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whosxafraid · 6 years

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Jayden and Luka for the Married Life

Meme: Married Life Meme Status: CLOSED

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

Shame. He has it. But not about physical things. At least not a lot. And there’s a certain sort of walk mortals talk about; that you do the morning after. Walk of Shame, if he’s got that right. But that’s not the sort of walk he’s doing is it? Even if for a second he thinks about pulling on lounge pants and a shirt, but she’s already seen what he usually hides from the world….So in nothing more than what he was born in, he gets up. Stepping on clothes that had been shed last night because tunnel vision is one hell of a drug.

Gets the coffee started. Checks the fridge. Realizes they’ll have to go out for breakfast because he’s all out of eggs. Something brushed off for the time being, as he allows the door to fall back shut of it’s own volition. Back to the window to clear the bowl of creme and throw away the burned out candle. The slightest of twitches to his lips, because he doesn’t know why he bothers hoping things will change.

Off to the table, clicking on the tv. Switching it to the morning news, while he surfs through the supernatural want ads. Don’t knock it. Once in a while there’s a high paying job in these things. Not everyone could know him by word of mouth. Why? Because that takes part of the fun out of it. The coffee pings and not a moment later he picks up the tread of feet.

“Mornin’, love. Coffees ready. Be moi’ndin’ bringin’ me o’mug?”

A noise that sounds like agreement so he leaves her be. At least until a handfull of his ass is getting groped.

Ya know most people at least put on pants when they get up in the morning.

“Aye. Mos’ people do.”

forgets to run the dish washer

Time is…rather relative when you don’t age. And getting back from a job can be at any hour. Today it happens to be at two in the afternoon. He’s hungry. He’s tired. And he just wishes he could eat and sleep at the same time. But even he can’t manage that one. So eat first it is. Or would be if not for the fact the dishwashers not full of clean dishes. A minimal sigh, that pulls shoulders down into the dirt.

Okay, plan b. The steak gets put directly on the eye of the stove. Turned over twice. Picked up with tongues, then juggled between his hands a few moments before a chunk is bitten out of it. And that would have been the end of it if she hadn’t come home early. Stopped dead center in the kitchen door way, one brow lifted, like him with a pratically raw steak hanging out of his mouth is the weirdest thing she’s seen all week. Which by the way? He knows would be a lie if she tried it.

“In me de’fense? S’no’ d’weir’est d’ing ye be walkin’ in on me doin’….”

Did you just quote Tony Stark?

“Maybe?”

And there’s a tired grin around the pound of flesh between his teeth. At least until he pulls. Tearing off a bite and chewing.

Just….try not to get any on the floor and wipe up the stove. My mother’s coming over.

“Aye, love. As ye loi’ke.”

pumps gas for the car

It’s one little stop over. I don’t see why you’re…

“Oi’ said no. oi’dunna go d’ere less oi’absolutely have ta.”

Out of the car, leaving the door open. Pushing and pulling a card out. Punching in his pin. Punching the gas selection. He really hated rentals. But it couldn’t be helped.

Have you seriously scheduled every flight you ever taken to compensate for not even wanting to BE in England’s air space?

“Aye. An’ oi’ dunna plan on stoppin’ now, jus’cause i’be shavin’ an hour off travel toi’me.”

Luka this is ridiculous. It’s been what? Twelve hundred years? Let-it-go!

He shuts the driver’s door without response. He’s not going to continue this argument right now. And he lets his ears settle to the clicking of the gas pump. Let it go? Over his damned dead body, he will.

drives when they’re going somewhere

They’ve been driving for a half hour. Not a word between them. And this is not at all how he’d pictured driving to through the Italian country side but here they are. And there’s a small huff, as he lets the window down. Lights up. He’s not going to break the silence, because he’s not going to bend. Not on this. Even if he knows in his heart of hearts of hearts–it is a little stupid. But he’s bitter and he’s been bitter about that one thing for ages.

Fine. There’s a flight out of tomorrow night. Take an extra two hours but the lay overs in Iceland. Happy?

“Aye.”

