#billy delaney | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seanfalco · 2 years

Note

#4 kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft tender with Billy? 😭 I love my soft boy

[ gif credit - @/vousnavezrienvu ]

Plus One

Billy Delaney x f!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, reader wears a dress, jealousy/insecurity, misunderstandings, some snogging

“Alright everyone, looks like our time’s up for today. Thank you models, you may dress! Don’t forget I want to see your sketchbooks”

Startled by your professor’s voice, you glanced at the clock above the classroom door. You’d been so hyper-focused on your study, you’d completely lost track of time. Packing up the sketch pencils and erasers left scattered along the tray of your easel, you took a moment to look around the room at your classmates’ work, admiring certain details and making mental critiques.

Wiping your hands clean, you checked your phone, finding a message from your boyfriend—I’m outside. Surprise!—and sure enough, when you raised your head, you found Billy waving at you, waiting just outside the door.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” you exclaimed, grinning at him brightly as he stepped into the room, weaving through the students already hurrying out.

“I got off work early, thought I’d surprise yeh and walk you home,” Billy replied, flashing you his winning smile as he hefted your oversized portfolio case to carry.

“What a pleasant surprise,” you replied, beaming back at him. “How did you know I was missin’ that gorgeous face of yours?”

“Oh, just a guess,” Billy teased, slinging his free arm around your shoulders. “Probably had somethin’ t’do with how much I missed yours.”

“It should be illegal t’be that smooth, y’know?” you joked, bumping against his side as you walked.

“So it’s workin’ then, is it?”

“Most definitely.”

Billy huffed a pleased laugh and you walked on in silence for a bit until he spoke up again. “So, uhm, what’re you doin’ next weekend? Got any plans?”

You made a show of thinking before grinning playfully. “None that doesn’t include you. Why?”

“Well, I uh, it seems I’ve been invited to a weddin’ and I was hopin’ you’d like to accompany me,” he said, searching your face hopefully as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Really?”

“Yeah, o’course, you’re my girlfriend,” Billy exclaimed as if it were obvious, bringing a bright smile to your face.

“I’d love t’go with you,” you answered, already mentally going through your wardrobe for the perfect dress to wear when a thought occurred to you. “How formal are we talkin’ here?”

“Well,” Billy paused to huff a soft laugh, “knowing Inca, she’ll probably be expecting everyone t’be dressed to the nines.”

“Evening gown it is then,” you laughed, glad for an excuse to go shopping.

——

“Were those real doves?” you exclaimed, still trying to wrap your head around how over the top the ceremony had been as you walked into the reception hall on Billy’s arm.

“I told you,” he chuckled, “Inca’s taste tends to veer toward th’extravagant.”

“You’re not kidding,” you agreed, wondering how much this wedding must have cost, the reception just as elegantly decorated as the church had been. Everywhere you looked were softly flickering candles, gilded portraits, and fancy glass ornaments, the large ornate ballroom resplendent in reds and blacks, complete with a large ice statue in the shape of a swan taking flight in the middle of the room.

“So, how do you know the bride and groom?” you asked as you found your seats, your table near the front where the wedding party was camped at. Before Billy could answer, a familiar face plopped down next to you and Billy chuckled.

“Speak of th’devil,” he said, gesturing to Alfie who surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly) was dateless—he and your friend on a bit of a break. “I met them through dear Alfred,” he explained and Aflie’s brows rose as he turned to face you.

“Whut now? What’d I do?” he asked, reaching inside his jacket to pull out a tiny silver flask, his eyes flicking questioningly between you and your boyfriend.

“y/n was just asking how I know Inca and Jason,” Billy explained and Alfie ohhh’d, nodding his head and taking a swig.

“Right, yeah. So, Jason’s my mum’s ex-husband, and—”

“Wait, he’s not your dad?” you cut in, confused, and Alfie recoiled, clearly offended.

“Oh God no,” he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose, his lip curled in disgust. “He’s my sisters’ dad.”

“I met th’whole gang when I was crashin’ with Alfie at his mum’s after we traveled round China,” Billy added and you nodded, finally understanding.

“That’s nice that you’re still so close to your best friend’s family,” you mused as more people arrived, joining the three of you at the table.

Billy began the introductions only to be interrupted by the bride as she swanned over, her husband in tow, trying to keep up. “Irish, you came!” she cried dramatically after greeting the others—a knobbish looking fellow named Tom and a petite middle aged blonde woman she called Yemma, though Jason called Gemma when he greeted her.

“Of course I came, I wouldn’t have missed it,” Billy replied, rising to accept her embrace before shaking Jason’s hand and returning to his seat, his arm slipping nonchalantly around your shoulder, resting on your chair back.

“And who is your lovely friend?” Inca exclaimed, gesturing to you.

“This is my girlfriend, y/n,” Billy introduced and you felt eyes on you from across the table.

Glancing over, your eyes flicking momentarily alway from Inca, you caught Gemma watching you, a strange expression on her face before she noticed your gaze and quickly looked down at her hands.

Frowning slightly, it took you a moment to realize Inca was still talking about you and you gave her your full attention once more.

“You must let me wax you,” she exclaimed matter of factly, studying you thoughtfully, as if deciding which parts of you needed the most attention.

“Excuse me?” you spluttered, gaping at the bride before her husband quickly jumped in to explain.

“Ah y’see, Inca works at a spa,” he exclaimed, wincing—at your expression or perhaps an unpleasant memory involving being waxed himself you couldn’t tell. “Maybe y/n would prefer a massage instead,” he suggested, but Inca was still studying you.

“No, a wax,” she decided, her tone brooking no nonsense.

“O-okay,” you stuttered helplessly, unsure what else to say, when luckily someone across the room seemed to catch Inca’s attention and her face lit up as she called out to them.

“Come Yason,” she snapped, already taking off, “we have more guests to greet!” And just like that, she’d already forgotten about you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh. “It was nice t’meet you. Enjoy the dinner!’ he called before hurrying after his wife.

Sharing a look with Billy, you covered your mouth to stifle your laughter, leaning against his shoulder as you giggled quietly. Again, Gemma seemed perturbed about something before her eyes flitted away. Hastily grabbing her glass, she brought it to her lips and nearly spilled it down her front as Tom startled her, leaning in to ask her to dance, a wide grin on his face that quickly turned to alarm.

Fussing over trying to mop up the champagne that soaked her dress, you didn’t catch the rest of their conversation as Billy tore his eyes from the scene and leaned in.

“How ‘bout you? Wanna dance?” he asked, holding his hand out to you and you took it eagerly, letting him guide you out to the dance floor.

As you swayed to the music, resting your cheek on Billy’s shoulder, his arms around you, you let your gaze wander, taking in the people around you. However, as the first song melded into the next, your eyes found Gemma and Tom—Tom having finally dragged her out to the dance floor. Once more, you caught the older woman staring in your direction while trying to pretend like she wasn’t, and you frowned, stiffening.

Billy noticed the way you tensed in his arms and pulled back to look at you. “Are you alright? Is somethin’ wrong?” he asked, concern filling those large emerald eyes.

Glancing back to Gemma, you hesitated, the words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling she didn’t like you for some reason, but you knew it would sound ridiculous if you brought it up and you didn’t want Billy to think you were the type of girl that got weirdly possessive when any other woman so much as looked at him.

“I’m fine!” you quickly answered instead, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“Y’sure?” he pressed, raising a skeptical eyebrow at you, and you nodded.

“I’m sure. I think I just need to find the restroom,” you murmured.

Billy let you go, but frowned as he watched you walk away, sensing not all was right.

By the time you returned, having taken a moment to freshen up your makeup and give yourself a little peptalk in the mirror, you found Alfie the only one at the table.

“Hey Alfie, have you seen Billy?” you asked, sitting down next to him. He already seemed drunk, and though you were dying to ask what had happened between him and your friend—who’d been rather tight-lipped about it—you held your tongue, not wanting to upset him further and risk him causing a scene.

