A/N#1: This one is inspired by Wynni and also is a small bow to LABrown16 ;)
Wynni can be considered my collaborator on this. The facts and more importantly the Southern accent are all her!
And RagdollPrincess, a small air kiss for you too, love, in the first paragraph ;)
A/N#2: That odd fic with Doug Peterson (seriously, I have very little memories of where I was going with it!) was probably an attempt to invent a love triangle for Wren and Thorin, and yeah, the guy turned out pathetic. I think I did better with Amrod/Auggie! Yum :D
There was the second, mirror fic to it of how architect John (no wuss, unlike Doug, obviously) does his "veni, vidi, vici" and manages to marry Wren in two months after she breaks up with Doug. There is half of it written... Do you want me to finish it? ;)
The boy is alright, the boy is alright, that is the only thought thrashing in John's head. Killian is bandaged, half of his face is a bloody mess, but he is grinning widely. Deadre is stoically ignoring the poor state her younger son is in, the only thing Phil is now interested in is the dark haired, curvaceous nurse they found playing tonsil hockey with Killian on his hospital bed. The view of the two of them added to the overall relief and, let's be honest, irritation of his mother, uncle and older brother. Perhaps, sixteen hour flight and an hour of driving on the wrong side of the bloody road allowed the irritation to overpower some familial feelings for then just a wee bit.
Leaving Killian in the skillful hands of the nurse, all three of them plod to the hotel, and after a quick scorching shower John falls in the bed in the buff and buries his head between hotel pillows. He is an insomniac even in his own bed, in the carefully selected pillows and Egyptian cotton bedding. What to say of this white hotel monstrosity... He begs the brain to turn off but... no jam. The events of the last twenty four hours whirl in his head. Killian on his spring break ramming a wall with his Jag, frantic search for tickets, Deadre pale, her eyes dry and burning in the airport, Phil quiet for the first time in his life… John presses harder into the pillow, but he is obviously not sleeping tonight. He groans and makes a deal with himself. If he is not asleep in two hours, he will go to the pool. He isn't, and he doubles his usual amount of laps, all his muscles ache, but the mind doesn't stop railing.
The next morning he drags his poor arse into the hotel restaurant where Phil and Dea, well-rested and happy as a pair of bloody larks, since Killian is obviously out of danger, are happily chewing their toasts. John groans, he knows what's coming. Both Dea and Phil are mental tourists, they need to see everything! He tries to blame work, invent contracts waiting for him in his room, a bloody phone conference, but nothing helps. He receives a double treatment of blue puppy eyes, and he gives in. And the barmy rat race starts. Estuarium, with its exhibits of the marine habitats of the Delta, the Fort, a ferry ride, and then Camper Park, and at this stage John thinks he would drive his own Jag into the nearest lorry.
The only thing, and he would never confess it under the most painful of tortures, that he doesn't condemn is the Lighthouse Bakery. Even the most posh of his acquaintances would not complain about their scrumptious concoctions. He sinks his teeth in their sausage waffle, and yes, it is a real thing, "Only on Fridays" the girl behind the counter announces with a smile, and he closes his eyes in pleasure. The second half of the day is spent in the Sea Lab, and he is so muddled and chuffed after the lunch in the bakery that he stops struggling. After all he has one day here, his return flight is booked for tomorrow morning.
For dinner Phil drags them to the "ace place" Killian told him about. By then John's mind is knackered, and he is flagging. The problem is that he is familiar with the symptoms. Even if he lies down right now, he won't sleep. In the last twenty something years he doesn't remember falling asleep without a pill. But pills mess with his mind, and the Stock doesn't like dimwits.
All through dinner Phil reminisces about the last year's spring break bender, and Dea is listening to him condescendingly. John is becoming increasingly spun out. He had the same youth, but tonight everything seems to irritate him. Dea encouraging her sons behave like bloody royalty, one of them on a hospital bed at the moment after conking out his F-Type, and the second one is trying to chat up their waitress!
At the beginning of their dinner, and that is the chaviest place he has been seen in for the last fifteen years, but he feels migraine coming on, and he doesn't care anymore, the little redhead meets them by the door and smiling widely drawls, "Well hey there, shug? How've you been? C'mon in here, we've a table for you right by the tank, if'n you want." Dea gives her one of her snake smiles, which doesn't seem to dischuff the girl in the leastest. After suggesting lobster tails, at least that's what he thinks she meant by "Welcome to Barnacle Bills! I'm Wren. Would y'all like to try some of our infamous sauteed lobster tails? Everybody loves it that's tried it. Be a mighty fine memory to take back home with you. Might even bring you back to visit us for seconds, " she disappears into the depth of the kitchen, and he hears loud laughter from there. A face of another waitress peeks out, they obviously became the spectacle of the evening. Well, he is not a spotty teenager, the opinion of others stopped bothering him long ago.
