puckandpie | [4/25] baking and a movie

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[4/25] baking and a movie

I've honestly been really good about not asking to use Jack's oven too much since mine got replaced by poor, broken Betsy a couple months ago. For the most part, I keep my baking to Semele's kitchen and the cat cafe and, when really in a crunch, Derek's commissary.

It's late tonight though. Too late for both Semele's and the cat cafe and Derek's place just seems so far. So I've broken down and asked Jack and, of course, he's been far too gracious in letting me take over his kitchen for a few hours.

Maybe it helps that I bribed him with the promise of half a batch of maple cream cookies, but it's probably just as likely that Jack is being nice. If absolutely nothing else, he's too Canadian to slam the door in my face.

Macha and Shannon are clearly enjoying my efforts, both nearly as bad as Elvis as far as being underfoot at least until Jack gets them under control in the other room where he's watching something that involves a lot of cannons, Denzel Washington, and the guy who was Wesley in The Princess Bride.

Once the last batch of cookies is out and cooling, I let out a breath and slip out of my apron before wandering into the other room. For a moment or two, I just let myself take in the breadth of Jack's shoulders, the hard lines of his beautiful profile. He looks good like this, warm and comfortable in his own space, not trying to be anyone other than exactly who he is.

Tamping down on the nerves in my belly, I carefully step over Macha to join Jack on the couch, Shannon curled up between us.

"I'll have those cookies I promised you ready in just about fifteen minutes," I tell him, smiling faintly over at him. "Thanks again for letting me use your oven, Jack. I really really appreciate it."

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I sort of overworked myself at the gym earlier, and it's led to me throwing in the towel and calling it a lazy evening. I'm tired but it's too early for bed yet, so I curl up on the sofa and find a movie to put on. Bittle comes over at some point to use the kitchen, and honestly it's nice. Laying on the couch and watching TV with the sounds of Bittle baking something in the background sort of reminds me of being back home, and I'm sleepy enough to let myself linger in the fantasy.

My eyes open slowly when Bittle joins me on the couch and I give him a sleepy smile, shaking my head a bit as I look over at him. "Mm. De rien, mon chou. I won't turn down your cookies, but you don't need to bribe me."

I move to sit up and Shannon apparently doesn't appreciate all the shuffling, because he hops off of the sofa with a huff to go and join Macha. The sudden empty space sends me toppling over and I land with my head on Bittle's thigh. I laugh, but it's comfortable and warm so instead of getting up I just stay there and let out a soft hum as I hook my arm around Bittle's leg and use his thigh as my pillow, my eyes barely cracked open as I watch the movie.

Shannon never seems all that big until he's on me, one paw right in the middle of my thigh before he hops down to join Macha. The sudden difference in weight distribution sends Jack falling forward, right onto my lap, and that's actually a lot more alarming than Shannon's paw.

"Oh," I murmur, every muscle in my body going tense as Jack rests his head on my thigh, right over where Shannon just had all his weight.

Jack's head is a lot softer though. And nicer.

He hooks an arm over my leg too and I suddenly have no idea what to do, where to put my hands. "That's, uhm. You sure you're comfortable?" I ask him, resisting the urge to rest my hand on his shoulder or, worse, curl in my fingers through his hair. Jack's never really been weird about me touching him, but that... that might be too much for bros, I think.

"Yeah," I breathe out, nuzzling my cheek against his thigh. It's insanely comfortable, and I stretch my legs out across the other end of the sofa. "Is this okay?"

Being close to Bittle like this is easy in a way it's never really been with anyone else. It isn't hard to reach out for him, to take comfort from him, and I'm grateful for that. "You make a good pillow."

Oh mother of mercy, he actually nuzzles his face against my thigh then, shifting to stretch his legs out fully across the couch. I swear I just stop breathing for a moment and I'm glad the movie's still on, the sounds of a battle hopefully drowning out the sound of my thumping heartbeat.

"I'm-- oh. I'm glad, that's..." I trail off and force myself to breathe, to reign in and get some control. "Of-- Of course it's okay."