“He’s other there, chattin’ up my mum, again,” he muttered darkly, gesturing across the room to where your boyfriend stood conversing with Gemma. She was laughing at something he’d said while he smiled at her, and as she half reached out to touch his shoulder, stopping as she realized what she was doing, something in your chest tightened.

“Wait, Gemma’s your mum?” She doesn’t seem that old.

Noticing your expression, Alfie snorted. “She had me really young.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I see that.”

Alfie let out a huff, propping his chin in his hand as he idly swirled the last dredges of liquor around the bottom of his glass. “Still can’t believe th’bastard kissed her that time just t’win a bet,” he grumbled under his breath and you tore your eyes from your boyfriend to gape at Alfie.

“He did what?”

Alfie seemed to realize what he’d said and hastily straightened, backpedaling, his eyes going comically wide. “Y-yes, yes I said that, and as fucked up as that is—”

“How long ago was this?” you demanded, interrupting him.

“It was a year ago, before you’d even met!”

The rest of Alfie’s explanation fell to a drone as you narrowed your eyes, glaring at Gemma. That’s what that look had been in her pale blue eyes—longing—and as much as Alfie insisted it hadn’t meant anything… probably, you couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story. It was obvious by the look on Mrs. Jones’ face that it’d meant something to her.

Scraping your chair back, you ignored Alfie’s pleas to calm down, instead setting off across the room with purpose. Neither of them seemed to notice you approach until you stopped at Billy’s side, slipping your arm around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, there y’are!” Billy exclaimed, brightening at the sight of you. “I was just tellin’ Gem-uh–Mrs. Jones aboutcha.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” you murmured, catching Gemma looking flustered, her eyes flicking from your arm linked with Billy’s and back up to your face, offering you a nervous smile.

“Hey, you thirsty?” Billy asked, noticing that you didn’t have a glass in hand and you gave a start.

“Uh, yeah I guess.”

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to your temple that almost made you forget you needed to ask him about his involvement with Gemma.

“Soooo…” Gemma began as Billy walked away, letting the word trail off awkwardly for a moment, a panicked look crossing her face.

“So…” you echoed, rocking on your heels as you waited for the woman to finish her thought.

“Yes, uhm, well, Billy tells me you study art,” she finally managed to get out.

“Yep, I have a show coming up soon. It’s just at the student gallery, but I’m pretty excited,” you answered, your polite instincts kicking in, overtaking the urge to demand what exactly she thought she was trying to pull.

“Wow, that’s-wow,” Gemma exclaimed, her tone somewhat distracted, as if she wanted to say something else and was trying to work up the nerve. “Look, I-I’m sure Billy’s told you what happened,” she began, her words rushing together and voice wavering. “A-about how I probably broke the poor boy’s heart when I chose Tom instead of him.” She paused again to wet her lips, her pale blue eyes finally meeting yours.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m so glad that he met you. You two seem very sweet together and I…I just want him to be happy, even if seeing him here was harder than I expected,” she finished with a sigh before flashing an anxious smile.

The smile you returned, however, was stiff. “Excuse me,” you managed to mutter before walking away, unsure exactly where your legs were taking you.

You faintly registered Gemma’s calling out to you, but you didn’t stop until you were away from the party, even the sound of the music far away and muted. Taking a deep breath, you silently seethed as you paced, trying to wrangle your fly away thoughts and unstable emotions.

If it wasn’t such a big deal, why hadn’t Billy told you about it? Unless… unless he still had feelings for Gemma.

The thought made your chest tighten, emotion washing over you, nearly pulling you under like a strong tide.

“y/n?”

Billy’s voice behind you startled you and you tensed as you turned slowly to face him.

“What’re y’doing over here?” he asked, concern worrying the corners of his mouth as he approached you. “I came back with drinks only t’find you’d run off.”

“I-I’m fine,” you lied, attempting to school your expression, though by the look on your boyfriend’s face, he wasn’t burying it.

“y/n—”

“Do you still have feelings for Mrs. Jones?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Whatever Billy had thought you were going to say, that wasn’t it, and for a moment he stared at you as if you’d grown a second head. “No! No.” he responded quickly, trying to make up for his shocked pause, echoing the word firmly.

“Who told y’bout that?”

“She did,” you answered, crossing your arms over your chest and glancing away; Billy sighed, deflating.

“I swear t’you, y/n, I don’t have feelin’s for Gemma any longer,” he said softly, taking a cautious step closer. “I only have eyes for you,” he insisted, a genuine note to his lilting voice.

“Then why didn’t you tell me about this before?” you sighed, desperately wanting to believe him. “Cause it kinda seems like you were hiding it,” you pointed out, collapsing back on the white and gold loveseat behind you, your heels clacking softly against the shiny tiled floor.

“I wasn’t tryin’ t’hide it,” Billy murmured, joining you, his gaze beseeching you as he sat, turning toward you. “It’s true I was still gettin’ over her rejection th’first time we met, but I genuinely liked you. It was th’first time I’d felt like that since putin’ my heart out there only t’be crushed,” he explained, his gaze boring into yours, holding you captive.

“It was you who helped me see that I deserved so much more than clandestine kisses and bein’ hidden away.”

Billy’s voice cracked with emotion and he let out a breath that washed over you as his grasp on your hands tightened, his thumbs brushing over the ridge of your knuckles. “I love you,” he whispered, putting his whole heart into the words, holding it out on a platter for you.

“Please believe me.”

Drawing his lip between his teeth, he held his breath, his eyes glistening in the golden lamplight as he watched you, his whole body tensing in anticipation as he waited for your response.

“I believe you,” you breathed finally, taking Billy’s face between your hands, your nose brushing his as you pressed your forehead to his.

Pulling back only a few inches, Billy huffed in relief, his hands engulfing your wrists as he leaned into your touch, tilting his chin to catch your lips.

“Good, cause I have somethin’ else t’ask you, which I’d been plannin’ t’do before all this came up.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I was gunna ask you t’move in with me,” he said, his lips tugging into a sheepish grin as he waited for your reaction.

“Really?” you asked excitedly, your enthusiasm bubbling over before you fought back your grin, eyeing him sternly. “Are y’sure you aren’t just askin’ me that t’make up for earlier?” you teased, barely able to keep a straight face.

“See, I knew you’d think that!” he gasped, laughing, stealing your breath as he kissed you again.

“Really?” you repeated faintly when he finally let you breathe.

“Yes, really,” he insisted, grinning against your lips.

“Yes,” you replied, slipping your arms around his neck. “I’d love t’move in with you, Billy.”

Hidden away from the party in your own little bubble, the moment felt frozen in time, preserved, and you lost track of everything but Billy’s lips on yours.

“Oh thank God, there you are!” Alfie exclaimed, panting heavily as if he’d been running and it took you a moment to register what was going on, drunk off Billy’s kisses.

Billy pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his friend, as if to ask why he’d interrupted you.

“Oh no, don’t mind me,” he huffed sarcastically, radiating indignation, “just the guy who’s been looking all over for you t’make sure everything was okay!”

“Thank you, Alfie, we’re fine,” you replied, flashing him a thankful smile that doubled as a dismissal.

When it became clear that neither of you would be returning with him to the reception, he threw up his hands with a scoff and turned back the way he’d come.

“We’ll be back shortly,” Billy called after him, chuckling fondly before his eyes returned to yours. “Now, where were we?” he asked, his lips curving cheekily.

“I think we were… here,” you replied, leaning back against the armrest as you pulled him back to you by the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Ah right, how could I forget,” he murmured before his lips slotted with yours, picking up just where you’d left off.

@super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley

#billy delaney #billy delaney x reader #me and mrs jones #robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #joz.fic #prompt request

37 notes · View notes

misskittysmagicportal · 8 months

Note

What do you mean Rob spiralled after Me and Mrs Jones was cancelled?

No he spiraled while playing Billy. He's been vocal in the past about falling into a depression during the course of the show. He was miserable despite getting on well with his cast mates. His friends were going on to worldwide success, but he was locked in to a "sitcom" without the creative input that he enjoyed playing Nathan and Darren.

