questioned, and he sounded panicked. Dean was sure he was just trying to cover his relief but then he looked up and saw Felix staring back at him wide-eyed. “I thought we were going to…..,” Felix stopped abruptly. Dean didn’t get it but suddenly he seemed unsure or insecure as he looked around the room with uncertainty. “Hang out.”

Dean got the distinct impression that “hang out” wasn’t what Felix had originally wanted to say. He couldn’t blame Felix for backtracking because now he could obviously see Dean came with a shit ton of baggage and shouldn’t be his first. Dean was disappointed sure, but he couldn’t blame Felix for that, and he wasn’t going to make him feel bad about it either. He looked down at his shoes because eye contact was just too fucking hard, “Yeah, I just-” was giving you an out, Dean thought but didn’t manage to get out.

“Dude,” Felix interrupted sharply catching Dean’s attention and forcing his eyes upward. Felix was staring back at him with fire in his eyes. “Did you really think I’d care that your poor or whatever?” Felix asked sounding absolutely offended. “Do you really think I’m that fucking shallow?”

Alright, now Dean was just confused on top of all the other emotions he was feeling. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t physically exploded from the overload of different emotions. He shook his head before starting to stumble through an apology or an explanation or something, “No, I just-”

“Dean,” Felix cut him off again with a raised hand and a dismissive shake of his head, “I come from the upper-middle-class suburbia that makes it to the cover of Home and Garden magazines, and I can fucking assure you that the problems may be different, but there are just as many, and they’re just as fucked up.” Dean found himself a little taken back because he hadn’t realized his insecurities were so obvious. Maybe it was just that Felix knew him that well, which was kind of sweet, but also left Dean feeling sort of worse about not just being honest about all of it sooner. “I could not give less of a fuck about where you’re from or what tax bracket your parents, or dad, or whatever is in,” Felix stated firmly. With that he paused, took a breath and something about him seemed to soften visibly before he continued, “What matters is that I can have a twenty-five minute argument with you about French fries which somehow turned into a contest to see who could shove the most fries in their mouth, and that you’ll play Halo with me and say Red vs. Blue quotes the entire time-”

“Well,” Dean interrupted softly because he had never been good at taking compliments, “I suck at Halo so going for the comedy relief seems like a good way to save face.”

“You don’t suck that bad, you just always want to use the energy sword,” Felix explained with a smile and a little laugh, “There are better weapons.”

Dean couldn’t have anticipated how much of a relief it would be to simply see Felix smile. He felt like he could really breathe since they had first walked into the door. It still wasn’t perfect, far from it actually, but it was better. If he could just keep Felix smiling and laughing Dean felt like he could deal with the whole thing. “Most of the Red vs. Blue quotes I know are Tucker lines so the sword kind of goes with the bit,” he explained a little teasingly. It worked because Felix laughed again, and Dean was reminded how amazing Felix’s laugh was.

“Dude, you are kind of proving my point here,” Felix stated, “You make me laugh and call me out when I’m being an asshole, but you never hold it against me.” He took a step forward closing some of the distance that seemed to exist between them. That helped too, and Dean could feel his blood pressure dropping to something more manageable by humans. “You have to be the smartest, fun, sincere person I have ever met,” Felix reached out and hooked a finger in Dean’s belt and pulled him in before he could react. Dean certainly couldn’t complain when Felix’s soft lips brushed against his own, and as an added benefit, he was sure the kissing helped mask his blushing.

It ended just as Dean felt himself giving into it. Felix pulled away and let out a content sounding hum. “Also, it doesn’t hurt that you're hot,” Felix added with a grin.

“Oh I see, the pot calling the kettle black,” Dean deflected with a good-natured laugh. He brought a hand up and rubbed at the back of his neck nervously as he asked, “So I guess your cool with hanging out here than?”

“Fuck yes,” Felix declared in that most perfectly Felix way that killed the rest of Dean’s stupid nerves in one cocky swoop. If Dean had to point to one moment to perfectly illustrate why he was so out of his mind for Felix it would probably be that moment.

And in typical Felix fashion, he took a sweet moment and turned it into something that turned Dean into knots for a whole new reason. Still smirking at Dean in that cocky way Felix did, he took a few steps backward, his eyes locked with Dean’s like a sexy challenge before hopping backward onto the bed. He bounced a little before his muscular form settled on the well-worn mattress, and he leaned back so he was propped up on his elbows.

Dean was sure that he had had fantasies about Felix that had started with him looking very much like he was at that moment except maybe a little less in the way of clothes. Felix grinned up at him which really just didn’t help Dean’s focus any as he added, “It sure as shit is better than going back to my place.”

Felix was actually in my bed, Dean marveled. He really was trying not to be a typical guy and let his mind immediately go to sex, but Felix was laying all sprawled out like the perfect picture of temptation, and it was a challenge. He swallowed hard (and hoped that Felix wouldn’t notice) before commenting, “Some privacy would be a nice change.”

Felix was on to him, Dean could tell from the wicked glint in his eyes. “It would be,” he agreed before making a definite show of patting the bed next to him, “If you’d get over here already.”

Despite relaxing substantially since Felix had walked through the door, Dean still felt a little anxious. Still, he couldn’t resist an invitation like that. He took a few cautious steps toward Felix and as soon as he was close enough Felix sat up, reached out, grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him in. The action was so surprising Dean stumbled and almost fell. He managed not to fall just barely, and before he could even attempt to regain his balance, he was on the bed.

Felix’s lips met his own and the familiarity of it brought with it a kind of ease. Whatever apprehension Dean may have still had, he gave into the moment and let the sensation of it all sweep him away.

It didn’t take long for all his anxiety to be forgotten as kissing turned into a real make-out session. Felix’s fingers were in his hair, and their legs became entangled in each other as they both tried to move closer. Dean let one hand settle on Felix’s thigh as he supported himself with the other. The warmth of Felix, his touch, his skin, his breath, all so utterly intoxicating, Dean was happy to lose himself in it.

Felix’s fingers lost their grip on Dean’s hair, fell down over his shoulders, and ran over his chest firmly before finding the hem of Dean’s shirt. As the fabric was pulled upward Dean remembered that his house wasn’t the only reason he had been nervous about the day. He didn’t stop Felix pulling his shirt off and tossing it quickly, but new anxiety stopped him from getting completely lost in Felix’s lips when they returned to his own.

The kiss was interrupted for only a few seconds before Felix was back, lips moving hungrily against Dean’s. As Felix’s hands moved over the bare skin of Dean’s chest, Dean met Felix’s hunger with his own.

Dean had marveled many times at the effect Felix had on him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced with anyone else. There wasn’t any real question around his own sexuality, and he knew he still liked girls as well, but being with Felix was just different. Dean didn’t know if it was something as simple as the solid feel of Felix because Felix was all muscle and firm touches or if it was his confidence. On the soccer field, Felix was an aggressive and confident player, and that was something that just seemed to follow Felix into anything physical. When they kissed there was no timidness. Felix always seemed to know what he wanted, and he went for it. Whatever it was, Dean often found himself so worked up from simply kissing Felix he almost ached.

It was the feel of Felix’s thick fingers gripping the waist of his jeans and working to undo the fastenings that had Dean pushing aside his base desires for the moment. He wanted it, Felix, the whole fucking nine with no limits. Dean had been fantasizing about having sex with Felix for months, and if he was being really honest, he had wanted that for a lot longer.

Just because he wanted it, didn’t mean they should. As much as Dean wanted to let it go, he still couldn’t let himself forget it was Felix’s first time. There was so much pressure that came with that, and it was such a privilege. Dean still wasn’t fully convinced he was worthy of it.

Dean couldn’t be that guy. The guy that just thought with his dick and didn’t care about anything else. He needed to know that Felix was sure before he let things go any further.

He caught Felix’s hands just as he felt the button of his jeans pop open and stopped him from doing anything more. It may not have been what Dean wanted to do, but it needed to be done, and it had at least caught Felix’s attention. He stopped and blinked up at Dean, and he didn’t say a word, but the question was written all over his face.

Dean’s tongue felt thick, and his mouth was dry, but he managed words despite that. “Do you still want to?” he questioned sincerely.

He felt like a ball of nerves and anxiety. He was sure it showed because he could barely look Felix in the eye. He wanted Felix so fucking bad. How could he not? Felix was smart and funny, not to mention incredibly sexy. Of course, he wanted to have sex with Felix, but he didn’t want Felix to feel like there was an obligation or an expectation. If it was going to happen it was going to be Felix’s first time (Ever- with anyone), and Dean didn’t want him to have any regrets.

He watched Felix’s eyes flick down to his hands still on Dean’s pants before flicking back up with confusion written across his perfect features, “Huh?”

“Um…ya know,” Dean managed to stammer out. Why he couldn’t just say the word sex, Dean didn’t understand, but he couldn’t. Felix staring back at him questioningly just made him more nervous, and he ended up looking down at his hands. It wasn’t helpful, seeing his hands on Felix’s amazing body, but he still managed to add, “With me, I mean?”

Felix remained silent for a long thoughtful moment that might as well have been an eternity for Dean before asking, “What? You mean sex?”

“Ah, yeah,” Dean answered as best he could manage. Felix asked the question so boldly while Dean struggled to say the word. Then there was the fact that he didn’t want Felix to feel pressured. “If you don’t that’s completely fine,” he added quickly. Dean was positive he was more anxious in that moment with Felix then he had been his first time.

Dean was already so anxious he thought it might literally kill him but the look that crossed Felix’s face made it ten thousand times worse. He got this look like he was thinking about it, and not in a good way. That should have been answer enough, but Dean still found himself surprised when Felix actually spoke. “Yeah, no,” Felix answered like he was saying no to three-day old cold pizza.

“Oh,” Dean exclaimed with surprise before he could stop himself. It was everything he could do not to physically pull away from Felix.

He was disappointed, but he guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Felix came from a completely different world from Dean. He had literally been given a brand-new car for his sixteenth birthday while Dean worked three jobs every summer so they could buy groceries.

Even if that wasn’t the case Dean had been such a fucking asshole since they had gotten in the car. Felix didn’t deserve that kind of bullshit, especially when he was obviously fucking trying.

Dean couldn’t help but be disappointed because as much as he had tried to control his expectations, he still wanted Felix in a very primal and animalistic way. That disappointment was his problem, and he didn’t want Felix to catch on. He had the right to say no and not feel guilty for it. It was his fucking virginity they were talking about for Christ sake.

If anything, Dean’s immediate response of disappointment filled him with shame, and it was that that had him ducking his head and looking at the little bit of bedding that laid between them. The dark green fabric was the best bedding in the house, and Dean had washed it twice before making the bed because he wanted everything to be perfect for Felix.

