Disclaimer: No copyright.. yet.
A/N: I have two wip fanfic and I'm not sure to publish before I actually finished them or just publish and work on them then. How long of a hiatus is too long of a hiatus? I'm still new at posting fics so really I'm anxious and just a whole lot of panic! Kinda excited to post and get people anticipating for new chapters but worried if it takes too long and people gives up on it so really I need to know!
Oh thank you, my lovely guest 1! That means a lot for someone whom english wasn't their first language! Thank you! x
As always, do correct me if there's any errors! I'll fix 'em right away!
Chapter 3: Mocktail
It has been three months since their first meeting.
Since then, he has slept over at her place for fifteen times. The first time was because of the weather, ironically just like their first meeting.
It was his twenty-seventh visit. They had dinner together and talked over coffees, Bobby Womack's soulful voice filled the tranquil atmosphere when suddenly there was a blinding lightning, followed by the first peals of thunder rolled across the sky. They both startled on their seats and looked out through the glass. "It's raining heavily." She gasped and mumbled to no one and quickly ran upstairs to get her cat, Crookshanks, from her bedroom. "He's scared of thunders, my poor baby, so we always cuddle together under this weather." She explained.
He looked at the flat-faced cat. He didn't get it why her friends didn't like Crookshanks. That big orange furball really was a cute cat and he really likes him. He bent down and ran his hand along Crookshanks' back, rubbing it softly. The cat purred and he felt proud of himself. He looked at her smugly only to get slapped on his cheek softly. "I can make him purr like that too, okay?"
He supported his head by the chin with his free palm, elbow on the table, and cocked his eyebrow in a challenging manner. "Really? I never seen Crookies purred like that with you."
"I would prove it to you now but Crookshanks apparently sound asleep."
He looked at the said cat and ran his hand on him one last time before he got up to leave. "I should get home, kitten. It's late."
She stood up gingerly not wanting to wake Crookshanks up who still bundled in her arms, and walked him to the red front door. When he opened it the lightning striked again. "Are you sure you want to go home now? You can stay over, you know. There's a bed sofa in the living room upstairs."
He looked at the small woman beside him and looked back at the raging storm. He closed the door back and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, kitten. Didn't plan to crash in but yeah if you don't mind, can I stay for the night?"
"She grinned and led him upstairs. "Thought you never ask, mister."
She took out three extra pillows and a black velvety blanket out from one of her many cupboard's drawer. She pulled out another drawer and took out a set of pyjamas and a boxer for him. "You know where the extra toothbrush and extra towel at."
He took a hot shower, brushed his teeth, put on the navy blue satin pyjamas and got out of the bathroom to see her already laid on her bed, curled up with her cat.
"Should I be worried of your ever so many male clothes supply?" He sat beside her, running his hand through her curly brunette hair. She chuckled and with her back still facing him she answered, "I have two male bestfriends, brothers in every way except blood. One of them comes from a big family. And by default, his brothers are my brothers too. We visited each other ocasionally. I'm surprised your visits never clash with theirs." She turned her body now and raised her head to meet his eyes.
"You can start leaving your clothes too, if you'd like to, of course. So next time if you want to stay over again or should situation like this happen again, you can at least wear your own boxer." She teased.
He flicked her nose. "Cheeky bird."
They stayed quietly like that for a while more, the sound of rains hitting on the big window right beside her bed, and of thunders exploded roll after roll, echoed the now quiet eccentric cottage that he learnt to love, until she fell asleep with one of her hand wrapped around his waist. He unwrapped her hand slowly and knelt beside the bed, stroking his knuckle softly on her cheek. "Goodnight, kitten."
He kissed her nose and went to sleep in the living room.
He now has his own drawer, filled with his shirts, pyjamas, boxers, socks, and a pair of jeans. He even left a pair of his black Tricker's burford derby boots. "Just in case." He said when she asked him why. And tonight the "just in case" moment has arrived.