#robert sheehan #me and mrs jones #billy delaney #jonathan bailey #alfie jones

6 notes · View notes

salvador-daley · 2 years

Note

Beach for the WIP work :)

Aww, man. I’m kinda gutted about this one. It’s another smutty reader insert, but this one featured Billy Delaney on his travels in Thailand with Alfie prior to the events of Me & Mrs Jones.

It was/is a collab with @super-unpredictable98, but Google Docs tells me we’ve not touched it in a year (purely my fault - I’m a terribly slow and unfocused writing partner). I’d love to pick this one up again sometime because I happen think it’s not half bad…

NSFW skinny dippin’ after the cut 😘😘

[Send me a WIP title and I’ll post a snip]

He kisses you again under the moonlight and your body bends towards him, the warm water caressing your shoulders.

Beneath the surface, his hands roam your skin, travelling around your back, your ass, the soft flesh of your thighs, and then -

You stop his hand with yours, pulling away from his kiss.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Under the pale half-light you can see the flash of genuine concern crossing his face.

“Erm, I just need to warn you. This trip… the point of it was to free myself from a lot of the expectations back home. My family, my work, erm… certain standards.”

You pause here. You’re not embarrassed, why should you be? But it still feels weird to explain this to a virtual stranger while bobbing naked in his arms in the sea.

“Go on, what is it?” he encourages.

“Certain beauty standards.”

His mouth forms an “Oh” shape as the subject of your conversation begins to dawn on him.

“I’ve not picked up a razor in, like, three months,” you continue. “So the situation is… very natural.”

The expression on his face moves between recognition, impish curiosity and delight, his eyebrows popping towards the glittering stars.

“Really?” His hand is moving again, painting a delicate trail around your waist, then moving lower, finding the soft nest beneath the water. His mouth falls open slightly with a faint gasp as his fingers tangle in the mossy patch between your legs.

“Well, that’s a nice surprise,” he says, bringing his eyes up to yours again and meeting your wet lips together in another gentle kiss.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, quite the opposite,” he says, his smile widening, fingers seeking you out persistently in the dark, briney water.

“Most guys from back home would be put off by it,” you say, your breath catching as his fingertips round your clit.

“Well, I’m not most guys,” he whispers. He gently introduces a firm finger inside you, then another, then curls them, as if beckoning you towards him.

A soft moan escapes your chest as his fingers delve deeper, fucking you in time with the rhythmic lapping of the waves. You press your chest to his and his lips find the space behind your ear, trailing light kisses and nips down your neck.

“Hey! You two! Xxk cāk n̂ả! Get out of the water! Klāngkhụ̄n h̄̂ām lèn n̂ả! No swimming at night!”

“Oh shit,” says Billy. “Quick, run!”

#whaddyafink Flor?#should we have another stab at this one?#robert sheehan #billy delaney x reader #Billy delaney #Robert Sheehan smut #robert sheehan x reader #bbc me and mrs jones #me and mrs jones

26 notes · View notes

miss-kittys-magical-library · 2 years

Text

The Library is closing. I held on longer than I was probably meant to. All the stories, I believe, are told that Im going to tell here in particular. It was fun (most of the time) while it lasted

**If anyone would like to be put on a mailing list for anything I may write drop me a DM here. I think I'm going to create a newsletter 💋**

To @robertsheehanownsmyass and @angst-fairygodmother you are my best friends who have kept me afloat through a bunch of shit.

To @elliethesuperfruitlover @bisexualnathanyoung @firstpersonnarrator and even @super-unpredictable98 You were my first cheerleaders followed by @forenschik and @frogs--are--bitches

And to @heratheanon who is still here cheering me on whenever she can. The loveliest anon who turned into a "real" person just to follow us. I hope I'm not letting you down.

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #housekeeping #the librarian #klaus hargreeves #nathan young #darren treacy #vincent rhodes #billy delaney #luba #leon #cormac mcnamara #sean falco

19 notes · View notes

sheehalloween · 1 year

Text

12 notes · View notes

super-unpredictable98 · 2 years

Text

The Unavoidable | Me and Mrs. Jones AU

Pairing: Billy x Saga (Me and Ms. Adolphson’ Verse) Word Count: 2,8 k Warning: Strong language

(Masterlist)

"Should I be worried, S? You left the house twice this month, once for your sister's hen night and once to pick the twins up from school. But even then you were covered from head to toe, Alfie told me people thought you were a child predator," Billy laughed, sitting by his girlfriend on the couch.

"Welcome home from work, my dear, I missed you too!" Saga laughed nervously.

"Who you runnin' from? Any stalker I should know about?"

"No... It's just... I heard my father is in England," she admitted quietly, and Billy's heart dropped.

He knew she wasn't embarrassed of him or anything like that, she was more scared of her family than anything else, but it still hurt that she was that terrified of being seen with him.

Most of the time he felt like a mildly successful guy: he had a good job (it wasn't a five-star hotel restaurant, but still), he had a nice flat, and he could afford to take Saga out and buy nice gifts for her. He was faithful and loving, she seemed happy with him.

"How are we gonna do this at the wedding? Are you gonna tell him or am I just Alfie's friend when I'm there?" He asked hesitantly.

"I- I'm gonna tell him, of course. I don't wanna have to pretend like you're not my boyfriend, I love you!" Saga cried. "Besides, he's not gonna throw a tantrum during Inca's wedding. My brothers will be there too, I think they'll like you, they just want to see me happy."

"You sure? I heard your brothers are quite big, if they don't like me, I'm pretty much fucked."

"No, they are big but they are also really nice."

Billy nodded, trying to believe her. He was usually so great at meeting parents, his natural charm always made them like him, but this time he was the bad boy who stole the girl away from the man her dad chose. That thought had been haunting him ever since they started dating.

"What are their names? Y'never talk about your family," he pointed at the plastic bag on the table with the meal he prepared for her before closing the kitchen.

"My mum's name is Kajsa, she was a model when she was my age, but now she's a housewife. People say Inca and I look a lot like her, she's the best mom in the world and nothing you say can change my mind. My dad, Ivar, has his own menswear brand he created with my grandpa. He is very strict, but he does what he does because he loves us. He just wants what's best for me."

"Mmmhm I see, I see..." Billy nodded. He absolutely didn't like her father, not after learning that he essentially forced Saga to date Ake despite her protests. Ivar sounded like a huge control freak who treated his kids as property, but for everyone's sake, he was willing to ignore those feelings and be nice to the old man. "And your brothers?"

"Noak is the oldest, he works with my dad and he is very uptight, he always used to tell our parents when I did something wrong. Esbjorn is a lawyer and he loves to read, especially the classics, he's really smart. Then there's Inca, and Goran is the second youngest, he is an athlete, he swims for his college team."

"And then there's you, the little family princess protected by all these people," he chuckled as he watched her happily eat her spaghetti and meatballs. "I'm fucked."

"No, you are not! They will love you just like I do, you are a good man, a great catch, Billy. If my dad or my siblings can't see that, then it sounds like a them problem, I'm not gonna give up my happiness for them anymore."

Billy wasn't so sure they would even give him a chance. An Irish nomad who just settled in England, working as a chef, but at a small pub and with a salary that wouldn't impress anyone. Living in a flat with one chair and who just happened to swoop in and win the heart of a, let's face it, rich Swedish heiress. He loved her to bits, but was that enough for her family?

As the days passed by, he tried to focus on his groomsman duties and work, ignoring his doubts and doing the best he could to hide them from his very perceptive girlfriend. When the day finally came, the nerves were at an all time high, but for a moment everything disappeared:

"You look... Gorgeous, Saga," Billy swallowed when she came out of his room in her long emerald green dress.

It was quite a simple outfit, Inca would never let the bridesmaids upstage her in any way, but Saga made it look like a masterpiece. Her hair up exposed her long neck and her delicate collar bones, the slit that exposed her beautiful thigh... It all made his heart skip a beat and send blood somewhere else.

"Thank you, sweetie, you look very handsome too," she stepped closer to fix his tie and his hair. "When our wedding happens, you are definitely not wearing gray again."