So much for that.

“Yeah,” he offered. It was meant to come across as a reassurance, but it sounded weak even to Dean, “Okay.”

“I mean,” Felix started, and his tone was odd. He didn’t sound apologetic or awkward, not that Dean wanted him to feel that way. He actually sounded kind of amused. It was like he was telling a joke, and Dean just wasn’t privy to the punchline. “We really can’t right now, considering.”

Dean was following Felix until the very last word and then he was lost. The confusion was enough to temporarily erase the other emotions that were clouding his mind. “Considering?” he asked.

It was the strangest thing when Felix broke out in what looked like a genuine smile. He had always had the most amazing smile. Dean found it almost hypnotic as Felix continued to talk playfully. “Considering that you’re drunk, or high, or suffering from a concussion or maybe all three,” Felix clearly joked, “Because that is the only possible explanation I can think of for why you would ask such a stupid fucking question.” Something must have read on Dean’s face, and whatever it was, it amused Felix greatly. He reached out and patted Dean’s cheek in a way that was equal parts affectionate and playful. “Dude, I’ve been trying to get you in bed for months. Of course I want to!” he exclaimed.

Dean didn’t realize he was holding his breath until that moment, and he finally felt like he could exhale. The sense of relief that washed over him was like nothing Dean had ever experienced. Felix wanted to be with him. He still wanted to be with him even though they came from completely different world, and Dean had been a complete fucking ass about it. And it was Felix so of course, he called him out on his bullshit in such a brash and confident way. It was the attitude that made people think Felix was an asshole and the honesty that Dean fucking loved. Joking about it all made it so much easier.

He reached out and gave Felix’s shoulder a light nudge. “God, you are such an ass,” he chuckled with no real heat in his words.

Felix leaned in and placed a long and thoughtful kiss on Dean’s cheek before tilting his head slightly to whispered in Dean’s ear. “And you’re a fucking tease,” he stated. How he managed to make those words drip with sex Dean had no idea, but he did.

Dean turned to defend himself, and Felix caught his lips. Just like that, they were kissing again, and it wasn’t like Felix had been reserved about it before, but there was something more to it then. There was a new level of intensity and need in it as Felix’s lips moved against his own, and he began to feel the teasing movements of Felix’s tongue. Maybe he was just trying to show Dean he was into it, which if that was the case, he was wildly successful. Or maybe he was that fucking horny which if that was the case that was the hottest thing Dean could have experienced.

Dean kissed back because how could he not. With the fear that Felix was only going along with it out of obligation put to rest, Dean gave into it without reservation. He kissed Felix back with all the desire that had been building in him for months, meeting Felix’s tongue with his own.

Dean brought a hand to Felix’s back and started teasing at the hem of his t-shirt. For someone who was always complaining about being cold, Felix’s skin was so fucking warm and inviting. Dean was pretty sure he never wanted to stop touching Felix’s warm, soft skin.

When Dean felt Felix’s hands to returned to his pants and started working his zipper down, he remembered where this was be leading. Just because he and Felix hadn’t been having full-on sex didn’t mean they hadn’t fooled around plenty. Dean had seen Felix naked (which was fucking awesome), he knew what it felt like to have Felix’s hands or lips on his dick, and he knew what it was like to touch or taste Felix. Still, there was a likelihood that that day was going to be a hell of a lot more. They could have fumbled through it, but that felt like a risk. It probably didn’t help that he could hear Nico’s words ringing in his head.

As much as he didn’t want to, Dean pulled away from Felix’s lips. “Felix we should-” he started but struggled to continue. Felix was not deterred in the slightest, so when Dean had pulled away from his lips, Felix had just moved to kiss at his neck. He knew what he was doing too which was really distracting in the most amazing way. “Oh…,” he shuttered as Felix found an especially sensitive spot just below his ear, and he felt Felix’s teeth graze that spot softly. He took a shuttered breath and reminded himself to focus before he managed to continue, “-Probably talk first.”

“Dean,” Felix spoke against his skin, “Of all the things I want to do right now talking isn’t one of them.”

Felix was back to kissing at his throat, and Dean could feel him working his hand into his pants. If Felix could actually touch him like Dean really fucking wanted him to, Dean knew his resolve would crumble.

He pulled away from Felix’s touch and shimmied up the bed a little to escape Felix’s advances. Felix caught on quickly and looked fucking annoyed which was strangely sexy. Dean pushed his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes for a few seconds to center himself before speaking or at least trying to, “So how are we….I mean, how do you want to do this?”

Was that even English, Dean groaned inwardly. Dean had never been shy about sex, and he didn’t get why he was suddenly having such a hard fucking time talking about it. Maybe it was the pressure. He wanted things to live up to Felix’s expectations which would be a challenge if he didn’t know what Felix was expecting. It would have been better if he was just direct about it, but his stomach was turning itself in knots at the possibilities, and he probably should have been grateful he managed words at all.

It was the wrong thing to ask, that quickly became clear. Felix went from looking like he wanted to pounce on Dean to looking like he wanted to shrink away and maybe hide under the bed. His once lust-filled eyes became downcast, taking a bashful sort of interest in his hands resting on the bed. Felix was quiet too long, and Dean couldn’t miss how he chewed nervously at his bottom lip. It was a nervous habit Dean knew Felix had, but it was something he rarely actually saw when they were together.

Maybe this whole thing isn’t a good idea, Dean thought, maybe Felix really isn’t really ready yet. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Dean immediately started trying to reign in his own expectations once again. He had waited this long, he could wait longer. He had no doubt Felix was worth it.

“How do you mean?” Felix finally questioned in such a soft un-Felix-like voice it was almost jarring.

Dean sucked in a long breath in hopes it would help him settle his own nerves. It didn’t, but he forced himself to answer anyway. “I mean, do you want to or-,” Dean was already stammering and then Felix looked up and there was something about the way he was staring at Dean that made it so much more difficult. He pushed his fingers through his hair and grumbled the first thing that came to mind, “God, Nico was right about this being awkward to talk about.”

He had said it under his breath or at least he thought he had. He could remember how he had thought Nico was exaggerating or that that particular experience wouldn’t be anything like that for him and Felix. It was just sex after all. What was so hard to talk about? Maybe that was part of the problem, Dean was starting to realize this wasn’t just sex. It was never going to be just sex with Felix.

Felix must have heard the thoughtless comment or at least enough of it to have questions. “What?” he asked sounding a little alarmed.

“Nothing, not important,” Dean quickly dismissed. Felix had been pretty fucking clear he didn’t want anyone knowing about him being a virgin, so there was no way he would have been cool with Dean calling Nico for advice. He hadn’t been trying to betray Felix’s confidence, and it wasn’t like he had been asking for a how-to guide for gay sex, it had just been the pressure of the whole thing that Felix’s virginity added. Nico had really been helpful, but he doubted Felix would care about that. All that he would hear was that Dean had talked about it with someone after he had specifically asked him not to. Dean had screwed things up enough for one day.

“I’ll-,” Dean started and was surprised when his own anxiety caused him to stumble. He took one long, controlled breath before trying again. “I’ll catch if you want,” he stated. He had hoped once the offer was out there, he would feel a sense of relief, but he didn’t. His anxiety tripled as he heard those words spoken in his own voice.

If the goal had been to decrease Felix’s apprehension with that offer, Dean seemed to have failed there as well. Felix was gnawing at his lower lip to the point that Dean was afraid he was going to start bleeding, and he wasn’t even trying to hide how he was avoiding actually looking Dean in the eyes.

“Is that what you want?” Felix asked with a note of uncertainty in his voice that Dean didn’t quite understand.

That wasn’t a question Dean had been expecting, and it took him a moment to process it completely. If he was being honest, it wasn’t. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to, but….well, it felt like a huge leap, and that intimidated him more than a little. He had never experienced anything like that before, and he had no idea how to even approach that. Add in the fact that it involved giving up control which Dean wasn’t great at normally with anything. It was more than just being intimidated by it because in some ways it really fucking scared him. He could deal with that because he trusted Felix.

It wasn’t like he could imagine Felix wasn’t nervous. He was probably imagining his first time being a certain way. Dean was willing to deal with his own anxiety to give Felix the first time he had been picturing. “I-,” Dean started to answer. All he had to do was say yes, but he didn’t feel like that was completely honest. “I’m offering,” he answered and immediately regretted it. He heard his own words and could hear how reluctant and uncertain he sounded, which wasn’t what he wanted or what he met.

“No shit,” Felix huffed disgruntledly. He looked up at Dean with clear annoyance in his eyes which just had Dean marveling at just how many ways he was fucking this up. At this point, he figured it would have just been quicker to buy Felix a chaste belt for how smooth he was being. “But that isn’t what I asked,” Felix pointed out sharply.

“I’m willing,” Dean answered before he thought about how that sounded. He really was making this so much more difficult then it needed to be which was beyond frustrating.

Ironically, Dean was pretty sure this was the first time he actually found it difficult to just say what he wanted to Felix. He forced himself to take a second and just breathe before he tried to explain. “It’s your first time,” Dean reminded, and Felix made no attempt to hide how he rolled his eyes. Dean was beyond caring about that because even if Felix didn’t think it was a big deal, it was. “I want it to be like you imagined it would be,” he shrugged. Why were they only having this conversation now, he wondered with regret. “Ya know?” he asked. Even if Felix wanted to act like losing his virginity wasn’t a big deal, he had to understand at least that.

Felix’s silence was physically painful, and the longer it lasted the more it hurt. It took everything Dean had to make himself look up in hopes of finding some kind of reassure in Felix’s hazel eyes, but his eyes were downcast.

Dean wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words, so the silence stretched until Felix spoke. “And what if that isn’t how I imagined it?” he questioned so softly Dean only barely made out the words.

Dean was good with language in general. He had started reading chapter books in kindergarten and had always had a deep love of language, so his comprehension was good. Still, even after he gave Felix’s words a few seconds to sink in they didn’t quite make sense. Felix couldn’t have actually met what it sounded like. He tried to think of an alternate explanation, but that just sent his brain going in circles. He had to give up trying before it drove him insane.

“What?” he questioned dumbly.

Felix let out a long-pained sigh before he starting to pick at the comforter thoughtlessly even though there was nothing there. “Whenever I’ve thought about us finally having sex, I never pictured it like that,” Felix admitted sheepishly. His eyes never lifted from the mattress as he spoke, and Dean could feel the nerves rolling off him in waves.

