#b writes
- chapter13 : too many meaningless words
- words: 3.2k
- warnings: things heat up in the morning, then not so much
b’s note » my apologies for not posting on Wednesday. i wasn’t home and i didn’t want to post something like this on Tom’s birthday lmao. not that he’d read it, but y'know. positive vibes and all. you’ll see what i mean. extra alert! i wrote an alternate version for one of today’s scenes, it’s linked at the end of the chapter. thanks for your kind words in every part so far <3 love you all!
series masterpost|main masterlist
~ ⛳️ ~
The next morning, you wake up to wet kisses on your face and your nose scrunches up immediately.
“Maaaax, no, it’s not chow time yet,” you joke, pretending you can’t tell who’s stirring you up from sleep.
Tom pulls away immediately, the sheets rustling loudly beneath him. “Who’s Max?”
You giggle at his peeved tone and peek through one eye. “Just my old dog. Relax, will ya? Your parents have one too, you know what it’s like.”
“Hmm, yeah.”
Since he doesn’t move closer yet, you open the other eye to blink at him and curl your hands around his neck, reeling him in until your back is once more against the bed. “Don’t be jealous, champ. I’m right here.”
It looks like the whole waking you up shenanigans was done on purpose. At least that’s what you perceive when you realize that Tom seems to have showered because he smells like yourconditioner.
“You smell lovely by the way, your hair’s all smooth—” You wipe a hand over his shaved head. “No, wait, still prickly. Love it even more.”
Tom smiles into your mouth at last, saying, “Good morning, princess,” before he kisses you softly. Just once. Yet enough to drive a shot of magic into your belly.
“I don’t look like a princess anymore,” you pout, remembering how he called you that because you were wearing the rented, expensive dress that’s now hanging on your door, ready to be returned. You’re going to miss it in a way, that slit looked gorgeous on your thigh every time you checked yourself in the mirror.
He tugs on your lip with a fingertip and says, “You’ll never not be a fucking princess.”
You frown lightly at the lilt of his words, but Tom kisses you full on the mouth probably so he won’t have to say anything else and so that you don’t ask anything else either. It’s sensual and languid, the perfect morning kiss, hands roaming freely on warm skin, meant in a way that sends tingles all the way down to your toes. You curl them around his calves and let your tongue rest under his, let him explore the roof of your mouth, swallowing down both of your soft moans in gluttony.
When it’s over, your whole body shivers so you seek comfort in his, arms wrapped safely around his torso. Tom inhales your scent from behind your ear, then gazes at you softly with a teasing smile.
“Was thinking I could maybe get what I didn’t finish yesterday? Hm? Would you like that?” he proposes cheekily, one of his legs darting up until his kneecap touches your crotch.
“You mean your mouth — thismouth,” you say, tracing around his lips, sticking a thumb inside. His tongue rolls seamlessly across the pad, eyes glimmering with the same mischief with which he wiggles his brow. “…on me right now?”
“Mhmm.” He smirks.
“Never gonna say no to that, champ.”
You caress the crown of his head and push on it as he starts moving downwards, your other hand on his shoulder letting go only when he reaches too far. Tom gets settled between your legs and kisses your mound over your undies, but you stop him.
“Wait, what do you have for the trade?”
Tom smacks his lips together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ll do this for me, so what should I do for you after?”
“Oh, nothing,” he chuckles, pointing at his chest. “This soldier is gonna need like a week to recover after last night.”
“That good, uh?”
“So good,” he smiles that charming smile, kissing your belly and curling his fingers over the edge of your panties. “Should I—?”
You sigh, studying his little teeth and his beautiful face for no reason other than studying it yet again, and say, “Hmm, no.”
Tom looks up inquisitively. “What’s up?”
“Don’t want to do this if you don’t want anything in return, that’s all,” you reply, hooking your feet under his armpits and hurling him up.
He settles comfortably over you, both legs entangled around yours. “What if I really, really, really want to do it?”
“Plenty of time for it next week,” you trail off, heart hammering in your chest right underneath his that you swear you can feel through his ribcage. “After you recover.”
“All right, if that’s what you want…”
You nod and hum in agreement. Lying there on the pillows, right under him, you can’t help but notice every single detail of his delicate features. Tom looks gorgeous like this, the bright bedside lamp illuminating him in all the right places, like the reddening tip of his nose, or his crooked grin, the corner of his mouth when he closes in and captures yours into another kiss.
I think I love you, you think, the idea swirling in your head in the form of different colors behind your eyelids. When you open them, Tom is staring at you.
“What?” you ask, worried you may have said something out loud, hands immobile on both sides of his slim waist.
“I don’t know, you kinda froze for a few seconds there. You okay?”
You smile, “I’m fine.” And when you kiss him, the lingering in your chest tells you exactly what you have to do.
∗
After a quick shower, you walk into the kitchen in shorts and a loose t-shirt and find Tom preparing breakfast for two. You recognize the aromas immediately. He’s making the scramble that won him the breakfast cook-off, this cocky little bastard.
“Is it just me, or is someonefeeling himself this morning?”
“I am feeling pretty well, thanks,” he croons, turning his head to gaze over his shoulder. All you see is the cute scrunch of his nose. “How about you, ready for a princess’s brekkie?”
“Smells delicious.”
“I’m almost done. You can get the plates, if you want.”
“Not very princessy, is it?” you joke, leaning to bite his earlobe, a hand draped softly on the small of his back. He pushes into the touch somehow, but you turn towards the cupboards before you can be really sure.
As you grab two plates and two mugs, you take this moment to ask him a question that had come to mind during your shower just now. Something that popped into your head out of nowhere.
“You remember yesterday—”
“Oh yeah, I remember yesterday…” He smirks.
“Not that!” You lift your heel to kick him lightly in that cute little bum he has under his shorts. Tom reaches back with a hand pretending to grab it. “During the party still, when Tuwaine came over to us. He said congratulations, you said Harrison was full of shit… What was that about?”
“Erm, yeah, I remember that,” he says with a little sigh. The silence lasts for a few moments as you distribute the plates and forks, and Tom turns off the stove while still stirring the pan. “The Harries were pissing me off earlier, that’s what it was.”
“What were they saying?”
“It was, like… so we walked into the party, right?” You nod, munching on a leftover piece of carrot Tom didn’t use in his recipe. “And the first thing that dickhead asked me was if we were on a date.”
“A date?”
“I know! Can’t imagine where he got that idea from,” Tom scoffs.
You watch him start to serve a generous portion onto each plate and at his silent signal, you sit down in your spot.
“Why would he think that, though?”