"We're gettin' married?" He chuckled.

"I would like to one day, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, of course, I just- we never discussed that. I thought you'd be horrified with commitment after all that happened."

"I am, but not when it comes to you. I want to be with you for as long as I can, being with you is like being home."

"That is so beautiful, darlin'," he smiled, taking in the sight of her so he would never forget it. "And what color would you want me t'wear for our wedding?"

"I don't know, maybe blue, or deep red."

"Sounds good t'me, as long as I'm marryin' you I'll wear a diaper for all I care," he offered his arm for her to hold. "Let's go, Tom is already waitin' downstairs."

——————————————————

"I am starting to lose my mind!" Inca cried, pacing from one side of the room to the other.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Saga took her hands while Gemma simply watched awkwardly from the side. Calming the bride was a job for the bridesmaids of course, so they both had to be there. "Look at me, Inca! You are going to be fine."

"What if I'm making a mistake?"

"You won't know until you make it and it's better to make a mistake and fix the mess later than to never try and never know how things could've been."

"Divorce is always an option, don't feel like your life is over," Gemma said, but quickly shut her mouth when Saga glanced at her. "I don't think you're making a mistake."

"You married Jason once and it didn't work, maybe I am!" Inca panted, she was starting to look even paler if that was possible. "This dress is too big, it's suffocating me! I'm needing to change."

"It's okay, you are just anxious, sister! You love this dress because it's too big, it's gonna look amazing in the photos. You'll look perfect, and you are going to be so happy with your husband. I meant what I said that one time, Jason is an idiot, but he is a good person. You are perfect together, there's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure, Saga? You really think so?"

"I am one hundred percent sure."

"Okay, I'm ready! Go on, I'm going to be preparing for my big entrance."

The two bridesmaids ran into the church and took their places at the altar. Billy gave them a questioning look and Saga gave him a thumbs up, nodding with a smile. Her face changed completely though when she noticed her father sitting on the first row with her mother and brothers.

It had been a while since they had seen each other. Saga purposefully avoided calling or texting so she could escape the questions about her love life and whenever Ake came up in conversation, she simply made up an excuse to hang up.

During the ceremony, she allowed herself not to think about that and simply focus on her sister and that big moment. Saga had never been so grateful for Inca being such an attention seeker, who would even look at her when that beautiful bride with that massive fairytale dress was standing right there?

But there was only so much that could be done to avoid the unavoidable. After the pictures everyone headed to the reception, Billy opened the car door for his girlfriend and once again offered his arm so they could go in together.

"Would you rather walk in alone?" He asked just to make sure.

"No, being with you makes me feel safe."

"Saga! Have you been running from us?" Esbjorn laughed, taking her in his arms and lifting her in the air. "We are all missing you so much."

"I miss you too, I've just been so busy. Work and babysitting for Gemma..." She murmured.

"Hmmm you have your lying voice, Sag," Noak quirked an eyebrow and Billy cleared his throat uncomfortably, none of them seemed to even notice he was there. "Come on, what really happened? Are you being mistreated in England?"

"Mistreated? Look at her!" Goran teased, giving her stomach a squeeze. "She gained some weight, she's been eating well! That's really good, remember how she was always moping around right before moving? Saga is looking much happier!"

"Yes, I see that," her father joined them. "Looking much happier indeed. I missed that smile."

"You look beautiful, baby, so beautiful! Soon you'll be the one standing there in a wedding dress," her mother added. "Speaking of, where is Ake? I thought he moved here to be closer to you."

"Haven't you heard? Ake moved back home actually," Saga chuckled nervously. "It's been a few months, we are... Not together anymore."

"What? He broke up with you?" Noak asked.

"He wouldn't dare..." Ivar muttered.

"No! He didn't, it was mutual. None of us were happy, he didn't want to live here and I didn't really like him anymore," she explained.

"Didn't like him anymore? And since when is that a reason to be breaking up? I found you a great boy!"

"I'm grown, father, I'm a woman now. Don't you think I have the right to choose who I want to be with?"

"And who could possibly be better than Ake for you, Saga?" Kajsa asked.

"M-my boyfriend," she pointed at him, and he finally approached the family, his legs barely holding him up straight. "His name is William Delaney, but everyone calls him Billy. He's a chef and we are living together most of the time, that's probably why I gained some weight. He is amazing, so smart, hardworking, and kind. He has a heart of gold and makes me really happy."

"Hello, sir," Billy shook Ivar's hand and did the same to each of her brothers before delicately greeting Kajsa. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

"Why does he talk like that?" Goran asked.

"Because he's Irish," Saga mumbled. "He also just moved to the country recently with his friend Alfie. Alfie is Gemma's son, Gemma was married to Jason, and Jason is now marrying Inca, so he's not just some stranger."

The silence that took over that conversation was deadly. No one dared to speak and Saga's dad still seemed very upset about the end of her relationship with Ake. She knew that would happen, she shouldn't have introduced them at all, maybe just trying to be totally invisible during the wedding would've been better.

"I see you are meeting the Irish! mammy, pappy, Billy is fantastic!" Inca showed up out of nowhere to save the day. "He is such nice little boy, so funny too. And handsome, of course, they are going to have beautiful babies."

"Babies?" Saga hissed.

"Are you...?" Esbjorn's eyes grew wide.

"NO! I'm not, no chance at all!" Saga shook her head and Billy quickly followed her lead.

"Yeah, I guess Inca meant after we are married, in a few years," he added.

"You plan to marry our sister?" Noak gave him the most skeptical look.

"Absolutely, she's the most amazing girl I've ever met and I'd be a complete idiot t'let her go. Especially after I fought so hard t'have her... You know, sir, she really tried t'make things work with Ake. I was foamin' at the mouth with jealousy all the time, she did the best she could. But I guess in the end love always wins, isn't it?"

"You love this man, Saga?" Ivar asked, Kajsa already melting from how sweet he was and how clear his intentions were.

"I do, more than anything in the world," she took his hand. "And if you still don't like him, please come over tomorrow for dinner, he's the most amazing cook."

"Oh yeah, I'd love t'make somethin' for my future in-laws, whatever you want," Billy offered. "I can even make a typical Swedish dish if you like."

"He's being so nice, Ivar," Kajsa sighed, completely mesmerized. "Wasn't that what we wanted? For her to be happy? Back when you chose Ake she was so sad, don't you remember?"

"She was always crying," Inca added. "And it's the 21st century, forcing your child to be with someone like that is not right."

"I do remember, I thought it was just jitters, I didn't think she was actually unhappy," he scoffed sadly. "Well, if you are really serious about marrying my Saga and not just make her wait around like this bastard Jason did to my Inca... Then you have my blessing."

"You have my word Mr. Adolphson," Billy nodded, trying not to seem too giddy from getting his approval. He could've sworn the night would go a very different way.

"Thank you, pappy," Saga grinned widely.

"But I will be coming over tomorrow, William," Ivar warned. "If you are not making a good janssons frestelse, I guess you are just not good enough for my daughter. It's her favorite dish, you need to be cooking it."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Adolphson. May I have your next dance, Mrs. Adolphson?" he held out his hand and she took it, blushing slightly.

"Of course, young man."

"Sweet! C'mon Sags, let's get this party started!" Alfie pulled her by the hand to the dance floor, still holding a couple of scotch eggs and munching on them.

"Maybe we were lucky, pappy," Goran pointed out. "Saga could be dating him."

——————————————————

"So that went well!" Billy loosened his tie as they finally arrived at the flat. "Your family is way less scary than I imagined."

"I told you. I knew dad wouldn't react too badly at her wedding. Maybe on any other day he would've beat you up, but we got lucky, didn't we?" Saga kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the sofa.

"Good t'know," he laughed. "You're a good strategist. Now y'just gotta teach me that dish he wants. What is it?"

"Oh, it's very easy, it's like a fish and potato casserole, I can teach you," she pulled him down with her and leaned against his chest, remembering how they danced after everything was settled. How he held her so close, swaying gently to the music and stealing kisses when nobody was looking.