There it was again. Felix had said words, but Dean struggled to understand it. It took a painfully long time for things to click into place. “Oh,” he exclaimed with surprise. He wasn’t sure if he had heard Felix right or that Felix meant what Dean thought he meant. He couldn’t take the risk of making an assumption and being wrong. “So you want to….,” Dean tried to get the words out, but it was still a struggle. He gestured between himself and Felix in hopes of providing some clarity but immediately knew he had failed. “I mean you want me to…..?” Dean left the rest of the question unsaid. He was too nervous about saying the wrong thing and fucking things up even more than he already had.

Felix finally looked up and met Dean’s gaze with fire in his eyes. “I want you to fuck me, okay?” he declared with force. Dean was pretty sure hearing those words carried all the force of being slapped in the face, he was so surprised.

Felix huffed and rolled his eyes. Dean watched his body language shift from something sheepish and uncertain to that of a man going to war. He didn’t look away from Dean as he continued, “There, I said it!” Felix declared, “So are we fucking good already?”

Dean’s heart was pounding with such force, he felt partially deafened by the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. There was no questioning what Felix had meant because he was pretty fucking clear about it, and the way he was staring back at Dean, it was almost like a challenge. Dean’s lizard brain hopped up on all those horny teenage hormones wanted to throw words to the wayside and just pin Felix to the bed. The thought that Felix had actually pictured them together, and Dean….god, that was the hottest thing Dean had ever heard. He didn’t act on his base desires despite how badly he wanted to. “Are you sure?” he questioned, and he was proud with how he managed to keep most of his eagerness out of his voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean!” Felix exclaimed, “Yes, I am fucking sure!”

Anytime Dean had imagined him and Felix having sex he wanted to picture himself taking the lead and topping. He wanted to be the one to give Felix so much pleasure and the thought of Felix under him was definitely a turn on. Hearing there was a chance that Felix wanted that too was just mind-blowing. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and pressing a kiss on Felix’s lips.

It was a soft kiss, or at least it started out like that, but it quickly escalated. Dean wasn’t even sure who was to blame for that, but if history taught him anything it was that it was probably both of their faults. However it happened and whoever was responsible for it, Felix ended up joining him toward the head of the bed, Dean’s hands pushed up the back of his shirt enjoying the feel of Felix’s taut muscles move under his touch as they kissed with an increased need. It was like they were under some kind of spell, and they could only survive with each other’s touch.

That spell didn’t break when Felix pulled away. The distance between them lasted no more than a few seconds as Felix roughly tugged off his own t-shirt and tossed it aside. Dean got less than a second to enjoy the sight of Felix’s well-muscled torso before Felix’s lips were once again moving against his own. Dean kissed back with everything he had, happy that any sign the anxiety and clumsiness from before was gone as his hands explored the newly exposed skin of Felix’s back and stomach.

Felix sighed against his lips as they laid back on the bed, which was a sentiment Dean could easily second. Their legs entangled as Dean moved to support himself with one elbow, so he was looming over Felix without actually being on top of him.

Their lips pulled apart, and Dean didn’t rush to recapture Felix’s lips with his own. Instead, he let his eyes flutter open to look down and enjoy the view of Felix under him. There was something especially appealing in seeing Felix’s lips swollen from their kisses, the pupils of his amazing eyes blown wide with arousal, and his cheeks slightly flushed.

He let his free hand come to rest lightly on Felix’s bare chest. “We’ll go slow,” Dean promised softly and with a great amount of reverence for what Felix was offering him. He looked up to meet Felix’s gaze and found him looking back at him with interest. “And if you change your mind that’s okay,” he assured. “We can wait or I can-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean,” Felix groaned interrupting him before he could finish. Unlike before when Felix had been obviously uncomfortable and trying to hide it by being aggressive and annoyed, Felix just seemed amused which was a relief in and of itself. “Do you always try to talk people out of sleeping with you?”

“No,” Dean answered with a shake of his head. He definitely wasn’t trying to talk Felix out of having sex, but he didn’t want him to feel pressured either. “But I don’t want you to think that I expect you to-”

“I don’t,” Felix interrupted quickly. Before Dean could remember what he was even trying to say, Felix pushed up on his elbows enough to press a hot kiss on his lips. It was quick and left Dean breathless when Felix pulled away smirking. “But can you really tell me you haven’t imagined it?”

“Um…..,”  Dean hummed nervously. He felt somewhat dumb from the blood rushing to everywhere except his brain, and he wasn’t sure if that was something he should admit to it. Of course, he had imagined fucking Felix, probably more then he should have since they started dating, but if he admitted that what would Felix think about his expectations. “I mean….,” he started to stammer not sure what he actually planned to say.

“That’s what I thought,” Felix said with confidence, and it was more than obvious he thought of it as a victory. He actually looked fucking proud which was such a weird turn on. Felix liked the idea of Dean thinking about having sex with him, Dean was surprisingly excited by that thought. It read on his face too, Dean could tell because the self-satisfied grin that Felix was wearing just grew wider.

Felix sat up a little straighter, reached out a hand, and ran it gently along Dean’s jaw before letting it settle on the back of his neck. He pulled Dean into another kiss and while it was still hungry there was something different about it when compared to the kiss they had shared only seconds earlier. There was a new sense of patience in Felix’s touch or maybe it was determination, Dean wasn’t completely sure, but whatever it was he was into it. When Felix pulled away, he stared into Dean’s eyes with a serious look and ordered, “Do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up.”

“God, you are such a fucking smartass,” Dean shot back with a grin before taking Felix’s advice. He shut up and put his mouth too much better use. He moved forward and kissed Felix’s perfect lips.

He felt Felix chuckle a little against his lips at first, but it quickly subsided as he kissed Dean back. Felix’s fingers went from gently caressing the back of Dean’s neck to tugging lightly at his hair as they laid back on the bed. Felix was on his back with Dean lying next to him on his side, but with the whole awkward conversation out of the way that didn’t stay that way for long. Dean didn’t feel the need to hold back now that Felix had literally said he wanted Dean to fuck him. Within seconds Dean moved so he was on top of Felix, straddling his thighs as they kissed.

Dean’s hands ran over Felix’s stomach, chest, and sides, appreciating the feel of hard muscle and bare skin. Felix had an insane body that if Dean was one-hundred percent straight he probably would have envied. Dean wasn’t one-hundred percent straight and as he touched Felix all he could think was how fucking lucky he was because Felix was his, and he was finally going to have him.

While Felix seemed to enjoy every touch Dean had to offer, he didn’t seem to have the patience for foreplay that he often did. He nipped at Dean’s bottom lip as his greedy hands started trying to push Dean’s jeans down his hips. His efforts felt clumsy and uncoordinated, but Felix made it work. He had Dean butt ass naked in an impressively short period of time with very little help from Dean.

Dean had barely managed to kick his clothes to the floor when he felt Felix’s palm rub along his newly exposed and painfully hard dick. Felix wasn’t being bashful about it either so Dean didn’t even get a chance to moan in utter delight before Felix’s fingers wrapped around his base, and he started stroking Dean in earnest.

Hand-jobs could be nice, but Dean had never thought they were something to write home about, or at least he hadn’t until the first time Felix had jerked him off. Felix knew what he was doing when handling a dick, that was just a fundamental truth. Felix’s stroking had lightening dancing behind Dean’s eyes and through his veins.

“Fuck,” Dean moaned as he gave in to the pleasure and pulled away from Felix’s lips, “Felix.”

“God, dude you’re so fucking easy,” Felix gloated playfully. He seemed completely unbothered by the loss of Dean’s lips as he started to kiss and lick at Dean’s jaw and throat hungrily. He was still stroking Dean’s cock which was the most distractingly wonderful thing Dean could possibly imagine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re the virgin here,” he teased before moving to suck playfully at Dean’s earlobe.

“Or-” Dean went to defend himself. Felix knew him too well and as much as he liked to say Dean was the tease in the relationship, Felix could be a tease as well. Just as Dean started to talk Felix twisted his wrist as his fingers enclosed around the head of his dick and swiped over his sensitive head. “Oh,” he sighed as the jolt of pleasure had his thighs quivering. “-you’re just that good,” he offered. He recognized he would have sounded more convincing if he didn’t sound like he was a half a second from blowing his load, but he had no control over that.

Felix stopped kissing and sucking at his ear (but he didn’t stop stroking) and laid back on the bed so he was gazing up at Dean. Felix was fucking gorgeous laid out under Dean like he was. The wicked grin he was wearing only seemed to add to that. “Is that so?” Felix questioned teasingly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. He gave Felix a once over as he figured out exactly what he wanted to do. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out. He leaned down and kissed Felix hard on the lips before starting to move down Felix’s body. As Felix’s fingers released their grip on him, Dean looked up with a smirk of his own. “Let me show you how good I can be,” he offered playfully.

“Dean, I know how good you are,” Felix replied. Dean couldn’t be positive, but he thought he heard a tremble of excitement in Felix’s voice. The hint of such a thing was enough to add to Dean’s confidence as he moved from kissing down Felix’s throat to moving down his well-sculpted chest.

He kissed, licked, and sucked at all the places he knew could make Felix quiver until he reached the waist of Felix’s track pants. He sat up as he hooked his fingers through the waistband of his pants and briefs. “Maybe,” he countered as he started to tug off the last of Felix’s clothes, “But I like to show you.”

Felix shifted and moved in all the right ways so Dean could undress him with ease. Dean couldn’t take his eyes away from Felix laying there naked as he tossed aside the last articles of clothing that had stood between him and his prize aside. Felix was quite the prize too. He lay back on cheap sheets with his adios like body, thick muscular thighs, and thick hard dick rising heavy out of a nest of dark curls. Even the tiny scar that was just below Felix’s belly button from when he had his appendix removed was utter perfection.

Felix shouldn’t own clothes, Dean thought, and it wasn’t the first time. It seemed like a crime that something so utterly stunning could be hidden away for most of the time. But, at the same time, Dean felt incredibly honored that what was laid before him was for him and just him.

Dean took a moment to run his finger along the deep V that pointed toward Felix’s groin and all the treasures that lay there. Felix let out a sigh that was probably the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard and pressed his hips up subtly into Dean’s touch. “Oh dear fucking god, Dean,” Felix declared with what sounded like a mix of annoyance and desperation.

“And you say I’m easy,” he pointed out playfully as he grinned down at Felix.

Dean didn’t wait for Felix to reply before bending down and running his tongue along Felix’s cock starting at the base and running all the way up to the tip. He was already about as turned on as Dean could get but somehow the salty taste of Felix on his tongue managed to push him a little further.

“Fuck!” Felix gasped and squirmed under Dean’s touch, “Dean.”

Dean got his hands involved, wrapping one around the base of Felix’s cock while using the other to explore Felix’s body greedily before working down to play with his balls. He wet his tongue as he ran it over Felix’s erection from every side before wrapping his lips around the hard shaft.