Jack Zimmermann is currently stretched out on my couch with his head in my lap. He isn't drunk and I really don't think he's on any medication other than his normal dosage. He's choosing to be here.

So, carefully, I let my hands settle, one resting lightly over his upper arm, making sure to keep my fingers on fabric, the other right atop his head, petting the soft, dark hair, light and tentative. I'll stop if he asks me too, of course. For the moment, though, I can indulge a little.

"You seem exhausted. Jack, do you... I can leave you be if you want to go to bed. I've taken up so much of your time tonight already. I don't mind just cleanin' up the kitchen and letting myself out."

Bittle's hands come to rest on me, one moving through my hair, and my breath seems to catch before coming out a little easier. I even turn my head slightly into the touch, fingers tightening around Bittle's knee.

"No, no. It's okay," I assure him, shaking my head a little. I don't want Bittle to go, and I open my eyes to look at the screen. "Stay."

Edited 2016-04-28 03:09 (UTC)

Jack moves again, just a slight turn of his head and, for a second, I think he's trying to subtly shake my hand away. But then I realize he's actually pressing into the touch.

My heart flips right inside my chest and I let out another shaky breath before lightly carding my fingers though his hair.

"Okay," I manage a moment later, refusing to let myself see too much in the tone of his voice despite how desperately I'd like to. "But if you fall asleep and start droolin' on me, I might have to do something drastic," I tell him, desperately needing to make him laugh and break the tension that's winding tight all around me.

I huff out a laugh at that, more an exhalation of air than anything, but I smile wide with my eyes closed as I lean further into his touch. It's soothing, and in that moment I feel calm. I feel safe.

"And what would this something drastic be, mon chou?" I murmur, the words rolling thick and heavily accented off of my tongue. "You deal with cat drool and dog drool, but French Canadian drool is where you draw the line?""

His laugh is warm and soft and so so sweet. Instinctively, my fingers curl just a little against his scalp, almost something like a massage before I remember myself and go back to just petting him gently.

His accent's coming out stronger, I notice, a sure sign that he's really really sleepy and I smooth my other hand over his back. "Haven't thought that far ahead, honestly," I tell him. "Probably shove you off my lap in disgust. Make Macha sit on you." It's a tease, obviously. Maybe... maybe just shy of flirting. I honestly can't tell.

Sometimes these days I just don't know how to make heads or tails of anything when it comes to Jack. I don't know how much is stuff I just wanna see and how much is really there.

"Mm, that felt good," I breathe out, frowning a bit when he pulls his fingers away. I twist around so that I can look up at him, and his hand slides from my back to my chest with the motion. The smile I give him is soft and fond, and I laugh a little. "Now, that would be rude. I thought you were a sweet Southern boy?"

Oh. Goodness. That tone to his voice is not likely to leave my mind for awhile.

My breath catches just a little when he moves again, this time to roll onto his back, his head still pillowed on my lap, sleep blue eyes looking right up at me as my one hand settles over his chest. I have to try real hard to not look as flustered as I feel and I'm not sure how well I succeed.

"Well, it's rude to drool!" I tell him with a quick, nervous laugh. "I didn't say I'd shove you hard. It'd be a gentle shove. A nice one."

"I can't control my bodily functions, Bittle," I say haughtily, but I can't help but to laugh. "Is there such a thing as a nice shove?"

I reach up and place my hand on his chest, shoving him gently back against the sofa. Macha lets out a bark and jumps up to plant her paws on the edge of the sofa cushions. The sudden dip of the cushions make me slip and my eyes widen as I grapple at Bittle's shirt.

"Oh!" I slip off of the sofa and land on my ass on the floor, laughing as Macha licks at my cheeks. "See, I got the drool. Are you happy now?"

I nearly point out that he manages to control most of his other bodily functions as far as I know, but my words turn into soft, affronted squawk instead when he shoves me back into the cushions.

Laughing, I swat at his arm but all the commotion manages to get Macha excited and she quickly jumps up to join, her weight making Jack slip right off the edge, but not before he's grappling at my shirt and nearly taking me with him.