She was cleaning the cafe after hour accompanied by Sylvie Vartan's songs when he came in and locked the door thereon. She turned and screamed, the broom thrown out of her hold with a loud thunk sound as it hit the floor when she saw him there stood stark naked with both his hands covering his private part. She looked at him with a really weird face as her confusion and amusement and her now crimson flushed face,ーwhich he found very alluring that he let out a throaty groan subconciouslyー morphed together.
"Kitten." He drawled his word as if he was trying to get an illiterate kid to understand what he was saying. "Can I stay for the night?"
She was still in shocked to say anything so she settled for a nod. He ran upstairs in just a blink, with speed like greased lighting. The awkward silence only enveloped by the blonde French singer's voice as she still stared at the now empty spot where her visitor stood before. After she got a hold of herself back, she shook her head and gave out a hearty guffaw at his state of affair until the image of his naked bodyー 'cept some certain part of his anatomy that she kind of wish freed off his handsー brought back to the front of her mind.
"Oh Merlin! He's fit!" She blushed furiously, one hand laid horizontally flat on her forehead, the other hand laid on her chest, trying to calm her fast-beating heart. She exhaled a very long and heavy breath when her heart finally found its normal beat back.
She continued her cleaning, grinning in anticipation the whole time. She couldn't wait to hear his story.
He came down half an hour later, dressed in his red Sex Pistol ragged shirt and a pair of white blue-striped pyjama pants with her small pink towel flung on his shoulder for him to dry his still wet hair. "Sorry, kitten. I couldn't find extra small towel so I used yours."
She shrugged it off since it wasn't the first time they shared their personal belonging. Just two weeks ago, he came for breakfast early in the morning, before the business hour, to find her brewing in an orange male boxer with an R on its rear.
"Kitten, whose boxer are you wearing?" He was standing right across her, only separated by the bar, his eyes fixed on the very offensive disguisting blue-coloured of an R that seemed too happy hugging his kitten's round arse.
She jumped at his voice, startled. With her back still facing him, she acknowledged his intrusion by peering at him over her shoulder. "Don't scared me like that! Oh, and good morning to you too." Her tongue tucked out like a little girl who get annoyed at the boy that kept tugging her ponytails in class, but he saw none of it as his eyes were fixated on her bum. Her eyebrows rose questioningly at his fascination of her back.
"Oーkay. I'm flattered that you found my rear.. captivating, as I'd like to believe. But please, for the love of gods, pray tell me why so?"
She turned her head back to its place, carrying on her previous project: attempting on more complicated latte art; a bird with its wings flapped, one that looked like a phoenix. She was so into it,ーher left hand was holding up a cup of coffee whereas her right hand held a pitcher filled with foamed hot milk, elbow raised to a funny angleー that she didn't notice when he moved from across her to right behind her, his arms stretched out to both of her side, hands palmed on the counter top, caging her in her own personal space. His voice was hard yet sounded so fragile when he asked again,
"Whose boxer are you wearing, kitten?"
It came out muffled as his mouth planted on top of her bushy-haired head. She stopped her endearvour and rested her back on his chest. "One of my bestfriend's. I told you about them, remember?"
"Why?" This time his voice came out clearer and she tucked her head deeper to the nook of his neck that had her sense reached its optimum capacity as his manly musky after-shaved cream's ーhe left one hereー smell braced her. His chin now perfectly sat on her head. She just knew her curls would magically found their way out of her buns and lo, she proved to be right. She could feel him scrunching his nose to disregard the hairs that now resided in his nostrils.
"Habit." She coiled a lock of her strayed curls around her finger and tucked it in her bun just to failed misereably. She huffed in annoyance.
"Most of the times I wear their boxers just because I found them first before I found my shorts." She caught him exhaled heavily, waiting for his reply. Still, she met by silence and she didn't like it at all.
"Mister, are you okay?"
He rested his forehead on her bare left shoulder, letting out a small growl now that he realized what she was wearing. A plain white spaghetti-strap satin tank top matched with her bestfriend's stupid boxer. He inhaled and exhaled in effort to calm himself. That did calm him but unfortunately it gave the opposite effect on her. She shivered once she felt his breath touched her bare back and hastily disguised it as a cough. She was about to ask him again before he beat her to the punch.
