#but when luther gets real teeny tiny he can read them just fine

[shannygoatgruff]

Grown & SeXY - Chapter 1

Header made by the talented @flowers-in-your-hayr

For @youbloodymadgenius for your 400 Followers Writing Challenge.  Congrats on your success!

Genre:  Romance/Comedy

Pairing:  Modern Ivar x Mature OC

Warning: Language/mild angst/Sexual content

Rating: M

Summary: A relationship between Generations X & Y will help this XX & XY learn a lot about themselves, each other, and love.  Cougar/cub relationships aren’t always just about a midlife crisis and arm candy.

A/N:  I got the concept for this story from a conversation I was having with @youbloodymadgenius.  I hope I do it justice.  This story is for you!

Chapter 1 

Oh, hey girl, hey!

Chile, do I have some tea to spill!  

This tea is piping hot, lemon-honey, tea with a hint of peppermint; that’s how good it is.  I have been keeping this in for so long, I’m surprised a bitch hasn’t bit her tongue off trying to keep quiet.  But, I have to talk to somebody about this, and I trust you, girl. We’ve been good girlfriends for a long time now. I know you’re not going to say anything to anybody, right?  I didn’t think so. I knew you were cool.

Okay, so before we begin I need to lay some ground rules. I don’t want to get into this and all of sudden you start feeling some type of way or something, or there be some sort of misunderstanding that we could have settled right here in the beginning.  You know how some people get all uppity and shit. 

First, I’m not a writer - I’m a storyteller and there’s a big fucking difference. Writers, write; they use language as an art form, and shit like grammar and diction is important to them and they usually use them pretty accurately.  Storytellers, like me?  We don’t give a fuck. We paint pictures by speaking the language of the people, so that the bitches in the back can understand what the fuck is going on.  

So, if you don’t want to know about how a bad-ass cougar found herself hooked up with a fucking snack-tastic cub from someone who doesn’t give a fuck all about ending a sentence with a preposition, then, honey, feel free to read something else. If my language is a bit too common or colorful for you, then mayhaps, I could recommend some really well-written Shakespearean Sonnets or the like, by some other real writers.  But if you just want to dish and hear some good shit, then bitch, do I have some gossip to tell you!

Okay, next, the story I’m about to tell you is true. This shit is real and it happened to me my friend.  So, to protect my good girlfriend, I’m going to change the names of the mofos involved. If that means the names of these folks sound made up, it’s because bitch, they are! It’s not like where we live is all that big. You might actually know some of these people and the last thing I want is for you to go run-and-tell-that I said some shit, about so-and-so, when I really didn’t, because I said something else about some bitch that I made up.  

Um, what else?  Oh yeah, everything I’m going to tell you is the gospel, according to me. Even if I wasn’t there, I have been working, like fucking Luther out here in these streets, to piecing this shit together and this is the only version that makes sense.  So if you disagree, fine...fight me.  But you better not ask them; that’s all I know.  We’ve already established the good girlfriend code of conduct. Right?  

Now, if any of this shit starts to sound familiar to you just nod your head and play along.  If you happen to see these people in real-life, just keep going about your business, like you don’t know anything.  Don’t give them a side-eye, or raise the obligatory eyebrow when you see them.  Definitely don’t be like that bitch Shelly that time I told her that stuff about Erik and Angie.  Do you know that bitch put everybody on blast and was like, “I knew he looked the type to eat booty,” all loud and shit in the Target.  

You can’t be telling the church’s business to the entire Target like that!  You are supposed to see them in the store, nod, and keep it fucking moving.  What I’m telling you ain’t nobody’s business and they definitely don’t need to know that you know all the shit that went down with them. You know what?  Matter of fact, I’m going to send you a non-disclosure contract in your email.  Just sign it and send it back. I don’t want zero problems, big fella.

Okay, now that we got the formalities out of the way, and everybody knows how the fuck to act, what’s next?  Why am I giving you the gossip?  I’m doing this shit to save your life, bitch because I care.  See, this is a story about being grown and sexy.  Yes, bitch!  Say it again!  GROWN & SEXY!!!  And we all will be grown and sexy, one day.

