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captainfern · 2 months

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i’m still thinking of this post about price and you pretending you don’t know each other at a hotel and i’ve given in to the brain worms

part one | part two ->

18+ (no smut in this one but for future parts), fem!reader

un-edited, super lazy writing + formatting sorry

You sat idly at the bar, your finger running up and down the cool, smooth edges of your glass. You had one elbow propped up against the sleek wood, your body half-turned to watch whatever bullshit was playing on the tv above the shelves of expensive alcohol.

The hotel bustled around you, the bar itself busy with patrons moving to and fro. oftentimes, you felt slightly crowded, with bodies packing in beside you, ordering their poison before departing like a wraith. No one seemed to linger near the bar for too long.

“No company tonight?” The bartender asked, a dark-coloured dish towel tossed over her shoulder. She was a kind looking woman, in her late thirties you estimated, with flawless dark skin that seemed to glow beneath the ambiant lighting above.

You shook your head with a rueful smile. “Not tonight. Just enjoying my own company, I suppose.”

The bartender smiled politely. “Well, that’s nice. You here for business or pleasure?”

You took a sip of your drink, the taste of it washing over your tongue and continuing to put your nerves at ease.

“Pleasure, I think. It’s nice to get away from everything for a while, you know?” You said with your lips still brushing the cold glass, and you took another sip.

“I’m really happy for you,” the bartender smiled. Then, after being waved at by a drunken patron at the other end of the bar, added: “Give me a shout when you need a refill.” She then breezed away to continue her job.

You sighed through your nose, looking wistfully around the bar for a moment. When you returned to your drink, you let your eyes admire the kaleidoscope of colours that comprised the wall at the back of the bar— shelves upon shelves of glass bottles of different kinds of alcohol.

As your eyes alighted on a bottle of Bombay, the blue bottle glinting like some sort of diamond beneath the light, someone slotted into the barstool beside you. You didn’t take much notice, but when you caught a whiff of an expensive, masculine cologne, you couldn’t help but twist your head to the side.

A handsome man had settled in beside you. He was probably in his early forties, with neatly trimmed facial hair that perfectly settled between the angles of his face— his cheekbones, his jawline, the pinkish line of his Cupid’s bow. In the overhead lighting, all dim and moody, his eyes were dark, and his hair speckled with just a few grey strands.

He turned to face you the moment you looked his way, offering you a warm smile that made butterflies tickle the edges of your stomach. You smiled back, before taking another sip of your drink in an attempt to steel your nerves.

Signalling the bartender, he ordered his own drink, and the baritone of his voice had your stomach swooping. Deep and melodious, with a distinct hoarseness akin to a smoker of fine cigars. The rumble of it seemed to do wonders to your fraying nerves, acting as some sort of salve to cool the heat pulsing beneath your skin.

The man thanked the bartender when she placed a tumbler of whiskey before him, the single ball of ice clinking against the crystal. Once more, sending another deep swoop to your stomach, he turned to you with those deep, dark eyes and warm smile, raising his glass.

Your eyes traipsed over his fingers, the roughness of them, the calloused skin pressing against sleek glass. You noted the thickness of them, and the way they wrapped around the tumbler. You also noticed the couple of veins leading from his wrist and down his strong, hairy forearm. You swallowed, and hesitantly lifted your own glass.

“Cheers,” he said, smiling. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes, three lines chiseled into his skin over the years.

“Cheers,” you echoed, and the two of you took a moment to sip at your drinks. You swallowed yours, still looking at the man beside you.

He placed his tumbler of whiskey against the bartop, and then leaned an arm against the surface, swivelling his entire body around to face you. He made it known that you had his full, undivided attention. It made you nervous almost.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your alone time,” he spoke, and his words were honeyed and sweet, warm mollasses falling from his tongue. “Couldn’t help myself, really. A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left all on her lonesome.”

You smiled shyly, running the tip of your finger along the ring of your glass. “Oh, no, you’re not interrupting anything at all. I… I don’t mind the company, actually.”

The handsome man’s smile only grew, and it was so warm that you wondered if you’d start to melt.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “I’m John, by the way.”