"I don't want you to wear other guys' boxer."
Her counter arguement was ready at the tip of her tongue but once again, he beat her to it.
"I know they are practically your brothers but please, kitten. If you want to wear one, wear mine. I'll leave more boxers. Fuck, I'll even buy you a new one as long as you don't wear theirs. Please."
Her heart palpitated which she was so sure he noticed, thanks to their closeness. She was going to argue, going to make him understand that it was normal for her to wear her brothers' clothes, it was all platonic for them. She was going to said it all but his pleading, vulnerable voice somehow dissolved all of her fighting spirit and she ended up turning her head to her left, facing his right ear and simply replied,
"Okay."
He lifted his head and turned to face her, his cheek rested on her shoulder.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
She was rewarded with a dazzling smile, an ear to ear smile, a toothy smile, his smile. He leaned closer to her and kissed her jaw before he muttered a thank you.
Since then, she's been wearing his boxers or his shirts or sometimes both of them at once and on those rare ocassion, he would look utterly pleased, nodding his head with approval, and became extra cuddly, which she found extremely endearing that she couldn't help but wear his clothes again and again and again.
Now that she thought of it back, was he being possessive? Is it normal for a friend to be that possessive? She never liked it whenever someone told her what to do. She never liked it when someone treated her like she was their possession. So why? Why is it when he asked him to not wear her brothers' clothes, she did as he said? Why is it when he gave her that delightful smile whenever she wore his, she felt all funny in the pit of her stomach, all fluttered, as though there were millions of butterflies flying in insane zig-zags in it? Why is it she wanted to give him that satisfaction, to let herself be rewarded with his elated mood? Her heart started that crazy rapid beating again. But this time, she wasn't sure why.
She stood still, following his every movement,ーhe made his way to the records and picked out a vinyl, its cover colour was black with a triangle at the centre of it and some colourful stripes on itー and she could barely hear the music as she was busy staring at the small smile that slowly sculpted on his face, his very handsome face.
Wait, what? Did I just say handsome? Her eyes widened.
Merde.
"ー'forward,'he cried! from the rear, and the front, rank died!"
She slowly tuned herself in back to reality. Only then she could hear him sang along with the song of his choice.
"Pink Floyd? Great taste, mister." She spun her body and strode to the bar.
"Come on, kitten! Sing with me! Be the Wright to my Gilmour!" He swayed with his right hand fisted as his mic whilst her pink towel still flung on his shoulder. She shook her head instead and asked him if he wanted anything to drink as she took her place behind the bar.
"Wine, please."
"You know I don't serve alcoholic beverage right?" He gasped incredulously.
" Theー then, what are those?! Vinegars?! Olive oils?!" He now sat on his stool at the bar.
She rolled her eyes at his dramatic reply. "Non-alcoholic wines. I serve coffees, teas, chocolate drinks, juices, and mocktails. You want to try mocktails?"
He grimaced at the very idea of non-alcoholic drinks, non. Non! But, he couldn't help being all curious too. He leaned forward, his hands still drying his long ebony hair with her pink towel.
"Non-alcoholic wines? Interesting. Alright, kitten. Serve me your best mocktail!" He yelled enthusiastically.
She began gathering all items needed; two boxes of different flavoured juices out of the small see-through fridge under the bar, highball glasses from the long single shelf between the counter and the counter top and put it into the small white freezer, small knife from one of the drawer, and was that orange and cherry? His eyes bugged out when she took out this weird looking bottle. He couldn't help it, his curiosity piqued, so he asked and with grace she answered all his questions cordially with obvious amusement and humour laced in all her answers, as if she was answering some ebulliant child.
"Orange juice or pineapple juice?" She held up one juice in each hand. Her question jolted him out of his astonishment.
"Whaー?" She raised an eyebrow and shook both juices.
"Orange juice or pineapple juice?" She repeated.
"Pineapple."
"Pineapple it is."
