"Are we talking Brenda-Dylan triangle … Always Brenda. Always Brenda. Always." *keeps mouthing "Always. Always Brenda."* - Emma Caulfield (Susan Keats)
"I feel pretty good on Team Brenda right now." - Larry Mollin
(Beverly Hills Show podcast - 28 August 2020.)
Rated M for Mature in the lightest sense.
xx
Royal treatment, indeed.
Before she and Katie saw him off at Gatwick for his brief return to Beverly Hills and the loose ends needing tied up to ensure an easy move back to London, Dylan had successfully wooed her more than she had ever been romanced in her life.
He hired a horse-drawn carriage to take them through Richmond Park, complete with a thick plaid blanket and thermoses of Howard's recipe for non-alcoholic mulled wine. He stole the camera from Brenda to snap a few shots of her watching the deer, which resulted in her laughingly trying to get it back and Dylan kissing her between every attempt. They met up with the Wachinskis for a second pub night, in which Katie coaxed them into a karaoke quartette and Brenda returned home completely sober.
He took her to a performance of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, where he sat wide awake with her knuckle against his lips. They skated by the National History Museum, where Dylan again fell repeatedly, and then by Somerset House, where he managed to glide for a grand total of eight minutes. He waited through her auditions and waded in with her through the holiday crowd at Skoob, where he insisted on adding additional poetry to her miniscule collection that he said she would love if she tried.
When he read it to her in bed later that night, splayed across him with his fingers twirling through her hair and his dimpled grin offering a soft lull in three different languages, she certainly did.
They texted continuously during the week that they were apart, sharing their missing of each other at least twice a day. To follow through on their planned New Year's reveal, he abruptly ended their conversation when David showed up at his door with a six-pack of non-alcoholic beer and an offer to help box up Dylan's belongings. He'd informed the gang of his imminent move during a gathering at the Peach Pit attended by Brenda through Andrea's laptop, though declined to tell them of the location and thus, everyone but Brandon assumed Baja.
He'd quickly glanced at Brenda's image, who acted as if she, too, were surprised by Dylan's sudden announcement.
With Levi's permission, Dylan would ship his boxes to the younger man's home and then retrieve them following the gang's visit, who all became quite enthused at Brenda's idea shared within the same conversation. Three people offered to pay for Andrea's ticket, who initially refused until Brandon insisted on purchasing Hannah's. Whilst the Silvers could afford their own, Brenda realized tickets for their three children may be pushing the budget and smiled when Dylan said he'd pay for two girls - neither Donna nor David permitted him to pay the full amount for all three - Steve informed his friends that he, then, would purchase the third and a passing Mel waving to Brenda chose to pay for Sammy before Dylan could argue with Brandon over who would buy the boy's ticket.
The group cemented their plan with a pie, which Brenda missed due to the door opening and a West End director announcing her name for another, early evening audition.
She fell asleep to Dylan's voice every night and woke up to his snores every morning. He held out his phone to the ocean so that she could hear the waves, before he set the mobile down and carried his board down the sand. She asked him, again, if a surfer could be content in London; he told her, again, that he absolutely could. She needed to stop overthinking, he said. California sat not in another dimension, but on the other side of the world, and they weren't ruling out visiting or Madeline would have both of their heads.
It was at that point when Shane walked in and asked over the speaker if LA had been impacted by the recent US snowstorm he had read about in that morning's paper, to which Brenda and Dylan both laughed uproariously.
A plethora of auditions helped to distract her from the home that had once been perfectly acceptable and now felt lonely in his absence. She worried about how quickly she had become accustomed to his presence, for she knew better than anyone the hurt if he were to leave her again.
She also knew that, logically, she should ensure the safeguarding of her heart by not allowing him back into it. This had worked well for many a year. It was, however, assuredly too late for her to rewind their reunion and everything it entailed. She would simply have to trust: in him, in their history - the good parts of their history more than the devastating - and in the future they believed they would build.