Macha's all over him, nosing his cheeks and licking him all over, her tail a-wagging. I can't help but laugh, honestly and I reach out, petting my hand over Macha's back before gently taking her by the collar to pull her away from where she's currently assaulting Jack's face. "You got what you deserved, Mr. Zimmermann," I tell him, grinning down at where he's still half sprawled on the floor. "Bet you're real awake now."

"What I deserved, huh?" I huff, all affronted, and then I reach up and grab Bittle's hand. I drag him down on top of me and wrap an arm around him, laughing when Macha starts snuffling behind Bittle's ear.

"Nah, I could still go for a nap," I say with a chuckle.

Jack has a solid fifty pounds of muscle and the element of surprise on his side which, I swear, is the only reason I go toppling. Macha doesn't help of course, her nose right in my ear as I land half sprawled across Jack's chest.

"Jack!"

It comes out as nearly a squeak and I'm actually glad for Macha's cold, wet nose because it means I can hide my face -- which I'm positive is bright red now -- away from Jack's view. At least for a few seconds. His arm curls over me then and I swear every muscle in my body is tense as I try to figure out exactly what's going on. I'm laying on him because he pulled me down here. This... I mean, I guess it could be classified as horseplay, just boys being boys.

But.

But Jack knows I'm gay. Even if he doesn't how I feel about him specifically, he has to know how I might interpret this. And I don't... I don't know what that means. Jack's never struck me as the type to toy with anyone; his mind doesn't really work that way.

But he's straight. I don't know many straight boys who just pull their male friends on top of them like this.

Goodness, I can feel him breathing, feel how warm he is beneath the soft fabric of his sleep shirt.

I can't... I can't do this. He'll know.

"I should, uhm," I manage, feeling something tight in my chest as I try to push myself off, "I should put the cookies up before they get stale."

I'm doing my best not to think, and just act. I'm too tired for thinking, so I just let my body do what it wants. And what it wants, apparently, is to keep Bittle close. It's no surprise, really. These days, I always want to keep Bittle close.

"The cookies will be fine, mon chou," I murmur, tightening my grip around Bittle's shoulders so that he can't get up. Macha seems to get bored of us and wander off with a huff, and I turn my head to press my nose to Bittle's soft golden hair. "Mm, you smell like maple. And dog spit."

Jack's arm is warm and heavy over my shoulders and I don't for a second doubt I could pull out from his grip if I really wanted to. He wouldn't fight me even if he is bigger and stronger.

And I'm just weak enough to not want to fight this at all. Even if Jack is toying with me, some part of me wants to just indulge. If only for tonight. It's not right, I know. He's tired and, in some way, I'm probably taking advantage, but good Lord, a boy can only fight so much.

My heart feels like it's about to beat right out of my chest, especially when he turns to nuzzle my head, close enough I can feel warm air against my ear. Oh goodness. Oh, goodness.

A laugh pushes out of me then though my face is still on fire. I keep it ducked away as I give him a light punch on the arm. "The dog spit's your fault. No chirping."

"No, no chirping. It's kind of nice," I tell him. Darrow is a strange place, and I'll always know that I don't really belong here, but I have sort of carved a space for myself. There's Bittle and the constant smell of baked goods, along with the dogs, and they all come together to make something that feels a little like home. Bittle and pies and slobbering dogs. That's home.

I blink a few times as the thought settles in my mind, and I look down at the top of Bittle's head as I wrap my arm tighter around him. He's soft and warm and I swear that I can feel his heart beating against my chest. We lay there like that for awhile, quiet, and for some reason it makes me think of Parse. He's such an unwelcome intrusion into my thoughts during such an otherwise perfect moment, and for a few beats I'm left utterly confused.

But then I realize.

Laying here with Bittle like this makes me think of all the the almost moments with Kenny. It's like what we could have had if we hadn't rolled away from each other as soon as we were done. We almost had this. Maybe we could have if either of us had wanted it a little more, if either of us had any idea what we were doing.