“Apparently because our outfits matched,” Tom says with a loud puff of breath as he sits down next to you.
“Hm.” You chew on that tiny piece of carrot longer than it should be physically necessary just so you won’t have to speak. Who knows what will blurt out of your mouth now that your brain is running countless miles an hour.
Instead you watch him grab a fork and spin it on his fingers, as he adds, “I thought, uh, since we were renting that dress, I might as well do something nice. And it was only the cufflinks anyway, so I told him to fuck off. No idea what he was implying was so special about it.”
You do remember his cufflinks last night. Namely you remember how much of a surprise it was when he came strolling into your room while you were putting on your jewelry and asked your help to clip them on.
“They did look dashing on you,” you compliment so as to draw your mind away from what you were thinking about. That while you were putting on the cufflinks, you were breathing onto the base of his neck, fingers fumbling with each cuff as he breathed over your face as well.
“Aww, thanks.”
You send him an honest smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Can you imagine though?” Tom says within a laugh as you fill both tea cups with smoking water from the kettle. You have to keep busy, otherwise your thoughts will wander faster than you can keep up.
“Me taking you out on a date without asking you first?” Tom laughs. “How rude.”
You laugh at him through your teeth, putting down the kettle to pat his forearm. “Damn right, it would’ve been very rude.” Taking a deep breath, because for somereason your heart is racing inside, you ask, “Were we… on a date, though?”
Tom looks inconspicuous, withdrawn into himself, adding milk to his tea with his face calm and quiet like the sky before a storm.
“I dunno,” he swallows. His eyes find yours now and they’re empty as far as you can tell. “Would you like us to have been on a date?”
“What a loaded question, champ.” You pretend to laugh, but really you’re about to die inside from the truth you cannot distinguish in his gaze. “Would you?”
He smiles while sipping from his mug. There’s a bit of a frown now, twisting his messy eyebrow into an even smaller line. When he looks up, Tom cradles the back of your hand where it’s resting on the table.
“It would have been a good one, I know that. Ended with a hell of a bang.”
“Cheeky bastard.” You chuckle. The tension in your chest doesn’t subside, however. After all, if that’s the point he was trying to make, it’s too far off from what you had planned to tell him. You might need a different plan, a less direct approach to let him know everything you’ve been going through until now.
You have to tell him today, you’re too filled with agony to wait another day, but you need the perfect moment, the perfect excuse for the words to come out. You don’t want him to associate whatever you feel with the fact that you’re talking about last night in these terms. No matter how amazing the sex was, like it always is, everything is so much more than just that. It’s the ache when he leaves, the sunlight when he smiles, suffocating you every hour of every day.
“Thank you by the way,” he says through his small mouthful of food. He swallows with his eyes on you, and you for once cannot take your eyes off of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he drinks tea, his whole neck popping full of veins when he stretches to get a napkin from the other side of the table.
You look back up at his eyes and find them glinting, tender. He leans forward into a kiss, but you move at the same time to drink some tea because your throat is too dry at this point and his lips collide with your cheek.
Tom hums and holds your chin in his hand, softly, rubbing his nose in a circle around yours, and when you smooch your mouth onto his, the dam in your mind breaches and lets all the thoughts from yesterday flood right back out.
This is it. You haveto tell him.
“Tom?”
“Hm?”
“I, uh,” you start, unsure of how to sort through the messy current of thoughts and words inside your head. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, but, um—”
“This sounds serious. Should I be worried?” he muses, but you pay him no mind. You do smile in response, drinking some more.
“No—” you say, “I dunno.” Tom’s eyes go wide and he takes another bite, possibly to keep his mouth busy and give you a moment to say what you think you want to say. You can’t really make up your mind, but giving it to him straight is not an option. It would be a little painful to go straight to the point and read the disappointment in his face. So you take a longer route.
“You know when you, um, you feel a certain way, and then you think you start to feel a different way, and you don’t know how you got from one to the other?”
Tom tilts his head, inquisitively, torso twisted so he’ll stay faced to you. “You can feel a lot of different ways about pretty much everything. So.” He pauses to take a small piece of tomato from the plate. Before he eats it, he asks, “Can you narrow it down a little?”
You forage through your head to try and come up with something that hints at what you want to say without actually saying it yet. “You know, when you, like, know someone a certain way—”
“So we’re talking about people then?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” you take a breath in, “but then you, like, you start seeing them in a different way, but you fear that the second way may ruin the first way? So how does it, I mean, how do you make that transition without accidentally fucking up something you already appreciate?”
What you’re saying doesn’t actually make sense to you, they’re just words floating around in your head and you’re grabbing them at random and throwing them together into long-winded sentences. Tom looks very confused too, a frown twisting his forehead as he drinks more tea.
Before he asks anything else, you take the first metaphor that comes to your head, using him as an example so he doesn’t realize you’re talking about yourself. “Say, you’re friends with someone. There’s group outings, nights out and nights in, day after day after day. Then a few weeks into that, you kind of want to know one of those friends in a closer, more personal way. Something that’s more than just… hanging out, or whatever it is that you have going on since it has to be all cordial and respectful of your other friends and so on.”
“Mhmm.” Tom takes the last forkful off his plate and keeps staring at you, giving you room to speak. His eyes are covered with a puzzled haze. You understand why because you’re babbling about friendly outings and you’re not even sure of what you’re trying to say anymore.
You sigh. “How would that… work? If at all.”
After you’re finished — well, sort of, eh — you sit there with an elbow on the table and your mouth picking out stray pieces of skin from your thumb.
Tom gapes at you, swallowing his food, drinking tea, wiping his lips with the napkin. Meanwhile, his eyes are very wide, barely blinking. “I don’t— I mean, do you like someone you—”
“Everyone always says it’s a bad idea, a romance with someone you already have in your life in a different scale, right?” you plough on, trying to decode your own speech. “Which makes sense because you still have to see them every day, or every other day, it doesn’t matter, and at the same time you also have to face your friends —who are their friends as well— and it’s kind of weird to change that dynamic, innit?”
“Well,” Tom swallows, “if you’re asking me, I think friendship can evolve into more without much of a fuss. If both really want to, that is.”
You take a deep breath almost in desperation, but at the sight of Tom starting to speak again, you add, “What if it doesn’t work out? You’re left a mess, the other person might be too, or not, who knows, it depends on a plethora of factors that you have absolutely no control over. So then what, your friends keep asking you about them and you still don’t really know if the other person feels the same way—”
“Y/n—”
“Or even if they do feel the same way, it’s still odd, right? Things could get fucked up. A whole friendship could get fucked up. And—”
“Y/n!”