I know, you probably think grown & sexy means all about getting the “D”. Well, it is…but not really.  Don’t get me wrong, we’re going to get to that. There will be plenty of pipe laid.  How the hell can you be grown & sexy without some feel good? But, it’s about a movement - a way of life.  It’s a phase you go through when you get to a point where you are living your best life and just don’t give a fuck anymore.  

Listen Linda, this story here, isn’t just about sex, it’s about timing.  See, look at all the young bitches, rolling their eyes. They just want to hit it and quit it. I can’t with them.  I’m not even addressing them and their foolishness.  In fact, all the young bitches, y’all can feel free to exit - stage left, please.  

The rest of us, that are past all that thotting and trotting, we know that the universe has a fucked up sense of humor and it only gives us these short ass life spans, filled with teeny-tiny windows of opportunity to cram all of this amazing shit into. Then, on one side, we have one cosmic force presenting something fantastic, while another on the other side, there is another force that throws mad shade.  Of course, we pay attention to the shady shit and usually miss out on that brief moment of something that could have made us really fucking happy.  Don’t worry, I’m not about to start talking about astrology, or reading crystals.  Besides my horoscope, I don’t know what any the fuck any of that means.   

What it means to what the fuck I’m talking about is, this could be considered a cautionary tale about missed opportunities, or being so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you can’t see a good thing when it was right in front of you.  It’s definitely about family, growing up, acceptance and happiness; about finding and loving yourself and then being able to show that love to someone else.  

Of course, you can’t have all that good shit without the bad. So, let’s see…I’ll throw in some insecurities, doubt, utter stupidity, realizing that just because something looks and feels good, doesn’t mean it’s right.  Hell, my story this story, may even be about having to break your own heart to save someone else’s. Ah, we’ll see if I can actually get to that part. It’s not I got all damn day, you know?

So…where do I begin?  

Oh, okay.  You know that club, Bottom’s Up, on the corner of Fourth and Lexington?  The one with that has the pool tables on the upper level and that cute little Karaoke room?  Well that’s where all this shit started… 

There were a lot of people at Bottom’s Up for a Wednesday night. 

Ivar already had an attitude because he was late.  He knew that showing up even a few minutes late for the weekly pool game with his siblings meant that he wouldn’t get to pick his opponent and if he got stuck playing against Bjorn one more time, he was going to quit showing up to these fucking games all together. 

He hated playing Bjorn.  No matter what he tried, he could never beat his oldest brother. Most of the time, he never even got a chance to get his cue on the table when he played against him.  If he had any other sibling as his opponent, he stood a fair chance of winning, but he was sure that Bjorn cheated.  It was enough to piss him off just thinking about it.

Ivar glanced at the small landing where the pool tables were and saw the five varying shades of blonde hair just as the top of the stairs.  Damn, they were all already there.  They had probably already picked games, meaning he was going to have another shitty night at shooting pool. There went his chance of getting back the money Sigurd took off of him last week.  He needed that money, too.  He was running low on gas and his brakes started making a loud squeaking sound this morning.  Now, if he could just play against Ubbe...he knew for sure he could double their bet and make all of his money back, and then some.  

Deciding to get a drink before he met his family upstairs, he made his way to the bar, and signaled for the bartender.  While he waited he carefully tried to remove his jacket without bumping into anyone.  Where the fuck did all these people come from?  They had been coming to this lounge for a few months and on Wednesdays there were never more than 25 people in there.  It wasn’t like it was wall-to-wall people in there now, but it was definitely enough to make him feel annoyed.  

Plus, all those extra people were making it hot in there. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn a long sleeve t-shirt, after all.  But with all the rain and cold nights, lately, he wasn’t quite sure how to dress.  The shirt, a thin pale blue cotton, was a deep V-neck, showing the top of his muscular pecs and just a hint of his shoulder tat that trailed over to the center of his chest, was tucked lazily into the front of his distressed, blue jeans and left hanging out of the back.  A pair of brown Timberland shoes completed his outfit, giving him that ‘I’m not trying too hard to look like I’m trying to look good’, look.  Believe me, he wore it well.  