Phil is really trying. He goes for the same moves John would have gone for himself. A smile, a lingering look, irresistible for a Septic girl posh accent. John hardly had a look at her, he is fighting rising headache, but she is a ginger, and it is always a yes in Phil's books. They are always gingers with him. At some point the girl laughs softly and smacks his shoulder, "Oh sugar, you are sweet as pie, but no. On the clock, and I ain't interested." He catches her fingers and gives her his best puppy eyes. And then she narrows her eyes, and her tone is firm, "Darlin', what part of 'no' do you not understand? You're cute'n all, priceless accent, honey, but I ain't interested. A woman needs more'n a pretty pair of eyes and wide shoulders. She needs a man with substance: brains and gumption." And then the friendly smile is back, and she offers, "Why don't you try some of our banana pudding to sweeten the sting, hmm? "
That makes John look at her for the first time. Small, skinny, a mop of ginger curls, down to her jaw, strange slanted eyes, green and sarcastic, and a wide mouth, with bright red lips, the bottom one plump, and he is suddenly hot under his collar. He is not sure what the bleeding hell that is, perhaps the stress over Killian, the lack of sleep, the pills he forgot in his flat when he rushed to the airport, but the girl shifts her green eyes at him, and there is a small smile on her lips, "An' how 'bout you, darlin'? Care to try somethin' sweet? " He feels like a plonker and shakes his head.
"Good lordy, you look plum tuckered out. What, they don't let you sleep over yonder?" He stares at her. "There in Britain, they don't let you sleep? Get your biscuits in bed, already. Mercy!" She pats his shoulder and disappears in the kitchen again. Phil is laughing and then points after her with his fork.
"Fit bird, isn't she?" He shakes his head and smiles smugly. He no doubt is certain where he is spending this night, and suddenly John sees red.
He jumps on his feet and rasps, "Excuse me, I'll go back to hotel. Enjoy your pudding."
"Headache again?" Dea asks concerned, and he nods and storms out of the restaurant. In the doors he bumps into someone, and of course it has to be the redhead.
She throws a concerned look at him, "Sug, is everythin' alright?"
"Lots of work," he doesn't know why he is explaining to a waitress why he is not staying for pudding. A waitress with shapely legs and gorgeous eyes.
"Awww shucks, y'all leavin' so soon? But you ain't even tried dessert, yet. Don't you know life pure'n tee reeks without the sweet things?" She grins to him, and he gives her a plastic smile in return. The head feels heavy and buzzing, and he leaves.
There is no point in going to the hotel, he will only be tossing and turning on the sheets that will feel hot, clammy and scratchy at the same time, he can't go to the pool anymore, all his muscles hurt, and he starts wandering along the beach. After a while it becomes clear he needs to take off his shoes and socks, and his bare feet sink into the sand, a long forgotten feeling, and he suddenly remembers he hasn't had a holiday for twelve years. The last time he's been on a beach was during his own spring break.
He throws his jacket on the sand in a small secluded corner and stretches on his back, looking at the darkening sky. He has seven hours before he needs to go back to his room, pack his belongings, and fly back to London. The sky is softly coloured by the setting sun, and suddenly he feels the presence of another person, and he turns his head. His eyes slide up a pair of slender legs, he will never admit it but he recognized the calves right away, up to the short denim skirt and some tight top. She is looking down at him. There is a box in her hands.
"Hey there, mind if I join you?" Without waiting for his answer she plops on the sand near him, and the floral smell of her perfume tickles his nose. It is definitely lilac, but not suffocating, subtle, like everything about her. The strange face of a wood nymph, unusual features, slender body, not a beauty in the eyes of an average man, for him she is suddenly the most enticing woman he has ever seen.
She opens the box and moves it towards him. "Here, these're my fried clam strips. Cookie makes 'em for me special. They're a little saltier than you're used to, mind, but they'll help you feel better." He is staring at her in confusion. She brushes her fingers on his temple, and his whole body jolts. "I have'm too. The headaches." The tips of her small digits linger on his skin, her lashes flutter, and something is suddenly dodgy in her accent. She is staring in his eyes, seemingly unable to look away, and he sees her lips open slightly.
He snakes his arm around her waist and pulls her down on him. She squeals, and he understands she is balancing the box not to drop her clam strips. A mental thought rushes through his mind. If it works out right now, he will take her with him to London. He'll buy her whole restaurant together with the furniture and the exceptional cook, the lobster tails were brill, and will move it in the basement of his house. He is not leaving her here. Her with her tiny feet, orange curls, laughing mouth, and strange drawling of words. She is stretched on him, and he meets her smiling eyes.
