Hey there, thank you again for your lovely words and for reading! I don't think I got around to replying to those of you who reviewed the last chapter but I really do appreciate you taking the time to leave your thoughts.
So I keep changing my mind about what this is. It was supposed to be a oneshot and then I just kept seeing flashes of their future together and I found myself writing it…so, that's where I am at the moment. I think I'm going to stick at this time period where they're twenty-twoish and their careers are just taking hold.
A quick warning that the end of the chapter heads a little towards some smuttiness. Nothing major but I'm warning you all the same. Chapter title comes from a Stereophonics song. It's the song I see playing in the car in this chapter.
You're my Star
Peyton rolls over drowsily and reaches her hand across the soft sheets, her fingers grasping for the familiar touch of her fiancé's warm skin. Her brow furrows in confusion when she's met with thin air and cool bed linen. Her eyebrows knit together as her eyes slowly flutter open to see a vacant space at her side.
She sighs lightly and stretches her gaze to the bedside table belonging to her missing other half. The neon numbers read 6:03. It's Sunday morning. The day of rest. The day meant for lying in, eating breakfast in bed and not bothering to dress. It's not the day for early morning runs.
Peyton curls her legs high to her chest and stares forwards. It may be early but she doesn't like to sleep when Nathan's not there. She likes to fall asleep curved in his secure embrace with the scent of his fresh just showered skin wrapped around her. Sleeping alone in their big empty bed isn't the same. She contemplates getting up and making breakfast for them both but chooses to stay in the lonely swathing of the quilt. It will be easier to pout and accuse him of deserting her if she's still lying in bed when he returns.
He's dedicated to his game. She knows that, she's always known that. And she understands; she's the same way. The previous few months though, when Nathan was recovering from the car accident, she didn't have to share him. And she liked it. Weekends were especially nice. Neither of them would have anywhere to run off to and they'd waste all the time away in each others company. They even went to the hardware store together and Peyton really hates that stupid place.
Waking up on a Sunday morning alone, for the first time in months and months leaves her with an ache for her man.
She heaves another sigh and pulls herself into a seated position; suddenly the idea of waiting to tease Nathan is no longer appealing. As she turns to swing her legs out of the bed, her eyes lock on a familiar sight, causing her breath catches in her throat.
The profile of his athletic body stands out against the light streaming through the doorway to the hall. His arms are folded over his chest and there's a contented smile playing across his lips.
"How long have you been there?" She enquires, frozen in her action of reaching her toes to the hardwood flooring.
He shakes his head, powerless to quit staring or even form the words for an answer. She's in one of his old college t-shirts which is one of his favourite outfits on her. The cotton of the makeshift nightshirt barely grazes the top her thigh, so he's treated to a show of her long slender legs. Her eyes are bright and wide, even though he knows for a fact that she's only just woken up. And she's doing that pouty-frown thing that he secretly loves.
"It's Sunday morning." She says, slipping from the folds of the bed.
She slinks slowly and so damn sexily across the room to where he's stood leant against the doorframe. He watches every step she takes, his smile curving more so at the sight of her walking on her tiptoes.
"I'm dressed like this and you're seriously looking at my feet?" Peyton questions, as she runs her fingers through her wild curls.
He shrugs and pulls a proud smirk to his lips, "What? Can't I admire my handiwork?"
She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue against him. The boy may be useless with most chores but he's damn good at painting her toenails. Presently, thanks to his expertise they're a velvety violet.
Her hand grazes his smooth shaven jaw as she reaches him, causing her brow to crease in confusion for a second time that morning.
"What?" He questions as he leans down to kiss her good morning.
"You shaved." She states. It's just past six and he's clean shaven. "And you're not in your running gear."
He's sure she only notices these kinds of things when he doesn't want her to. Usually she'd be oblivious to the little details.
"I didn't go running." He tells her, begrudgingly, watching on amused as the cogs of her mind whirl.