“What can I get you?”  The bartender asked walking over to where Ivar stood, pouring beers from the tap for other patrons further down the bar.

“Can I get a Jame…,” As soon as he started talking he heard a feminine voice coming from his left. He stopped mid-sentence and looked to see where the voice was coming from, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said smiling at the shorter woman next to him.  When she turned her head toward him and offered him a smile, his posture changed. “I didn’t see you.  Please, go ahead.”

She raised her brows and continued smiling at him, “Thanks.”  Man, he was a cutie, but she was sent to the bar for drinks, not dicks.  Turning back to face the bartender, she restarted her order, “Um, I need a Johnny Walker Blue, a Malibu and Pineapple, and a Captain & Diet.”  She turned back to him and bowed, a sign for him to continue with his order.

“I’ll just take a Jameson,” Ivar told the bartender.  When he turned back to the woman, he noticed she had turned away from him and was looking at her phone.  As casually as he could, he leaned his head to the side to get a look at her full body.  She couldn’t have been more than 5’3”, even with the heel on those boots. She had a great complexion, the chartreuse wrap shirt with bell sleeves brought the olive tones out in her caramel skin and softened her chocolate eyes.  And of course, Ivar wondered how in the hell did a woman with an ass and hips that size and a waist that small, found jeans that fit.  He found himself raising his brow at the thought.   

This was awkward.  He wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t seem to notice that he was even standing there.  He couldn’t remember a time in recent history when a woman didn’t notice him, or when he had to start a conversation. What exactly was he supposed to say, anyway?  If he wasn’t drunk or being pursued, he wasn’t quite sure how this was supposed to go.  

Just why wasn’t she trying to talk to him, anyway?  He looked good tonight, he just got his hair cut and this was a new shirt. The silver herringbone necklace and the pale blue of his shirt, made his eyes look more of a steel blue, which he thought was the most attractive on him.  He smelled good - he had taken some cologne out of his father’s bathroom and claimed it as his own.  It smelled good on his dad, so he knew it smelled good on him.  What the hell was this lady’s problem?

“I’m sorry, but I think I know you from somewhere.”  The woman spoke, pulling Ivar out of his head for a moment.  When he turned to face her, she was facing him with her hand on her hip and her brows were knitted together, as she tried to think. “Oh my God, that sounded like a line, didn’t it? I swear, it’s not. You just look so familiar.”

Ivar chuckled.  For a minute there he thought he was losing his touch.  “No, it doesn’t sound like a line at all.”  He easily rested his arm on the bar, as he turned to face her, shortening the distance them. “I’m sure I would remember meeting someone as beautiful as you before.” 

Her eyes widened uncomfortably, as she tried to take a half step back before she bumped into the stool next to her.  She turned to see what she had bumped into before turning back to him.  He was cute and all, but that’s not why she started talking to him.  What was with guys these days? “Aww, thanks. That’s really sweet, but…”

“I’m sure, not half as sweet as you are,” Ivar licked his bottom lip, and his long lashes blinked over his beautiful blue eyes, momentarily catching her off guard.  

“Oh, honey,” she dared to reach out and touch him.  Damn, he had a nice arm. She could feel the large expanse of his bicep flex under her hand as her fingers drummed against it, “I’m sure I have shoes older than you.” 

Ivar shrugged.  What did that have to do with anything?  “You’re only as old as you feel…”

“Hey,” Another masculine voice came from behind them, followed by a swift smack to the back of Ivar’s head, “you buying for everyone?” Ivar rolled his eyes before he turned around to face his brother. Narrowing his eyes at the older, taller man, he cursed the fact that they were related. 