When she began to fill ice into the weird looking bottle,ー which he's been told was a cocktail shakerー and poured a good amount of pineapple juice and peach nectar, he was confident that that was it. Poured everything in, stirred, and voila! Mocktail! But he knew he was wrong the moment he saw her secured a lid on the shaker. She then held the shaker with both hands on each of its end and startlingly shook it with vigour over her shoulder. She shook it rythmatically, he noticed, following every beat of Pink Floyd's Money; and only stopped once the outside of the shaker frost up. She gave him a toothy grin full with excitement.
"On the rocks?" She asked as she let go one of her hand to grab one of the now cold highball glass out of the freezer.
"Yeah, sure." He absent-mindedly answered her, his face shone with delight.
She strained the mixture into the chilled highball glass and finished the process by garnishing the glass with orange slice and cherry. She placed the mocktail on a gold round coaster with runics written on it in red, in front of him.
"Finishing touch." She sang as she put a small yellow paper umbrella in his mocktail.
"Enjoy your very first mocktail, mister!" Still with her toothy grin.
"Alright! It's now or never!" He took a slow sip of his first mocktail. "So, what exactly is mocktail?"
"A non-alcoholic version of cocktail."
He spurted his drink. "Cocktail? Cock and tail? That's a funny name. Are you flirting with me, kitten?" He winked.
"No." She rolled her eyes at his over-reaction gasp. "I'm making a different mocktail for myself now so you can try two types of mocktails tonight." She informed him as her hands now shaking the cocktail's shaker like the way she did before.
"Go on, try yours first. Its called Cuddle in the Beach. A non-alcoholic version of Sex in the Beach."
He chocked on his drink again when he heard the latter name. "How horny were them when they named this drink?"
She laughed and strained her mix into her glass and at the same time she watched him as he took another sip of his, waiting for his verdict. "Not bad, kitten. Might switch my favourite now."
She pouted and said, "Am I no longer your favourite?"
He smiled at her genuinely as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. "You're always my favourite."
She smiled and pushed her mocktail towards him. "Try this one. Its called Shirley Temple."
"Honestly what's with the names."
She continued telling him of other mocktails. Her hands moved animatedly as she explained the process, where she learnt it, why she preferred serving mocktails over cocktails, "I don't want drunkards near my books!" She then introduced him to mojito,
"mojito?" He asked.
"Yes. It's a Cuban drink. A mix of white rum, sugar, lime juice, soda water, and mint. It's spelled as M-O-J-I-T-O. But, pronounced as Moh-hee-toe."
He had no idea of the existence of cocktails and mocktails and moh-hee-toe, which should be an obvious telling that he wasn't part of the normal society; but she was too engross in her overly but well elaborated explanations to notice it. And him being all intrigued only flared her excitement more. He told her to teach him so he could show his skill off to his godson, and his thirst for learning had her beamed at him as bright as an afternoon sun and she hugged him excitedly saying, "of course, of course, of course!" After the topic of mocktails cooled down, he cleared his throat to start his story.
"Kitten, don't you want to know why I was naked?" He asked from his glass.
She laughed and put down her Shirley Temple and turned to face him. "Of course I want to know. I'd be crazy to not want to know what could be one of your best adventure, yet!"
He chuckled and he too put his drink down back on his given coaster to face her. "You see, I told you I have a godson right?"
"Yeah?"
He rubbed his neck awkwardly and closed his eyes as he spoke, "Well, he kind of make it his personal mission to get me settled down."
"I never asked you before, but how old are you actually?"
"I'm old, kitten. I'm 38."
She rolled her eyes. "Old? 38? Rubbish. From where I came from 38 is equal to 24. You look 24! Why the rush?"
"It just that, I was what people called manwhore when I was young. I slid from one partner to another quicker than I slid off my clothes. Men, women, I literally shagged everyone back in high school, except for my best mates and their partners or crushes tho'. That's fucked up." He smiled fondly at the mention of his friends. "But I've changed. I didn't sleep with any woman nor man ever since I got my godson back. I told you I only got him back when he was around thirteen to fourteen years old, right?"
She simply nodded.