"Then where have you been so early?" She asks, "And don't you dare say secret girlfriend or I will pummel you."
He shakes his head, "She's out of town anyway."
Peyton's bright eyes storm with irritation. He's so mesmerised by the fierceness of her stare that he's not prepared for when her fist collides with his muscular upper arm. "Jeez, you can punch."
"I swear to God, Nathan, if you don't quit that joke," She says, trailing off.
He inches his eyebrows upwards, thinking that she hasn't got a threat in her.
She glares, "I'll find myself a secret boyfriend."
"And I'll beat his imaginary ass." Nathan returns stiffly. He doesn't like the idea of even an invented other man.
Peyton snorts at his jealousy and then reaches up to kiss his lips. Without realising it, Nathan can be incredibly sweet.
"Maybe he'll seduce your slut of a pretend girlfriend. Then you'll have to stay in bed past six so that I can wake up next to you." Peyton suggests none too subtly.
"So you're pissed about that?" He questions.
Her eyes narrow, "Well it depends where you've been. You could redeem yourself if you're hiding cakes and pastries somewhere on you."
"I can't tell you where I was." He says boldly, "It's a surprise."
"But I hate surprises." She counters, her shoulders slumping in disappointment.
He tilts his head as though questioning the statement. He lifts her left hand and angles it so that the ring on her finger catches in the light.
"You didn't hate the last one too much." He points out in a gloating manner.
"This better be good." She warns. She really hates waking up alone.
…
After they finish breakfast – cooked by Nathan as a sort of apology – Peyton says she quickly has to change something on one of her pictures.
Nathan huffs a little at the announcement. He has plans for the day and they don't involve Peyton locking herself away in the bedroom sketching.
"I'll be ten minutes." She says softly.
Ten minutes is code for two hours.
Nathan falls dramatically onto the couch and groans into a cushion, "It's Sunday."
She snorts at him recycling her earlier phrase, "Ten minutes then I'm yours. You can load the dishwasher while you wait."
"Gee, fun." He says sarcastically as she rushes away. "Ten minutes and I'm claiming you!"
He's sure that she hears his call but she doesn't reply. He sighs as he begins to scrape their plates. He appreciates how her muse gets inspired at the most inconvenient of times and that she has to draw the idea immediately. It doesn't stop it from being irritating though. Now that he's training for his first season in the NBA, their time together is even more precious than before. Sunday is like a sacred Nathan and Peyton day; at least that was his plan for them.
He doesn't blame her for spending some time drawing, not at all. He just misses her so damn much sometimes that he doesn't like to waste any of their time together. It's his fault – the reason they're apart so much. And he hates that, he really does but he knows that she supports him and his dream of playing.
So patiently he loads the dishwasher and washes his hands. Then he stands against the counter and painstakingly waits for the minutes to pass by. He even gives her an extra five minutes grace.
Then he gives up on the patience and lets himself into her temporary studio which was once their guest bedroom.
"I said ten minutes!" She cries when he barrels in.
"You've had fifteen." He replies, casting his eyes over what can only be described as the utter chaos she's created in the cramped space.
She glances to the clock and bites down on her lower lip, "Oh."
"What are you creating?" He asks, "Besides complete anarchy."
"Hey!" She calls but smiles all the same. She's not the tidiest of people.
Carefully she adjusts the easel she's working on to give him a better view of the masterpiece.
"This is called, um, loneliness, I guess." She stares along with him, analysing her newest conception.
The picture is of a figure stood boldly on the railing of bridge across a river. It's all in inky black and white, Peyton's trademark style.
"It's," Nathan's falters for a compliment, "I mean it's amazing,"
It really is. Her attention to detail is striking. The flow of the girl's whispering hair in the breeze and the surge of the violent river is all captured. Nathan swears that as he stares he can hear the water rushing and the girl's desperate breaths.
"But?" Peyton queries.
