things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton
part two
word count: 10k
warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.
A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate
It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.
Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.
Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.
Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.
Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.
Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.
Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.
Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.
She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.
She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.
She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.
Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.
She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.
That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.
Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.
When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.
Lewis 🏁
How's your date?
She shakes her head, typing out her response.
dense. how's silverstone?
Lewis 🏁
Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.
i'm sorry 😞
Lewis 🏁
I'm going to need you tonight.
Lewis, i'm on a date.
Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.
Lewis 🏁
Is he getting lucky tonight?
NO!
Lewis 🏁
So why can't I?
Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.
She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.
"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.
She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.
Lewis 🏁
My jet will be waiting for you.
That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.
When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.
It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.
"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.
He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.
"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."
"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.
"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.
Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.
She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.
After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.
She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."
"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.
Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.
Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.
Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.
He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.
Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.
"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.
She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."
"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."
His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.
"Okay."
Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.
"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.
Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?
She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.
"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.
She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.
"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"
Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."
Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.
"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"
Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."
"Why that?"
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.
-
They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.
"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.
"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."
"Come on, beautiful."
He sits up, forcing her up with him.
She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.
He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.
He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.
He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.
There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.
"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.
She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.
When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.
This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.
She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.
"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.
As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.
The screen lights up with notifications.
One catches her eye from, Natalie.
Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.
Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.
It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.
Still on for tomorrow?
At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.
"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.
She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.
He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.
Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.
But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.
She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.
Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.
-
She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.
He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.
"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"
She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.
Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.
When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.
"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.
"Hi, George, I'm Clem."
"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.
"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."
George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.
"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"
She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.
Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."
And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.
George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.
"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."
"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.
Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.
When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.
She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.
She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.
"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.
"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.
"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.
"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.
She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.
She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.
"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.
He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"
She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."
"Then get in the fucking car."
Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.
He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.
Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.
Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.
It has him hard instantly.
"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.
"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."
Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.
"I want to kiss you, but people will see."
She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.
"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.
"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.
"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."
"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.
"You like fucking with me." He declares.
Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.
"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.
He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.
Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.
He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.
He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.
Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.
When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto.
He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.
She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.
He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.
"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.
He looks stressed and zoned out.
"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.
Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.
She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."
That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."
She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."
Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.
Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."
"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.
Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.
"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.
"Time to race, Lewis."
She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.
Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.
She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.
When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.
She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.
She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.
She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.
She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.
She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.
She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.
She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.
His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.
Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.
"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.
She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.
"I can feel it in my bones."
"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.
Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"
He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.
"Well, that's me."
Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.
"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.
"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.
"Get in the car, Hamilton."
She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.
She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.
Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.
She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.
"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.
"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."
Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.
Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"
She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."
Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.
"Intense, yeah?" He questions.
"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."
"First time coming to a race?"
She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."
She laughs, "Right."
The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.
He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.
But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.
Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.
Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.
It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.
He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.
This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.
That anger got him P3.
He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.
Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.
She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.
She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.
When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.
But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.
When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.
There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.
He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.
He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.
He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.
"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."
Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.
"Can you walk?"
She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.
Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.
He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.
Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.
Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.
"I had fun," she announces.
"I'm glad."
"You got podium." She cheers lowly.
Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.
She gives up trying to talk to him after that.
The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.
When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.
As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.
Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.
"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.
"No, I don't."
"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.
"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.
"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.
"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.
Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.
"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.
She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.
He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.
"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.
He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.
She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.
He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.
Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.
He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.
Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.
She tasted so good.
Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.
Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.
He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.
He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.
"Fuck."
Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.
Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.
When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.
She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.
He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.
"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.
"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.
"I think you do."
His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.
"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.
"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"
Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.
Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.
He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.
He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.
Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.
This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.
Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.
Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.
She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.
Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.
He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.
"Woah." she pants.
Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.
Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.
"I booked you a room."
He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.
"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.
"It's just a floor below, suite 909."
Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"
Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.
"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.
Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.
"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.
Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."
She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.
She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.
Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.
"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."
Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.
She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.
And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.
She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.
The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.
She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.
For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.
It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.
Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.
It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.
-
Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.
He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.
He regrets his actions.
He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.
He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.
"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"
He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.
He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.
He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.
He never stood a chance against her charm.
He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.
-
When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.
"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.
The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.
"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."
Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.
Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.
-
Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.
Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.
Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.
"That was fun." She exhales.
He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.
This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.
He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"
He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.
"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."
Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.
He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.
It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.
He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.
Everything unchanged, nothing new.
Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.
So he tries dating.
And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.
Their eyes don't gleam like hers.
They don't understand his humor.
They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.
