Vertigo
Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nope.
Summary: Malik is not having a very merry Christmas and Pascal has impulse control issues. Also they do not have A Thing, thank you very much.
AN: Back by popular demand, this is a follow-up piece that goes along with Still Bros. Pretty sure I'm still the only person who ships this. OH WELL.
Christmas is nothing special at the enclave. Growing up, Fourier would just kind of chuck a gift at Pascal, who'd be generally unappreciative because it'd be something useful like socks or soap that wasn't really a gift and if she wanted crap like that, she'd go out and get it for herself. That's not the point, though.
The point is that other people celebrate Christmas more than she does and Pascal's totally cool with that.
What she's not cool with is how bummed out Captain Malik gets the closer the holiday gets as everyone else gets more and more cheery. And, you know, she's not going to tell him how to feel or how to deal but she doesn't like seeing him down.
It's weird and awkward and makes her want to do stupid things on purpose just so he'll smile and not look like he's faking it.
It doesn't help that they're in Fendel at the time with all the snow and the wreaths and even the people who don't have a lot are feeling the spirits. Pascal doesn't really care about that, she just wants to find some way to make the captain happy, or at least...less unhappy. Because as much as it sucks to be the person watching someone else, which she knows, it sucks infinitely more to be the person in pain.
Malik is the steady one and he's going around like his balance is off, like Pascal did for a week after she set off a sonic boom in her lab and busted her eardrums to shit.
And it's just not right.
Which is how they come to where they are right now.
Ever since that first time, Pascal's reluctant to admit, they have a thing. She doesn't want to call it a relationship because they don't do the kinds of things people in relationships do. They don't go out to romantic dinners, Malik rarely, if ever pays for her (not that Pascal really wants him to or cares about that sort of thing anyway), and they've never discussed any sort of exclusivity in the slightest. Malik can do what he wants and Pascal can do what she wants though, if goaded, the truth is that she hasn't done the things she does with Malik with anyone else since starting them with Malik.
She's no stranger to casual relationships, a night here and there of no strings attached fun or stress relief with an attractive partner, but...
But yes. They have a thing.
A bro thing where they get drunk and rowdy and then go off together and do the kinds of filthy things that make Pascal shiver in delight and Cheria sputter with scandal. And it works for them. There's no worrying over details or freaking out over jealousies or any of that, they're just bros who do the things that bros do and then sometimes sleep together.
Pascal just wants to make him feel better and she doesn't know how to do that. Every time she thinks she has a breakthrough, something happens to bring him down again and Pascal can hardly stand it.
Christmas Eve comes and Malik is nowhere to be seen. Asbel's celebrating with Cheria and Hubert and Sophie at the inn but Pascal bowed out in favor of looking for their last wayward member. The snow crunches under her feet as she scours the streets, looking past the people finishing up their last minute shopping.
She looks hard but can't find him.
Malik isn't in their usual bar or the other inns, he's not in any of the shops. Pascal scowls.
Like most everything else in Fendel the pond is frozen too, and Pascal almost walks right by it. Almost until she takes a closer look and sees Malik's hulking figure crouching by the edge of it.
Well, then.
Pascal marches right up to him, fully prepared to read him the riot act for making them worry even though it's really just her...and then changes her mind at the last second and grabs his hand instead. He's a giant idiot and isn't wearing gloves and his fingers are stiff and frigid laced in hers.
"Come on," she says simply, "Let's go." And pulls him to his feet.
They don't go back to the inn where the others are celebrating, nor do they go to the bar where the bartender always remembers them. In fact, they don't go to a bar at all.
Instead Pascal takes him to the inn on the other side of town and pays for a single room and pulls him without a word of conversation upstairs.
Pascal doesn't give him a chance to think but she does wait until his hands warm up to push him up against the bookshelf.
"Okay?" She asks against his lips and kisses him when he nods, hoping that the edge of the shelf might dig into his back and wake him up. There's something awful about Captain Malik being so numb and she pushes him harder until his hands come up and press into her shoulders, and she shifts, nudging her knee between his legs. "Come on," Pascal insists, "Come on."
Malik's breathing's gone quick and shallow and Pascal feels him harden against her leg. She drags her lips away from his and reaches up, taking his earlobe and rolling it tauntingly between her teeth.
"Come on."
And Malik does in a flash of movement. Before Pascal realizes what's happening she's being manhandled up into strong arms and then pressed into the mattress by a warm, familiar body. She feels caged and pinned and wouldn't normally like it but that's not the point right now. She's nowhere she doesn't want to be and right now Pascal wants to give him everything he needs so instead of squirming to loosen the hold she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer until she's nearly uncomfortably warm. It's the right move; Malki drops his head to nuzzle the base of her throat and then bites down, and Pascal groans, her hips canting up into his.
There's no lazy disrobing or jokes or quips like usual, just a lot of heavy breathing and Pascal's occasional questing "Okay?".
Malik strips them both in quick work and Pascal lets him fuck her however he likes, her legs spread wide and open around his hips. There's no gentleness in it and that's okay for tonight; he presses inside and it's hard, fast, and over very quickly. Pascal winces when he pulls out and feels kind of raw but says nothing. Malik's hands shake when he removes the hastily put on condom and she reaches out to take one of them in hers.
He didn't come and to be totally honest, he looks more injured than she feels, which is pretty impressive.
"C'mere," she orders, "You owe me cuddles. Pay up."
She pulls and Malik goes, obligingly wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders and drawing her in. They lay there in silence for a very long time until their breathing evens out and Malik lets out one long whuffing sigh into her neck.
"What's up?" She asks.
"I'm sorry."
Pascal tsks.
"If you're gonna be an angry fuck, then you might as well be the kind I like."
Malik stifles a snort and then goes abruptly serious.