"Well," Nathan swallows his fear, "It's kind of depressing."
Peyton frowns at his critique and turns back to the image as though she hadn't seen that angle in the picture before.
"But it's hope." She argues, pointing to the background of the sketch.
There, at the end of the bridge, Nathan can now make out the figure of a man, his hand held out towards the girl.
"He's going to save her." Nathan says in understanding.
She nods, "Yeah, he's always going to save her. No matter how bad it looks."
"Peyt," Nathan's eyes are no longer on the sketch. He's now staring at his glassy eyed fiancée.
She turns, and gives him a firm look, "This isn't me."
He nods but she reads the doubt on his features.
"Maybe subconsciously, in the fact that I miss you when you're not around the apartment all day." Peyton shrugs, brushing the issue away, "And like in the picture, you're always there for me in the end."
The concern doesn't leave Nathan's eyes. She can still see the flickers of pain and worry in his bright blue irises.
"Nate, I'm not about to jump off of a bridge." She tells him firmly. "This is just a picture; all I did was exaggerate an emotion."
Nathan just pulls her into his chest. He hates that she's on her own all day. He hates that she could even have the idea for such a picture.
"Listen," She says, pushing back out of his hold so that she can see into his eyes, "As much as I miss your sorry ass moping around the place all day, it's nice to be able to get some work done. You were a terrible distraction, I hope you know."
The pulling of a smirk flashes over his features but doesn't take hold.
"Nate, it's not me." She repeats, "If I drew something that was a reflection of my life it would be sickeningly cute. Sometimes I play around with emotion but don't you think you'd be able to notice if I was feeling this way?"
"I'd hope." He says thickly, panicking in case he's missed something in his fatigue of overworking.
Her fingers brush his soft hairline, "You would. I know you would."
He swallows and tries to accept what she's pleading him to believe.
"I still hate that you're alone when I'm training all the time." He says in a dull tone.
"Well I don't." She says firmly and twists out of his hold. "And soon enough I'll find some gallery space and I won't have time to miss you."
She pokes her tongue out and Nathan manages a laugh.
"I am so proud of you, Nathan." She whispers, "I would never resent you going out everyday to play."
He brings her head softly to his shoulder, "Maybe, but I still hate it."
He feels her fingers knot through his, "You've made me needy."
"You were always needy, you just thought you weren't." He argues.
"Was not!" She turns to him, her mouth hung open, "I practically grew up by myself in that house."
He scoffs, "You pretty much lived with me from the age of eleven."
"You're a liar, Nathan Scott." She states, "I only stayed at yours so that you wouldn't wet your pants about the monsters in the closet."
"That hurts, Sawyer." He shakes his head at the ridiculousness of her declaration, "You know that I liked the monsters in the closet, I hung out with them when Dan had a bad on."
She can't help from chuckle at the mental image forming in her mind.
"Remember the time we climbed onto your roof to hide from your Dad?" Peyton asks, her lips curving to a smile at the memory.
"My Dad bitched about that broken drainpipe for a month. He thought it was the cat." Nathan laughs.
Peyton sighs, shaking her head softly, "Your poor cat."
"What? It's not as though Dan took it out on it." Nathan shrugs.
"I meant the poor cat because you called it Michael Pawdan." Peyton begins to cackle uncontrollably, "Animal abuse."
"Come on!" He cries out, "That was inspired."
"It was dumb." She says firmly, "And just how did your Dad expect for the cat to get onto the roof? You overfed it so that it could barely lift itself to its food bowl let alone the second storey."
Nathan strops, "Mike was not fat. He had a thyroid issue."
Peyton tries for a moment to hold a straight face but quickly she gives in and bursts out laughing again, "A thyroid problem?"
"Yes! And don't mock the cat; he didn't do anything to you." Nathan grumbles defensively.
She arches her eyebrows and Nathan realises that she's about to counter that statement with a whole stack of evidence.