"I think I can manage," Billy wrapped his arms around her. "Guess now I better start thinkin' about how I'm gonna propose t'you."

"There's still so much time," Saga laughed.

"When the time comes... I need t'plan ahead, I wanna top Jason's confession when he asked your sister to grab his steady horn so he could take her on a magical adventure right after settin' fire to himself."

"Yeah, that'll be very hard to top," she nodded with a giggle. "But I guess you already know what to say. Remember that time? Jason made you pretend like I was Inca and propose to me? You are my perfect person and I see you perfectly."

Her heart raced just thinking about that day, the kiss that came after... She couldn't believe she was actually his girlfriend, that he actually liked her.

It felt like a dream most of the time when he looked at her with that charming smirk, when he kissed her and it still felt like the first time, chest to chest in the bathroom the first night they met.

"I wanna find new words," Billy explained. "I wanna find a whole new way to surprise you and make you say yes."

"I'm the luckiest girl in the world," she mumbled without even realizing it.

"And I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I'm glad I didn't give up, sometimes I feel like a complete homewrecker, but... When y'look at me like that, it's hard t'feel guilty at all."

#me and ms adolphson #me and mrs jones fanfic #me and mrs jones #billy delaney x oc #billy delaney #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic

11 notes · View notes

a-heart-of-kyber · 2 years

Text

I love that in Me and Mrs. Jones they acknowledge Billy’s hotness level by having her constantly being like “Stop doing [normal thing such as having eyes]”

And Billy is like “I’m not doing anything?!”

#robert sheehan #billy delaney #me and mrs jones

12 notes · View notes

222hayden · 7 months

Text

i love the cute and calm music i listen to

#billie eilish #laufey #novo amor #mac demarco #delaney bailey #lana del rey #sabrina carpenter #this is what makes us girls #girl blogger #girlblogging #girlcore #tumblr girls #i love being a girl #hell is a teenage girl #blog #222hayden

33 notes · View notes

simon-x-billy · 5 months

Text

Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: November

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

[Gif not mine]

Prompt: Secret relationship reveal

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

RECAP: When last we left our lovers, Simon was still stuck in Brooklyn for career purposes, but at least he got to tell his besties that he is A. on a panel at Comic Con for reasons; B. moving to Italy; and C. talking to someone there. That would be Billy, but the besties think it’s Billie — so that’s fun. Billy, on the other hand, has not been told about Simon’s decision to move. But at least he finally has been told when Simon is coming back to see him — in two days. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is. Until then, the pair are inventively and intuitively making use of technology to come together again. But before we can get to that, the plot thickens/deepens/moves forward. TW: Phone sex written by someone who has never had it. If this is a hideously awful embarrassment to phone sex-havers everywhere, please leave a comment, DM, whatever. Why should they have bad phone sex when they can have better phone sex? Seriously, I ask you.

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

———/Simon/———

Ugh, Brooklyn. (Blasphemer! I’m calling myself out and I am a-shamed.) But it's true. Brooklyn is ugh to me right now. At least the wait is almost over. Kelly finally arranged to have me sent back to Italy tomorrow night. Like a- Well, like whatever kinds of objects get sent back to Italy.

Wait.

I rewind that thought back to where I said ‘tomorrow night,’ and this time think it with a bullhorn. TOMORROW NIGHT! Hallefrickinlujah.

The fear is that she’s probably made all the arrangements necessary to have me air dropped from a moving helicopter to get back at me for announcing I’m abandoning Brooklyn. She is truly angry at me. It became particularly apparent when I asked for help with the real estate stuff. That might have been exactly the wrong thing to ask for her help with. This will require a fitting gesture of my undying admiration, and my amazement at her next level ability to put up with me. She levels up every time I breathe in her general direction.

I’m calling Billy without even realizing it.

“Hey, man,” Billy answers. “Howeyeh?” I can hear him smiling.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Beyond sleeping, I mean.”

“Just sleepin,” Billy replies with curiosity. I can hear him yawn at the other end and it feels endearing in my stomach. Which is weird, but pleasant. “What did you have in mind?” I can hear his smile change to a sly smirk all the way from Italy.

“I want to fall asleep listening to you fall asleep,” I admit, and immediately die of cringe. Hello, creeper. It’s too late, and I can’t take it back.

“Now, see, yeh can’t just go round sayin beautiful stuff of that sort. It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Say it again.”

“I want us to fall asleep together,” I repeat. “Even if we can’t exactly be together when we do it.”

Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Time difference is a heartless bitch, Simon. How early can yeh manage fallin asleep?”

“Well,” I pause in frustration cuz I hadn’t thought about that at all in my internal fantasy of hearing him sleep. (Creepy? Romantic? Romantically creepy? Don’t know, don’t care.)

I offer an alternative. “Wake up just for me, then go back to sleep?”

Billy snorts right about the time I realize that that’s actually kind of a tall ask. And again, possibly creepy. Or romantically creepy. “Am I creepy? Or romantically creepy?”

“It’s more romantically presumptuous, really. But I’m setting my alarm, nonetheless. Now let me alone so I can finish prepping the zeppole. Hot pillows of sweetness sent by the Lord himself.”

“Like my own hot pillows of sweetness?” I giggle. I’m giggling.

“Er,” Billy begins. After a moment’s consideration, he clears his throat. “You bake?”

———/Billy/———

“Will yeh be wantin a tour guide and a driver for Pompeii, then?” I ask the pair before me, tryin not to yawn into the late afternoon sun as I count out the change for their beach chair rental. No less than 70, if they’re a day.

“Why? You think we can’t find our way ourselves without them? We’re more than capable, young man,” says the missus. I can see she’s just windin up for a tongue lashing. Grumpy in the mornings, could be.

Grumpy.

I head her off at the pass, picking up the beach bar’s ancient phone with a finger poised to dial. “Not in the least, not in the least. But I guarantee you’ll get more out of it with a guide to show you all the secret corners, peek inside the archaeologists’ tents, tell yeh the local lore and the wisdom of the ages.”

She relaxes. Guaranteed it was the ‘wisdom of the ages’ bit what did it.

“Ah, go on. Let me call the front desk. They’ll arrange for everything.”

“I can arrange for everything my-” she begins, pugnacious as ever.

“Martha,” the man says softly with his hand on his wife’s back. “Let the boy do his job.”

Bright eyes, big smile, Delaney. Simon would be proud of my Guest Services face, and then demand I’m lying about never attending theatre school. I hmmm inaudibly to myself.

Shocked am I, the whole thing is managed entire without another objection, and the mulish Martha and her man are sat there happily installed on their beach loungers.

Oh, Lord. Here comes trouble. “It’s to be that sort of day, is it?” I grumble.

At the very least, I have fair warnin as I can hear the trouble comin. The soft tinkle of bells at her toes announces her arrival. “Well if it isn’t the lovely and mysterious Sabina. Docked the barge, have yeh.” Land ho.

“It’s Billy, isn’t it.” Not a question. Lovely.

“More a ‘he’ than an ‘it.’” Get your pronouns right, miss.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge my comment. I’m to be ‘it,’ then. Is she offensive on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Perhaps she’s simply gifted that way.

“To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

“Instructions,” she says with a coolness that verges on frostbite. “For a party next Saturday night. You will come out to the boat as my guest,” she informs me, and tips her head to the side as she gauges my reaction.

Is she- I mean, she wouldn’t be- askin me out? Never.

“Bring Simon as your +1.”

“He’s the +1?”

“You be the +1 if you like that position better.” Her monstrously oversized sun hat casts shadows across her tip to toe, straw letting through tiny, bright dots of light that shift as she shifts. Just as the day I made her cheerful acquaintance.

Has it really only been two weeks? Really? That can’t be right.

“Greta will text Kelly the details, technicalities, all that,” she informs me. Kelly is Simon’s PA, so I’m assumin Greta’s her own.

“Kelly? You know Kelly.”

“Of course. She’s Kelly. People know this about her.” She waves away the question as if it’s both beneath her and boring.