Trust never came easy since the first annihilation of it in her senior year, but the love she felt for Dylan and the love he had for her would have to find a way to be enough.
She didn't think she could handle another roadblock in their relationship. He had proven time and time again that he faced any approaching roadblock by choosing to not face it at all.
Arguments were inevitable in any relationship and especially in theirs. She realized that the true test would come in his reaction to their next argument. She fervently hoped he would surprise her in the way he handled it, but despised the uncertainty clawing its way into her heart.
Spotting the approaching figure through the arrivals queue at Heathrow, she bolted through the throng of waiting individuals.
His contagious grin caught her with one arm, lifting her up to connect their lips.
"God, I missed you. Being there without you was brutal. Next time I go, you're coming, too," he gasped out between their fiery reunion. Streams of kisses dropped upon every area suitable for public consumption. "I don't know how the fuck we stayed apart for so long," his lips moved behind her ear, "and we're not doing it again."
"Dyl, it's only been a week," she giggled, though she shared the sentiment.
"Yeah and," he kissed her neck, "so? Didn't you miss me?"
"Of course I did." She rubbed her nose against his chin. "My other boyfriend isn't half this affectionate."
"Then there's something wrong with your other boyfriend," his lips landed on her nose, "and you would be wise to dump him, immediately."
"An interesting suggestion. I'll consider it."
Nearby laughter interrupted their teasing, prompting Brenda to search for its source - a difficult feat amongst groups of friends, family and a reunion that appeared to be between an officer of the Royal Navy and his sobbing grandparents.
It had been years since she saw her own. The Walsh brood held a reunion each summer near Georgette's Florida home, which typically missed a handful of scattered cousins during the event - Brenda included. With Dylan in the picture, the likelihood of her attendance lessened. She doubted he would be overly interested in popping into a Walsh family reunion, even if he did get on well with Bobby Walsh.
Brandon, on the other hand, often attended and had brought Kelly along at different points. During their first stay, cousin Lottie had been exceedingly rude to Kelly, which she had said was on behalf of Brenda.
It was, after all, Lottie who received her second saddened phone call regarding Dylan's reunion with Kelly - the first being to Valerie, who assured Brenda there were far hotter men than Dylan for her to create a future.
Hotter, perhaps, but she doubted any of them would look at her the way he did when he thought she couldn't see - or when he knew she did, like outside an arrivals gate at Heathrow.
"Blimey, you two are literally as sickeningly cute as Kat described. Well, she said cute. I added the rest of it."
Scanning her friend, Brenda tilted her head towards the taller woman.
"Dylan, this is -"
"Violeta, but you can call me Vee. Everyone does. Unless you hurt Bren. Then you'd be well suited to not call me anything, bruv."
Blonde curls shaded in a gradient, she spoke in the thick, fast accent of South London, pronouncing words with different sounds and minimizing consonants in others.
Brenda noticed the scrunching of Dylan's eyebrows as he slowly tried to work out Vee's statement, word by word, responding with the same promise he had uttered to Shane.
"Vee's offered to give us a lift over to Surrey since your flight was late." Brenda pecked his nose.
"Got stuck in Denver," he grunted, moving them towards the baggage claim.
His bag quickly emerged, slung onto his shoulder with one hand whilst his other remained around her back. He detailed the perils of a layover in Denver during early December, the delayed flight and the turbulent journey over the Atlantic that shook three dollar glasses of Sprite.
He claimed Vee's backseat, attempting to share with Brenda until Vee informed them of her lack of experience as a chauffeur, which was Vee speak for "Brenda, get your arse up here."
The elder Wachinskis lived in a five-bedroom detached bungalow occupied by the family in Surrey since, Poppy Wachinski cheerfully informed her guests, she and husband Lester were awaiting their oldest child. Thick ivy lined one side of the building, besprinkled with flowers in the spring and red hues in the autumn. It was presently emerald green, in nearly the same shade as Shane's eyes, and twisted to the back of the house.