"Firstly he always scratched me. Secondly he left hairs on everything. And thirdly, worst of all, he mistook my backpack for his litter tray once." Peyton explains her resentment for Nathan's obese pet.
He meanwhile chuckles at her misfortune, "That was hilarious."
"Was not." She responds with a lame argument.
"You liked that cat." Nathan says in a thoughtful tone, "You read a poem at his funeral."
Peyton pulls a face at the thought, "Only because you were being a sissy about the whole thing, I thought it might cheer you up if I pretended to be half as cut up as you."
"I miss that cat." Nathan admits through a frown, "He was cool, you have to admit."
Peyton shrugs, "He was awesome after some cat nip."
"Do you want to get a cat?" Nathan poses after a moment's thought.
"You mean do I want to spend all of my time clearing up after a cat?" She pushes back.
He rolls his eyes, "Okay, I'll let you name it. That's pretty damn generous."
Peyton stares to him bewildered, "What is with you and the cat thing?"
"Well," He rolls his shoulders and she notes the blush rising in his cheeks. He traces his hand along the windowsill, "Since we don't have a kid,"
Peyton's eyes bulge at the very mention of a child, "What?"
"A guy on the team mentioned that we don't have kids and apparently that's weird or something because we've been together forever. I said it's not the right time and he said something about you probably being broody as hell. He suggested maybe we should get a pet." Nathan says in a garbled rushed tone.
Peyton stares back, dumbfounded.
"You don't want a cat?" He guesses.
"Hold up," She puts a hand to her head as she tries to process what he's just said, "Kids? You were talking to a guy on the team about kids? You haven't even spoken to me about kids!"
Nathan cringes and looks around the small art studio thinking that the place is about to become his prison.
"You want kids?" Peyton asks directly.
"I, um, you know I could do with some water." He goes to leave but she pulls him back with an alarming amount of strength.
"Answer the question." She demands.
He turns to her wide sparkling eyes, "Someday, yeah, I do."
The shiest of small smiles plays across Peyton's lips, "What are you seeing in that head of yours?"
"Okay, well," He cocks an easy half-smile, "I don't see us having kids for a few years, I wanna be there for them, not skipping across states as they have all their milestones. I want to be a good Dad, you know?"
Instantly Peyton softens into the conversation. It's clear that Nathan's put a lot of thought into this and he has aims. The main one is to be nothing like Dan Scott.
"So I'd probably be close to retiring when we have the first one, maybe pushing thirty. I know what you're thinking; older parents." Nathan tries reading her mind.
It's true that they themselves both have youthful young parents but Peyton doesn't really think that thirty is old.
"We'll be more mature then though, less likely to muck up the kid's life." He reasons, "Plus, look at us, if anyone can pull off being an older parent, it's us."
She laughs at his logic and forces him on; she wants to hear more about this family he has mapped in his head.
"So I'm retired and you're a famous, sought after artist. Basically, we're great." Nathan says casually, "So we start with boys, maybe twins."
"No." Peyton cuts in, "No twins and definitely not to start with."
"Okay." He agrees, "Two boys, of different ages, who are madly hyperactive and full of energy. They like playing ball and listening to stupid angsty punk music really loud. They team up and make me play with them all the time. You're like a total soccer Mom who goes crazy on the sidelines of games."
Peyton grins at the picture he's painting her, "So you haven't thought about this too much then?"
He shrugs, "Maybe sometimes when I watch you sleep I like to imagine."
"Oh?" She questions lightly, "Is there more?"
His crystal blue gaze smiles back at her, "And a little girl just like her Mommy. She's all golden curls and rolling green eyes. She's got me wrapped around her little finger, so bad."
"I bet." Peyton laughs, seeing just how much of a pushover parent Nate will be.
"She's got us all; me, you, the boys, everyone dotes on her." Nathan continues, causing Peyton to smile further. "And there's one last member of the family."