Dean could never have anticipated that he would ever blow another guy let alone that he would enjoy doing it but there he was, and he really did enjoy it. He bobbed his head up and down on Felix’s dick and even managed not to gag when Felix’s cock would hit the back of his throat. There was something strangely empowering and sexy about the act itself, but the noises Felix was making really put it over the top.

As Dean worked up and down Felix’s length, Felix sighed and gasped with what sounded like increasing desperation. Dean heard the rustle of the sheets as Felix grasped at them and squirmed under his attention. He got lost in all of it, the noises Felix was making, the feeling of him squirming under his touch, the awareness of Felix’s thighs beginning to quiver from the sensation, all of it.

“Fuck, Dean!” Felix moaned as he squirmed under Dean more noticeably. “I thought we were going to do this,” he whined.

Moaning was good but whining was bad. Dean popped off Felix’s cock and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at Felix. “We are,” he replied with a grin. He moved up Felix’s body, pausing occasionally to place a kiss here or there. After taking a moment to enjoy how good Felix looked laying under him with his pupils wide with lust and kiss-swollen lips, he commented, “I didn’t realize we were in a rush.”

“I’ve waited months,” Felix pointed out with more annoyance then Dean would have liked considering what he had been doing to Felix only seconds before.

It wasn’t like Dean wasn’t aware that they had been waiting for months. He was aware, painfully so. That was why Dean didn’t want to rush. Well, it was one of the reasons. After so much tension and build-up, Dean knew it could have been easy to let their hunger and desire take the lead and bang one out like the fumbling horny teenagers they sort of were. Maybe if it wasn’t Felix’s first time Dean would have been okay with that because they had plenty of time to figure out what each other liked and wanted later. Dean didn’t want Felix’s first time to be clumsy and rushed.  

Under him, Felix shifted and looked off to the side, so he was no longer meeting Dean’s gaze defiantly. “Can’t we just get fucking on with it already?” he grumbled.

Oh, Dean thought as he thought he figured out what was going on. Felix was actually nervous about this whole thing and just didn’t want to admit. That was very like Felix so he really couldn’t be surprised. He was a little disappointed that he hadn’t seen it all along, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

Felix had also been pretty insistent from day one that he wanted to have sex, and he wasn’t at all attached to his virginity, but obviously, that was at least partially bravado. Dean didn’t know if Felix was just nervous about them having sex or if it was more about catching. Felix had volunteered, but maybe he wasn’t as certain as he had sounded. Dean wanted to do this, but if Felix was that nervous maybe they should wait a little while longer. They could talk things out more and figure out what each of them wanted it to be like without any pressure.

He needed to offer Felix an out that wouldn’t hurt his pride or leave him feeling rejected. Dean bit back his want as he began, “Are you-”

“Holy hell, Dean!” Felix interrupted as he turned his head back to look up at Dean. His striking eyes were filled with fire and some other emotion Dean couldn’t quite name. “If you ask if I’m sure again I swear to fucking god I will smack you,” he declared in a way that left Dean with no doubt that he would actually do it.

“Right,” Dean nodded.

He realized the other emotion he was seeing in Felix’s eyes, it was determination. Felix wasn’t going to admit that he was nervous. He had spent too much time telling Dean that he didn’t care that it would be his first time. Dean had made too big of a deal about the whole thing too. Just because Felix was nervous didn’t mean he still didn’t want to or wasn’t ready. Dean leaned down and pulled Felix into a kiss which was just as much to reassure himself as it was for Felix.

Felix sighed into the kiss which was one of the most amazing things. Dean pulled away reluctantly and shifted so he could stretch across the bed to his nightstand. He pulled out the box of condoms and lube from the topmost drawers. The condoms weren’t a new addition, Dean usually had some of those laying around just in case, but the lube he purchased on the off chance he and Felix ended up having sex. He left the condoms on the nightstand but brought the lube with him back to the bed.

He kissed along Felix’s jaw to his ear and nipped at his earlobe playfully before pulling back. There was one thing he had to say before he could think about moving forward. He looked down at Felix seriously as he spoke. “Any point you change your mind just say the word,” he assured genuinely.

“Yeah, sure,” Felix dismissed almost as if he hadn’t really heard him. Dean didn’t miss how his eyes flicked toward the nightstand for a second, and he would have sworn he saw the determination in Felix’s eyes increase tenfold. “But I’m not going to change my mind,” he stated with certainty.

Felix meant that, Dean could tell. The more Dean knew about Felix the more amazing he realized Felix was. He was definitely braver and bolder then Dean thought he could ever be. Felix might have been nervous, but he spoke with more certainty then Dean would have had considering.

That just added to the long list of reasons Dean was determined to make Felix’s first time perfect. It was more than that though because Dean wanted…no needed to make sure Felix felt how honored he was for being given the opportunity to make his first time perfect.

Once again Dean kissed down Felix’s body. He lavished every perfect inch of Felix on his way with his lips and his tongue and enjoyed all the little ways Felix responded to his touch. He moved down past Felix’s naval to kiss along the hinge between Felix’s thigh and groin. He was far from a first-time visitor there, but as he kissed, he let his hands settle behind Felix’s knees and gently urged them upward, which made it all feel very new.

Felix didn’t resist or even response with hesitation. At the lightest of suggestive touches from Dean, and Felix’s knees bent, and his legs fell open a little more as Dean heard him take a long smooth breath. Dean kissed at Felix’s fuzzy inner thigh with admiration as he fumbled amongst the bedding to find the bottle of lube he had so carelessly dropped somewhere on the bed.

It felt like it took an eternity to find the stupid bottle. It was a genuine challenge to not get too in his head about it because he couldn’t’ help but think he was already fucking things up. He probably could have been quicker about it if he stopped kissing at Felix’s leg and actually paid attention to what he was doing, but that just wasn’t going to happen either.

In reality, it probably took less than a minute to find the bottle. He popped the cap with one hand as he gave Felix’s thigh one last kiss. He could have touched and kissed at Felix forever, but he was pretty sure if he covered half the bed in lube that would kill the mood.

He pulled away just enough to watch as he poured some lube onto his fingers. Dean had no idea what he was doing when it came to that. It wasn’t like he had ever really had a need to use lube before, and even if he had, he had only been with girls. He doubted there was a whole lot of knowledge that could be carried over from that. Nico had been helpful in explaining that there was actually different lube for anal because Dean hadn’t known that, but he had never mentioned how much to use. He didn’t want to be a lubed up mess so he poured enough to coat two fingers to the first knuckle before carefully setting the lube aside where it could be easily found if he needed more.

Part of Dean wanted to look up and maybe see Felix’s hazel eyes filled with lust staring back at him, but didn’t dare in fear that Felix would see just how nervous he was. Instead, he kept his focus on the task at hand because it was definitely something new for both of them. He ghosted his hand first over Felix’s hard dick then over his tight balls before moving further until his slicked fingers were sliding along Felix’s taint.

The audible sound of Felix’s breath catching in what sounded like a breathy gasp reverberated off the walls as Dean’s fingers found the tight puckered skin of his hole. Dean hoped that was a good sound and not just a sign that he should have warmed up the lube a little.

Dean once again went to kiss hungrily at Felix’s inner thigh as he massaged at that wrinkled flesh. It was probably in his head, but Dean thought he could hear Felix’s breath grow more shallow. Normally that was a good sign, but Felix felt tenser to his touch then Dean was used to.

That was just unacceptable. Dean realized he needed to do something to distract Felix from his nerves. With his free hand, Dean reached up and grasped Felix’s erection and started stroking him lazily.

Dean paid attention to everything, to Felix’s breathing and the little noises he made, and let it all guide him to the right method. Within a matter of minutes, he could feel Felix relax to the point he seemed to be moving into Dean’s touch rather than tensing at them. That was more like what Dean wanted and more of what he was used to when he was fooling around with Felix.

Cautiously, he pushed the tip of one finger against Felix’s furrowed hole until he was able to press forward a little without too much resistance. He twisted his finger a little this way and that before pulling back out. There was a second where Felix might have tensed slightly at the little penetration, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Felix gave no other signs of discomfort, so Dean did it again pressing his finger in a little deeper and twisting a little more.

Dean continued to stroke Felix with his other hand. It seemed to work in keeping Felix generally relaxed, but Dean had jerked Felix off plenty of times, and he was normally more vocal then he was being at that moment. Dean was used to hearing a string of curse words moaned out in the most beautiful sexy voice, so he didn’t know what to think about the fact that Felix wasn’t.

As he continued to work his finger in a little deeper with each motion, Dean’s nervousness won out over his general fear of not coming across confidence. He dared to look up at Felix and wasn’t exactly happy with what he saw. Felix was staring up at the cracked ceiling of Dean’s bedroom with a look of extreme focus on his face.

Dean considered stopping, but Felix was still hard, and while he didn’t seem like he was over the top enjoying it, he wasn’t showing signs of discomfort. No feedback was so much worse than bad feedback, Dean just couldn’t take it. “Is this alright?” He finally questioned nervously as his hands continued to work.

“Yeah,” Felix answered in the most unconvincing way Dean had ever heard, “Its fine.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Dean practically panicked because he was used to Felix being so straight forward about everything that some people called him blunt or rude. Dean didn’t want sugar coating if Felix was uncomfortable or just wasn’t into it. He couldn’t fix shit if Felix wasn’t talking to him.

Panicking wasn’t sexy so Dean shoved it down and acted like everything was cool. He didn’t stop the motion of either of his hands although he may have increased the determination in his stroking and eased back on his efforts to open up Felix’s tight hole. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asked. God, he would hope Felix would tell him if something he was doing was causing him pain, but Felix felt so tight. His rim was snug around Dean’s finger with every little movement, and now Dean was sure he was going to need more lube. That had to feel like something.

“No,” Felix replied flatly.

Dean pressed his finger a little deeper into Felix’s tight heat and watched Felix’s response which was completely uninterpretable. It was beyond frustrating, and definitely panic-inducing.

So much for making Felix’s first time perfect, he thought with disappointment.

“Does it feel good?” he asked even though Felix was making it pretty clear it didn’t. He just needed Felix to say something and give him some direction.

“Honestly,” Felix huffed. It wasn’t a slight quiver or a breathy sigh that could have meant he was actually into it. It was a sound of annoyance and impatience that left little question about just how little he was enjoying what Dean was doing. “It feels like there is a finger up my ass,” he admitted flatly.

“Right,” Dean replied with understanding. It was a blunt answer, but at least it was an actual answer. Dean could deal with the feedback even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted it to feel good for Felix more. He would just have to try to change his technique until he found something that got more of the response he wanted.