A regular visitor to the Wachinski residence during Easter weekends, Brenda greeted both of Shane's parents with a fond embrace and introductions to Dylan.
"That's a stunning portrait," he commented to Lester, eyeing the piece laid out upon the wall. "Who's the artist?"
"Oh, our daughter-in-law. Gifted, isn't she?" Lester responded, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt.
"Very. Katie's an artist?"
"Yes," Brenda replied, subtly flicking a stray hair from her own head off of his shoulder. "She studied at The Slade and met Shane when she was designing the sets for one of our performances. Katie has a shop in town. I'll take you by."
"It's a date," he confirmed. The jubilation in his eyes told her there would be many more dates to come in their future, which she looked forward to experiencing firsthand.
Following that exchange, Dylan immediately charmed Poppy and, in turn, Shane's older sister, Sophie. She appeared the epitome of warmth in a cozy, baby blue cashmere jumper that Brenda always wanted to wear but learnt to avoid due to an unfortunate allergy. Sophie's golden bronze hair shook out in layers as she spoke, voice ringing in a dialect closer to the Queen's English than to her brother's.
"Bren, love, I hope you don't mind. Ran into an old friend last week and invited him along."
"Mind? Why would I mind?" Brenda walked through the familiar cold to the heated outdoor area, rubbing her hand against Dylan's to combat his barely concealed struggle in the temperature.
The entrance of an exuberant Katie ended the conversation, effectively silencing Sophie's response and strengthening Brenda's perplexity. Katie welcomed Dylan back to the country and pointed them in the direction of the frozen lake bordering the edge of the Wachinski estate, on which Dylan spent approximately ten minutes with the support of Brenda's arm.
He had continued to improve, but his legs still preferred to topple him over than remain balanced.
She noticed his relief at the available non-alcoholic beverages, in addition to the range of alcoholic selections. She, too, opted for the dry choice. The Wachinskis had used their third anniversary simply as a reason to throw a party. Theo Fletcher briefly interacted with Dylan over a new play the former was writing. Brenda waved to a busy Evie Collins in passing. Vee decided to ramble to both she and Dylan about a frustrating situation at work before being greeted by her blind date.
Watching Vee walk away, Brenda burst out in laughter. To Dylan's questioning expression, she merely replied:
"He looks exactly like Ralf Little."
"Your faux TV boyfriend, Ralf Little?"
"The one and only."
"Then I guess I need to see what this guy looks like."
"Exactly like him," she gestured with specific emphasis on the first word, "but okay, I'll show you Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps."
"That's a long-ass title."
"Oh, definitely, but it's a great series."
"Just as long as Ralf Little or his doppelgänger knows whose girl you are." He gathered her in his arms, going in for another kiss.
They were halted midway by a shriek splitting the air. It spun through the thick forestry that sat on the other end of the Wachinski estate, twirling around in boomerang style to come hurtling back in the form of one supremely confused individual noticed through Brenda's peripheral vision.
"Dylan McKay, is that you?"
Spinning around, his jaw dropped.
"Clare?"
"Steve's Clare?" Brenda quietly asked her boyfriend.
"David's Clare." He continued to stare at the woman whom he undoubtedly never expected to see again and whom Brenda never expected to see at all.
"His Clare, actually." Standing at about the same height as Brenda and styled as if she just stepped out of a vintage boutique in Paris, the pixie-haired Clare Arnold aimed an award-winning smile at the man coming up behind her.
"Graham?"
"Hello, Brenda. It's lovely to see you again."
Handsome to a nearly dangerous degree, Graham Dixon sported an unshaven appearance. His beard teetered on a dark five o'clock shadow. The coal hue of his eyes matched the shade of his hair, which stood out against the lavender Oxford button-down showcased underneath a black fleece vest. Born in Brecknockshire in the southern end of Wales but raised in the upscale Knightsbridge district in central London from the age of six, he spoke in an unusual accent which meshed the two dialects together.