Peyton eyes him suspiciously, "Just how many kids do you expect me to push out?"
"Not a kid." He reveals, "An aged cat that we got before the kids were born. A cat you swear you hate because all you do is clean up after it but really you can't see the family without it. And when it dies and you're comforting the kids, you'll read that same poem to them as you did me and your voice will crack in the exact same place."
Peyton's eyes mist over at the words of their fairytale future.
"Babe," he laughs lightly at her sissy behaviour, "Come here you dope."
She falls into his arms and laughs, "So we really have to get a cat?"
"Er, yeah, we really do." He chuckles. Even he has no idea why they're getting a cat. Considering the fact that he spent so long talking her into it, he supposes he better go along with it though.
…
Peyton's relaxing on the couch, flicking through a magazine, when she notices that Nathan's been out of the room for a while. She doesn't keep him on a short leash or anything but she just has the feeling that he's up to something. Due to the fact that he snuck out early that morning and he's been acting edgy all day, she thinks that she has plausible reason to worry.
"Nate?" She leans her head back on the couch and peers down the hall. She frowns at seeing their bedroom door closed. "Nathan Scott! What are you doing?"
He peeks his head out of the door and throws her a cheeky smirk, "I'm just tidying some stuff up."
"Okay," She shakes her head, "That was definitely a lie."
"Yeah it was." He agrees, laughing at his own poor cover up story. He emerges from the bedroom, his hands behind his back.
Peyton turns to kneel on the couch so that she can peer over the back and hopefully wrestle him into turning around. She hates surprises and she knows he's planning something.
As he approaches, she reaches a hand around his back. He's fast though. She blames basketball for that.
"What are you hiding?" She demands.
"Don't worry your pretty little head." He says patronisingly which causes her to scowl.
"Nathan, come on." She begs feebly.
His body seems to slump somewhat at her unwillingness to play, "Just go along with this okay?"
All she sees is a flash of black material as Nathan goes to cover her eyes with an item she just recognises to be one of her scarves. He pulls the fabric tightly over her eyes as she cries out in protest. Instinctively she reaches up to pull the scarf away. He sighs. Her aversion to surprises is tiring sometimes.
"What are you doing?" She asks as he pushes her hands into her lap.
"I'm trying to blindfold you." He says in an irritable tone as she squirms beneath his hold, "Would you keep still?"
"No." She replies simply, reaching up for the scarf again as he wrestles against her protesting jerks.
Groaning at her uncooperative behaviour he chooses to change tactics, "Jeez, Sawyer, don't you trust me?"
She takes a little too long to answer, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" He scoffs, still struggling to keep her eyes covered. "All this time and you don't know?"
"No, I do. But I hate surprises." Finally she settles, "I trust you though, of course I do."
Gently he secures a knot in the scarf over her untamed ringlets. He's pleased that she can't see his relieved smile, as though he's accomplished something in blinding her.
"Is this just a lame attempt to get me into bed?" Peyton asks mockingly. She recalls the last time he insisted that she wore a blindfold and that had led to him dribbling melted chocolate all down her delicate underwear.
"Babe," He shakes his head although she can't see him, "I don't need to use tactics."
It's lucky that her eyes are covered really, because she doesn't think he'd take to well to the fact that she just rolled her eyes at his conceited nature.
"Right, so why do I have to wear this?" She questions, she hates being – quite literally – in the dark about stuff.
"You'll find out soon enough." He teases.
He's enjoying tormenting her and she knows it.
She screams when he lifts her into his arms. She actually screams. And yet she's not scared at all. She never could be in his arms. He has the most powerful secure grasp, it's impossible to feel anything but completely protected in the arms of Nathan Scott.
He laughs at her cry of girliness and teases her as he walks them out to the car. For once she doesn't hit him with a comeback; she just smiles against his rapidly beating heart.
"I don't suppose you're going to tell me where you're taking me?" Peyton questions as he sits her lightly on the passenger seat. She smiles when she realises that they're in the Comet.
