A/N: Sorry for the wait. I'd like to give an extra special shout out to djentbrockman, who not only reviewed the chapter but helped me get back on track with this story! Most of this chapter is the way it is because of his suggestions, so you can thank him for the way it turned out. Hats off to you, bro! :)
"So...," my idiot brother begins, placing his hands on my shoulders.
"So what?" I say.
"So, did you guys have sex?" I open my mouth to affirm the negative, when he cuts me off.
"Don't even— I already know you did, with your horny vampiric ass," he says. He's such an annoying twat sometimes.
"No, you fucking idiot, we didn't have sex." His eyes widen as he exclaims, "What? Marceline Abadeer didn't hit it on the first date? This can't be real life. I must still be drunk. Or high."
"Marsh, I grew out of the one-night-stand bullshit, like, thirty years ago."
"Whatever, dude. Pass me the chips," he murmurs with a grin as he jumps onto the couch. I pass him the bag and watch as he grabs a huge handful and shovels it in his mouth. His chewing is loud so I shove a pillow in his face as to better hear the T.V. He retaliates by throwing the pillow back and somehow making even noisier crunches, this time right by my face.
"Jackass," I say with a grin and shove him away.
"What're we gonna do today?" he asks after taking a sip from his can of Red Bull.
"I dunno," I answer before grabbing his can and taking a gulp.
"Maybe we should go on a double date– you and Bonnie and Fiona and me. Dinner and a movie."
"Um, fuck no. Our double dates are always disastrous. Don't you remember Paris in '63, that night with the two hot blondes?"
"Yeah, but we were drunk and—"
"Or London in '77?"
"How was I supposed to know her husband had a gun?"
"Barcelona in '89?"
"The lightning was NOT my fault, you can't—"
"Seattle in '96?"
"I'd never tried acid before!"
"Los Angeles in—?"
"Okay, okay, Marce, I catch your drift. No more double dates."
"Good. But we can halfway double date; we both go to dinner and a movie, but at different times. Like, Bonnie and I go see a movie while you eat with Fiona. Then we tell each other how the restaurant or movie was and swap. Yeah?"
"Sounds good to me," Marsh answers as he flashes a cheeky grin.
Bonnie and I are sitting in a theater about three-fourths full. We're watching a comedy, and it was as rib-crushingly hilarious as Marsh said. We'd had dinner at some Italian restaurant before coming (the food was fantastic, by the way) and both of us are pleasantly full, warm and cuddling. Sort of. Her head is resting in the crook of my neck and our arms are wrapped tightly around each other. Every now and again she'll run her lips across the sensitive skin of my neck and I'll shiver with pleasure... but I quickly realize that this is her way of hiding her face for fear that someone will see us together. Of course, Bonnibel apologizes with a soft peck to my lips, which makes it better— until she ducks away again. It isn't particularly annoying or anything, it just kinda hurts. I mean, here I am, trying to enjoy a movie with her and she keeps hiding because she is, and it is heavily implied, embarrassed to be seen with me.
"Bonnie, can you please stop that? No one's going to see you. It's too dark," I whisper.
"I'm sorry," she says, running her nose along my jaw. "I'm just a little nervous."
"It's okay, don't be."
"I'll try."
We continue the rest of the movie in silence, save for the occasional laugh or chuckle. Marshall has our Camero so Bonnie is driving me home in her white Camry. It's a nice car with an ashy grey interior— it smells all girly and sweet, like really light perfume, contrasting the thick, cologne-like smell of my car. She's playing a Lana Del Ray playlist and it's actually not bad. The songs collectively sound like a late night drive down a long highway, so it definitely suits our own drive to my apartment.
"So, how'd you like the movie?" Bonnibel asks.
"Was great. Dinner?"
"Fantastic. We should do this again. On a Tuesday."
"Why a Tuesday?"
"No one's out at the movies on a Tuesday."
I'm silent for a moment.
"Bonnie, you should tone down the 'we aren't dating' thing."
"What do you mean? I thought you understood," she says as we approach a red light, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"No, I do, and I'll be patient with you on the matter. I'm just asking you to ease up a bit. For my sake."
"Why? We're still in public, aren't we?"
"What's the point if you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"
"I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you, Marcy. I told you already; I haven't come out of the closet and I'm still hesitant to do so at the moment."
"How much longer, then?"
"Maybe a week or two? Just be patient. Please?" she asks, turning to me with a pair of beautiful, innocent, sky blue eyes.
"Alright, alright," I murmur, giving her a half-hearted grin as we pull into the apartment's parking lot.
I grab Bonnie's stuff from the trunk, ignoring her protests that she can manage on her own, and make my way into the building and to the lift with her on my heels. As we enter my apartment, we're greeted with the wonderful and enchanting sounds of sex coming from my brother's room. Yes, that was indeed sarcasm.
"Jesus fuck, I'm so sorry, Bonnie," I apologize as I clamp my hand over my mouth in a sorry attempt to hide my laughter.
"It's alright. It's not your fault," she replies through giggles. "At least they're having fun," I say with a grin. As I'm carrying Bonnie's stuff to my room, I pass Marshall's and the moaning from both him and Fiona is too much. "Buy a fucking muzzle, you animals!" I shout as I give the door a kick. I think that scared them, because they get quiet really fast. I laugh as Marshall eventually calls out a "fuck you," and the noise continues again. I enter my room, toss Bonnie's stuff on my bed, and join her on the balcony.
"The view you two have... it's amazing," Bonnie whispers as I wrap my arms around her from behind. I pull her flush against me and trail kisses down her jawline, smirking as she gives a soft moan. I sit down and pull her into my lap as I do so. I hold her close and nuzzle my face into her neck.
"I love you, Bonnie," I murmur, muffled by her soft, smooth skin.
"What did you say?" she asks.
"I said I love this. Being close, I mean," I reply, inwardly praising myself for such a smooth recovery. Bonnibel sighs contentedly.
"Me too."
A/N: I'm caught on a bit of a snag— I'm not sure about the direction I want the story to go in. I'm still trying, though! As always, open to suggestions. R&R!