She’s upset. But he’s not going to apologize for it. Not yet anyway.

rearranges the furniture

It starts with not leaving her be while she attempts to make herself tea. Hands where they shouldn’t be going at one in the afternoon. Hands that get soundly popped, thrice. So he backs off for all of fifteen seconds. Trying again from a different angle behind the couch. Hands on her shoulders that don’t waste a lot of time sinking further down as teeth nibble at her neck. And this time she’s got a hold of his nose. Pulling him up by it.

What’s gotten into you? I told you not right now. I have a meeting to get to in an hour.

“D’at’s plen’y o’toi’me….soi’des how ye expect me ta be keepin’ me hands ta meself when ye smell loi’ke ye do?”

And he’s pushing forward. Stealing a kiss. And there go his hands again. Wandering places he knows will get him what he wants.

Luka O’Ria–

And there’s a dawning sort of sun that rises over her entire being. Because it clicks and oh no. Oh god damn. And there really isn’t a fairness in making him wait. But she’s going to put up her best defense anyway. Because the chase is all part of the process.

So before he can react, she’s faded out of his hold. Appeared again behind the arm chair, and he moving with that one speed he usually saves for when he’s working. And the first thing to fall is the coffee table. The next the couch that’s tipped over, and the frame of it cracking under the pressure. The shattering of a light bulb when the lamp bites the dust. And by the end of it, one would think a small war had occurred in the loft.

Books knocked off shelves, furniture split open and/or split in half entirely. Scatch marks in the wood floors the same as in flesh. And in the middle of it all, the heated pair of them. Echos still drifting on the air, walls settling back into place from the pressure. And if there’s one thing for sure? She’s going to be late, just like he’s going to be furniture shopping after she leaves.

falls asleep with the TV on

Sometimes she can’t sleep. Sometimes he can’t. The only difference is how they handle it. And though each other doesn’t know it…the other always wakes up. The only difference is how they handle that too. But tonight’s a little different isn’t it? Because she wakes up a second time and he’s not come back to bed. The easy sound of water shifting as he cuts up and down the pool isn’t there. And well she can hardly be blamed can she?

Blanket wrapped snugly around her, treading lightly over wood panels. And to be honest she’d expected to find him bent over his table. Researching or working his way through plans for a job but what she finds…

He’s asleep. Head propped up by one hand, in his chair. The record player near by skipping off its track. And she’s twice as careful and quiet after that. Moving the book that’s been threatening to slide out of his lap for who knows how long, to the table. Hanging up the record needle and switching it off; along with the lamp. Pulling his head away from his hand, to lay it back against the chair, that she reclines. No sense in him waking up with a crik in his neck. Then comes the blanket. Cast over him as gently as possible, and there’s a small wince when a rather canine quaffle escapes him. But thankfully he doesn’t wake up. And Jay? She slips off back to bed. Not to say a word about it come morning.

gets to use the bathroom first

Sometimes but not always she wakes up first. Lays there in the stillness of the pre-dawn, wondering how she got here. Where she’d be if she wasn’t here. But then the quiet clink of metal and brown is drawn to the familiar looking up at her from across the room. And that’s her que isn’t it?

She gets up. Quiet and slow so as not to wake him. Not that she thinks a canon going off could do that right now. He’s probably still got enough alchol in his system (to numb the hole in his shoulder), to kill three horses. Something that is only emphasized by the way his hand slides from her middle. Flopping dead weight on the bed that’s already cooling with her absence.

Then it’s off to the bathroom. To shower and find clothes for the day. They’re not normal…they’ll never be that. But every once in a while it’s nice to pretend that they are. And she’ll let him sleep, while she lets Prue out before getting started on breakfast. Because canon fire might not rouse him, but the scent of sweet bread and bacon? That can raise the dead. Just don’t ask her how she knows that.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

I’m back!—-Luka?

“Up here, love.”

Holy shit, what the fuck are yo—

“Fan no’ runnin’. M’replacin’ d’rotor.”

How the hell did you even–

“Pulley ropes. Installed ‘em when oi’ renovated d’place.”

And there’s a few seconds where she’s just standing there with the bag of groceries. Open mouthed staring up into the ceiling where all she can really see are his swinging feet and the occasional flash of red hair. But then she’s shaking it off the almost surreal feeling of it all. Because how long ago had he renovated? The truth is? She doesn’t want to know. It’ll just make her feel like she’s five and remind her he’s older than the dirt her great five times removed grandmother was buried in. And she almost laughs when a question comes drifting down from the ceiling.