She loves when he drives her car.
"I'm not going to tell you." He says warning her against any more interrogating.
"This feels dumb." She moans, fiddling with the makeshift blindfold as he pulls a seatbelt around her. "Do I look dumb?"
"You couldn't if you tried." He promises her, kissing her lips softly.
There's something incredibly sexy about that blindfolded kiss.
"The top's down." She points out when he pulls away.
His eyes twinkle but she can't see them, "Like you've ever given a damn about what anyone else thinks."
She has to smile at that. He's right; she's never really followed fashion or been anyone but herself for the sake of conforming. For that reason, she lets him drive her away with the top down as she's sat in the front seat with a black scarf tied over her eyes.
"How you doing, Sawyer?" Nathan asks once they're out of their street. His aim is to keep her talking and distract her away from working out the route he's taking.
"The music on this little mystery tour sucks." She pulls a face and although half of her expression is masked, he knows that she's completely disgusted by his 90s hip-hop choosing.
In fact she's so appalled that she reaches blindly for the radio to take action. Nathan slaps her away but she persists.
"No, you're not winning this one." He tells her firmly, "It's not as though you can use those sparkling eyes as a bargaining tool either."
They end up listening to soft rock all the same. Somehow, and Nathan can't begin to explain quite how, she got her way. As she usually does with him.
…
"Am I going to like this?" Peyton asks, grasping blindly at the thin air ahead of her as she tentatively takes a step forward.
Nathan can't help but laugh at her.
"What?" She turns her masked head to face him, "I'm not going to like this?"
"It's hard to tell with you sometimes." He admits with a roll of his shoulders that she's blind to, "You might love it, you might kill me."
Peyton's stomach drops at the admission and she begins to panic. If he's having doubts then she has every reason for plain fear.
She feels his secure hands on her slender shoulders and his warm breath on her neck, "Calm down."
His words are controlled, calm even. That gives her some hope.
"Can we get this over with already?" She pleads. She doesn't like not knowing what's going on.
She assumes that they're in the city from all of the noise around them. Peyton's sure that the only place Nathan knows of in the city is the Bobcats' Arena.
It's not as though she hasn't dragged him Uptown on occasions to visit a museum or restaurant; he just has little interest in bothering to remember such places.
"One minute and I'll reveal all." He commits, gently pulling her forwards by the hand.
hesitantly she steps forwards and allows him to life her chin and direct her unseeing gaze.
"Are you ready?" He asks finally.
She holds back on rolling her eyes, it's a pointless exercise anyway, "I've been ready for about an hour."
"Okay." He reaches up and gently pulls the knot of the scarf loose. The whole time Peyton stands patiently, aware of his nervous breaths increasing by the second.
When the blindfold falls it takes a second for Peyton's eyes to readjust to the light. When they do, she stares forward, a little perplexed. They're in a street uptown or more precisely in front of an empty quaint little store.
"I don't get it." She says, a small frown washing over her features.
Nathan smiles but doesn't say a word. Instead he just takes her hand in his own and presses a key into her palm.
Instantly her eyes widen and she begins to shake her head back and forth.
"It's yours, Baby." He reveals, unable to keep from smiling at her display of complete shock.
"Are you serious?" She gasps, turning to fully appreciate the offering. It's a modest sized place but she can see that it stretches back a fair way. It's light too, lots of windows and well placed lighting fixtures. Perfect for gallery space.
Her curls swing widely as she continues to shake her head in disbelief, "I don't know what to say."
"Say you like it." Nathan suggests wryly.
"I love it." She returns, curving her arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. "It's perfect."
"Do you wanna go inside?" He suggests, incapable of tearing his eyes from her delighted expression. He curses the fact that he didn't bring a camera because he never wants to forget the look on her face.
She's almost glowing with happiness, "Of course I want to!"