He pulled out his one finger completely and release the grip he had on Felix’s dick with his other hand. That action might have been the first thing Dean had done that got an actually response from Felix.

“That didn’t mean I wanted you to stop!” Felix shouted as he sat up enough on his elbows to look down the bed at Dean in clear outrage.

Another time, a different situation, and Dean might have made a joke about sending mixed messages but didn’t because he knew better. “I’m not,” he assured instead as he grabbed the bottle of lube and held it up as proof.

Pour some more lube on a couple of fingers, it shouldn’t have been a particularly difficult or time-consuming task, but Dean’s hands were actually shaking for some unknown reason. It didn’t help that Dean couldn’t really completely take his eyes off Felix laying out on the bed with his perfect body and not a stitch of clothes on, or how he could feel Felix watching him with an intensity Dean rarely saw from him. He managed eventually, but it wasn’t nearly as quick or clean as his first go. “You think you’re ready for another,” he asked as he started to slide his hand back down between Felix’s legs.

“Yeah,” Felix answered sounding none too thrilled at the prospect. Even as Dean kissed affectionately at Felix’s inner thigh, he saw how Felix’s eyes flicked down to where Dean’s own erection sat between his legs before looking back up. “You know you could move things along a bit faster, ya know.”

Felix’s meaning was clear enough, and that was just not a real option, not yet at least. Felix felt insanely, impossibly tight on just one of Dean’s finger. There was no way he could just push his dick in and that end well. “Not fucking happening dude,” Dean stated firmly enough to get across his point. He ran his fingers along Felix’s crease again until he found his destination. He started swirling the tips of his two lubed up fingers around Felix’s rim before pressing both tips in ever so slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted a little more quietly.

Dean heard Felix issue a long shaking breath as he fell back on the bed. “Just hurry the fuck up,” he demanded, but not with the heat that would suggest he really meant it. Dean didn’t know if that was nerves or maybe something a bit closer to pleasure. Dean didn’t let himself focus too much on that because if Felix wasn’t completely enjoying it right then he was going to get him there.

Dean might not have said it, but there was no way he was going to rush things. He picked up the pace a little while still carefully attending to all of Felix’s little tells. With each motion forward Dean pushed his fingers in a little deeper before pulling back. He didn’t know if it was the addition of more lube or if Felix was actually just relaxing a little and adjusting to the penetration, but either way each motion forward felt like it was met with less resistance.

Less resistance didn’t mean that Felix still didn’t feel crazy tight. He continued to piston his fingers in and out, occasionally twisting or stretching his two fingers apart. Felix was still being quieter then Dean would have liked, but every once and a while he would let out a shaky breath or small sound that made it sound like he might almost be close to enjoying it.

While the experience wasn’t completely foreign it was definitely different and incredibly hot. It was probably weird that just fingering Felix was really turning Dean on even more than he already was. He was quickly realizing this was something they should have done already even if they weren’t ready to have full-on sex.

“Dean!” Felix growled in clear frustration and snapped Dean out of his own thoughts of all the things he and Felix should have been doing over the last few months.

“Patience,” Dean replied quickly. Any confidence in his voice was completely fake but he wasn’t going to tell Felix that.

He still didn’t want to push too far too fast, but he could take a hint. Felix wanted more of something, and he could at least try to deliver that. The next time he pressed his fingers inward and were in as deep as he had managed, Dean curled his fingers slightly to run along Felix’s inner wall gently as he slowly pulled his fingers back.

Dean was pretty sure he could pinpoint the exact moment he had done something really right because Felix pulsed around his fingers. More than that, Felix moaned something that sounded like it might have been a failed attempt to curse, but Dean couldn’t be sure. When he dared to glance up, he couldn’t have been happier or more turned on by what he saw. Felix was biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from making any more noise, and he was gripping at the sheets.

Another layer of stress Dean hadn’t even realized he had been feeling fell away at such a perfect sight. He placed a kiss on Felix’s inner thigh before grinning up at his perfect boyfriend. “Was that okay?” he questioned. Sure, it was more than obvious it was, but Dean could use a little reassurance.

“Yes!” Felix cried out his reply. Dean could tell that Felix was trying to sound annoyed, but it still came out more like a moan. Dean was happy to take responsibly for that because as Felix had been going to talk Dean did that same thing with his fingers. He didn’t get the same intensity of a reaction that he had the first time so he figured he hadn’t hit just the right spot, but Felix’s knees still quivered, and his rim still momentarily tightened around Dean’s digits so he couldn’t have been too far off. “Dean….fuck…just…,” Felix stammered out without managing to get out a single coherent thought.

Felix didn’t have to say it out loud, Dean was pretty sure he knew what he wanted. Dean certainly thought he knew at least, and now that he had found something that seemed to be actually working for Felix, he certainly wasn’t going to stop.

It took him a few more tries before he could consistently hit that spot, but once he figured it out it was smooth sailing. It was so much hotter when Felix was moaning, cursing, and squirming with what seemed like his every motion.

It didn’t seem to take long before Dean was able to work his two fingers all the way into Felix with relative ease, and Felix felt…well, not really looser, but definitely more relaxed and malleable to the motions of Dean’s fingers. It was all so hot, Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to stop, but still he pulled his fingers back slowly. He didn’t miss the disgruntled little noise Felix let out either.

He looked up at Felix and tried to ignore all the ways Felix looked incredible hot, and there were a lot of them, so it really was a challenge. “Should I add another or do you think you can-?”

“Fuck Dean,” Felix groaned as he interrupted. His voice was so husky and lust-filled, if Dean wasn’t already shaking from want he would have been from the sound of Felix. Before Dean could ask for clarification, Felix snatched the box of condoms off the nightstand and chucked them down at Dean. The box just missed hitting Dean in the face which in and of itself sent a pretty clear message. “Just put one on already,” Felix ordered, “Fuck!”

Dean had never fumbled with a box of condoms so much in his whole life, not even his first time. If ever asked why he was going to blame it on his lube covered fingers even if he was pretty sure his nerves were more of the problem. He eventually managed to get the box open, rip one condom out of the pack and tossed the rest aside. At that point Dean was so beyond fucking around he didn’t even try to hide his eagerness by fumbling to open the stupid thick wrapper with his fingers, he brought it up to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth.

“Eager?” Felix questioned playfully. When Dean dared to look up at him, he was quite the sight: Felix already had sex hair which, no surprise, looked fucking good on him. He was still flush, and his chest was still heaving. It was all very sexy but the smirk he saw on Felix’s face as he met his gaze put it all over the top.

Of course, Felix was mouthing off even at that moment because it was Felix. It was that sort of shit that made Dean love him.....

Wait…..

Nope, Dean didn’t have time to even consider trying to think about where that thought came from. He pushed it aside for the moment being and focused on the present. “Maybe a little,” he admitted with a grin of his own. God, he could feel himself blushing which felt ridiculous because he had been naked in front of Felix plenty and there was nothing he felt he needed to be embarrassed about in his own desires. Maybe it was that he was just then realizing how much he wanted this.

“About fucking time you showed it,” Felix countered sounding so fucking cocky Dean was half convinced that he had been the one that had been laying on his back moaning wantonly only seconds before.

It just made Dean smile. He sat up and pulled the condom out of the wrapper as he looked down at Felix incredulously, “You are really going to mouth off right now?” he asked teasingly.

“What? You want me to be fucking quiet?” Felix retorted confidently.

Well, he really had Dean there. Dean tossed the used condom wrapper aside with one hand. “No,” he admitted easily and truthfully before leaning in to press his lips against Felix’s once again.

Whatever Dean had expected to find in that kiss, he didn’t really know, but it was all heat, urgency, and the playful bite of teeth. Felix’s fingers entangled in his hair and tugged enough to send chills down his back as Dean took his own dick in hand and slide on the condom. Dean’s own touch was nowhere near as satisfying as it would have been if it was Felix’s hand, Dean knew. Still, the little contact to his own needy dick had shivers running down his spine with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

Dean never hated anything as much as he hated pulling away from Felix’s lips at that moment. He did it because it had to be done, and he did it with purpose because he needed Felix’s lips and touch back. He snatched the bottle of lube off the bed, popped the cap, and poured a generous amount of lube on his hand.

Lube in hand, Dean once again reached between his own legs, took himself in hand, and gave himself a few strokes to spread the lube. It was surprisingly difficult not to moan at the simple touch, but he managed because boy, would that have been embarrassing. The fact that Felix made no attempt to hide how he watched Dean didn’t help things any because there was intensity and hunger in Felix’s eyes that was pulling him in. Ignore your shaking hands and the fact that I have no idea how I am supposed to do this, Dean told himself as he gave himself a few last strokes.

“Um, is this okay?” he questioned feeling weirdly bashful it all of a sudden. Felix’s only reply was to cork an eyebrow at him in confusion. Fair enough, Dean thought, it wasn’t like I was clear. He looked at Felix laid out before him like the yummiest present Dean had ever seen, and it didn’t decrease his want any. But laying out like that, so exposed, would Felix be comfortable like that? “This position?” he clarified with a little gesture.

Felix bit his bottom lip lightly which was just so fucking hot it wasn’t fair. “Yeah,” he answered after giving it a second thought. Dean noticed the slight blush that spread across Felix’s cheeks as he continued, “I mean, how else are we going to do it? Doggie style?” It was probably just in his head, but he thought Felix seemed to watch him like he was looking for some sort of reaction. Dean wasn’t opposed to doggie style in general, and Felix had an amazing ass so it could probably be hot as hell, but it didn’t feel all that intimate. He didn’t know if Felix saw something in his face or just decided to move past it. “No, this is good,” he assured although he didn’t sound completely certain.

Dean could have questioned it more and part of him wanted to, but that hadn’t gone over well so far. “If you’re sure,” Dean offered hoping that left things open enough that Felix felt like he could speak up if he changed his mind.

He leaned in once again and pressed his lips against Felix’s. They kissed as Dean shifted on the bed, moving up more so he was kneeling between Felix’s widespread legs. Felix didn’t waste any time waiting to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist, which was undeniably sexy. As his lips worked against Felix’s, Dean reached between his own legs and took his own dick in hand to put himself in position. When he felt his head press against the dimple of Felix’s furrowed entrance, he pulled away from Felix’s lips ever so slightly. “Ready?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Felix replied, and with this at least he seemed certain, “Just go for it already.”

Dean smirked at that before kissing Felix hard. As he kissed Felix as if his life depended on it, he pushed his hips forward as slowly and as gently as he could. There was a second where Dean could feel Felix’s tight hole resist before giving way, and Dean felt himself press past that tight rim.