“What?” You blink.
“You’re not making any sense,” Tom says, sitting down at last. “Are you asking me for advice or just— y’know, talking it out?”
“I… don’t know?” You sigh. It’s pointless right now. You either have to start over, or give up.
When you glance at Tom, you realize he’s sitting very straight in the chair, hands folded in front of his chest. He moves one to your shoulder and says in a low voice, “Then I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you, if you don’t know. But I can listen if you have anything else to say.”
Tom’s face is much closer than you expected. He licks his lips smoothly, eyes finding yours as you get caught staring at his mouth.
You wonder if he burns on the inside like you are, if his heart sounds as fast and irregular as yours. You gulp down your crazy heartbeat, certain that Tom can see it from where he’s sitting. You’re on that roller-coaster all over again, the car way up top, ready to plummet into the abyss, but when you look closer, there are no tracks. Nothing to grab on if you open your heart, no certainty of hearing I love you too in return.
“Do you… love this person?” he asks slowly, retrieving his hand back to his lap.
“I do, I do.” You nod along with your words.
Tom smiles, sadly you think. “Then whoever they are, I know they’ll be delighted to have you in their life as more than just a friend.”
As you’re leaning closer and reaching for his hand to say that it’s him, Tom jumps up from his seat and stumbles through his words. “I need the loo, but I, uh, I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t, um, don’t go anywhere?” He walks behind your chair and leaves a kiss on the top of your head, letting it linger before he takes off with big, furious steps.
“Wait— no, Tom, please wait, it’s you,” you rush to say, getting up as well, but by the time you’ve twisted on your feet to face the door, he’s already closing it behind himself.
“It’s you,” you repeat in a meek voice, fifty percent sure that he can no longer hear you. One hundred percent remorseful that you didn’t start this whole discussion with thosetwo words. Rushing to the door, you open it but Tom is nowhere to be seen.
The bathroom door bangs in the distance.
~ ⛳ ~
previous « ‧ Extra! Morning Pie ‧ » next
- words: 2.7k
- warnings: all smut, explicit warnings under the cut
b’s note » hey everyone! read this afterchapter 13, it will help. it’s an alternate version for the morning in bed scene, starts in the middle of it and the end is pretty much the same after they finish. hope this makes up for the rest of chapter 13 :D!
series masterpost|main masterlist
- explicit warnings : piv intercourse (riding), creampie
~ ⛳️ ~
“Was thinking I could maybe get what I didn’t finish yesterday? Hm? Would you like that?” he proposes cheekily, one of his legs darting up until his kneecap touches your crotch.
“You mean your mouth — thismouth,” you say, tracing around his lips, sticking a thumb inside. His tongue rolls seamlessly across the pad, eyes glimmering with the same mischief with which he wiggles his brow. “…on me right now?”
“Mhmm.” He smirks.
“Never gonna say no to that, champ.”
You caress the crown of his head and push on it as he starts moving downwards, your other hand on his shoulder letting go only when he reaches too far. Tom gets settled between your legs and kisses your mound over your undies, but you stop him.
“These come off. Gotta stop spending my poor paycheck on knickers,” you chuckle.
“I could buy you tonsmore,” he smiles that charming smile, kissing your belly and helping you tug the garment down your legs and off your feet, losing them somewhere in the sheets.
“You’re not my daddy, all right?” You scoff, making Tom chuckle and kiss under your navel. He glances up right after when you push the covers off of you as well.
“Don’t want anything in your line of sight again.”
Tom giggles, certainly remembering his predicament last night when he tried to do this on the couch but your dress was in the way. Your shoulders shake with a laugh as well, but soon you lose all senses to the sweet poke of his tongue down your slit.
He’s so careful with it, so attentive, lapping at every corner and every fold, using the pad of his tongue where he can and little licks of the tip where you’re panging the most. Finally sucking your clit into his mouth, Tom holds you down with both hands around your thighs. They stay spread and trembling from his ministrations of pleasure, the blissful sparkles bundling up on the small of your back where you lift it off the mattress to meet his face.
You hold the sheets beneath you at a particularly long caress from your entrance to the top, praying your body won’t play tricks on you, but his tongue dips inside your hole and you clench around the soft muscle, and suddenly your mind goes to shit so your body can do whatever it wants. And what it wants is to tug on Tom’s right hand, lace your fingers with him, and hold him there, tight, against your shivering belly as he hums loudly.
Out of instinct, you try to look between your legs and study the slope of his shoulders, but a little flick of his tongue out of you and past your swollen nub has you moaning and jerking bad enough that your head hits the pillow without regret.
“Fuck, Tom, so close,” you warn him between heavy pants, your chest filling with a buzz that crawls across your entire being.
Tom presses down on your fingers, clutches your thigh, and angles his head so that he’s fucking you with precise jabs of his tongue, soon moving to suck on your clit until all the lights go off in your head. One by one, they switch off and your body dissolves into nothing. The only thing that remains is the twist of bliss in your gut and the blood panging down to your sex as you come and moan and come some more under Tom’s dexterous tongue, legs closing in around his head.
By the time he spreads your thighs apart and smiles up at you, you hurl him up by the armpits and kiss the fuck out of his mouth. You wipe the slickness from his face, then straighten up against the headboard and stay turned to him, both sitting on the mattress, you in a t-shirt, Tom in his sleeping joggers, all the muscles of his chest on display. You grope them with erratic moves, going downward until you pull out his hard cock to hold it between his legs.
You break the kiss with a sharp inhale. “Handy, or should I sit on it?”
“Fuck,” he moans into your lips, sucking on them a little more. “I don’t think I can survive another— fuck.”
“Let’s see if you can survive another, shall we,” you say with a grin so vicious it splits your face into three.
Crawling onto Tom’s lap, you press your crotch over his and sway and rub over him until his head tilts back and you can kiss his neck, nipping it in several different spots. His hands lost on your back, soft short moans coming out of him as you peck and nip and lick every patch of skin you can find. Little by little, Tom distracted by your actions, you get up on your knees and grab his cock, holding it upright before you sink onto it and let gravity pull you down as he gasps.
Tom throws his head back again and whines, “Yeah, fuck, I can take this,” his mouth open around yours letting out a string of needy breaths. You shudder at their hotness, scrambling back to support both hands on his legs, rutting against him as much as you can, riding him hard, your back bent backwards, driving yourself crazy from the angle that has his cock brushing against your spot from the get go.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he moans, both of his hands grabbing your waist to drive you up and down his dick at the speed he wants. You’re on top today, so there’s no way you’re going to let him take control. Fuck that.