Seeing her ex standing almost side-by-side with Dylan initiated the startling realization of Graham's exact height. In comparison, Dylan's own rather tall stance seemed average.
"Graham?" He sized up the other man. "This guy is Teddy Grahams? Damn, babe. You really do have a type," he whispered.
Tall, dark and handsome, certainly. Perhaps her attraction to those particular features stemmed from the books she'd read as a preteen, for she'd been drawn to a few of those. The glossy-haired first crush and boyfriend of her former best friend Marjorie, Jim Townsend of Minneapolis, who conveniently forgot all forms of communication when Brenda moved to Beverly Hills, turning Jim into a distant memory and allowing for the entrance of the darker-haired Dylan McKay. Stuart Carson's dark brown hair. Graham Dixon, and, to a significantly less important degree, Rick from Wisconsin. Each bore brown eyes. Hair shades contrasted from man to man; all shades could be traced back to somewhere on the brunet scale. They all, strangely enough, issued the kind of smile sought out by Hollywood producers and casting directors of US soap operas - with the exception of Jim, whose front tooth had been permanently knocked out during a middle school hockey game and thus always carried a gapped smile.
Dylan, on the other hand, had been fortunate. Despite years of substance abuse, his teeth displayed no sign of full discoloration. Not quite to the level of Graham's but without the teeny space in Stuart's, his mouth remained as it had in their younger years, often bearing the feature he had that the other men did not: a double-dimpled grin that literally lit up his entire face, rivaled only by Brandon's own triple-dimpled grin.
She pondered, for a moment, whether her future children might inherit quadruple-dimpled grins in a combination of their father and uncle. She then wondered if there were, in fact, such a concept as quadruple-dimpled grins.
She noticed Dylan's hand start to move towards hers possessively, then pause before he followed through. She took his own, smiling reassuringly when his eyes shifted in her direction. Nine years previous, following the imagined scenario in Prague, he would have already threatened Graham simply for speaking to his girlfriend.
"And you must be Brandon's best mate, Dylan. Yes, I recognize you from the photos." Graham flashed an easy grin, displaying dazzling white, perfectly aligned teeth - the healthiest teeth of any man in Brenda's past or present, which likely contained a lifelong lack of cavities.
"Photos?" Dylan glanced at her inquisitively, largely due to the lack of his countenance on her walls.
"Bran brought an album when he visited us."
"Oh my God."
Clare's round grey eyes focused on Graham. Her silver jacket gleamed in the reflection of the shiny lake.
"Brenda. Your ex, Brenda. Baby, this is your ex Brenda?"
"Yes, Brenda Walsh is my ex." Head tilted towards Clare, his gaze noticeably trailed down Brenda's frame. "Why, do you know her?"
"Kind of. I mean, we've never met until now," Clare smiled at Brenda, "but I've heard all about her from her brother and my college friend, Val."
"You know Brandon?"
"Know him?" Clare laughed, sliding an arm around her boyfriend's waist. "You could say that."
Any knowledge gained of Clare Arnold over the years came secondhand from Brandon, Steve and, occasionally, Valerie, who referred to Clare as "her fellow misfit in a time of royal bitches." The younger girl had integrated into Brenda's group of friends after her program began at RADA and, at first, she'd merely been noted in Brandon's letters either as "that girl who forced me to go to her prom which got me that shiner" or "the Chancellor's hot daughter who keeps trying to hook up with me. Did I tell you about the time she showed up to the house with handcuffs?"
Unfortunately, Brenda would now have to be the one to relay the bulletin to Steve of his ex-girlfriend's relationship. Thinking of that day in San Francisco, she hoped he would handle the news better than expected.
"What are the odds of my ex-boyfriend dating the girl who had a massive crush on my brother?"
"Oh fuck, don't remind me," Clare shuddered, "Me? And Brandon? No way. Never would've worked. I'll blame teen hormones for that."
"My Clare, dating your Brandon?" A perplexed Graham glanced at Dylan.