"Don't joke about that, you couldn't possibly have liked it."
Pascal's crooked smile slips off her face.
"Look, dude. We're not married or dating or any of that crap, but we're friends and I know you. Would I have rather you'd been a little nicer to me? Yeah. Did I say no or tell you to stop, even for a second? You know I would." Malik lifts his head and gapes at her. "I'm not anywhere I don't want to be."
Malik pulls her closer and Pascal scratches the scruff at his chin. The unbalanced, off-kilter look on his face fades to leave something steadier and thoroughly guilty.
"What's up?"
The captain shifts and sits up. Pascal moves to follow him but a large hand presses down on her stomach and keeps her there.
"I think I owe you a bit more than cuddles." He taps her knee. "Sit up?"
Well, Pascal certainly isn't going to say no, not if he's going where she thinks he's going, and scrambles upright, propping herself up against the headboard with pillows. Malik's hands grip her knees and gently pull them apart, and Pascal's heart speeds in anticipation.
Yes, he's going where she thinks he's going.
Deft fingers skim down her inner thighs and Pascal shivers at the touch, watching wide-eyed as Malik shifts and scoots backwards, nosing gently at the skin he's just touched.
"Captain?" she asks breathlessly.
"Just let me take care of you," Malik mutters in response, and she would have probably kept talking if not for the fact that the only warning he gives her is a kiss on her thigh before he's doing the best thing he can do while naked: blowing Pascal's ever-loving mind. Pascal can't help it, she fists her hands into the sheets and tries desperately to not crush Malik's head between her legs.
"Christ," she breathes and can't do anything but stare, just as enraptured by the sight of him as she is by the marvelous things he's doing to her with his tongue. And that's when she realizes it.
They have a thing.
A thing.
An actual thing.
She never wanted a thing, perfectly content with the status quo and the lack of commitment and the never having to try, and honestly not having to deal with the fear of rejection as well. There are a lot of reasons, good reasons she thinks, that they shouldn't have a thing.
Except that apparently those reasons don't matter because instead of wanting to roll him over, fuck his brains out again (her way this time) and then say see ya until later, she wants to roll him over, fuck his brains out again (again, her way), and then sticking to him like glue until she's sure he feels better whether that takes hours or days or forever.
Pascal's tactile, always has been. She likes touching people but she especially likes touching Malik, and it's not uncommon for them to just lay around like lazy shits and cuddle out of boredom (usually on her part and out of his desire to keep her from going off the walls) but she doesn't just do that with him. But she does that mostly with him and only goes to someone else when he isn't an option.
They're friends, definitely, but she also can't shove out of her head the intoxicating image of maybe owning up to the thing. Fourier would have a fit. Actually, most people would have a fit; the captain's twenty years her senior and kind of known for being a player and has some baggage...but who doesn't? And let's be real, Pascal's no prude herself so anyone who has a problem with his sexual exploits had damn well better have a problem with hers too because she's no better.
And...shit.
"You're thinking too much."
Pascal jolts and looks down, wide-eyed and slightly dazed. Malik's propped himself up on an elbow and thumbs a bit of moisture off his chin, and that's just it, stick a fork in her, the thing exists and there is nothing she can do about. Pascal doesn't even know if she wants to do anything about it. Malik runs an idle hand up and down her thigh and she stops the distraction by lacing her fingers in his.
"S-sorry."
"Do you want me to stop?"
Pascal absolutely does not want him to stop and she says so, breathless, and wipes her hair out of her eyes. She's not sure whether she ought to curl up in a ball and laugh herself sick or cry until it goes away, but she knows that she doesn't want Malik to go anywhere that isn't with her and she has no intention of letting him leave this bed tonight.
That's something she doesn't say but it might be something that comes across when she leans forward and hauls Malik out from between her thighs and into her arms, kisses him hard, and pounces.
Malii makes a startled sound into her mouth but concedes to her demands.
"What can I do for you?"
"I want you to fuck me exactly the way I want until I can't remember my own name and then we're going to sleep until noon," she orders. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the left side of Malik's mouth quirks upwards in a strange, funny little smile.
"Your wish is my command," he says like she's some kind of princess of something, which is patently ridiculous.
Pascal snorts but not for long, because Malik keeps his word and proceeds to do exactly as he promised.
They don't sleep until noon, they sleep until two o'clock in the afternoon,
And by sleep until two in the afternoon, it really means that Pascal sleeps until two because when she opens her eyes, Malik's awake and propped up on his side, his free arm draped over her and carding through her hair. There's a warm sweetness in his face, so sweet that Pascal thinks she could touch it, and some awful, irrational, awful part of her hates Lorelia for leaving him like this and letting him hurt so badly. She forces the feelings away and rolls closer to feel the heat of his broad chest against her bare back.
"Good morning," she says with a smile and in lieu of a reply she's greeted with hands cupping her cheeks and a kiss instead. Malik's beard scratches her chin and Pascal's eyes drop closed as her hands come up wrap around his, lacing through his fingers and squeezing in a manner that's far too close to be anything other than affectionate. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Malik's voice is slightly hoarse and Pascal shifts so that she's straddling him, her chest pressing flush to his much broader one. "Merry Christmas."
She freezes, expecting to see something like the pain and misery of last night in his eyes and there is some sadness there but it's mostly taken over by something soft that makes Pascal want to cover his eyes so he can't see what that sort of look does to her, because it feels like her heart's about to pound right out of her chest.
She resists the urge and instead leans down to nuzzle his cheek with her nose.
"Merry Christmas," she whispers and tangles her hands in the hair at his nape. "Should we see about meeting up with the others?"
"Nah," the captain says, "I've got better ideas."
And he does.
AN2: Thank you very much for reading!