The kiss ended almost the second Dean actually pushed inside because Felix turned his head away from Dean and let out a long wordless moan. Dean wasn’t much better as he groaned audibly at the sensation. He had thought Felix had felt tight on his fingers, but it was something else completely feeling that tightness wrapped around his hard dick.

As good as it felt, Dean still pushed in slowly, wanting to give Felix time to adjust. It felt like an hour, but it was probably more like five minutes before Dean was fully buried in the tight hot space of Felix’s ass.

It was so hot too, it filled Dean with the desire to shift and move and thrust in that snug heat. He didn’t, at least not right away. He waited a few seconds to give them both a chance to adjust. He listened to the sound of their heavy breaths mixing together in an arrhythmic way as he focused on all the things that could keep him grounded in reality rather than getting too lost in the sensation. There was just so much sensation and it was all so intense. It had stars dancing on the backs of his eyelids and electricity coursing through his veins.

When Felix’s breathing seemed to settle a little, and Dean thought the tight space of Felix felt a little more relaxed around him, he dared to move. It wasn’t anything big or dramatic, just a small experimental thrust, but it was enough to have Dean gripping the sheets at the feeling of it. Felix gasped and threw his head back as well, but the sound of him was at least practically drowned out by the sound of Dean’s blood rushing through his ear.

Dean didn’t know why he was already so close to coming, but he could feel the cold heat already rushing toward critical mass deep in his stomach. It wasn’t like it was his first time, but it sort of felt like it. Maybe it was just the months of tension that led to that moment, or maybe it was just that Felix felt that good.  

He kissed at Felix’s jaw, licked at his throat, and nipped at his earlobe as he found a gentle rhythm. The sounds of Felix gasping and sighing with pleasure at Dean’s every motion was like music to his ears. The smell of Felix, a mix of lemony soap and sweat was like a blissful haze over Dean’s senses which erased anything in the world that wasn’t Felix.

Dean body practically ached to go faster but he still had just enough reason to hold off. So many months of taking things slow, Dean knew this wasn’t the time to rush. The feel of Felix’s strong fingers tangling in his hair, his hard body under him, his tight rim gripping around his dick with Dean’s every motion and the warmness that lay beyond, it was all so much different than anything Dean had experience with his previous girlfriends. For the first time, Dean realized what everyone kept telling him about how this was going to be a first time for him too.  It definitely felt new.

Organically, slow experimental motions morphed to certain and rhythmic thrusts. The sounds Felix made changed with his motions: gasps and sighs turning to moans, cries, and the occasional curse word. All of it sounded pleasured, but just like when Dean had been fingering him, Felix was too quiet. Dean was used to the near constant string of profanity from Felix when they fooled around. He was pretty sure the only time Felix was quiet was when they were at Felix’s place, and Leonard was working in the other room, and that always seemed like it took some effort.

As Dean continued to move and Felix’s tight rim slid around his girth with the smallest motion filling Dean with such intense sensation, he ran one hand down Felix’s side. The feel of hard muscle as his fingers ran down Felix’s side and over his hip before settling to grip his thick thigh was especially thrilling. With that grip, Dean gently urged Felix’s thigh up until it came to rest over the top of Dean’s hip. It was barely a change, but it felt like so much more- tighter and hotter and just more.

“Fuck,” Felix moaned under him. Dean felt his fingers tug at his hair, and he heard the rustle of sheets underneath them as Felix scratched at them. “Dean…ooooh….there,” he moaned as he threw his head back a little.

“Felix,” Dean moaned. His hair tingled, and it felt like fire was running through his veins. It was all a million times more perfect the Dean had ever dared to imagine it would be.

He kissed at Felix’s neck as he felt Felix release his hair in favor of gripping at his bicep. The feeling of Felix’s short nails biting into his arm definitely wasn’t a negative. It probably shouldn’t have been, but Dean found it strangely arousing. It helped to give Dean something to focus on besides how tight and warm Felix felt and the growing ball of tension in his groin.

“Dean,” Felix moaned as his grip on Dean’s arm tightened almost painfully.

Dean tightened his own grip on Felix’s meaty thigh as he moved. “Felix,” he gasped out the name in the curve of Felix’s throat.

“Fu…ck,” Felix moaned with increased intensity, “Fuck, Dean!”

God, Dean hoped that meant Felix was getting close because he wasn’t sure how long he could resist the ecstasy that he could feel building within himself begging for release. “Yum, Felix,” he gasped into the crook of Felix’s throat, “You feel so…-” tight, warm, and perfect, “-good.”

“Ah, Dean!” Felix cried out in the most beautiful way Dean had ever heard, “Fuck I-”

“Felix,” Dean whimpered in response. Felix’s thighs tightened their hold on Dean’s waist and the heels of his feet pressed against Dean’s ass every time he pulled back urging him to thrust forward again. “Oh, wow,” Dean moaned as his arms began to shake with the intensity of the moment.

Dean gave in to his own desire and increased the speed of his thrusts a little. His toes practically curled at the sound of Felix gasping with pleasure at the subtle change. “Dean!” Felix moaned desperately as Dean could feel him growing tighter. There was a moment, no more than half a heartbeat, where the grip Felix’s thighs had on Dean’s waist became almost painful and then it all came to a perfect disastrous end.

“Fuck!” Felix cried out at an almost deafening volume as Dean felt him shutter under his continued thrusting. The way Felix’s thighs quivered around his waist, how he arched up off the bed, and how his nails bit into the meat of Dean’s arm were nothing compared to the feel of Felix’s entrance actually pulsing around his girth or the subtle but unmistakable feeling of hot cum spraying between them and across Felix’s stomach and chest.

Dean couldn’t ignore the perfection of knowing he had gotten Felix to cum or the rapidly building ball of pleasure deep within himself. The dam broke and a wave of undefinable, indescribable bliss washed over him as he managed a few last thrusts.

He may have gasped or moan. He could have prayed to every deity he could think of, Dean wasn’t sure. There was a long moment where the only things he knew was Felix: the smell of him, the taste, the feel of his skin against his own and his warmth. His entire existence buzzed warmly like the static that existed between radio stations.

Reality came back slowly and still far too fast before Dean couldn’t ignore the way his arms shook from the effort of holding himself up a second longer. He still managed to push himself up a little more unburying himself from the crook of Felix’s throat.

He gazed at the perfect that was Felix laying under him. He looked much like Dean felt: disheveled, exhausted to the point of being spent, and completely satisfied. His dark hair was tousled and spiked from sweat, his chest was heaving as he panted like he had just ran ten miles, his face was flush from the exertion, and he was wearing an easy little smile.

Dean could feel himself grinning ear to ear to the point that he was sure his face would actually hurt from it later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was brave enough to dare lift one hand and reached down to brush a stray piece of hair back from Felix’s forehead.

“We really shouldn’t have waited so long to do that,” Dean admitted softly. He remembered his reasons for wanting to wait, and he still saw the logic in them, but they just didn’t seem as pressing as they had before.

Felix made a dismissive little noise and smirked up at him. “That was all you dude,” he reminded. The tone was very much an I told you so sort of thing, and Dean knew he deserved that.

“Right,” Dean admitted. It wasn’t like he could deny it because Felix had been saying he was ready and willing for months, and Dean had been the one putting the brakes on the whole thing. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he admitted sincerely.

It probably hadn’t been a perfect first time for Felix, but perfect was such an unreasonable goal, Dean recognized that now. It had still been pretty fucking incredible, and a hell of a lot better than either of Dean’s first times with his previous girlfriends. That was the thing that mattered, and Dean hoped that it had lived up to whatever expectations Felix had had.

He looked over Felix under him. He was glistening with sweat and there were a few streaks of sticky white cum on his chest and stomach. “And you’re hot as fuck,” he pointed out without shame. He didn’t think Felix could get any more attractive than he was, but he had. Dean could have simply marveled at the fact that Felix was his forever, he was that good-looking.

Felix pushed up and caught Dean’s lips in a quick kiss. The lust from before was cooled so the kiss felt affectionate and maybe a little lazy but not in a bad way. It spoke perfectly to the lingering sense bliss that Dean could feel wrapped around his senses.

Somewhat reluctantly, Dean pulled back and out of Felix’s warmth. Felix immediately groaned out a curse at the motion. It was definitely not a good sound.

Dean definitely had a moment of panic. Could he have misread everything so badly? Had he somehow managed to hurt Felix at some point and hadn’t realized? Was he really fucking it up now?

He swallowed all the panic down as he sat back on his haunches. “You okay?” He questioned with concern.

“Yeah, that just feels fucking weird,” Felix admitted as he pushed up a little, so he was sitting with his back resting against the pillows. He meant that, Dean could tell, which was a huge relief. As Felix reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a few tissues Dean pulled off the condom and climbed off the bed to dispose of it.

“Guess I’m just not a fan of that part,” Felix added as he blotted at the streaks of cum that were starting to pool in the curves that outlined the muscles of his stomach.

Dean returned to the bed and sat down so he was sitting cross-legged in front of Felix. He could have been happy to just stare at Felix laying naked on his bed like some kind of sex god, but he managed to find words. “What about the other parts?” he asked sincerely.

Felix looked up from his work as he continued to clean the mess off his chest and stomach and stared at Dean with a completely unreadable expression. “I mean you couldn’t tell?” he questioned gravely. There was a second where Dean was pretty sure his heart had literally climbed into his throat, and he couldn’t breathe until the wickedest little smirk spread across Felix’s perfect lips. He corked an eyebrow at Dean sardonically before asking, “Or are you just one of those guys that need to hear that you totally rocked my world? Is your ego really that fragile?”

Dean let out a long breath he really hadn’t been trying to hold and tried to play it off as a little laugh. “I don’t need to hear it, but it doesn’t hurt,” he admitted. That might not have been completely true because just hearing Felix allude to that had him breathing easier, but he wasn’t going to admit that. There really was no hiding the grin that he felt spread across his face. “Did I really rock your world?” he questioned teasingly.

“You are such a fucking asshole,” Felix declared as he reached out and gave Dean’s shoulder a playful shove.

There was no heat in it. It was such a playful and easy thing, and Dean couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect. He laughed and moved up the bed to lay down next to Felix. “Sorry,” he offered as he settled on his side to gaze at Felix still naked and next to him on the bed.

Felix tossed the used tissues in his hand in the direction of the trash can. He missed by a mile and didn’t seem to care as he moved to settle back on the bed with Dean. He laid so he was staring up at the cracked and discolored ceiling as Dean lay on his side next to him staring at him with complete reverence.

They didn’t really talk, and they didn’t need to. There was something perfect and comfortable in the shared silence. For a while, all there was was the sound of their soft breaths. After a moment, Dean reached out one hand and started to run his fingers down the hard lines of Felix’s body softly. Felix let out a low hum like a purr which certainly didn’t discourage Dean from continuing to touch him.