"Hey, man, it's a small world, what can I say. Getting smaller by the minute with the four of us ending up at the same party." Dylan tugged Brenda to stand in front of him, securing his arms around her chest.
"We did not date," Clare quickly pointed out. "I had an unrequited high school crush which I grew out of pretty quickly, thank God."
"And then she dated our friend, David Silver."
"And our other friend, Steve Sanders," Brenda added to accompany Dylan's reveal.
"Oh, those are two names I haven't heard in years. How are those boys?" Clare asked in the manner of one who still carried an affection for an ex, without translating to a longing desire for a reunion.
The reaction would have been a foreign concept to Brenda, who carried no affection for her ex-fiancé, Stuart Carson, and clearly carried too much for Dylan McKay, if she didn't presently feel the same way about her third significant ex, Graham Dixon.
Whereas encountering Stuart again would inevitably bring her discomfort and seeing Dylan stirred up all sorts of feelings resolved only by their reunion, being so near to Graham after three years felt strangely comforting.
This may have been due to their amicable split or, admittedly, his mesmerizing appearance.
"Well, David's married to Donna. They have three kids and she's hoping to convince him of a fourth. Steve's a widower with one."
"Steve's a widower?" Clare's eyes fogged over. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, it was extremely unexpected. Some drunk, coked-up asshole forgot to pay attention to the road." Dylan clutched onto Brenda a little more tightly, causing her to ponder if his imagination drifted to a similar situation occurring to her.
Having never before heard the full story of Janet Sosna-Sanders' departure from the world, she began to wonder if that moment had been the catalyst leading to Dylan's choice for consistent sobriety.
He gave a light nod behind her hair, once again seemingly reading her musings.
"Poor Steve. He's such a great guy. Well, I mean, he could be incredibly immature and downright sexist at times, but he has a really good heart."
"Should I be concerned about this Steve bloke?" Graham's dark eyebrow raised to his hairline.
"Non, mon bijou. Steve is someone I'll always care deeply for, but you know who's in my bed."
Graham's eyes flicked momentarily to Brenda. She found herself recalling their own romantic moments, often involving whipped topping and escaped steam, in his northwest London home.
She politely inquired of their first meeting, listening as Clare described hurrying to meet with a client in Bruges and misdirecting Graham in the process. He had later tracked Clare down to inform her of the incorrect directions, to which she boldly chided his assumption of her local knowledge and he invited her for dinner.
Brenda's focus remained more on her ex than on Clare, though she followed along with the anecdote. She heard Dylan's deep breath, his chest rising against her back as he perhaps fought the jealousy she knew to be his first instinct.
Whilst every part of her solely thirsted for him, she could honestly say that Clare was unquestionably receiving an incredible shag from Graham Dixon.
"Still living in Camden?" She made light conversation.
"No, I'm in Belgravia now. And you? Still have that flat in Soho?"
"Terraced house in Chelsea," she replied with a small smile.
"On the colorful row?"
She nodded, surprised.
"Yes, I remember you did dream of getting a place there." He grinned. "I saw your performance last summer. You were brilliant, which is, of course, hardly surprising."
"You saw that?"
"Dylan, should we go get some food and leave these two ex-lovers to catch up?" Clare suggested playfully.
"Actually, I'm pretty hungry, myself, and we should probably go mingle with the others." Brenda hurried to quell Dylan's incoming hurt.
"Baby, it's okay. I'd kind of like to talk to Clare and you aren't done talking to Barnum's. I trust you," he whispered, dropping a kiss into Brenda's hair before he slowly released her.
Both stunned and grateful at his complete shift in attitude, she watched him usher Clare towards the reception table, blew an air kiss which he caught in his fist and turned back to Graham.
"I'd really like to ask you something, but I'm afraid it may be a sensitive subject."
"Ask away."
"Your brother, Brandon; was he -" Graham hesitated, folding his hands together.
"Found?"
His head bounced slowly up and down.
"Yes, he was - just recently, in fact."