"You are a straightforwards type of guy, aren't you?" The accent is much weaker, and he lifts a brow.
"Not a Bama belle after all?" He drops his voice lower on purpose, and she giggles.
"You just surprised me, I'm usually ace at this." That is an indubitably London accent. Rather posh for that matter. She is smiling mischievously, and he guffaws.
"Let me guess, the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art?" She is still giggling.
"Rose Bruford College of Theatre and Performance," she carefully puts down her box and wiggles, as if looking for a more comfortable position on him. That is utterly distracting. And efficient. She grabs his ears and rubs the helices between her fingers. "I just can't help it, love, you are too fit. I lost my concentration." And she lowers her lips on his. His head is flooded with lilac scent and the fresh, intoxicating taste of her lips. She pushes her fingers into his hair and gently scrapes his scalp.
He strokes her delicate shoulder blades, and they are just as good as he imagined in the restaurant. And maybe even better. They are kissing for a while, and he feels like he is fifteen, it's thrilling, and he can go on for hours. Really not working towards anything more. Not that he would object to anything more. She presses her palms on the sand at two sides of his head and slightly rises above him.
"Are you visiting a nephew for a spring break?" He smiles and nods. Smart girl. On the other hand, if her noggin had turned out completely empty, he'd have done everything precisely the same. That's just it, that's his last station. He's arrived home. "When is your flight?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Bollocks," her lovely accent blooms fully, "I am having a one-off!" Her eyes are twice the normal size, and he guffaws again.
"Do you mind?" She is studying him for a few moments and then decisively shakes her head.
"Not with you. Better than nothing." With that settled, he cups the back of her head and pulls her down to his lips. He momentarily thinks he should tell her they are getting married as soon as they are back in London, but then decides the chatting up part can wait. Her deft little fingers are on the collar of his white button-up, and suddenly she purrs.
"You are so warm," she kisses down his neck, quickly opening the buttons, and then pushes her nose in the hollow between his clavicles. "Blimey, you smell nice..." He guffaws. He is normally an always on top the first time around type of bloke, but he lets her have her fun. She is straddling him and opens the shirt. And then she leans in and claws on his chest and stomach. His whole body jerks, and he squeezes her buttocks.
Suddenly she tears her mouth off his and funnily scrunches her nose, "I'm probably killing the mood here, but tell me I'm not shagging someone's husband or boyfriend here." He smiles, she is planning to shag him, and shakes his head. He never has time for relationships. For her he'll find twenty four hours in a day. She nods as if ticking some box in her head and attacks his mouth again. She is much more purposeful this time, and he doesn't hear his buckle clank. She pulls the end of the belt, and it flies somewhere into the nearest dune.
His trousers are quickly opened, and she pushes her small hand down his pants. He gulps lungful of air, and she purrs again, "Well, I'll be, as they say here, right as rain when we're done." Her sudden Southern accent does wondrous things to his libido, and he slightly sits up and quickly pulls off her top. She giggles again and catches the back of his head. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he pushes a hand under her skirt. She is biting his ear and murmurs into it, "The Durex is in the skirt pocket." With that quickly arranged he slides her knickers to the side, and she sinks on him.
Something explodes in his head, and he bucks his hips forcefully, literally throwing her up in the air, making her slide up on his cock. She squeals and giggles again. He cocks his eyebrow, and she smiles into his eyes, "Giggle is good."
"Giggle is good?" He asks for confirmation, and she suddenly kisses the tip of his nose.
"Giggle is definitely good." He grins to her and slides his palms under her buttocks. She pushes him down back on the ground and starts moving, she is very small, tight, and his head starts spinning. It's been a while, and there is something magical about her greedy movements. She opens his shirt wider, her nails scrape his chest, she stretches on him, without stopping a forceful dominating rhythm of her hips, then her hands slide on his shoulders, along his arms, and she encircles his wrists with her surprisingly strong hands. He lifts his shoulders off the ground to get more of her hot, hungry mouth. And then she suddenly straightens up and plants her feet on the ground. She pushes her hands into her mad curls and bends backwards. There is something endlessly sexy in her slender body arched in a sensual pleasure, her delicate small breasts under a lacy black bra, and he grabs her tiny waist, his hands almost encircling it. She starts moving, an intoxicating twist added into the bouncing of her pelvis, her tight inner walls caressing and squeezing his cock, she is grinding her pelvis into him forcefully, and he is so sodding close all of a sudden! He opens his mouth to warn her, but she suddenly stops and looks at him.
"You need to help me here, love," her tone is mischievous.