So you push his shoulders until he’s lying on the bed, whole body stretched over the unruly sheets. One hand on his belly, the other behind you, you spread your legs as wide as you can and give him a perfect view of your cunt swallowing his cock. You change the angle so you can prop both feet on the mattress, wanting to use them to keep yourself upright. It’ll be easier to move then. Until you do, you sit still on his lap and watch Tom go fucking crazy from the lack of friction, having nothing but the clench of your walls to satisfy him.
“Please you have to fucking move,” he begs, and you could listen to his desperation on loop for the rest of your life. It crawls pleasure and need all over your own skin.
Once you’re ready, feet on the bed and a hand on his stomach, you drag your hips up and then down, slowly at first, gaining speed with every guttural moan he emits. Your legs are spread open and his eyes never leave your middles, enthralled by the stretch of your lips around his hard length. You gasp a little at the burn and fullness of it, this angle a little foreign since it’s been so long since you’ve been on top like this. It’s uncomfortable, the muscles on your legs whining from the effort, but it’s totally worth it just so you can see his face.
It’s contorted in absolute bliss, growing spots of red on his cheeks just under where his lashes rest on them. He’s beautiful and sensual, the twinkle of the sweat starting to pool on his collarbones. You want to lick it off of him, just so you can be closer to him, but now it’s not the time.
Another idea hits you instead. You force your hips down and roll them around, Tom whining under you and grasping both hands around your ass, trying to make you move. “Faster, move, c’mon, baby girl, ride my fucking cock.”
“I’m on it, relax, champ,” you taunt him, leaning over him and catching his mouth, but what follows is so much more than just a kiss. It’s tongue and teeth and hot breath, it’s Tom trying to hold your face against his, then once more trying to get your hips to move over his cock. Anything to seek the grand pleasure you so badly want him to achieve.
Before you do so, you have to pull off of him.
“Fucking hell, fuck, where the fuck—” he pants and whines before he bites on your bottom lip. “Where you fucking going?”
“Just gonna turn around, watch this,” you offer him with a hard kiss on his lips. When you pull away, you have to move fast or you know he’s going to buck up and slide his cock into your cunt without even thinking. He’s too eager right now, but you have him in the palm of your hand.
You slide off his lap and pump his cock with a hand, turning around so your back and your ass is to him, knowing he will love what’s to come. His cock is bursting with want, hard and leaking and twitching at every touch, so you know this will be quite fast. Which is why it has to be fucking perfect. It has to be the right angle so he’ll lose his mind on this lovely morning.
“Fucking look at me, Tom,” you demand when you find him with his eyes closed and his hands fisted around the bedding.
His eyes open immediately, widening at the sight. You’re sitting on him yet again, moving slower so he won’t miss a thing. Swallowing his cock with your pussy, your ass tipped back and two hands holding the cheeks apart. It must look fucking ugly from the side, but his face tells you everything you need to see. He’s down for this, and he’s down bad.
“That’s so fucking beautiful,” he moans, eyes squinting closed when you sit fully on his lap and clench around him. His eyebrows crease like he’s in pain, mouth open around a gasp as his chest convulses and arches off the bed.
Your own body is starting to feel the weight of the pleasure, a coil of emotion curling at the bottom of your gut, electrified when you restart moving over him. Faster now, so much goddamn faster, legs burning with it and your head swimming. You ride his cock like it’s your life mission, the one thing you’re meant to be doing right now and forever. When your hands go numb where you’re supporting your own weight, your hips snap forward and you sink back down and lift in the same second, going over and over and over again, sinking further and further on his lap, watchful of how his face distorts and clears, eyes unfocused and filled with want.
You can feel when it happens, when his body bucks up and collapses back on the bed, when his hands fist around your hips and tug you closer and closer to him with each thrust. He holds you up for a second and fucks up into you frantically, gasping and moaning your name like a spell, almost making you topple over between his bent legs.
“Gonna— come—” he stutters, and you take that as your cue. You press a hand on his chest so he’ll stay down, then force both hands on his knees so he won’t move, and start hiking your own hips to ride his cock with purpose. It hits in all the right spots inside you and you almost lose it in the moment, but then you notice it.
The moment Tom thrashes under you, and he groans in broken words, and his cock swells and pulsates between your tight walls. And then he comes with a muffled shout of your name. You slam his body back onto the mattress and milk him out, riding with all your might, trying so damn hard not to let the electricity climb up to your brain. This is hismoment.
“Oh my—” he moans and groans, grabbing you by the waist and shoving his dick into you, holding you steady. You stop and sit comfortably on his lap, relaxing your legs to see if they’ll stop hurting.
His face is smoothed by pleasure now, mouth breathing open and his eyes closed in satiation, but his hands crawl all over your back, one going up to your shoulder blades and the nape of your neck, the other going past the waist towards the front, sinking between your legs. He finds your clit in the dark and starts giving it little flicks, but you can’t do much with that, it’s useless, absolutely pointless, so you cover his hand with yours and give his fingers the speed that makes it happen.
Your eyes close of their own accord and your lashes feel sweaty and heavy on your cheeks, as you stroke your own pussy with his and your hands together as one. You move your hips in uneven circles to seek the high, but it doesn’t take long. One, two swipes and your brain shuts off, your vision goes blank and your body goes pliant and rigid at the same time, shaking frantically like a leaf where you’re sitting over Tom.
Behind you, he curses you and your cunt, blaming it on being too tight, hips fighting to get you off his lap. Yet you press back down and ride it out on his finger, rolling around and clenching everywhere, his cock buried deep inside you. Your sweet spot is so inflated from the pleasure that it shoots up bursts of light straight into your head. The orgasm rolls down your legs and off you feet, and you collapse over him, both hands between his legs now, letting Tom rub your clit a few more times at a soothing pace.
You sit there for a long time, twirling your hips slowly and listening to his whines. Because you know what’s going to happen if you move. And you want to do this right.
It takes Tom a little while before his eyes can open and focus, and you’re there watching him over your shoulder when they do. You smile at him and he smiles back, faintly, resting his head on the pillow until his breathing slows to a normal rhythm.
“That was so fucking hot,” he tells you. You lean forward and drop a kiss on his leg to tell him you feel the same way.
Still, you say, “No, thisis so fucking hot.”
And then you start moving your hips up.
You’ve been feeling strings of wet falling out of you for a while now, so you know what he’ll see as soon as your hips lift from his lap. His cock is lathered in white, his cum and your cum, mixed together in a mess of fluids that glide all the way down onto his crotch.