"Splendid news. I always liked him."
"Thank you. It's wonderful to have him back."
"I bet," replied Graham, who she recalled held a close relationship with his own brother. "He's in Washington?"
"LA, for now."
She spotted Shane strolling towards them, bearing a grimace upon seeing Graham. She knew he, rather unfairly, blamed her ex for the events that transpired shortly after Brandon's disappearance and that any friendly rapport shared between the two diminished thereafter. Unlike his older sister, Shane had been delighted to hear of Brenda's split with Graham and promptly introduced her to the only blond on her limited list of ex-lovers: Emil Söderberg, a new recruit to the West End from the Helsingborg stage. They would date four months later, a short-lived, heavily sexual relationship which lasted for precisely a month before Emil returned to Sweden to care for his ailing father.
She may have begun dating a redhead prior to her Californian travels, if the man had managed to keep himself awake during an important symphonic movement.
"Shane Wachinski. Still with Katya, then?" Graham glanced apprehensively at the other man, who stood near enough to Brenda that he could both appear protective and be respectful of his wife and Dylan.
"It's Katie. And don't act too surprised. You know we were engaged," Shane replied by way of a greeting.
"Yes, well, she could've come to her senses."
"Kind of like Brenda did, eh, Dixon? I'm happy to report she's back with McKay and far away from you."
"Oh, come on. It's your anniversary, Shane. Don't ruin it with a territorial argument," Brenda sighed, lightly placing a hand on his wrist.
"Bren, it's this bloke's fault you spent a week in hospital." A blazing fire leapt through the lush forest of Shane's eyes.
Beginning to protest, she was cut off by a solemn Graham.
"You know that isn't true."
"Yeah, well, you may as well have put her in there yourself."
"Shane, that isn't fair," Brenda stated, looking around for reinforcement.
Katie appeared then, setting both hands on her husband's shoulders with a glare of her own to Graham.
"Katya. Good to see you."
"Can't say it's reciprocated, Graham."
Helplessly, Brenda watched her two close friends exchange an icy conversation with her ex-boyfriend over a situation which they both failed to grasp he could not control.
She felt Dylan's soothing hands come around her waist, tucking in her own to squeeze his.
"Everything okay?" he whispered.
"Oh yeah, just fine, couldn't be better." Shane continued to stare at Graham. "Why did you have to invite him and ruin a perfectly good party?" He turned to the approaching Sophie with annoyance.
"Because he's fucking fit and his girlfriend works for our Marseille office," she replied calmly.
"You know what he did to Bren," Katie hissed to her sister-in-law.
"He did something to Bren? What did he do to Brenda?" Dylan's panicked voice, tinged in anger, accompanied his tightening fist which sat by her waist.
"He didn't do anything," she assured, stroking her finger along his hand.
"But he didn't take the situation seriously either, Bren, did he?" Shane's gaze pinpointed back on Graham.
"What the fuck is he talking about, Brenda?" Worriedly, Dylan hugged her closer to his chest. "Wachinski, what are you talking about? Dixon, what did you do to my girl?"
"Nothing. Not a thing," Sophie tried, though her assurance, like Brenda's, did little to help the escalating situation.
"Is this the reason Bren changed her number?"
Keeping his eyes trained on the frustrated man before them, Shane nodded to Dylan, who let out a vexed gust of breath by Brenda's ear.
"God, Shane, just let it go, will you? It isn't Graham's fault! Don't ruin your anniversary over this." She attempted to soften her exasperated voice before the guests on the other side of the house overheard the interaction and the judgmental Northams passed it along to the society papers.
"Nothing's ruined, Bren. My husband is just telling this tosser what we should've told him three years ago."
"Katie, love, don't be ridiculous," Sophie soothed, "he's hardly a tosser."
"He isn't much for the protective boyfriend department, though, is he?" she countered.