She laughs in nervous excitement as he takes the key and turns it in the lock, he then steps back to allow her to enter her empire before him.
"I can see it already." She says, clasping her hands together beneath her chin, "I can see where everything will go."
Nathan grins and revels in watching her fantasize. He loves to see her this way; free-spirited and almost glittering. As she spins and gasps, he switches the lights on. Even to him – the least creative soul – the place seems to come alive.
"It's better than anything I've seen." She tells him joyously.
In the past year or so she's looked at a lot of potential places to set up a gallery. He knows that she steered clear of places like this though in such a prime location for fear of the cost. He loves that he's now in the position to treat her to the luxury of a city gallery, completely paid for.
"There's more." He says with a twinkle in his eye.
She narrows her eyes, "How can there possibly be more?"
Taking her by the hand he leads her to the stairway through a door on the left. As they walk up the steps to the next level, Nathan can feel her excitement in the air.
"And this," He says, throwing out his arm, "Is your studio."
She glances quickly to the vast space before flinging her arms around his neck. It's more than she ever could have wished for.
He leans away from her hold slightly and stares into her sparkling green eyes. The eyes that he pathetically missed for the time that she was blindfolded.
"I told you," He twists his finger around one of her soft curls grazing her cheek, "It's about your dreams now."
Desperately she looks to the ceiling in an attempt to keep from crying, "You have made me,"
She laughs lightly as her voice breaks with emotion.
"You have made me outrageously happy, Nathan Scott."
…
Peyton drops her head onto Nathan's shoulder, her unrelenting smile still sat softly over her lips.
They're sat in the furthest corner of the gallery, in the shadows of the store. Her legs thrown over his and his arm strewn across her shoulders. The shutters are down over the window and it's like their own personal sanctuary.
"Chicken or beef?" Nathan asks, indicating to one of the unopened takeout cartons scattered over the floorboards around them.
"Beef." She decides and he leans over to collect the box with his free hand.
He pops it open and laughs, "It's chicken."
She shrugs lightly and watches him expertly pull a piece of chicken from the carton. He uses the chopsticks she's never been able to master. It's not a tragedy that she can't use the utensils, more a convenient excuse for him to feed her.
He carefully guides the offering into her open mouth and watches as she chews. She flutters her eyelashes slightly to show her heavenly enjoyment, temporarily muted by the satisfying taste.
Nathan sets the box down and idly grazes his fingers across her knee, exposed by the tear in her worn jeans. It's a habit he's picked up over the years without realising it. Peyton doesn't like to point it out to him though, in case he quits doing it.
"How is eating takeout on the floor better than home cooking or restaurants?" She ponders, wiping the corners of her mouth with her pinky.
"Because it's in your gallery?" Nathan suggests, pulling her closer to him.
Her eyes revolve around the space, sparkling in clear bliss, "Say it again."
"Your gallery." He repeats.
She blinks back at him, "My gallery. You spoil me."
"It's worth every single cent to see you so happy." He would do anything to fix that smile to her lips permanently, "You look even more beautiful when you smile."
That causes her apple cheeks to rise as her smile deepens at the compliment, "Who knew you could be so sweet?"
"Hey!" He pretends to be offended, "I'm sweet, the sweetest."
Her cackling laugher bounces joyously around the empty room. Nathan pulls his best wounded expression and clutches at his heart.
"Babe, come on." He pleads.
"God," She rolls her glistening eyes at him, "You're so the girl in this relationship!"
His mouth hangs open as her eyes dance with laughter.
"Not even you can get away with saying that." He says with a shake of his head. He pulls her onto his lap and begins to tickle her despite her protests.
"Nathan!" She gasps as she tries to wriggle from his strong grasp.
He laughs as she fidgets and squeals between broken giggles. She'll always deny it but she can be such a girl.
"Take it back." He demands, referring to her previous comment.
He totally has the upper hand, they both know it. Yet she refuses to say the words. She's loyally stubborn to the end. Really he should have foreseen it.