“D’ink ye can be doin’ me o’favor and flippin’ d’eigh’d breaker switch?”

sets up holiday decorations

Incessant knocking. And even though it takes him only a few seconds to open it, the person–or rather familiar–on the other side huffs. Pushes her way inside a bit frantically. Tinsel stuck in her hair and garland hanging off her shoulders. A crooked set of reindeer horns half cocked on her head.

Save me.

“From wha’, lass? Ye look loi’ke ye go’o’ttacked boi’y d’at wan’o’be elf.”

Jay. She’s decorating the shop and everything i–wait you’ve met Santa?!

“In passin’….”

Get out!

“Ye know fer o’magical bein’ ye no’ really me’ many people have ye?”

Well I mean yea I have but n—oh no. HIDE ME SHE’S COMING.

leaves the lights on

Sentimental.

There was a time when she’d gone. Disappeared out of his life as quick as a snowflake melts on his tongue. And he’d been forced to move on. Forced to pick up and keep going, because what choice did he have? Though it gnawed at him for decades. More so than any of the others that had come before her. And company…was not sought after in the wake of her. At least not in the same form.

And once a year, every year he’d put a candle of another kind in the window by his reading chair. Tall and strong. The kind of wick meant to burn slow and last well into the wee hours of the morning. And when he rose the next day it was cleared the same as the flameless light by the bowl of creme in the kitchen. So the routine became habit, until he’d stopped thinking his way through the ritual.

Stopped remembering every candle marked another birthday spent without her. Because the day wasn’t important it was the year in between. And though he knew in the bottom of his soul she had to be gone, the kind of gone mortals do not return from, by the fiftieth time, he’d carried onward through the decades.

The corpse of every single tower of wax still encases the single candle holder. Collecting dust now on a shelf. Its existence forgotten most days, because against odds he’d never imagined, she’d come back. So it is left to the ages of the past, where he has every intention of leaving it. Though he never finds the heart to throw it out. It had been his first birthday candle after all.

uses the bathroom with the door open

There are things. That no matter how old you become. No matter how weird the things are that you’ve seen…there is something utterly alien about what he’s currently staring at. Coffee filtering steam up into the air in front of him. To the point that he hasn’t moved in the last thirty seconds. To the point what the feck doesn’t even begin to cover it so it never makes it out of his mouth. Though it suddenly makes sense why the toilet paper would be torn off at weird angles periodically.

The sound of flushing, and then the clitter clatter of claws on the tile turning to wood panels. An annoyed sort of quaffle as the familiar goes click clacking by him. And honestly? He needs another few seconds to process it all; before he turns on his heel and vacates the door way. Because nope. He’s not had near enough coffee to calculate all the ways that didn’t add up. Only to get as far as the kitchen before remembering he had to piss. And its back round again, giving Jay nothing more than a single pointer finger, when she asks if he wants his eggs scrambled or fried.

One thing at a time.

One.thing.at.a.time.

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

How should I know?! It just stopped pumping.

Hands up because okay, okay. And back down he goes. Cramming himself into a space he really should not be able to fit at all. Bending in ways he knows his back is going to be punishing him for later. But right now all that matters is getting the pump to the latte machine working. Before Jayden goes nuclear…literally.

Something turned….something else tightened. Flashlight between his teeth starting to taste like lead.

“Proi’y i’mouw.”

What?!

A sigh, worming his way back out. Yanking the flash light out of his mouth.

“Troi’y i’now.”

And there’s a second where he will never admit he’s holding his breath, because if that doesn’t do it….whirling and something fires off and there it goes. The vibration of the pump that’s the tell tell sign hot water is on it’s way up to fill the tank reserve in the machine.

YES!

It almost looks as though she’s going to hug it, instead opting to kiss its metal front; before she’s turning to him. Grabbing his face and planting one right on his lips. And ya know? The last thirty minutes of being squashed in the space too small for a toddler becomes completely worth it. Cob webs still stuck in his hair and beard regardless.

#anonymous #[3495834 years later my dude i am so srry it took this long]#moncaí || jayden morgan #Her Hands Are In His Hair His Clothes Are In Her Room || Jayde and Luka #tra la la la la || main verse #return to sender || answered asks #morgansmornings

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