“Sabina, has anyone ever described you as a piece of work? I’m meaning a work of art, acourse.”

She lowers her sunglasses and without cracking the slightest smile, winks at me. Well fuck me sideways.

“How did you know?” I ask, takin my opportunity where I find it. “It’s been botherin me ever since your show. You well knew the party was at a pan club. Why us? Tellin the two of us to come. What did you see in Simon and me that told you somethin would happen?”

Ignoring my question, she floats onto a barstool and flips her curtain of glossy, black hair behind one tanned shoulder.

I put back on my Guest Services face. “Something to drink? Might enjoy an espresso, biscotti,” I offer.

“No. I will not eat,” she informs me.

“Then what can I do for yeh, my dear?”

“Come next weekend. Another birthday party. They happen every year,” she says, lackadaisically. “The house. The boat. You know how it is.”

“Do I?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

She never answered my question, and I’m of a mind to persist. “We’ll consider it, if yeh answer me. Why did you tell us about your show in Naples? What did you see in the pair of us? How could you have known, when even we didn’t?”

“Billy.” She places her hand over mine. I use wiping down the bar as a reason to casually free it again. Watching my reaction over her absurdly large sunglasses, she gloats almost imperceptibly. “Make me a bellini.”

Sabina taps her fingernails on the bar top and takes the opportunity to study me as I pull out the peach purée. I add the sparkling prosecco and place the drink in front of her, giving her an arched eye caterpillar.

She tips her head toward me and says, “All right. I’ll tell you. Simon, you know he’s from New York.”

I nod.

“We know the same people,” she says as if that explains anything.

“And?”

“And from the cafe I saw Simon Lewis sitting in my marina.”

“Your marina?”

She bats the question away. “Of all the times Simon and I have wound up at the same parties, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

Fuck me.

She continues, “He wanted me to go away, deeply. Who could make Simon want such a thing? So I thought I’d have a little experiment. Nothing outrageous.” She smirks. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. But he practically pissed a circle around you.”

“Not at all. He spent the whole time dealin with you, my darlin. And if anything, it was me as was sat there doin the pissing. I didn’t much care for the way you spoke to him.”

She laughs low. “Your expression gave you away, you know. The kiss was a test; a simple one.”

“Then what if we hadn’t been, I don’t know, swept up in the whole thing that night?” I challenge her. “What would have happened then?”

“Does it matter? Were you? Swept away? The right music at the right moment can make anything happen.” She dismounts with the tinkling of tiny bells, bellini untouched.

Before she reaches the hotel elevator, Sabina calls back over her shoulder, “Oh and Billy. Dress for Capri.”

Ah. Understood. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nods, and departs without a word.

“Lovely to see you, too,” I mutter.

———/-/———

It’s Wednesday? I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Fuck me, an extra day. Life drags on at a snail’s pace.

Opening photos, I realize Simon’s face was the last shot I took that wasn’t of my genitals. It’s of him in the tunnel, moments before we entered the club. All bold, confident, and full of excitement, with not a clue of the direction the night would take.

When I look at him, I’ve no idea who I am anymore. I’ve never really been that certain to begin with, in all honesty.

For a man without a rudder, I’ve never needed to know who I am. Just all the whos I’m not. Not a father, not a son, not a brother, not a bother.

Alfie tells me I’m the best of friends. Cheers, mate. Nice to hear, but I’m not sure I believe it overmuch. Not when I’ve never stuck round long enough to be a good friend to anyone.

I’m a nomad. And I hate it.

I’ve only just realized that I hate it. Before Italy, before this glorious place, I’d have described my life as Freedom. Carefree, exciting, mind-broadening, instructive, adventuresome, even a right good time. But as I feel all these words strung together in my mind, I realize they’re all empty and meaningless, when it’s clear I’m the one who’s strung together. Like stringing lights about a Christmas tree. Invariably there are big holes crying out to be filled. Gaps with nothin big enough to fill them. That’s me — gaps big enough for a man to fall through. Never to be heard from again.

For certain, not a sole Delaney has ever noticed I’ve gone. Isn’t that just grand. All the times I’ve lived under one roof or another, time done for what? Some stories told over a pint at Christmas. And not the funny kind.

“Remember that cousin Billy?”

“Oh sure’n let me see now. He was the one as had the curly hair, yeah? Nice fella.”

Or the older generation? They might say, “Oh that Billy, he always was such a helpful young man to have round the house when somethin needed seein to. So helpful. Can’t remember the sound of his voice or the colour of his eyes, but he sure was helpful. Cryin shame we never had a good place to put him when it was our turn.” Sure’n that’s what they’d say.

Oh, shit. Must remember to ring Shazza and wish her a happy birthday.

———/-/———

“Vittorio, buongiorno,” I say as I enter his office.

Rosalina has just been to fetch me from the kitchen, where I’d been losing myself in the mundanity of prep work.

Problem is, I’ve also been gettin lost in too many mental images from the weekend. Just couldn’t clear my head. All good, so good.

It was all so good until Simon’s phone lit up like a christmas tree, and everything hit a wall. Just bam! Face first. A wall. (Shaped like a woman named Kelly, presumably somewhere in New York.)

It’s his career, Delaney. Quit thinkin what yer thinkin. It’s just God punching us in the nads with fate, as Simon would surely say.

Thing is, I do feel as though I’ve been punched in the testicles. I do. And I’m not sure what’s makin me feel worse — the testicles or the fact that we said goodbye immediately after my life was rocked on its foundations.

Am I bi? Never figured I was before. Does that mean I’m not? I love makin love to a woman. So, not gay per se. But not entirely straight, neither. How could I be?

So, bi?

Bein bi would explain Simon’s sudden appearance on the short list of people who’ve ever made me come that hard. Does that make me bi?

“Beelee!” The hearty voice of Vittorio greeting me snaps me out of yet another reverie. With that big-loving smile, kisses to the cheeks, an arm round the shoulder, he makes me feel welcome, and he knows how to make me feel useful. Helpful. Good at what I do. And like I contribute to this little family he’s built in his kitchen.

My smile stretches wide. Not just because I feel like smilin, but more because he deserves all the smiles. “Vittorio, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughs with a boom. “Si, certo!” Yes, obviously.

“Certo,” I agree, and indeed it is obvious. He’s wise, and kind. I hate getting attached. But I’ll hate saying goodbye to Vittorio. Ah, fuck. I’m attached. It’s too late.

“Come, Beelee. You will sit with me,” he says, opening the doors out to his private garden patio, and motioning me past. He picks up a sweating pitcher of the homemade lemonade they call limonata, made and bottled here in one of the orchard’s outbuildings. If sunlight had a taste it would be Vittorio’s limonata.

“Beelee,” he begins, once we’ve settled in. He looks out at the view and sighs. “The year you are with us is coming near to end,” he says with the most marvelous Northern Italian accent. “You are considering this with much thought, yes?” He leans back comfortably and sips his limonata in a motion he’s likely developed over decades in that chair with this view. Quite a place to talk business and no mistake.

His words finally penetrate my addled brain. “Have I thought of movin on?”

“Si,” he nods.

Movin on.

No, I have not been considering with much thought. But maybe I should. He’s right. It’s only a couple months off, innit. I’ve barely kept an eye on the goings-on in the culinary world since I arrived in Sorrento. And that is curious.

It’s curious, as every other country I’ve been I've always seen as a gig. Workin to live, yes acourse, but livin to expand my ability, my craft, my creativity, along those veins. Finding the joy in learning the tempo of life in each place. I have loved almost all of my gigs, and enjoyed the environs as much as time allowed. And yet I’m always counting down the days, weeks, and months, months, weeks, and days, well before the end for each city. Until now.

I love Vittorio. Adore him. Both as a mentor and as a man. He is a good man. Solid. Steady. Fiercely loyal and protective of the hotel family he’s built. He may have been born in the North well away from the water, but after all this time he has come to be a man of the South. Its cliffs, the sea, the vertical living with stairs to get anywhere. This is his home. Yes, he was born in Siena, but he chose to live his life in Sorrento. He chose this place to plant his roots, and settled in to live his best life.