Felix was the most perfect thing that Dean had ever had in his life, and he was starting to think that he would never know anything better. Dean didn’t want anything or anyone else because how could anything ever compare to Felix or that moment.

Dean was the one that broke the silence with a question he hadn’t realized was on his mind until he was asking it out loud. “Would you want to stay over?” he questioned. Once it was said, Dean realized how badly he wanted that. He didn’t want to bring Felix home ever, he definitely didn’t want to bring him home that night.

Felix turned his head and looked at Dean with clear confusion coloring his bright hazel eyes. “Like tonight?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Dean answered with a little nod. It was stupid, but he suddenly felt nervous or bashful about it. He was preparing himself for Felix to turn him down or just not be able to. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all to avoid any awkwardness, but he still really didn’t want to take Felix home. “My dad’s in Nashville for a three-day gig so I have the house to myself,” he explained as he focused his attention on his fingers ghosting over the prominent bone at Felix’s hip. “I thought maybe, I don’t know, you could stay if you wanted, and if your dad was cool with it,” he offered to try to offer Felix as many outs as he could think of just in case.

Felix stretched much like a cat in the sun, and it was equal parts sexy and lazy. Dean didn’t have much time to think any beside how he liked seeing Felix like that before Felix rolled over, so he was laying on his side facing Dean. Their knees just barely touched as Felix settled next to him with a thoughtful expression written across his face. He reached out a hand and gently pushed a stray hair away from Dean’s face before declaring seriously, “You are so lucky you are hot and good in bed because you ask stupid fucking questions sometimes.” Dean blushed despite himself and tried to downcast his eyes, but he and Felix were laying too close so there was no avoid Felix’s gaze. The hand that had so gently pushed the hair from Dean’s face settled at his hip as a cocky little smile spread across Felix’s face. “Of course I want to,” Felix assured in such a confident way it. “And my dad can go fuck himself for all I care,” Felix declared which really wasn’t anything new for Felix, but it still made Dean smile. He was sure it was a mindless thing, but Felix started tracing little circles on the skin of Dean’s hip which was pretty distracting in all the best ways. “But if I’m staying we have to order a pizza or something because I’m fucking starving,” Felix informed.

“God, me too,” Dean admitted with a little laugh. He had been so anxious about the day that eating before Felix came over had seemed pretty unappealing. Now that the anxiety was gone Dean was left feeling very satisfied from the sex and very hungry. “Do you want pizza?” he questioned as his mind started to run through the options. “No one delivers out here,” he admitted. His place was too far from town for shit like that which was one of the many reasons Dean had been so driven to get a car when he was sixteen. They could also drive into town for food, but that involved things like going outside or putting on clothes which Dean wasn’t really into. Or at least he wasn’t into the idea of Felix putting on clothes. He wanted Felix to stay naked forever. “It is probably quicker if I just cook something,” he offered.

“It’s food, I’m there,” Felix replied quickly before seeming to think about it. “You cook?” he questioned looking at Dean with a bit of surprise.

“Yeah, I cook,” Dean admitted with a smile. His dad was actually a pretty good cook, but he had just never been around consistently enough for Dean to ever rely on it. He had learned to cook at a young age as a survival mechanism, and it just sort of stuck. Dean guessed that was just another way Felix got to learn something new about him.

He started to roll over with the intent of getting up as he declared, “Just give me a few minutes, and I can get something started.”

Dean didn’t even manage to roll completely over before Felix hand caught him at the hip and stopped him. “Not right now,” Felix declared before moving on the bed until he was snuggled against Dean’s back with his arm slung over Dean’s stomach. “We should just lay for a little while longer,” Felix offered with none of the confidence he had only seconds before.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed happily as he settled back into Felix’s embrace, “I like that idea.”

Again, I hope this lived up to expectations!

#Delix #My OCs #finally #Lemons

[20thcentutygeek]

How 'Ted Lasso' helped me take a look at myself

Heads up there are a few spoilers for Ted Lasso season two in this blog.

The TV show Ted Lasso is an oddity. The concept isn’t something I should be interested in, and on paper it shouldn’t work. I’m not a fan of football in the slightest, and it being based on a series of comedy commercials, history tells us it should have become a series of shallow jokes about a fish out of water. It should have failed with the first season. However, it has become a phenomenon, and rightfully so. In a world divided, confused, and scared for the future comes a show that is willing to wear its heart on its sleeve and be a positive force.

That’s not to say it’s devoid of conflict or that its saccharine in its chirpy happiness. What makes Ted Lasso special is its honesty. Often when that term is used for a TV show, it’s a hard hitting drama about the worst life has to offer. While I appreciate those shows are important, showing a glimpse of how some people are forced to live, I do believe the incessant grimness has been a contributing factor in the global emotional and psychological decline. Oddly contributing to further despair, without providing suggestions for a solution.

I will acknowledge that Ted Lasso is about a football club and people that earn millions of pounds. However, it doesn’t dwell on rich people problems, or diminish the people that aren’t in the same tax bracket. The football and the money are barely a consideration or a factor in the show. Yes, they inform elements and the framing but at its heart its about people from very different backgrounds working together to raise each other up, and every week it raises me up to.

The show has covered a number of topics and themes, and I think there are great articles to be written about the portrayal of women in business, the complexity of relationships, grieving and creating a positive working environment. What I want to focus on is how it has broken down and helped me address my own toxic masculinity.

As I reach 40, I have taken a look back at my life and, like everyone else, there are things I know I could have done better at or dealt with differently. One of those things is my own relationship with my emotions and mental health. I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s and my fictional role models were action stars and superheroes who dealt in actions rather words. Greif was an opportunity for revenge and lashing out. If a wrong was identified in the world it was an opportunity to blow stuff up. There was no room for emotions. John Rambo starts by exploring his PTSD and trauma to then being dropped back into war for entertainment. Not great therapy, and the way to work through those pesky trauma nightmares was to kill more baddies.

In the 90s, during my teen years, I was swamped by Lad Culture. Get drunk and be loud, with a side of obnoxious. It was an extension of the 80s yuppie culture, work hard, play harder. I was pretty good at that. Over the years I became more worldly, and I like to think more balanced. I have had some hard lessons about how to manage and work with people. I have tried to be better and be a positive influence on people I know and work with.

I grew up with prejudices that I have addressed, and I’m embarrassed I ever held them, but somethings are harder to work on than others. My understanding and acceptance of the wider world, and the wonderful array of people that live In it, has always been tempered by how I have perceived myself and what I feel.

I have trouble with my weight and will often work ridiculous hours to get work done. I take on too much and when I get frustrated, I let it build up into anger. Then when things don’t work out, or I have too many plates spinning I get annoyed at myself for not being able to keep everything moving. This then results in the behaviour that contributes to my weight issues. It becomes a cycle. I know this, and have done for years, but to admit it, to let others know that I know this, would be the biggest failure. To admit that I can’t do any more, or that I have hit my limit when I know that others are under pressure as well is, as far as I have seen it, a sign of weakness, and so I carry on. Not wanting people to think less of me. I’m a man and I should be able to shoulder this burden. Just grab another snickers and knuckle down harder. During the pandemic this behaviour has been worse than ever.

But that may all be in the past.

Ted Lasso season two has made me stop and take a step back. Football clubs are often portrayed as hives of competition and alpha males. Ted Lasso has taken a different tact and shown how this team supports each other. In this season three elements have made me take stock.

Jamie Tart dealing with the pressure to succeed from his Father and supporters has been fascinating to watch. The internalisation of the fear of failure and the constant push for you to the be the sole winner of a team game struck home. The moment he punched out his Dad was stunning. A full stop moment. Yes, it was frustration spilling out, but it was not for him, it was for him as part of the team. A moment to say, ‘no more’ and I am part of this team, and they are there for me. The fact the punch was followed by a hug from Roy Kent was perfect. We often work as a team, in life and in work. within in that team we have responsibilities, but we are not responsible for the whole team. Be good at what you are good at and help the others to do the same and positive results are a lot more likely.

Let’s talk about Roy Kent. He should be the worst offender, but they have under-cut this perfectly and created a new modern role model. The curmudgeonly Roy has a life and reputation built on aggression and machismo. However, his arc has led him to become a great example of the ability and need to adapt and try new things, especially as we move from one stage of life to the next. His desire to change, adapt and learn for the people he loves is an inspiration. They are the people we need to be better for the most. I now stop an ask WWRFD: What Would Roy Fucking Do?

The most important is Ted and his anxiety attacks. His relationship with Dr Fieldstone has also made me question some of my own habits and what may have caused them. I’m not going to delve into my life story here (you can wait for the book J), but Ted discussing how the suicide of his father has shaped his approach to life and the emotional impact this has had, when he is forced to have to give up on things, stopped me in my tracks. The question I asked was, who am I trying to impress? What am I getting from the hours given up and why am I doing this? The waking up at 4am with anxiety isn’t a sign I care about my work, it’s a sign my work is damaging me. This isn’t something that I am going to address overnight, but these questions have started a chain reaction that has allowed me to stop and say, ‘Yes, I am struggling, and I need to take a breath’. What comes next I still need to figure out, but I know that I do need to figure it out.

Everyone behind Ted Lasso should be proud. Not only are they creating a funny show with heart, but they are also creating role models that show young (and some not so young) men, that being a man isn’t about being stoic, bearing the burden and keeping going. It’s not macho to just keep going and wash down the negativity. Being a man is about being a part of the world, being who you are, but knowing that we can all be better and being willing to explore ways of achieving that. It doesn’t mean the world and life will be easier, but it does mean that we don’t have to do it alone.

I’m heading into middle age, and I am scared of it. I am scared I won’t be able to keep up. I am scared that things are getting on top of me. I am scared that I won’t be relevant anymore. Ted Lasso came at the right time and has helped put some things in perspective for me. It’s fine to be sacred of these things, the world can be fucking scary, but its not helpful to keep those fears to myself. WWRFD? he’d begrudgingly talk to Keely, and they would work it out together, whether it’s easy or hard.

I’m about to be 40 and its time to make some changes.

#Pop Culture #comedy #tv #Reviews

[andrewdburton]

When Your Shitty Health Insurance Doubles in Price

Well, despite Mr. Money Mustache’s outrageous optimism, I think we all saw this coming. I opened up my premium renewal email from Kaiser and saw this:

Figure 1: My new insane medical insurance premiums for the minimum available “Bronze” program, with a $6500 deductible.

My family’s monthly health insurance premium, which had already more than doubled in the last few years to $674 per month, was going up a further 44% for the coming year. For no good reason, other than perhaps the the current government’s attempts to kill off the Affordable Care Act. (By cutting various parts of the structure, the insurance market becomes less stable and predictable, and thus more expensive).