"Ever since I found him, I tried my hardest to be the best father figure for him; to make it up for him, for all those lost years I wasn't there for him. Even before I found my godson back I didn't had a shag for about thirteen years. And until now, I haven't break my record yet so in total, I've been wearing my chastity belt, figuratively of course, for almostー" he paused and counted his fingers, "ーtwo decades? Wow. That's a long time."
"Really?" She hid her surprised face behind her mocktail's glass rim.
"Yeah. Twenty-four years to be exact. That's.. something. No wonder my godson's been shoving any single human he knows at me." He muttered under his breath but she heard him all well.
"And tonight?" She steered their conversation back.
He blushed and just like two weeks ago, she found it sickenly, completely, absurdly, endearing. His raven hair strayed to his blushing face, as if it was teasing her mad traitorous heart, which was beating like a jungle-drum now. Automatically, she tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear as she always did before, she had no idea what was happening to her, she felt like that usually very normal gesture for them seemed too intimate now for an action between friends.
Medre.
But he continued his story telling, thankfully, without noticing her confused face.
"It was my godson's wife's idea. She thought I needed the push, you know. So she kind of forcedー no. No, she didn't force her. She was willing to do it. One of her willing friend accepted her offer and she willingly jumped me while I was sleeping. I was pretty knackred today when I got home, I didn't even had the energy to eat. I just went straight to bed and passed out without a care of the world." And as if on cue, his stomach rumbled. He laid his palm on his stomach and sheepishly mumbled, "I'm sorry."
She laughed it off and pulled him up. "Let's continue this exciting story over dinner, shall we?" He grinned gratefully at her and followed her lead.
"Spaghetti's alright?"
"Sounds lovely, kitten."
She took out the ingredients and prompted him to continue his story while she cooks.
"So as I was saying, I was knackered. Literally passed out. I didn't even notice when she got on my bed and took off my clothes. I had no idea how she did it but I didn't even break a sleep when she did! Stealth, that she was. The only thing I remember was I felt so good down there and I thought I was just having a wet dream so I just enjoyed the feeling. But her moans got louder and it sounded so real. I started to panic. I forced myself to wake up and there she was straddling me to oblivion and fuck, I'm not even gonna lie it felt so fucking good I almost fell in to the temptation and when she bit my chest, which I love if it was a normal consentual shag, but it wasn't! So her biting didn't feel good at all. She bit me too hard!"
At this he pulled up his shirt and forced her to look.
"Kitten! Look!" He pointed at the bite mark on his chest and took her hand to touched it. She pinched it instead and he yelped.
"I meanー" Still rubbing on the spot where she pinched him and glare at her for better measure. "ーI love biting and all those kinky shit but to be bitten unwillingly while you're unconciuous, by someone you don't know, it was fucked up. It was really terrible. I felt bad for her. I felt bad for myself. Shit, I even felt bad for my godson's wife for ruining her "surprise"! So I pushed her away and apparaー appeared on your door."
She looked at him funnily. "So you're saying you ran here naked?"
He covered his face with both his hands now and just nodded twice as an idication. She saw how red his ears were and kissed him on top of his head telling him he could stay here for as long as he wanted before she continued with her cooking. He pulled down his hands a bit lower, just enough for his eyes, and studied her.
She was wearing his black long-sleeve shirt, rolled up on both hands. It looked baggy on her petite figure that he couldn't even tell if she wore any pants under it or not. Luck was on his side as his query now answered when she tip-toed to get some kind of green herb from the top cupboard, thus, hoisted his black shirt up, showing his green satin boxer fitted nicely on her. He grinned proudly, content to see his kitten in his clothes instead of one of her sodding brothers'.
Hold the fuck up. My kitten?
He stared at her, cooking while ranting at the same time about one of her funny customer today.
"ーhe ordered Virgin Mary, one of the mocktail, and acted drunk! It was really hard for me to hold my serious face when I told him "Mocktails is a non-alcoholic version of cocktails, dear. You might confused them both." Right infront of his friends and I swear his face was redder than his drinkー"
She was still talking but all he could think of was how perfect she was at that moment.
Fuck.