"Oh, anything you need," he breathes out, and she smirks. He can see her eyes twinkle in the dim light of the streetlamps reflected in the ocean.
"Lend me a hand," she is grinning widely now, and he brushing the tips of his fingers over her clit. She renews her movements, and he is caressing her in small gentle circles. This and the soft mewling sounds, which she is making and he really doesn't want to miss, distract him enough for her to come first. She arches with a loud cry and falls on him, her hands press into his chest, and she is pretty much sitting in a split. He is softly stroking her knuckles, he is in love with her hands, her head is hanging low, her mad curls in even madder disarray, and then she stirs and looks at him.
"Flip or stay?" Her voice is coarse, and she clears her throat.
"Up to you, love," he is laughing, just because it feels so good, and she grins in return. She bends her legs again, settled more comfortably on him. Surely, all this wiggling is unnecessary, but he is the last person to complain.
She gives him an appraising looks and then orders, "Put your elbows on the ground and give me your hands." He complies, and she intertwines her fingers with his. Using his arms for support, she rises and them sharply plummets down on his cock. He gasps and clenches her fingers.
"Alright, love?" Her tone is impish.
"If I could, I'd giggle right now." She chuckles and repeats the maneuver. And then again. And after that she starts riding him deeply and earnestly until he raspily groans and comes harder than he has ever had in all his bloody life. He drops his arms and since he is still squeezing her fingers, she falls on him. The world is gone for a few seconds, he's breathing heavily and very much hoping he didn't just die of a heart attack. She is splayed on his like a sea star, panting, and he thinks he might be paralyzed neck down from the sheer intensity of sensations. And he is very thirsty. And very happy.
"I'm John..." She laughs weakly.
"Nice to meet you, John, you certainly know how to introduce yourself to a lady." He chuckles.
They are silent for a bit and then she suddenly murmurs, "I love sunsets here, in London I could only see the roofs…" She rubs her nose to his collarbone, and her breath tickles his neck. "At twilight here all the little animals, ghost crabs, fiddler crabs and other little beach combers, come out to feed and go about their day… I'll miss it…"
"How long have you been here?" He brushes the tips of his fingers along her spine, and she shivers.
"Five months..." She giggles. "It was a bet. It's my year off before grad school, and my whole brain just went 'What the hell!'" She waves her hand in the air, and he thinks he is in love. It's a Doctor Who quote.
"Really, Doctor Who?" He asks sarcastically to hide his soppy adoration.
"And yet you know where it is from," she giggles and bites his chest gently. There is nothing to discuss really. He works with Boom and Bust and sells short. He makes his decisions quickly and never looks back. He thinks he made this one when she handed him the box of fried clams.
And then he wakes up with a jerk. She is softly breathing on him, obviously having fallen asleep as well, the pale skin of her glorious back clearly visible in the dark. He starts laughing and shakes her. She blinks frantically.
"What?.. What are you laughing about?"
"I fell asleep!"
"Well, shag tends to do it to you. I'm flagging right away usually, it's actually..." He doesn't let her finish, he pulls her to his lips, and after a thorough snog he peppers her face with smaller kisses. She is grouchy and magnificent. She scrunches her delicate nose and looks at him in confusion.
"Oh, you are amazing!" He carefully takes her off and jumps on his feet. He cleans up quickly and pulls up his trousers. Where is the bloody belt? He looks around and then down at her. She is sitting on his jacket, her top pressed to her breasts. He really needs to have a better look at those. Judging by her face, she is really trying to pull herself together and say goodbye with dignity. He has no time for her emotions. He needs to find the belt, it's Hermes, take her back to the hotel and have his way with her couple more times before they have to catch the plane.
"Where is my belt, Wren?"
She shrugs and twitches her nose. Are her eyes red? He swears under his breath. He forgot she can't read his mind. Yet. He plops on his knees in front of her and cups her face.
"We are going back to my hotel, we will shag on those ridiculous sheets they have in there, and tomorrow you are going home with me." She lifts her brows, and then there is a new expression on her face. Her eyes go blank, and it looks like she is performing some complicated mathematical calculations in her head. Then she blinks and smiles to him.
"OK. And your belt is there, I think I threw it too hard..." He quickly kisses her and goes to pick it up. When he is back, she is standing fully dressed and hands him his jacket. He suddenly realizes he is sleepy and laughs again.
He pulls her in, and she hides into his chest. She fits perfectly. "I changed my mind. We are exchanging the ticket and have a lie-in tomorrow, with room service and a lot of sleep."
Her arms wrap around his waist, and she rubs her cheek to his sternum in the still open shirt, "If I were you I wouldn't hope for much sleep."
Final A/N: Look in the next chapter to see the instructions of this new game I came up :)