Now, before we go any further, I have to note that this is a situation that only affects high income earners. If we were really retired on a $30,000 passive income as we were for some of the decade before this blog started making significant money, our family’s monthly cost would be more like $128, due to tax credits and the Children’s Health Plus plan.:

Figure 2: Net insurance cost for a $30k per year family of three.

But in my email, I just saw the thousand bucks. And if you know how know how I feel about rules, unnecessary costs, and insurance in general, you can probably guess what my initial gut reaction was:

“Fuck. FUCK THAT! This is absolute bullshit. Fuck you, I quit, I’m not paying it.”

But, since I’m not sixteen years old anymore, I was eventually able to get past this first stage of the analysis and think about an actual course of action.

After all, all the power and freedom in the world is of no use at all, if you choose to wallow in your anger rather than taking steps to create the life you want. So I thought about why I was so angry. It boiled down to this:

The premiums are not an accurate representation of my risk.

The value of medical insurance is pretty easy to estimate: the National Institute of Health calculates that the average person consumes about $449,000* in health care spending over an 80-year lifetime, or $5600 per year.  This is less than my plan’s deductible alone, which eliminates the value of insurance right off the bat. My plan really only covers catastrophically expensive events, which means it is unlikely that I will ever use it.

Plus, most medical spending is loaded towards the last decades of life, where the Medicare program already picks up the bulk of the costs. And, we are healthier than average – aside from one baby delivery about twelve years ago, none of us have ever actually benefited from health insurance in over nineteen years in the country.

When you add up these factors, it is obvious that the insurance is a bad deal. When presented with overpriced insurance, I always just choose not buy it, which is also called “self-insuring”. But whenever I talk about self-insuring for medical expenses, everyone asks the same question:

“But what if you do get hit by a falling piano and have to spend months in the Intensive Care Unit?”

The answer is that I guess I’d receive some large medical bills!

I’m not denying that an expensive treatment absolutely can never happen to me. I’m just putting an estimate and a limit on how much I am willing to pay for insurance on it.

Remember, health insurance not really health insurance. It’s just “large medical bill insurance” – a shaky precaution against having to pay for expensive procedures, so you can keep your investments instead of using them to pay the bills, perhaps eventually becoming poor enough that you are covered by public health insurance (Medicaid). A better name for it might be wealth insurance.

We have been trained to think that going without medical bill insurance is very risky. But that’s just because the subject appears frequently in the news. If it weren’t such a hot topic these days, the average person without a chronic illness would rarely think about it.

After all, by comparison, what precautions have you taken against being hit by a meteor? There could be one streaking towards you right now. It could kill you, or your children, or it could leave you with lifetime of chronic care costs. Are you telling me you don’t have separate meteor insurance? Why not?

In 2013 a 60-foot chunk of rock came from space and hit Russia with the force of 30 Hiroshimas. The human race escaped with just 1500 injuries, but only because the rock came in at a shallow angle and landed in a very remote area.

If space rocks are too far-fetched, how about motor vehicles? If you choose to drive a car, you are willingly throwing yourself into a far riskier situation than simply self-insuring for medical bills. Even more dangerous, statistically: being inactive and/overweight, a boat in which over 66% of us sail every day.

The point is that while huge, uncovered medical bills are inconvenient, they are rare. Therefore, my willingness to pay for insurance against them must have a limit. I’d definitely pay $50 per month for it, but should I be willing to pay $1000?

What about $2000? $4000? $12,000 or $1 million per month? I think that everyone would hit their “Fuck That” point somewhere in there.

And remember, this problem of expensive medical procedures is unique to the US. You can take your dollars almost anywhere else in the world and pay out-of-pocket to get the same (or better) quality care for a fraction of the cost. At some point, a rational person has to be willing to stop overpaying for this inefficient system.

After doing the math, I decided that my limit is definitely less than $1000, which means I should at least consider other options. So I looked into some of them:

Full Self Insurance

2.9 Months per year of Self Insurance (to avoid IRS penalty)

Medical Tourism

joining a “Healthshare Ministry” like Libertyshare

expat insurance like Cigna

Artificial poverty (reducing my income to a level where we’d qualify for subsidies)

Self Insuring is the easiest choice: you just don’t renew your insurance and start banking that sweet surplus right away.  There is a tax penalty for that: $695 per adult, $347 per child, or 2.5 percent of your adjusted gross income – whichever is greater. Thus, a family with $100,000 of income would pay a $2500 fee. With my new premium at $11,500 per year, the penalty would still be cheaper all the way up to $461,000 in income. Plus, there are a surprising number of qualifying exemptions, including a death in the family within the last three years, a category which unfortunately includes me.

A 90 Day Insurance Vacation is the lightweight version of self-insurance. The penalty only applies if you were uninsured for three months or more. So if you set your new insurance to take effect on, say, February 27th, you cut your premiums by about 25% in exchange for the reduced risk protection. Just be sure to postpone your Wingsuit Jumping vacation until at least March.

Medical Tourism is an important thing that every US resident should be aware of. After all, we live in the country with the most overpriced medical procedures in the world – why should we insist on doing 100% of our shopping here? This would be like insisting you buy only US-produced goods and services: no electronics, no shoes, no Amazon and no blueberries in winter. We should all read a book or two on the subject to understand just how easy it is, to free ourselves from the US-centric assumption that doctors are shockingly expensive.

Health Sharing Ministries  like Liberty HealthShare looked like the most promising loophole. Due to the strong influence of organized religion in the US, if you can join one of these, you are exempt from the tax penalty. The downside is the same as the upside: these ministries are exempt from ACA rules, which means they can drop you for having a pre-existing condition. And they also want you to affirm their value system, which can range from agreeable stuff like “taking care of your health” to excluding coverage for things that violate religious taboos like abortion or attempted suicide.

Expat Insurance sounded promising when I first heard about it from some fellow Canadian early retirees who write the blog Millennial Revolution. Companies like Cigna will cover you for worldwide medical costs for a fraction of what we pay here in the US. But the hitch is it only applies if you are truly on the road and don’t actually reside here. So it’s not an option for now. But in the long run when I retire to an oceanfront compound (or commune?) in Costa Rica, yes.

Reduced Income is the last and least feasible option on the list for me right now, but it’s genuine and not even artificial in the case of the typical early retiree.

Suppose you are retired with, say, a mortgage-free home and $800,000 in index funds, and living on a plentiful $30,000 per year. Your income tax return will show only about $18,000 in dividends, some of them even tax-exempt. On top of that, you’ll sell just a few shares and pay taxes only on the capital gains. This taxable income in the mid-20s will keep you in a very low tax and health insurance bracket.

 So What Path Did the Mustache Family Take?

I brought all this stuff up to Mrs. MM – the other, less morally-outraged, leader of our household.  Our conversation brought up a few things:

Although a $12k insurance bill is insane, we would not even notice a $12,000 difference in income taxes if the brackets were to change. We currently have a high income, but this has not caused us to increase our family spending at all. This is because of the magic of living below your means: once you have enough money, the surplus is just that: a big, fat, awesome bonus. Since I want this enormous surplus to go back to society over my lifetime, why should I be upset about some of it paying for other peoples’ health insurance right now?

But, I countered, this doesn’t apply to everyone. The typical MMM reader earns enough money to be hit by these higher premiums, and many are raising families and running small businesses, thus purchasing health insurance on the open market. At the same time, they are trying to save as much money as possible to reach financial independence while they are still young enough to enjoy it. Burning $12,000 per year on mostly-useless insurance can wipe out 25% or more of the amount you could otherwise save for retirement.

Given this, the Healthshare ministry was one of the better compromises. However, she felt that pretending to agree with a religion (especially if it’s one that actively oppose some things we value like same-sex couple equality and women’s reproductive rights) wasn’t worth it for us.

In my own hypothetical pre-retirement situation (a self-employed couple making $200,000)  I would probably go for full self-insurance, simply paying the tax penalty whenever necessary and using medical tourism for any expensive procedures.

But also remember that if you’re a high-income business owner, your business can pay for your health insurance with pre-tax money. This cuts your net cost after taxes by 30-40%, making it a subsidized program after all.

So in the end, we’re just letting the policy auto-renew for now, using that last bullet point as a consolation prize.  And these premiums will probably remain outrageous, unless we fix the underlying problem in the US: it’s not the insurance, it’s how much money we waste on medical care. If the Medical system could grow a Money Mustache**, I am certain we could cut our costs down by at least 75%, just as the average consumer can cut their costs by a similar portion just by learning to life a joyful and efficient life.

    Footnotes:

* I adjusted the NIH paper’s 2000 numbers to 2017 dollars.

** Ideas for making US healthcare less expensive – please critique and add your own in the comments!

Eliminate the 75% of healthcare spending we currently waste on self-imposed lifestyle diseases: eliminate subsidized urban car infrastructure in favor of muscle-powered transportation. Treat soda and products with added sugar in the same way we currently treat liquor. Treat health and fitness (rather than medical treatment) like a human right, instead of a vanity accessory just for rich mountain-dwellers and celebrities.

Make health care purchasing look more like Wal-Mart and Amazon, and less like the DMV. Every standard procedure needs to be listed on a menu with a price, and those need to be on the front door so they are subject to competition. By huge national or even international companies and co-ops.

Drastically increase the supply of doctors, and make the job more enjoyable: Cut mandatory work hours for residents from 80 to 40 per week. Modernize the medical school curriculum to eliminate pointless memorization, reflect current technology and reduce the cost of the degree.  Open the borders to qualified doctors from other countries. Allow telemedicine – let doctors in other countries certify easily for US diagnostics and prescriptions.

Elevate nurses to do all the stuff they already do, but in their own clinics without working for a doctor and paying the money up the chains.

Start using search engines and artificial intelligence for diagnosis, rather than flawed and expensive humans.

Open state and national boundaries for insurance and hospital services with only the required regulations for safety as we do with other imports.

Eliminate the right for anybody to sue for medical malpractice, or indeed for pretty much anybody to sue anybody else for anything. Let’s make our professional reputation and our actions public and then just suck it up like adults, reinvesting the enormous proceeds currently wasted on litigation.

Figure out if we can make single-payer health insurance can work for us as it does for most countries. There are many benefits, but the biggest is probably just eliminating all the mental energy we each waste on thinking about this mundane topic. As an analogy, imagine if every citizen had to hire their own police force for personal security – just think of how much energy and fear would be wasted on this topic, which we barely have to think about right now. As it turns out, it works the same way with health insurance.

        from Finance http://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2017/11/05/when-your-shitty-health-insurance-doubles-in-price/ via http://www.rssmix.com/