He stretched his hand out. You introduced yourself, a first name that fell from your lips a bit more seductively than you had intended, and shook his hand. John seemed to beam at your introduction and the acceptance of his handshake, his broad-shouldered body sitting up just a bit straighter in his seat.

His hand was strong in yours. There was a warmth beneath his skin, seeping from his palm like ichor. It made your hand curl instinctively tighter around his, just a subtle squeeze of your fingers. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and it took everything in you not to gasp.

When you retracted your hand, John reached for his drink to take a sip.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said before he sealed his lips around the edge of the crystal tumbler. You watched the movement, before dragging your eyes downwards in a sudden realisation.

Your eyes locked in on his other hand, resting on his thick, muscular thigh— stretched out beneath a pair of faded jeans, making you feel warm all of a sudden. Again. His hand was bare. No wedding band. You looked back up at him.

“What brings you here?” You asked, cocking your head slightly as he brought his tumbler of whiskey back to the bartop.

John smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times, tasting the lingering bitterness of his liquor. He ran his tongue over his teeth, too, the potent drink seeping into the grooves of his molars. He wondered briefly whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him.

“A weekend break from work,” he replied simply.

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?”

“I’m in the Armed Forces. A captain.”

“Wow,” you said, impressed. “You must be a busy man.”

John chuckled, eyes meeting yours and darting quickly across your face, as if committing parts of you to memory. He replied with a light quirk in his lips. “I am, yeah.”

He then cleared his throat. “What about you? What brings you here?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just needed a little getaway from home, I suppose.”

“Oh, yeah?” It was John’s turn to cock his head, eyes darkening— if that was even possible— beneath the weight of his pupils, expanding as he gazed at you. “Treating yourself?”

“Mhm.”

“Good girl,” he uttered. “I bet you deserve it.”

You smiled, feeling giddy. Your eyes didn’t leave him, and the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach didn’t leave either. They continued, and the way he was looking at you wasn’t much of an insecticide. His gaze was intense, all whiskey smooth and molten hot. You squirmed in your seat.

Your knees brushed— his large ones against yours, and you swear you felt sparks. You wanted so desperately to place the flat of your hand along his leg, hold it there, smiling and bartering your eyelashes and mentally insisting he take you back to his room.

Oh my god. You’d never thought like this before! You would never usually want someone to whisk you back to their room, especially not someone from the bar of a fancy hotel.

But if it wasn’t for the way he was staring at you— hunger and a mixed-bag of lustrous emotions— you would’ve felt guilty. But you didn’t.

“Sweetheart,” John began with a voice that could ignite a fire on a damp winters day. It definitely ignited something within you, stoking at the embers of your desire. He smiled, heated and tempting. “I don’t mean to be forward but… if you’d like too, I’d love to take you back to my room.”

You felt a smile creep over your pretty features. “Wow, John, are you always this forward with the girls you meet?”

He laughed. “Never. You’d be the first.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Trust me. You’re the prettiest woman I have ever seen.”

You grabbed hold of your drink and downed the rest of it— just two swallows, and your glass shone empty. You placed it gently back onto the sleek surface of the bar, not taking your eyes off of the handsome man in front of you.

“I’d love to go back to your room, John.”

Something shifted in his facial expression. Something primal, almost, passing over his features. With blown pupils and a rush of pink to his cheeks, he finished the rest of his whiskey in a couple of deep mouthfuls, before slamming the tumbler back onto the bartop.

The sound attracted the bartender, who sidled over with a knowing smile on her face. “Closing your tab, sir?”

“Please,” John said with a polite nod, getting to his feet. He then placed a hand to the small of your back as you clambered off of your barstool as well. “And put this lovely lady’s drinks on my tab as well.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look, but said nothing. And once everything had been sorted for the evening, John escorted you out of the bar and into the luxurious hotel lobby with a large hand still on the small of your back.

Walking, and with the lifts in sight, John pulled you closer to him, close enough that you giggled at the sensation of him pressed up against you. He smiled, leaning down until his facial hair tickled against the soft skin of the side of your face.

“I must say, you look absolutely stunning tonight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice like heaven in your ear. Then, the hand on the small of your back smoothed around your waist, holding you impossibly closer, fingers bunching at the material of your outfit. “But I can’t wait to take this pretty thing off.”

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