“Oh. My. God!”  The woman next to Ivar said shifting her weight to one hip with a huge smile on her face. If Ivar thought she was pretty before, she was absolutely beautiful when she gave a genuine smile. “Bjorn Ragnarsson?” 

“Soli?”  Bjorn made this weird groaning sound as he bent down and picked the small woman up from the floor, wrapping her in a bear hug.  “Oh my, God!  I haven’t seen you in forever.  How have you been?”

Who the hell was this woman and how the hell did she know his brother? Ivar stood back watching the scene unfold and tried to stop his lip from curling. “I’m good!  We just moved back a little over a year ago.  How are you, BJ?  How’s your family?”

“We’re good.  My parents are still in the neighborhood.”  Bjorn tried his best not to smile at the look on Ivar’s face, “Everybody else is doing fine.  And I see you’ve found Baby Ivey here?”’ 

“Nooooooo!” she shrieked, cheeks turning red, “This is Baby Ivey?” She held her hand down by her knee to the height she remembered him as a toddler, then looking up at the sexy man that towered over her now, “Little Ivar Ragnarsson…well fuck me.  That’s why you look so familiar.”  This time she patted his thigh in what she hoped was in a platonic fashion. “I know you don’t remember me, but I was really good friends with your sister.”  She chuckled when he shook his head, “I think you went to school with my son, too. Miguel Larson.” 

Miguel Larson?  Who the hell was Miguel Larson?  The only Larson he knew from high school was this annoying, skinny kid who was into anime… “Wait, Mani Larson?”  No fucking way.  Did she just nod?  She was Mani Larson’s mom?  Mani Larson was only like two years younger than him.  What was happening here?  There was no way in hell that this woman had a kid his age.  

“Yeah, bro.  Me, Soli & Gyda all went to high school together.  She even turned me down when I asked her to my senior prom.” Bjorn placed his hand over his heart and pouted his lip as if he was hurt.  

Shaking her head, Soli reached over and squeezed Bjorn’s chest as he flexed under his shirt for her.  She opened her mouth in shock and appreciation, “Oh, my God.  I know right?  How drunk was I? What the fuck was wrong with me?”

Could Bjorn’s grin get any bigger?  He was enjoying this.  He could read Ivar’s body language from upstairs when he saw him at the bar.  He just knew from the way he was standing down there, that instead of being upstairs with the family, his brother was trying to push up on some girl at the bar. That’s the only reason that he came downstairs to fuck with him.  But, not only did Bjorn get to run into an old friend, he also got to cock-block his little brother. The gods were smiling on him today. “Soli and Gyda were cheerleaders when I was on the football team.”

“How is Gyda?” Soli asked, turning to the bar to push her drinks closer to her and slide the bartender her credit card.  She missed the little eye exchange between the brothers in the process.

Bjorn turned around to scan the raised platforms where the pool tables were, “She’s here, actually.  We come here for our weekly pool game.  She would die to see you.”

“Okay.  Let me take this stuff over to my girls, and I’ll come up and find you guys in a few.”  Hugging him one more time and squeezing his arms for good measure, Soli shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe I ran into you, BJ.  It’s so good to see you.”  She turned around to face Ivar who was standing there watching his brother and what he had hoped was going to be his conquest for the evening chatting it up like two girlfriends, “It was nice to see you again, too, Ivar.”  She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed for him, or humiliated for herself, at the moment. 

“Yeah, you too, Mrs. Larson.”  Mrs. Larson…what the fuck?  He just wanted to leave out the bar and come back in to start the night over.

She held up a finger to him to stop him from calling her that hideous name, “I haven’t been Mrs. Larson in a very long time.  I’m just Marisol,”  She tilted her head in such a way that her hair covered part of her face hiding her blush. “But you can call me, Sonni, or Soli.  Whatever,” she shrugged, and tucked her top lip between teeth at the sight of his smile.    

Why were they making these young boys so goddamn cute these days? If they didn’t stop, or if she didn’t get laid soon, she was going have to call the people on herself.  She had known this boy when he was an infant.  