Tom looks up at you briefly with his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes immediately flicking back to your middles. His hands grab your waist and he helps you move up, slowly slipping his cock out of you. You stop right at the top, just the head inside you now. The river of white continues to flow southward, following the gravity and giving Tom everything he fucking dreamed off. Eventually his cock drops to his belly, a blob of cum falling and slithering down to his balls.
“Two in a day, uh?” you tease him with a smirk. Tom smirks right back and lets go of you, your body falling over him with a slap from the lack of support.
“‘Tis fucking beautiful,” he says, grabbing you by the side of your neck and pulling so you’ll turn to him again.
You’re all wet and sticky and smelly from the cum, but you’re so satiated that you couldn’t care less about it. With your heart hammering in your chest, Tom reels you closer and captures your mouth into a dizzying kiss. When it’s over and he cradles your jaw in a tender gesture, you let yourself lay back onto the pillows, Tom following shortly after, cock deflating against your thigh as he hovers over you.
He looks gorgeous like this, the bright bedside lamp illuminating his features in all the right places, like the reddening tip of his nose, or his crooked grin, the corner of his mouth when he closes in and captures yours into another kiss.
~ ⛳️ ~
previous [13] « ‧ » next chapter out on June 6th!
- chapter14 : comfort in a borrowed van
- words: 5.2k
- warnings: things get angsty
b’s note » my apologies for leaving you hanging like that this weekend! many, many thanks for all your lovely feedback <3 love you all!
series masterpost|main masterlist
~ ⛳️ ~
“I don’t think you understood what I was trying to say— Hmm, no.”
“I think you didn’t understand— Nope.”
“I’m not sure you— Ugh, no, asshole, don’t make this about you.”
“Are you sure you underst— Can’t make him sound illiterate either, fuck.”
You’re practicing what to tell Tom after the one-sided conversation you just had with him in the kitchen. You want to make sure he heard exactly what you were trying to say and not some twisted version of it, so you cross the living room carefully and stand in front of the bathroom door.
It’s silent on the other side. Tom has been in there less than three minutes, you’ve counted on your phone, and it’s starting to pick at your nerves. The damn digit won’t change to the next minute on your lock screen when you hit the side button, so you stay there staring at it reluctantly. Behind it, a picture of your old dog Max gazes back at you.
It was the day of your reunion after the first time you had been away from home for more than two weeks in a row. You agreed to meet with your dog sitter at the park and when he saw you from a relative distance, Max just took off running towards you so you pulled out your phone and hit record. In the end, you chose a frame from that video as your lock screen and haven’t changed it since. Even after Max’s death of old age, you couldn’t part with it.
When the digit finally changes from 6 to 7, you look up with a deep breath, but when you raise your hand to knock on the door, hesitation hits. You can’t just barge in on his personal moment like this. Tom came all the way over here after you started talking to him for some reason. It’s not your place to interrupt him even if you’re slowly driving yourself mad from overthinking what he could be doing in the bathroom. Alone. After so much urgency, one would think something drastic was about to happen.
“Ugh!” you groan out of patience, turning around and leaning your head backwards. It thumps on the door harder than you wanted it to.
“I’ll be right out,” his muffled voice says.
“Sorry,” you apologize, turning back around and pressing your temple against the door. Breathing heavily over your hand where it rests on the wood. You don’t want to press, but you have to ask, “Can you tell me if you’re okay?”
Before you get a proper answer, the door unlocks and Tom’s face appears as soon as it’s opened ajar. He doesn’t look out of place, doesn’t seem to be transmitting any kind of particular emotion to you, and you take a step back when he moves forward.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” he says with a sniff.
“Are you sure?” you blurt out unexpectedly, rubbing the side of your neck at the same time. “Because I, uh—”
“You weren’t finished?”
“It’s not that,” you reply, turning to him to see him step across the hallway. “Wanted to make sure you knew exactly what I was trying to say.”
“Uh, yeah, I think I got it.” Tom chuckles. He sounds nervous, or close.
“Please let me say it,” you insist, not wanting any sort of misunderstanding between the two of you. You’ve been sharing your own intimate space for too long to leave anything unsaid right now.
“No,” Tom is quick to curb your thoughts. He stands in the archway that goes into the living room, facing you, shoulders held high but tense. “We’ll be all right… but I don’t want to hear you say it.”
“But you said—” you try, recalling how he had said that whoever it was that you had feelings for would be delighted to have you in their life as more than a friend. You were trying to ensure that, but he keeps blocking you.
“Please,” he nearly begs, eyes wide and deep. “It would hurt too much.”
You’re not sure what would hurt too much. Him hearing that you love him? Or him not wanting to say it back? That’s the only explanation you can find. If he saw through your strange metaphor and realized you were talking about him, given that you were talking tohim and pretty much describing everything you’ve done together since you moved in, that would be the only problem. Him not liking you back the same way. Not wanting you to expose yourself like that because he doesn’t want to leave you hanging. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Or simply because he didn’t think whatever you had could develop to this stage.
Whatever it is, your train of thought is interrupted by the door opening and closing with a slight bang. With your eyes on Tom, you can’t read past the awkwardness of his pose. There are no clues whatsoever in his gaze, nor in his stance between the wooden frames, nor even in the position of his hands since they’re shoved into his pockets. You can’t read him, and that’s probably what aches even more.
“Harrison’s here anyway,” he says in a low voice, taking off into the living room in the next second. He leaves, and you’re left with an open chest and an empty heart.
∗
The next days are absolute hell.
Tom has disappeared off the face of the earth and Harrison spends so little time at home between work and his never-ending project with Harry that you’re basically left alone with your own thoughts. And since thoseare a mess, from arguing with yourself about what this means to your own feelings, to trying to understand what Tom meant when he said he didn’t want to hear what you had to tell him, the best decision you can make is to spend a lotmore time working. At least you’re focused on your earnings and not on anything insubstantial.
You’re basically at a dead end with no prospect of finding a solution. And what do you do? You work some more.
“Hey, do you mind?”
That’s Beth, asking if she can slide into the empty seat in front of you. She’s carrying two cups of tea that exude a lovely aroma of cinnamon and cardamom.
“Not at all,” you smile at her, hitting the keyboard shortcut to save your project.
You’ve spent pretty much the whole of yesterday and today at the Toasty Den, either behind the counter or sitting at the furthermost corner booth with your laptop, editing a simple video to post on your channel two weeks from now. An empty tea cocktail glass and the two smoking mugs on the table.