I still don't know what I'm doing, or why lying here like this with Bittle makes me think of being next to Kenny, both of us panting and spent, struggling to catch our breath before we got up and moved away from each other.

Bittle is nothing like Kenny, nothing like him at all, so why is my traitorous brain suddenly comparing them? Kenny has no place here in this quiet, peaceful moment. For a few moments I'm just so angry at my own stupid head, but then something clicks.

I wanted those almost moments. I wanted the quiet and the calm, the peacefulness that came with being at someone's side and listening to them breathe. I wanted all of that, but I didn't want it with Kenny.

Bittle makes a soft noise and I look down at the top of his head, eyes widening slightly. Bittle is soft and warm, smells like home, and being with him like this feels like all those moments I almost got to have.

Oh.

He lifts his head and looks at me, and I can't tear my gaze away from those big brown eyes, so warm and kind in a way that Kenn-- Parse would never be able to imitate. He blinks, and I watch the sweep of his honey-colored lashes like I'm in a trance.

Oh.

My nose wrinkles again and I let out a laugh, weirdly charmed by the idea that Jack finds the smell of dog spit nice. This boy, I swear.

Forcing myself to relax a little, I take a breath, and push up enough so I can turn my head and look at him. His arm is still heavy over me, a strangely comforting weight across my shoulders and he smells like soap and boy and... and his face is very very close, I realize. A lot closer than I'd been counting on which is just stupid. I know it's stupid. I'm laying on him, after all. It only makes sense.

But.

Jack is staring at me, his blue eyes wide and dark and... I don't know what that look on his face is. I don't know what it means. My stomach tightens, breath caught high in my throat for a second before I manage a quiet, "Jack?"

Part of me wonders if he's about to have another panic attack, if I pushed something too far by not moving off him, if he's suddenly realized exactly the position we're in and doesn't know how to pull away without seeming like a jerk, without hurting my feelings.

But part of me... part of me wonders if maybe he feels something. Maybe. As delusional as it might be, well. Maybe.

"Jack, are... are you okay?"

It takes Bittle saying my name a second time for me to be able to blink, to breathe, and I do both as my arm tightens just a fraction around him. "No-- yeah, I'm fine."

Am I?

I remember this vague panic, the kind I first felt when Kent Parson caught my lingering gaze in a locker room. My first thought, then and always, was hockey. I couldn't jeopardize my career just because my stomach got all hot and tight at the thought of a boy.

But-- but I don't have a career here. I have nothing to lose and that in itself is dizzying enough that I have to curl my fingers in Bitty's shirt. His clothes are always so little, so tight, and his shirt rides up to reveal a pale hip.

I have to take a breath and come back down to earth. Even if I did want something with Bittle (merde, do I want something with Bittle?) there's nothing to say that he would want me back. Bittle is attractive and charming and friendly. He's full of warmth and talent and the ability to open his mouth and speak without tripping over the words.

And what am I? I'm just a robot running software that doesn't even work here. I'm... Why would he want me?

"Just zoned out," I manage to say, doing my best not to sound like my world just tilted on its axis. I swallow hard and let go of his shirt, smoothing it back down over his hip. "You good?"

Fuck.

Whatever ridiculously stupid little balloon of hope I had puffing up inside me pops in an instant. It shouldn't be surprising, I know. Jack's straight. I know he's straight. And even if he wasn't, he's not the type of boy to want someone like me.

I just wish it didn't hurt so darn bad.

He smooths a hand over my hip, pushing my shirt back in place where I know it's ridden up, politely covering me in a way that reeks of discomfort. I can feel heat already flooding my face, my ears burning, and I duck away quick, my forehead to his shoulder and force a slow, steady breath. My eyes prickle, but I refuse to let myself cry. Not now. Not in front of Jack. It's not his fault he doesn't want me.

"Yeah, I'm. I'm good."