That meant he was around her son’s age, and Mani was what 21-22? So Ivar was born right around the time she graduated from high school?  That was illegal somewhere, right?  Yeah, he was of age. But, whose age?  Mani’s? Oh that was just nasty.  

What the hell did she have in common with a boy that young? Hot, sweaty, animal sex… but other than that?  She was so past that stage in her life.  

No, what she was going to do was go back to her table and enjoy her happy hour, and just before she left for the night, she would go up and see Gyda. She would be staying far the fuck away from this little snack, right there.  She was not going to allow herself to think about whether or not he was old enough to have chest hair, yet, or what that clean-shaven face felt like rubbing against her thighs. 

Ivar could have sworn he swore he saw Soli blush, as she collected her drinks and made her way back to her corner of the lounge.  What in the hell just happened?  Fucking Bjorn, “You dick,” Ivar grabbed his drink and followed behind his brother up the stairs, “What the fuck was that?  She turned me down for the prom…”

Bjorn laughed his way up toward the three tables he and his siblings commandeered.  “You big mad, bro?”  He grabbed his little brother by the shoulders and squeezed lovingly.  Parading Ivar in front of his siblings, he patted his cheek like a child, “I did you a favor.  She would break your heart, balls, and everything else. That, my friend, is not for you.” He turned Ivar to face the direction of Soli’s table, of which they had a clear view. “Guys, Lil’ Man here, thinks he can handle Marisol Peña,”  Bjorn pointed in the direction of the petite, curvy brunette, dancing at the table, sipping on a cocktail through a straw.

“Sonni? My Marisol?” Gyda asked, turning to look at Ivar, “Ivey, Sonni’s my age.”

Bjorn nodded, “Exactly. That, is a grown-ass woman.  You, are still a young Thunder Cat.”

“You sure about that?”  Were they all fucking crazy?  Did they know about him? There was a reason he earned the moniker Ivar “The Boneless” in college: when his third leg came out, that shit was 100% pure muscle! If he was given the chance, he would fuck that forty-something-year-old woman back into her twenties. “Just because you ain’t never had no game, don’t mean that I don’t.”

“Bitch, please,” Bjorn said picking up his beer taking a big swallow. “You ain’t had pussy, since it had you.”

Ivar could feel himself getting irritated. It was Bjorn’s fault that he was sitting up there being heckled by them instead of at the bar still talking to Soli.  Plus, he hated when he was the butt of their jokes and they were all laughing at him. Even Hvitserk was smiling around his hot wings, and he could tell Ubbe was trying to keep a straight face. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Gyda, but she was too busy shooting Bjorn a look that pleaded with him to stop teasing him.    

“Beege…you married every bitch you fucked.  That ain’t game, brah.  That’s being a whipped, bitch.”  Ivar raised his glass to his brother before slamming the entire drink down his throat. “Now are we gonna play or what?”  Grabbing a pool cue off the wall rack, and rolled his eyes. “I’m calling game…Ubbe? You feel like getting your ass beat?” 

For the rest of the night, he tried to act disinterested in what was going on at the table below them, but the truth was every so often, he found himself glancing down to the floor to see if she was still down there or if she was finally on her way up to where they were sitting.  There were quite a few times where they caught each other’s eye, peeking over the railing to see if what the other one was doing.  Each time it happened, they would both smile and turn away.

Ivar didn’t know what it was about her that had him so interested. Maybe it was because no one thought that he could, or maybe it was just because she was beautiful.  Whatever it was, she was a challenge, and he liked it.  This wasn’t going to be the last time Ivar talked to Soli.  He was going to make sure of that.

Alright, so there you have it.  That’s how we they met.  I know, it was just enough to wet your whistle, but I’m just going to let you chew on that tasty little tidbit for a minute. You know I gotta leave you wanting to come back for more, honey...

But seriously, though, I gotta run.  But, we’re going to talk again soon. I gotta tell you about what happened when Marisol told her son that she ran into Ivar. Chiiiillllleeee....  

Master List

Chapter 2

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