Watching her get comfortable in the seat, you can’t help but wonder what she saw in you that made her come to keep you company on her break. There’s still a couple of hours left of her shift, a few more before your eyes start going all droopy and you’ll decide to leave, yet you do welcome her presence. Especially her ‘smize’ as he sips her tea.
“So how you doin’?” she asks, the cup on its way down to the table, her fingers through the handle holding it steady.
“Been better. Trying to keep focused.” You shrug. If you mindlessly hit the save shortcut again, you don’t even try to explain it.
Beth hums and stares at you, her gaze gentle and friendly. “What’s goin’ on then? You’ve been here for the past two days. Working mornings, sitting in this corner the whole afternoon shift. Sarrah told me you left late last night. What’s the matter?”
“I dunno, Beth.” You sigh and drag the cursor to the Save button. Just in case. Then you rub your eyes and they feel all puffy and ugly under your fingers. “Can’t stay in that flat right now. It’s too empty.”
“Roommate trouble?”
You give her a bleak nod. “Yeah, sort of. They’re both gone, and since everyone else I know works full time, I’m here. Editing a dumb video, trying to make myself laugh with it.”
“Is it workin’?”
You pause, murmuring a thanks as you take the first tip of your tea she so kindly brought over.
“Nope.”
Both of you laugh sadly at your reply.
Beth sends you an understanding look, head tipped to the side. “All right, look, I dunno about you, but I don’t like when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Even though I get it. Trust me, I getit. Been there more times than I’ve worked nights at this pub, I swear. So anyway, I’m goin’ out with my girls tonight, you wanna come? Drinks, comfort food, a movie at this, uh — fuck, what’s it called—”
You shrug and twist your mouth as though she was asking you and you don’t know the answer.
“Right, at this drive-in out of town. Five ladies, six if you come, in my bestie’s 90s van. It’ll be fun,” Beth adds with a big, hopeful smile, tapping your hand in comfort. “Filthy, but fun.”
“Filthy but fun…” you parrot her with a meaningless laugh.
“Listen, that van has seen a lotof shit.”
You laugh even harder at her comment. “Can’t wait to hear those stories. But I dunno if I should, I mean, it’s your free time with your friends, I—”
“That’s exactly why I’m inviting you.”
“I don’t want to be a bother, Beth.”
“You won’t!” Beth insists. “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine, but I’d love to have you around. Just girl talk. No thinking about work…” she says, leaning into your side to brush your shoulder with hers. “Or romance.”
You sigh. “Okay. I’ll come.”
“Good.” Beth leans in further to rest a hand on your shoulder. Squeezing once, her eyes hawked on yours. “But first I need you to go home, chill in your tub for a little while, use some beauty tips from a nasty YouTube video, and get all dolled up for me, ‘kay? Andfor you.”
“Okay.”
“Awesome. Also want those beautiful legs on display, all right? Your shortest dress ever‘cause we’re goin’ to Skimpy Town.”
“Damn,” you joke and check the time on your laptop. “Too late to go shopping, Beth.”
She gives you a look. “Please, girl, I’ve seen you around, ‘kay? I know you dress up nice.”
“Sure.” You grin, shoulders shaking with the beginning of a laugh.
“Now that’s a beautiful smile.” Beth grins back. “Go home, y/n. I’ll text you later.”
After her break’s over and you finish your tea, you follow Beth’s every instruction to the T and, truth is, you feel a lot more relaxed in your own skin after a short bath. It’s not common that you lie in your own filth like that, but a little pampering never hurt anyone, and it does boost your mood after sinking in the water with no worries except what song would play next from the playlist you had on shuffle.
Getting dressed is a whole different story. You want to take Beth’s advice on this as well, but every dress you put on doesn’t seem right. It’s not that they don’t fit the occasion, but your reflection doesn’t hit that nerve in your brain that lights up the satisfaction checkmark, so you keep trying. Sorting through different items, combining several shorts and blouses until the mirror agrees with you.
“You look good, girl,” you try to compliment yourself, Beth-style, but it only makes you laugh.
When Beth and her friends pick you up from the bus station you agreed on as a meeting point, they all yell and ‘yass bitch’ you first, even before you learn their names.
You have a generous amount of fun that night. The movie is hilarious, the drive-in is lit up beautifully, and the park where Beth’s friends stop the van to spend the rest of the evening is spacious and incredible. There’s fun and drinks and food that doescomfort you amidst tons of casual conversation and gossip. You even open your heart to practical strangers that somehow welcomed you into their group like a sister, and they give you the hope you’ve been trying to scavenge for in the thought shambles that’s been collecting in your mind for so long.
Then when you get home nursing your shoes into your chest, one of them with a broken heel, the flat is alive with low volume conversation. You hold your breath for a second, locking the door behind you and perking your ears, but you can only distinguish two voices. And after stepping into the living room, you find none other than Harrison and Tuwaine hanging out on the couch.
“Hey, look who’s back.”
“Looks like someone had a lot of fun,” Tuwaine says, words and a finger pointed at the items in your hands.
Your heel has been broken for the majority of the night. There was a stubborn incident with a sidewalk pattern and a grate, and your feet are stupidly hot right now. Hot from walking on bare soles and from dirt.
“Sidewalks hold grudges,” you say regretfully before you explain everything that had happened. Harrison is opening a new beer too, so you pluck it from his hand as soon as the cap pops off. “Thanks, roomie.”
“Sure, you can have my beer if you want,” he quips with a funny look, getting up to grab another bottle from the kitchen.
“Thanks!” you tease with your mouth around the bottle.
“So how was your night, miss girl?” Tuwaine asks. “Aside from Revenge of The Sidewalks, of course.”
“It was good,” you start, swallowing a big gulp of beer. “Watched a classic film, made new friends, broke a heel, ripped my shorts right in the crotch, had some drinks, laughed a lot. It was really good, Big T. Van girls know how to have Fun™, dammit. That’s capital F, trademark symbol, by the way.”
“The heel and your shorts?” Harrison laughs, back from his quest to the kitchen.
“Yeah! Right here,” you try to show him, but you’re sort of sitting on the ripped hole and you can’t bother to bend that way at the moment. “Someone didn’t want me to have a good time tonight, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t show them where they can shove that fucking energy.”
“That’s my girl,” Tuwaine says with a strong side hug.
“Thanks, T, tried my best. Been a little miserable lately, and I didn’t realize that until these girls dragged me into a metaphorical booth, bent me over and spanked me to confession.”
“Not literally, I hope…”
You start cackling at the look of confusion on Tuwaine’s face.