"Dylan, we're leaving," Brenda announced, snagging the hand of her befuddled boyfriend. "You two try to enjoy the rest of your anniversary and call me when you've calmed down. It was nice to catch up, Graham. Bye, Soph."
With a reciprocal farewell from Sophie, a murmur from Shane that he would text Dylan later, the retrieval of Dylan's luggage from Vee's automobile and Brenda's refusal to her offer of a lift into the city, they caught the train leaving Surrey for London moments before it departed.
Entering the home that would overtime become theirs and had only just become his, Dylan's softly creased eyes fell on his silent girlfriend as he dropped his luggage in the corner. Wordlessly leading her into the bathroom, he knelt by the clawfoot tub and drew for her a bubble bath whilst his other hand helped to remove her clothing.
Resting her head against the tile, Brenda closed her eyes.
"Want to talk about it?" he voiced after some time, his hands combing shampoo through her hair.
She didn't answer.
"Brenda," he sighed, "look, all I know is that my girl is upset, both Wachinski and Northam apparently hate your ex which makes me think I probably should, too, and there's something you aren't telling me. Does it have anything to do with this?" He gently traced the scar embedded near her scalp. "Did he do this to you?" The interior of a volcano raced through his eyes.
She shook her head, still mute.
"Babe, you were the first person I told about my scar," he quietly reminded her.
She slid lower into the tub, her hand flicking out towards him in a silent summoning.
He speedily unbuttoned his shirt, kicked off his slacks, stepped out of his remaining attire and jumped in behind her, causing a few suds to fall to the floor.
Scooping her into his slick chest, their legs tangling together underneath the bubbles, he tucked the side of his face into her hair and waited.
"Fucking bloody hell, why can't we get through one big event without something major happening?" she eventually exclaimed.
"Well, the last time we were both at an event half that big, you got engaged to Stewie, so do you really want me to answer that?" he teased, interlocking their fingers with his thumb running the length of her ring finger.
She glared up at him.
"You know what would be a really great Christmas present? If we never mention the biggest mistake of my life or the man I almost made it with again."
"Fine with me," he grinned, setting his lips to her cheek. "But we need to talk about your other ex, Bren," his tone sobered.
"No, we don't."
"Brenda, I don't want there to be any secrets between us, especially one of this magnitude. We never do well with secrets, or with whoppers of misunderstandings. If it's something I have to be concerned about, you need to tell me."
Understanding and agreeing with his plea, she sighed.
"I don't want to talk about it right now." She inhaled deeply. "I promise I'll tell you someday, but right now, I just want to enjoy having my boyfriend here, in this tub, in my home - in our home."
His eyebrow lifted. Swinging her to face him, he lifted her waist and positioned her onto his enthusiastic lower half.
"You mean like this?"
"Exactly like this." Tucking her hands around his neck, her fingers dug in sync with the moment of his connection.
"God, you feel so fucking fantastic." His groan accompanied a nibble onto one of her breasts. "Always thought I got the greatest rush from surfing, but being with you? Endorphin avalanche, Bren."
She elicited her own groan and the travel of a hand into his rumpled hair.
"Bring me home, baby," she whispered.
Grasping her back, he navigated them through the seven seas of moans and intimate adulation, speeding up his pace until, both spent, they retired to the bedroom and passed the rest of the night in each other's arms, reading their respective novels with a continued rendezvous between chapters.
-x
Oof. The ending of this chapter might admittedly be overly clichéd writing. I'm afraid I'm not the greatest at partially detailed love scenes. But it's B/D, so obviously, they would have them.
Bye, bye, Stewie.
Princesakarlita411 & starlite22: Bridget is a completely made up, nonexistent character who is now an inside joke between B/D from this line in Chapter 15: "How bad could it be, Bren? You have some secret lover tied up in your closet? … You and Brandon are actually triplets and I've been kissing Bridget all along while she has Brenda locked up in a warehouse?" "You watch soaps now?"
A continued thank you for the reviews, favourites, follows and overall readership!
(I'm probably going to run out of introduction quotes soon.)