I long to live that dream somethin awful. Some sort of permanence in this temporary life of mine. A life I could build, myself. A place of choice. A family of choice. Finding my tribe. And holding on to them. Holdin on for as long as I’m allowed to keep ‘em.

Vittorio looks at me with those intuitive eyes of his. “Qua cosa? What thing is so bad to make your face is falling?” He pretends his face has fallen to his lap to illustrate. “You are having sadness?”

“I haven’t thought much about leaving, to be honest,” I admit.

“You fall in love with Italia, I think. In you I see this, each day a little more, a little more. I am thinking the thoughts that you I should send to Firenze. You learn to cook in the North. It is, come se dice, how you say, molto bene very good y diferente with the Campania kitchens of us here.”

“Si, si, I’d like to learn the northern cuisine.” I can barely get my mouth to shape my next words. “Before I leave Italy.”

“Si. O posso Venezia. Pero non sera ristauranti che va bene.”

I laugh at such a sweeping statement of negativity from this man. “There are no good restaurants in Venice?”

“If there was good ristaurante, I send you to there. But Roma.” He rolls his r with gusto and passion for the eternal city. RrrrrrrOmmmmma. “Roma? Si, son ristauranti with the goodness I demand for to send you to there.” He nods thoughtfully. “Stefano, si.”

“Stefano Rossi?” Jaysus, good enough?

“O in Toscana, to Rodolfo.”

“Rodo Molinaro?” For serious?

“Si.”

Before I can bleat about these two utter gods of Italian cuisine, he interrupts me. “Or we take you from Italia and make you in France. Parigi - what you are calling Paris? Provence? You stay on the Mediterraneo you try Nice, la Riviara Franca.”

At least the French Riviera is just down the coast. (And that’s my first thought? How close I’d be to here?)

I try to interject, but he continues. “O in Spagna. I am having the very strong thought of Barcellona. O Siviglia. O to where you are calling Switzerland — Lucerne. You like Lucerne?”

“I’ve never-“

“You think with deeply careful thought of these places. I have thought very strong and with time that is long and full of care. These are the places you consider.”

“Vittorio. You are a dear, dear man and I cannot think of a suitable way to show how very much gratitude I have for you.”

“But your face is not a face of a man is happy,” he observes. “You are disappointing with these choices I give you?”

“No! Never, Vittorio. Not ever. I would joyfully live in every one of these cities! Florence, Rome. Paris, Nice. Barcelona, Seville. Lucerne. All of them.” Or none.

————/Simon/————

“I’d be in the air already, but I have to fit in one last fake fight with Kelly before I go. I promised to take her to brunch so we could fake-fight in person.”

“Let me guess, ‘It’s kind of your thing.’ Seems to me I’ve heard that one before,” Billy snarks into the phone. He sighs in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I think I’m jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Literally dying to know the answer.”

“How long do I have to wait?” he asks, sounding greedy.

“For what?”

“Before I can have you again,” Billy growls, in a tone he’d surely describe as naughty. Or at least I would describe it as naughty.

“With your moans in my ear, breath hot against my throat,” he continues. See? Naughty.

“Billy.”

“Simon.”

“Billy. What are you doing?”

“Hearing that sound you made when I licked a stripe up your neck, still salty with sweat from the club.” His voice is all gravel, low and rumbly.

“You don’t fight fair,” I whine. But in an appealing, sexy way.

————/Billy/————

I like that impatient sound. “I wish this was your hand,” I say, trying to keep the grin out my voice.

“What? W-what is my hand doing?” I hear Simon swallow at the other end.

“That twist you did — it’s like you read my mind: How to wank Billy Delaney.”

I don’t have my hand anywhere close to my cock. I just love gettin to hear him all flustered.

“Uh, um, Billy? Are you having solo phone sex right now? Is that what you’re doing? Cuz I gotta tell you-“ he breaks off.

“What do you have to tell me, Simon?”

Silence.

“And make it good,” I rumble.

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“No, just Billy.”

“Funny,” he responds dryly. Which acourse makes me smile. It’s the combination of exasperation, frustration, and libido all fighting for their turns to spring out his mouth.

“Is it? I thought we were gettin someplace, Simon.” I pitch my voice as low as it will go. “Someplace good.”

He lets out a whimper, then all I hear is rustling. Something clatters on a hard floor. Simon gasps, “Shit!” followed by, “Oh, thank God,” then somethin else falls with a thud. I hear shuffling in the background and angry muttering.

“Simon?”

“Wait, wait, hang on just a-“ I hear a jingling of bells, and then the sound of street traffic. People in conversation getting closer and fading away. Sirens. Loud sirens. I hear the tell-tale sound of his Converse slapping on pavement, accompanied by rapid breathing and some mumbled curses. “Come on come on come on!” I hear him whisper.

“Ey! I’m walkin here!” he says loudly, away from the phone. Followed swiftly by an angry, “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” under his breath. I feel as though I’m listening to every film about New York ever made.

“Hang on, just a sec,” he huffs faintly, as if the phone isn’t at his ear. I hear the jingling of keys. Everything he does is suddenly amplified, all with a strange, hollow ambience. A few loud, echoing footsteps later, and again I hear the sound of keys scraping into a lock.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Closer to my bed than I was five minutes ago,” Simon answers. “Not there yet.”

“Where were you five minutes ago?” This is pure gold.

“The bodega on the corner.”

“Serious?” I laugh. “Why’d you turn round?”

“Fuck you, Billy.”

“Not yet.”

I hear him trip over something. The phone clearly just went thud on carpet, and I hear a distant voice, swearing, “Where are you, fucking bastard.” His voice gets closer and closer. “Oh thank fucking Christ. I thought I broke my phone. Oh my sweet baby, an angel at one ear, a devil at the other.” He pauses as he shuffles whatever’s in his hands. “Billy? You still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, Simon.”

“Ok, start talking dirty again.”

I blink.

And we’re both laughing. “I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him.

“I like that you talk dirty. Can we go back to that please?”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” I tease.

“What does that even mean?”

“Where are you, Simon?”

“Standing at the base of my bed.”

“Naked yet?”

He chokes, “What?”

“Just wonderin. Set the scene for me, Simon.”

“Theatre school, I’m telling you, theatre school.”

“You’re thinking about theatre school at a time like this.”

“Not even a little, when you sound like this. Jesus, Billy.”

“Where are you now?” I keep my voice fluid.

“Oh! Um, not where I was a minute ago the last time you asked. No, not still there,” he says.

“Naked yet?” It all started out as a gag, but I’ve become increasingly invested in his answers.

“Shoe-less. But I’m working on it.”

“Let me hear you take off your shirt.”

“Okaaay. How?” he asks in confusion. “Shirts aren’t loud. Am I supposed to rip it?”

“You like the shirt? Cos I want to hear all the buttons popping off.”

I didn’t think he’d do it, but I clearly hear the sound of buttons set free, pinging off every surface.

“Button fly again tonight?” I ask, thinking back to how easily his jeans came undone with just a flick of his hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Let me hear the zipper when you pull it down.” I hum as I hear the zzzzzz.

“Did you hear it?” he asks, voice turning gruff.

“I didn’t think I would, but that was hot.” I thought I was teasing, but now I know I’m not. “Let me hear the material slide down your legs. Slowly, Simon. Don’t rush it.”

His phone amplifies the rustle of fabric sliding over skin as though my ear is right there. My eyes slip shut. I can picture the material being pulled slowly over his hips, revealing the V of his muscles there, then catching on the swell of his arse. Sliding over that magnificent arse. Fuck, when he runs, I bet it bounces. And the image makes me groan.

“Mmm, that sounded good,” Simon nearly purrs. He’s gone from 1 to purring in under 3 seconds. “Did it feel good, Billy?”

“Yer man’s got game then, has he?” I challenge him.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you, Billy.”

“Is the secret just to work my name into every sentence? Cos I’ll be honest with yous. It’s doin it for me.” I need more than this. Without preamble I switch us to FaceTime.

“Rude!” he squawks.