Staying here, staying draped over him on the floor, feeling his heartbeat under mine and every breath he takes is like sweet, awful torture. But if I move, it'll be weirder, I think. It'll call attention to this tension between us. Jack is my absolute best friend here and I know I'm important to him too, I know I'm just about the only support system he has here. And that should be enough. It will be enough.

Right now, I just can't convince my heart is all.

I close my eyes and count to five, let out a breath. When I open them again, Macha's eying me from a few feet away, her tail thumping lightly on the floor. I can't even bring myself to smile at her.

Bittle goes tense, goes red and doesn't look at me, and I feel panic rise in my chest. Was what I was thinking written all over my face?

I swallow hard and gently roll Bittle onto his side and sit up, tugging my fingers through my messy hair.

"I should, uh-- I have to take the dogs out," I say quietly, pulling myself up to my feet. Their leashes are hanging by the door and they run up to sit in front of me, tails thumping, as I hook them to their collars.

My breathing is coming in shorter little pants and my fingers tremble as I reach for the knob. "I'll be right back."

I head out of the apartment and lead the dogs out into the cool night air, sucking in deep breaths and wondering why I always have to make things so difficult for myself.

Without a word, Jack gently eases me off, sliding away once I'm rested on my side. I honestly don't even know what's happening anymore, but it's obvious I've made him uncomfortable and I watch, equal parts mortified and worried as he rushes to grab Macha and Shannon's leashes.

He doesn't invite me to go with him, which means I've probably freaked him out enough he needs to get away or he's having some kind of panic and needs to breathe.

Either way, it's clear I've messed up. Badly.

"Okay, I'll--" But he's gone before I can finish and as soon as the door is closed, I sit for a moment, the apartment so quiet and still without the sounds of Macha's and Shannon's eager puppy noises.

And then I let myself crumble. I've never felt so small, curled up on the floor of Jack's living room, hugging my knees and just wishing and hoping and praying that the floor would just swallow me up. I want to go back before all these feelings hit, back when Jack was just my captain and my extremely attractive friend, back before I made the stupid, stupid mistake of falling for a straight boy.

I want to go home.

I have no idea how much time passes before I manage to wrestle myself under control, but I know I can't let Jack find me crying in the middle of his living room. I can't let him feel worse than he already does. So I force myself to take a few breaths and wipe furiously at my cheeks. Pushing to my feet, I hurry to clean up the mess I've made in his kitchen, carefully packing up all the cookies I promised and leaving them in a little tin on his counter.

Then, after wiping at my face one last time, I gather my pots and pans and my bagful of flour and sugar and I head for the door.

I take a few deep breaths and calm myself, watching the dogs nose at the grass, and then I realize just how rude it was to just up and leave like that. Fuck, I'm so bad at being a person.

The dogs come quickly when I let out a short whistle, and we make our way quickly back upstairs. I grab the knob and push my door open, swinging into the apartment and-- directly into Bittle. White powder explodes in a cloud around us and I blink as I stare down at him, flour settling into our hair and onto our shoulders.

There's a mound of it on the floor, and Macha immediately throws herself into it with a happy yip. "Uh-- sorry."

The door opens right when I get to it, the edge catching the back of my hand, knocking the bag of flour and sugar to the floor, white spilling all over the hard wood.

"Oh--! Oh no."

Macha and Shannon go nuts, of course, tails wagging as they sniff at all the white and I hurry to set down the pots and pans so I can try to grab Macha by her collar and yank her off.

"Goodness, Jack, I'm so sorry. Macha, please, sweetheart. I know you're excited, but I need to take care of this mess."

I barely look at Jack as I try to wrangle Macha into the bathroom for now, too afraid that if I meet those blue eyes, I'll just burst into tears all over again.

"No, no. That was totally my fault," I assure him, following him towards the bathroom with Shannon in tow. He doesn't seem to have made a mess of himself, so I lock him in my bedroom while Bitty gets Macha in the bathroom. She'll need a bath, but for now we can deal with the floor.

I go to get a broom and dust pan, and when I get back Bitty looks so upset that I have to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. "Hey, it's just a floor, eh? We can clean it up. Don't worry about it, mon petit."

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