“I love seeing that smile on your face,” Harrison adds in a gentle voice. “Haven’t seen you around at all, so I was a little, ehhhhh, worried about you, if you wanna call it that. So happy to see you’ve been able to keep the mood up.”
“Thanks.”
You shrug. It doesn’t hit you just yet that you truly haven’t seen these two in a little while. All your mind has been focused on is one thing, and you can’t believe you let it keep you at bay from two friendships you value so much.
“Boys,” you start, feeling the boost of mood from their positive energy. You hold your beer between your knees and with one sandal in each hand hanging by one of its red straps, you stretch both arms to drape them over the back of the couch behind their heads.
“We should pull an all night marathon, if you can,” you suggest, only half joking. “I dunno, let’s watch something on that bigass tv that none of us paid for. Something to laugh. To celebrate life. Something about friends and the greatest shenanigans of all time.”
You blink at them, flicking your head to each side, one at a time.
“What do you say?”
“I think you need to sleep,” Harrison laughs, poking your side. You move too fast to gape your mouth at him and spill some beer onto your legs. Pointing at the liquid on your skin, he adds, “See what I mean?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“I didn’t say that,” he excuses himself, “but if you spend any more time awake, I’m afraid you’ll end up creating a mass accidental event, so big that you won’t be able to stop the jokes about it for many, many years to come.”
“My man is right,” Tuwaine agrees. You try to get up in protest, but the beer topples to the floor, miraculously landing on its bottom, and you nearly land on your butt again.
You seek support on Harrison’s leg and say, “Okay, maybe you’re right.”
And then the giggles start pouring out of you, honest mixed with nervous mixed with anything you’ve been disguising under the booze tonight. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the floor with your legs all entangled around and under you, fat tears running down your cheeks for no reason other than this moment right now.
“Nooo, y/n, it’s okay, you’re okay,” one of them says. Their voices and faces are all indistinguishable by now, mostly because you’re trying your best to not face them. They both help you back onto the couch, beer bottle safely on the coffee table.
“Hey, look at me.” He waits, voice sounding too much like Tom’s when he’d be whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You recoil at the memory.
“I wasn’t mocking you, okay? It doesn’t matter how much you drank or what you’ve been up to. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s just us.”
You agree and nod in silence at his words as you process them.
“Look, it’s late, but we can put on something to watch. Like you said. Something to laugh.”
“Maybe not The Hangover,” the other of them suggests, Tuwaine, you’re almost sure. Always on point with his humor. Never failing to make you at least chuckle.
“All right, she’s laughing through the tears. I think we’re okay,” Harrison says, and now his face is all clear again. All soft, caring eyes. You give him a tight hug.
“Thank you,” you say honestly, sniffing and swallowing away the moment. After, you turn to Tuwaine and reel him into the hug, adding, “I needed that. And whatever you choose is fine, even The Hangover.”
And by the time it hits you that you’ve done a full 180 in front of your friends, you’re falling fast asleep on one of their shoulders.
∗
The light filtering into the room is the first thing you see upon waking up. It looks like you slept with the blinds all the way up, only the curtains covering the open window, but you have yet to place the reason why. Your alarm clock goes off a few seconds after you decide to shut your eyes just a little more.
Right. You have to work today.
When you try to move a few more moments later, you realize someone’s in bed with you. Looking behind you, Harrison is sleeping there, fully dressed in his fancy shirt and a pair of sweats, lying over the covers. That’s odd, you think with your mouth frowning downwards, but you get up nonetheless. You notice you’re wearing this week’s sleeping attire, pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt, and at the sight of them last night starts flooding back into your mind.
You remember so much of it in a rush of seconds as you make your way to the bathroom to wash up. Beth and the van girls. Ripping your shorts at the children’s playground at that park where they stopped the van. Tripping on that damn sidewalk the first time. Laughing with your new friends as you all strolled around a late night street market, the colorful lights dancing with grace on your faces. Breaking your heel on the way back to the van after getting it stuck on that stupid sidewalk. Oh boy, getting home and embarrassing yourself on the couch in front of Harrison and Tuwaine.
Finally looking into the mirror, your eyes are unfocused as the memories roll, but everything else seems okay. Your face is make-up free and your hair is arranged the way you do every night, so that means your mind is correct when it shows you getting ready for bed right here, on this same spot. The only difference being Harrison’s watchpoint by the door, which is now unoccupied.
You let every one of those images fade eventually when you realize that nothing really happened. It’s foggy in your mind from the few drinks you had with the girls, but not exaggeratedly so.
You’re fine. And if you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late for work.
Back in the room, already dressed and ready to go, you leave Harrison still on your bed, tugging on the duvet from the side where you’d been lying before and pulling it over him. Just in case. He looks cozy and warm, so you let him rest here all he wants.
Work is a little slow, which is a blessing for your slurred mind, and David makes you feel very comfortable about whatever your eyes tell him about last night’s antics. You sort of can’t believe how fast you made friends with him, even before starting to work here, and how much you trust him now. Especially how much he knows about you, things that some of your longer-time friends have no idea about. Then again, all the hours you spend together every morning helped bring out this sense of closeness to him rather than to anybody else you only hang out with sporadically.
After work, you get home a bit after noon, stomach roaring loudly as soon as you walk through the door. The walk to the kitchen is riddled with you murmuring back at your own belly for giving you such a hard time now that you’re so damn close to food.
Closer than you imagined, you realize, walking into the kitchen and finding Harrison there turned to the counter, his back to where you come in.
“Hey!Fooood!” you exclaim immediately, tapping your tummy because it’s growling again. It has been a few hours since you’ve had anything sustainable to eat. You only drank a big cup of tea during your break, so it’s not surprising that you’re this hungry.
“Hello, hello— ah!” Harrison chastises you and smacks a finger on the back of your hand when you’re about to steal a piece of carrot from his salad. “It’s not ready yet.”
You pout at him. “I just came from work! And like, very, very, very arduous work.”
“I know and that’s exactly why I decided to make a nice, invigorating salad around the time you usually get back from the Den, but you’re going to wait justa little bit longer,” he explains, chopping a few pieces of radish masterfully on the yellow cutting board.
“Anything I can do to help, my pretend chef?”
“You can choose if you want scrambled eggs or tofu, but I think that’s pretty much it,” he says, and after you tell him your choice, he sends you to the table, sits you on your usual chair and places a big glass of orange juice with a funny cocktail umbrella on it for no reason other than to be quirky.
“I like the umbrella touch,” you compliment within a laugh. “What are we celebrating?”
Harrison seems to think about it, mouth scrunched to the side as he walks back towards the counter. “Ermm, that you survived work?”