They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.
They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.
They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.
Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.
And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.
When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.
clemmy 🪂
I need to see you, where are you?
He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.
He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.
He'd take any sight of her he could get.
-
Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.
If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.
She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.
How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.
But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.
Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.
clementine
liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others
clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!
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feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿
clementine the coolest 😎
lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR
clementine 🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️
user no bc who did my girl like that
clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃
user builds character my ass, go beat his ass
user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???
clementine yk im filming girl 🙄
clementine
liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others
clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?
danielricciardo In your hands slaps
clementine you sir, have great taste 😘
user daniel what are you doing here 😭
user No really, weird ass crossover episode
user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen
clementine you noticing the small details >>>
justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me
clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂
user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm
feliciathegoat i love my bestie
clementine and I love u T 🥹
-
Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.
He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.
Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.
He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.
He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.
He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.
He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.
She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.
"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."
"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."
She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.
His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.
She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.
"I love you."
She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"
He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."
"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.
"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.
"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.
He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.
"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."
Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."
"But you did, " she cries.
"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."
"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.
"I promise I do, Clem."
She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."
He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."
"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."
It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.
"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.
"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."
"It's almost spring," Clem announces.
"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.
"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.
"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."
"Are we still friends?"
"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."
"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.
She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."
"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."
"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.
"Starting over, right?"
"Yeah, starting over."
Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.
Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.
"Thank you for showing up for me."
Not proofread
the album:
bad religion - frank ocean
in your hands - halle
i think- tyler, the creator
saturn- sza
broken is the man- jorja smith
everything is gonna be alright- infinity song
everything- kehlani
mine- beyonce ft drake
poison- beyonce
are we still friends- tyler, the creator
eternal sunshine- jhene aiko
<3
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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.
It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.
To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.
This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.
Join me below, if you would.
2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.
Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.
It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.
But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.
The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.
“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”
“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”
We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.
"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?
The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.
We had slightly miscalculated.
Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.
“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”
“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”
“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”
“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”
And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.
00000
We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.
It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.
At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.
Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.
So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.
“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.
Monday is the last day to do this, after all.
00000
So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.
The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.
“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”
So.
Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?
Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.
It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).
Then it starts to rain.
We had not dressed for rain.
00000
Here is how the next six hours go.
We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.
People online start making delivery orders.
Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.
A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.
The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.
A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.
Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.
00000
We have Line Neighbors.
Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.
The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.
Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”
“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”
“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”
My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.
“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.
“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”
We stay in line.
It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.
The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.
We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.
It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.
They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.
We still have a -long- way to go.
00000
They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.
It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”
We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.
We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.
I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.
The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.
Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.
The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.
A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“
The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”
We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.
If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.
That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.
There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.
We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)
I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.
There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.
Then we're married.
Then we get in line to get our license.
It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.
We make it to the marriage records office.
I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.
It's almost 3PM.
00000
There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.
We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.
I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”
He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.
Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.
We get back to our car and climb in.
It’s 4:30 and we are starving.
There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.
We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.
We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.
The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.
My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”
00000
It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”
But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.
It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.
I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.
We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.
Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.
It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.
Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"
And that was that.
00000
When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.
I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.
I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.
I never thought I’d live in this world.
And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.
I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.
The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.
And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.
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Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.
Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.
Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?
He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??
Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.
The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.
Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??
He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.
Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.
——
“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.
Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.
“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”
Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.
“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”
Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.
Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.
He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.
(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)
“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”
“I kept them in line!”
Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.
“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”
“I-”
“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”
“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.
“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”
“Fine! Fine!”
——
And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.
Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.
In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.
Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.
The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…
——
“So, you’re The Phantom.”
“And you’re Sionis.”
Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.
Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.
“How did you get in here?”
Danny shrugged. “Walked.”
Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.
“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”
“So, you’re a Meta.”
Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”
Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.
“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.
“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”
Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.
“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.
“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”
“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”
Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”
“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”
Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.
“I’ve got her, Phantom.”
Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.
“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”
And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.
But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.
——
Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”
From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?
But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!
Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.
On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.
Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.
Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.
He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.
He sipped his drink as he waited.
“Batman.”
“Phantom.”
“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”
Batman stayed silent.
“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.
“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.
“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”
Batman snarled.
“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.
Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.
“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”
“You-”
“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”
Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.
“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”
Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.
“… Apologies.”
“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”
Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”
Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.
Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.
“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.
Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.
“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”
“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.
Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”
Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.
“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.
Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.
“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”
Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.
“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.
“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.
——
“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”
“Hn.”
“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”
Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.
——
The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.
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