After failing to force a retraction from her laughing lips, he lifts to his feet with her still in his arms. He then throws her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.
"Take it back." He repeats.
"You're the girl!" She persists as she powerfully beats his back with her tightly curled fists, "And you cried like a baby when Michael Pawdan died!"
Suddenly, to Peyton's surprise he collapses into a fit of laughter, clutching at his side and gasping for breath. He even has to set her back on her feet in fear of dropping her.
She laughs too, more at his clear insanity than anything else, "What the hell?"
"I just heard how dumb Michael Pawdan sounds." He chokes between chuckles.
"Jeez, only took you a few years to catch up!" She cries in amusement before kissing his curved lips. There's something adorable about him being such an idiot.
Nathan instinctively places his hands on her tiny waist when her lips find his. As the kiss deepens his hands slip beneath the waistband of her jeans, softly spreading over her smooth skin.
She moans lightly into the kiss, her hands squeezing at his athletic upper arms.
"The counter?" He suggests in a mumbled tone when they break apart for a second.
"The counter." She confirms, pulling his polo shirt over his head. Her cloaked eyes flicker over his muscles for a second before she presses her hand against his chest and pushes him backwards.
They move blindly, too lost in one another's touch to notice anything that isn't them. Her nimble fingers work at his belt buckle as they stagger back and quickly she gets him stepping out of his jeans. He slips a bra strap from her shoulder and dusts her newly exposed skin with light butterfly kisses. They're too involved even to register the hit they take as they crash against the wall.
Nathan's warm fingers cover her toned stomach and lift her soft cotton tank top up over her head. He throws the discarded item to the floor and settles his gaze on her lace black bra. She bites down seductively on her lower lip and he rushes to roll her jeans off of her hips to see more of her.
She flutters her lashes a little as he stares, even though she's sure that he's not looking at her eyes. In fact she knows he's not. His gaze is fixed on the dark laced two-piece contrasting against her light tanned skin.
She turns slightly, on her velvet painted toes to give him a glimpse of the way the material edges against the curve of her ass in the way that he loves.
"Come here." He says, and she notes the soft growl behind his words.
Her eyes glaze as she lets him take control. He takes her weight in his arms and sets her down on the counter. Her long legs coil around him just as he'd hoped. He places one hand on her hip, slipping his fingers beneath the lace acting as the final barrier to the desire in both their minds. His other hand reaches smoothly around her back reaching for the clasp of her bra.
As his fingers roam, finding the spot that causes her to scream, Peyton throws her head back with a hollow gasp. Her eyes are almost closed, the softest slither of light reaching through her long lashes. Her coiling ringlets fall down her bare back, tickling on Nathan's hand as he unhooks her underwear.
She moans softly, unable to wait any longer and pulls him down towards her as she lies back on the counter. He holds his weight steady above her as she hurriedly removes his boxers.
It should be a cliché that they're christening the place in such a typical fashion but somehow it's not. Maybe it's the intensity of the heat between them or the love that is always lingering so deeply beyond the lust. Either way it's about more than just desire.
It's not as clichéd as the session in the Bobcats locker room in any case. That was fantasy fulfilment at its sweet best.
"God, I really, really love you." Peyton declares as he trails his lips ever closer to the lacy borders at the top of her inner thigh.
Her fingers lose themselves in his dark locks as her ankles lock around his back. She stares up at the ceiling, the ceiling of her gallery. The place that is hers thanks to the boy in her embrace. He's the boy who's promised to deliver her dreams to her.
She hasn't told him but in one short day he's managed to exceed all of her hopes and wishes, giving her more than she ever thought possible. Not only did he give her the ridiculously generous gift of her own gallery and studio but he showed her a picture of their future together.
It's a future she can't wait to share with him.
As always I love hearing your thoughts, let me know what you're thinking, all feedback is appreciated :)