You make a noncommittal noise. “Sounds good to me.”
Back to sipping your orange juice, fingers spinning the umbrella since that’s its only purpose, you watch Harrison as he proceeds to cook your choice of protein for the salad. It reminds you too much of when Tom would cook for you, but you poke that memory aside with a metaphorical stick and keep it buried in the sand. Yet the thought of him doesn’t really leave you —when has it ever really left you anyway— so you decide to make conversation instead.
“Thank you for staying the night in my room. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he smiles over his shoulder. “I wanted to, though. Not that you can’t take care of yourself, but I figured it would be for the best. You dressed yourself, by the way,” he rushes to add, but you already remember what happened last night, so you only smile and nod at him in response. He adds, “I only went there after Tuwaine left.”
“Yeah, I remember,” you say, letting the glass fall onto the table. Your hand keeps a hold of it, the other still on the umbrella, just to keep them busy. “I wasn’t thatdrunk. Just, y’know, sad, I guess.”
“Right.”
“You also didn’t have to sleep over the duvet, Harry,” you tell him gently, bumping your fist against his elbow where he has them poking behind him. “We’re friends. And I’m cool with you sleeping in my bed when necessary. If you’re not comfortable with that, you don’t have to stay over.”
“Thanks. I just didn’t know whether you’d think that was okay or not, so I played it safe. Now I know.” He’s now bringing the complete salad to the table, placing the bowl in the middle of both your plates.
“Got ya.” You wink. Harrison grins and squeezes your elbow, his hand softly grazing your arm up and down. His touch comforts you. Knowing you have a friend this considerate by your side is always reassuring.
“You all right? How was work?” he asks when you start serving him first. “You’re not there anymore, y’know?”
You laugh, but don’t stop until the two of you have decent portions. “I’m good. Work was fine. Lots of toast and tea, some cocktails, some little bastards who keep coming in wanting to meet…” you hesitate, swallowing down his name. “You know who.”
“Those blokes still going there?”
“Yep. Today of all days,” you roll your eyes. “But we can’t throw them out or anything like that because they don’t make a fuss. They don’t really harass anyone because they only ask once and politely, blergh. For once, I kinda wish they weren’t so decentabout it.”
“I get it.”
“By the way,” you say, grabbing a forkful of food, but waiting before you eat it. “You’ve heard from Tom?”
Harrison nods and drinks some water first, then says, “Of course. He doesn’t text you?”
“Nope.” You smack the ‘p’ with your lips. “After he said that thing about work in the group chat, I tried the first day. Sent him a text and a voice message, then a stupid golf joke and all, waiting for at least an emoji in return, but nothing. He didn’t reply. I’m not even sure if he’s readthem.”
“That’s odd,” he trails off, chewing on his food, face turned to the window and his eyes staring at something outside. “Well. I suppose he’s doing his own thing—”
“Maybe he’s busy…”
“—with what, cuddling his dog,” he mutters.
“What?”
Harrison blinks at you, still silent.
“His dog?!” you ask.
As far as you were aware, Tom said he had a ‘last minute affair’ at work. If you remember correctly, those were the exact words he used in his half-hearted message to the group chat, sent merely a couple of hours after he rushed out on you with the excuse that Harrison was back home. So you thought he was out of the country, or at least the city, doing whatever it is that he does for work when he can’t talk about it.
Apparently not.
“Tom took Tessa to work?” you ask, but then you realize how dumb that question really is. Namely considering the look of guilt in Harrison’s face. “Tom’s at his parents’ house, isn’t he?”
“Fuck,” Harrison says, putting down his fork. His eyes are as apologetic as you’ve never seen them. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”
“Please. I promised him I wouldn’t tell,” Harrison explains. His hand comes up to tap against yours, splaying over the back of it and squeezing the best he can. His thumb ends up lodged between two of your fingers. You squeeze back.
You get it. They were friends long before you came round, and their loyalty lies with each other. You can totally understand and forgive that.
“It’s okay, that’s not what I meant to say, uh,” you add with an apology, too. “It’s not your place to tell me these things after all. I’m just surprised he would say he had to work —where I usually can’t reach him— but after all he’s staying right in town. Where I very much canreach him.”
“I don’t know if you should,” Harrison rushes to say, stopping you from bolting off your chair.
“And why not?”
“Because whatever it is that he didn’t want to do that day, I think he still doesn’t want to now,” he says with half a grimace, hand still holding yours. It grounds you a little, you realize when you stare at it and feel the comfort of a friendly touch.
Nevertheless, you tug it back from under his palm and rub your eyes with two fingertips. This is so frustrating. Tom is so close to you and your mind was perfectly convinced that he was somewhere out there in this world, working his butt off so he wouldn’t have to think about you. Which, yes, that’s what youdid, obviously. However, it’s the fact that he was so quick to lie about his location that you can’t help but scratch at the existential tug inside your chest.
“Why did he lie to me like that?” you ask, a half exasperated, half rhetorical question. “I mean.” You sigh. “Maybe I sort of get it, but at the same time I don’t?”
“Look, he just wanted to do things his own way.”
“As if I wouldn’t respect him if he said ‘I’ll be in town but don’t get in touch with me’,” you scoff.
“You probably would, and I think he knows that, but—”
“But nothing. It’s more likely that I’d try to talk to him if I think he’s working and avoiding me rather than if I knew for sure that he’s just trying to, I don’t even know, uh, take a break or whatever.”
Harrison hums to himself. “I see your point. I think.”
You sigh.
“He’s trying to process… something, he didn’t really tell me what—”
“He didn’t tell you?” you question, surprised that Tom didn’t tell his best friend. Perhaps he told his mother or one of his brothers since they aren’t as close to you as Harrison. Or maybe he did that dumb thing he does sometimes where he doesn’t tell anyone, and tries to figure it out himself, and totally misses the point of the issue in the first place.
“Not in detail, no,” Harrison clarifies. You nod and hum once, letting him continue. “He may have thought we would talk about it, I dunno.”
“He trusts you that much, huh?” you joke, making him laugh through a mouthful of salad.
“You’ll be alright, right?” he asks a few moments later, eyes boring into yours.
“Of course.” You grin. “When have I not been alright?”
Harrison pokes the tip of your foot with his. You poke back. And maybe you will be alright after all. You’ve still got good friends, and that’s all you could ask for.
~ ⛳️ ~
previous « ‧ » next chapter out on June 8th!
Ironically, Beginn has now ended…
Sorry but I don’t have the time rn to upload the chapter as a separate stay-on-Tumblr readable post. Perhaps latter but not right now