“Are you offended, Simon?” I set up the angle for him to watch. He’s gone silent. Turns out I’m clothed enough for some suspenseful stripping of my own. His face is priceless.

————/Simon/————

Merp.

—————/Billy/—————

I watch as his eyes go dark, and his expression turns unselfconscious. Hungry.

I’m more’n likely to show him whatever he wants to see, though it can be hard to actually ask for it. “What and where, Simon?”

“Mmhm that sounds nice,” he says absently.

“Nice.” That’s not what I’ve been goin for. Seems his thoughts are a mite preoccupied. “Do you know what I want to do to you the minute I see you?” I challenge.

“Um. No?”

“I am going to strip you bare after Customs if you stop for any reason except to walk straight to me.”

“You’ll be there at the airport?”

“And I will strip you bare. Right there at Customs. Don’t test me, Simon. After you’ve landed? If I see yeh doing anything?” I prompt him.

“I’ll come straight to you,” he says on a whisper.

“That’s right you will. And the moment we reach the car, I’ll press you against it, undo your jeans, and wrap my hand round you, with just enough firm pressure.”

He whimpers.

“What do you like, Simon? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“What I-“ His eyes go blank. “Merp.”

So I continue. “Then I’ll tell you what I want from you when I get you back to the hotel.”

He whimpers again.

“I want you to strip me slowly, make me impatient. Because I’ll be dying to have you fast. I’ll have been waiting for you, wantin to take you in that tiny car, wanting to feel all of you, and lay you down. But-“

“But she’s too small,” he whispers, getting into it a bit more.

“I’d bend you over the bonnet, but you won’t let me.”

“I won’t?”

“No Simon, you won’t. You’ll tell me the fuckin luggage can wait, and you’ll drag me to your room.”

“I’ll be dragging you?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Just go with it. You’re breaking my flow.”

“Sorry,” he whispers with a grimace.

“Shhh.”

“Ok.”

“Shhh. Hear me. I’ll want to drag you to bed instantly, but you won’t let me. You tell me to slow down. Take my time.”

“Take your time? We’ve gone a whole week without each other. How much more time will we need? Are we even naked yet?”

“Shhh, Simon. See it. See me in agony, desperate for every second I can have with you again. I’ll start at one end of your body and work my way to the other. Those runner’s legs, God. All that skin up, up, following my hands with my lips, lettin the hair slide across my mouth between kisses. Show me where my lips are, Simon.”

His breath catches. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Do you want to see how close my mouth will be? I’ll show you. Watch where I start, Simon, just here. See me.”

He lets out a high puff of air. His breath rate has picked up. So has mine.

“I’ll stop and kiss here.” I circle the spot. “I want my mouth on you, Simon. The soft, warm spot behind your knee you’ve never thought about until I became the first person to tongue you there. Or here,” I whisper, drawing my hand up my inner thigh. I have one thought and one thought only: get this next shot right.

I bring the camera round, laying back to give him the long view up my body.

“Mmmfm, you have a wet spot in your briefs,” he says in a huskier voice. He’s finally getting out of his own way.

“Do you know why, Simon?”

“Why?”

“Because all I can think about is running my lips over all of this skin,” and I draw my fingers slowly up to where my thighs meet. He lets out a high breath. “Show me, Simon. Show me where my lips are.”

The image on the screen swings wildly around, showing bits of lightly furred leg, the color of his sheets, confusing body hair, and the paint on the ceiling. He grunts as he repositions himself. Suddenly, the image is swinging around to show me the path up his knee and I get an eyeful of the long view he’s giving me.

“Mmmmm, do you know what I see, Simon?” All that flesh leadin to the sight of a cock and balls from below, snug in a pair of boxer briefs, lookin monstrous huge from this vantage point.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I know ex’ex’exactly what that l’looks like.”

“Draw your hand up the inside of your thigh for me. Let me watch it, your phone followin behind the whole way up.” I give him an example to inspire him. “Tell me when to stop, Simon.”

A high moan escapes him. “W’when do you want to stop?”

“Never.”

He groans. “Take off your briefs, Billy,” he instructs me, feeling bolder. “Now.”

I smile to myself. That’s the spirit.

“For you, anything, Simon.” And I realize I actually mean that. I probably would do just about anything he told me to.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks me. “The wet spot just got bigger.” He sounds terribly proud of himself, and continues with more confidence. “Oh shit, your cock just got bigger, too. God, I can see the tip peeking out of your waistband.”

I steadily reveal every millimeter until he can see the full head. “Oh God. Billy.”

“I want you naked and fucking your hand, Simon, now. Let me watch.”

Simon whines.

“Naked, Simon. Then hand.”

Again, his high puffs of breath turn into a whine. But the moment I fist my cock, Simon’s voice drops two registers — as if he knows this is the moment we really get started. He’s saying, “I want to see the tip poke out of your fist, see you drawing the hood back as you stroke.”

“Fuck yes, Simon.”

“Closer,” he demands.

I moan at the thought that he wants to see it up closer. That an eyeful doesn’t send him runnin for covers. But no, he’s enjoying being in control.

“What does your other hand really want to be doing?” Simon rumbles. “When it’s not holding the phone, what’s it holding? Or fondling? Or sliding over. Show me, Billy. Show me what you do when you’re alone.” It’s a command, not a request.

I let out a long stuttering breath. “Simon, I think you might be quite good at this. Given some more practice,” I say, as I try in vain to get my phone under control. I need a place to prop it so I can use both hands. Finally, driven by the agony of frustration, I set the phone against a pillow at the right angle and kneel with knees spread wide.

“Oh fuck shit fuck,” comes straining out of him, and he’s fully stroking himself in earnest. “Nhhhh, Jesus Billy.”

What’s he on about? I look down at myself and visualize the view from that angle. Oh God. “You, too,” I grind out. “Want to see you too.”

He gives me what I want. Lord, that is a filthy fuckin sight from that angle. My hips punch my cock through my fist and I cradle my balls.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. I look down and find just how much precome I’m dripping. I hitch my hips closer to the camera and splay my legs wider. “Oh Jesus Billy fuck,” he gasps at the sight.

“Show me,” I tell him. He takes a screenshot and turns the phone round to show me. “Show me on you, Simon.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes.

“Faster,” I tell him. “Let me hear you.”

“What makes you come, Billy? Mmmmmfffwant to see it up close,” he groans.

I reframe the phone, but the sight from this distance has got to be brutal.

“Oh Jesus, Billy,” he huffs, then “Oh God,” comes out with an urgent tone. I’m flyin in and out my fist, yet somehow he can see it all.

“No, don’t stop,” I complain as his hand stutters to a stand still. He puts the phone down on the bed below him, and squats just over it. It’s an intense view. “Oh God, Simon. That is obscene.”

“Now you,” he instructs. “I want to see both hands better.”

I try to angle more carefully so he can see more cock and less balls.

“Oh fuck,” he says in surprise. “Right there, yes. No, too far, bring it back, bring it back - stop! Perfect. Show me.”

“That’s,” I grate out, “my line.” Oh God, I feel the sensation begin to build. “Simon- Si’ nhhhh, I’m- are you-“ I can’t think.

“Yes,” he grates out, followed by a strained, “Fuuuuuck!” I’m glad he’s as close as I am. I want to see him tip over the edge while he’s watchin me do the same.

I’m fucking panting, every breath I force out comes back in gasps. “Oh God yes,” I whisper. “Simon.”

“Me, too, me, too, oh fuck yes fuck. B’Billy?”

The look on his face is all shock and awe, then all I can see filling the screen is the head of his cock pulsing spurts of come landing somewhere outside the frame.

Ho shit. Fuck fuck fuck, the heat blooms throughout my body in warning. “Oh God, fuck Simon, fuuu, can you see? I want you- watch-“ I call out nonsense. I can only focus on the rush I feel throughout my body. I come in full view of the phone and my knees buckle.

Rolling to my back and still panting, I try to remember my name and country of origin. But “Simon,” is the only word I can find.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

————/-/————

16 notes · View notes