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“Nonsense,” slurred Izzy. “Apartment is just around the corner. Sleep on the couch.”
The thought that this was a bad idea had long since slipped from Izzy’s mind.
In all fairness, he’d meant for Frenchie to sleep on his couch. But then, he’d meant to just do one drink. Clearly, there’d been more than one drink between them.
Somehow the pair had managed to make it to Izzy’s apartment without falling into an oncoming car or Frenchie getting recognized and derailing the little meeting. They hadn’t been able to pass Izzy’s doorframe without falling over each other though.
And grabbing each other.
And pulling each other closer...
“Do tell more,” grinned Edward.
“I don’t remember,” Izzy moaned into the table.
“That’s a bold-faced lie,” laughed Ed. “What happened next? Did you kiss him? You totally kissed him didn’t you! What about, you know, down there? That cause pause or did he just go for it?”
Later, Izzy would deny the words that left his lips. However, he was currently still suffering from a god damn terrible hangover, and his tongue was working faster than his brain. Izzy mumbled out, “I told him I didn’t have a dick.”
“Straightforward. Very you. Please go on.”
“He said ‘neeto’ and ate me out.”
Ed howled with laughter. His hand slapped the table. A few eyes looked over, but no one was sat near enough to hear their conversation.
Izzy groaned even as his mind fell back on last night. Splayed out on his own bed. One knee propped up. The room spinning if he moved his head too quickly. Every movement and touch feeling slow and sluggish as Frenchie’s tongue traveled over his clint and kissed his flesh and his fingers rubbed lazy circles into Izzy’s hips. Izzy unable to remember when they’d exactly gotten into that position and not being able to comprehend that it would ever end as Frenchie tasted Izzy on his tongue and pulled his hips closer to his lips. Just the fucking memory had Izzy clenching and his throat tightening.
“I see the blush on the back of your neck. Do tell more!”
“Shut up. And please keep it down,” moaned Izzy. He sat back. His eyes remained squeezed shut against the bright lights of the diner. Why had he agreed to meet Ed at all? Oh, that’s right. Because Izzy hadn’t shown up for work and he never didn’t show up to work without proper notice and Ed had been one missed phone call away from breaking into his apartment. Izzy could have let him, but somehow letting Edward into the scene of the crime had felt worse. Hence reluctantly getting dressed and stumbling out to the diner. “I’m dead.”
“You’re not going to hell Iz.”
“My career is. I slept with a client.” Fuck! He’d actually slept with a client!
“Former client. A former client who was very appreciative of what an excellent job you did and just showed it in a...very unique way.”
“Neither of us intended to fall in bed together!”
“Which is why it’s even stupider you’re beating yourself up over it!” exclaimed Ed. “You’re both adults no longer tied by client-attorney privileges. I say go for it.”
“Go for what? It was a drunk fuck Ed.”
Ed’s face softened in a way that usually made Izzy scowl. Right now, it was especially making his head hurt.
“You know, ever since Stede—”
“Don’t.”
Ed wasn’t deterred. “You need someone, Iz. Maybe not like that, but everyone still needs people, mate. And I don’t think I’m that anymore. I’ve felt you pulling away and I just hate to see you lonely.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself Edward.” If anything, Izzy should have said Ed was selling himself short, but he wasn’t going to boost Ed’s ego like that.
“My point is, don’t look a gifted horse in the mouth. Or in this case a well-endowed musician.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You didn’t have to. Saw it in the way you walked—” Izzy kicked him hard under the table “—which is pretty damn impressive considering how drunk you say you both were.”
“Impressive or not, you realize how fucked up it is? Right? I was his lawyer! On a stalking case of all things,” Izzy moaned again, both at the memory and his own voice. He’d yelled too loudly. His head hit the table again as he quickly put his arms around himself.
The whole case should have been quick and simple. However, the stalker in question hadn’t technically broken any laws and had hired himself a damn good attorney that had somehow put Frenchie in the wrong. Stede Bonnet had pushed Ed to take the civil case. Being a friend of a friend to the man apparently. Then, Ed had pushed Izzy to take it. Izzy had tried to say no, but that never worked long with Edward. Izzy had taken it, believing first and foremost the whole thing was underneath him, and second, that the client was going to be an annoying, snotty nosed rich man who was going to hurt himself more than help inside the court room.
What Izzy had instead been met with was a hard working, up and coming musician who was truly distressed and needed help.
Izzy’s misconceptions had vanished like that. His irritation over the case had changed. He’d put all his effort into it, which turned out greatly needed thanks to the ‘alleged’ stalker having friends in high places and making an absolute joke of the legal system.
The professional relationship had started nearly a year ago now. With how movies and TV shows portrayed things, people always came in with misconceptions on how long trials could take. And that was assuming dates didn’t get pushed back or an appeal wasn’t made, or any number of bumps in the road occurred. Izzy had managed to tear down every ridiculous loophole the opposing lawyer had set up and every twisted story that had somehow made it seem like Frenchie was in the wrong. The last time Izzy had met the man had been at the end of their client-attorney relationship. Everything had finally been dusted off, signed away, and finalized with a nice restraining order that would make any further attempts at contact a criminal offense. Izzy had assumed his time with the man was done. He’d assumed Frenchie had felt the same, especially considering how hard he’d hugged him and said ‘thank you, thank you’ at the end of their last meeting.
Only last night, almost a month after the end of it all, the musician had called up their offices again. He’d been patched in to Izzy, having specifically requested him, and Izzy had taken the call. Rather than Frenchie being in need of law services though, he’d instead said, “I’m in town again. I was wondering if I could buy you a drink. A thank you for all you did for me.”
Izzy had of course responded with, “I can’t accept gifts from a client.”
To which Frenchie had easily said, “I’m no longer your client.”
And then, for some stupid fucking reason, Izzy had said yes.
He’d said yes because he hadn’t had anything better to do. He’d said yes because Stede was being a bother in the office and Izzy still hadn’t come to terms with his and Ed’s relationship, no matter what he’d said. He’d said yes as an excuse to leave early and get out. He’d regretted the decision the moment he’d sat down and actually met with the musician though.
The start of their ‘drink’ had been awkward at best, and then when Frenchie had asked an innocent enough question, Izzy had blurted out a comment involving his irritation with Stede. Rather than getting upset though, Frenchie had laughed. He’d said, “I love Stede, but man you’re right. He can be a pompous git sometimes.”
Bit by bit, Izzy had started to relax as the pair had talked shit about people they knew, a fair few being more in common than they’d realized because of Stede and Ed’s involvement with each other. One drink had led to another drink, had led to another drink, had let to—
“Earth to Iz.” Ed loudly snapped in Izzy’s ears.
“Fuck off and let me walk towards the light,” Izzy grumbled.
“Listen. If it never happens again, if you never even see this guy again, so be it. Just think of it as a fond, good fuck, and stop beating yourself up about it. But if it’s more...”
“It’s not more and your insistence on trying to make it more is fucking ridiculous Edward—” Izzy was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone on the table. Ed snatched it up before Izzy could lift his head.
“Now, how could you outright lie to me, Iz. Your bestest friend in the whole world? Not serious my ass. You got the man’s number.”
“What! No I didn’t!” Izzy sat up so quickly he thought he might hurl. When he didn’t, he managed to snatch the phone away. He looked. A text message was opened under a contact Izzy had definitely not put in himself. He never gave clients his personal number. Yet here sat Frenchie’s name all the same. The text read: You busy tomorrow night?
As Izzy stared at it, wondering if it was all a fucking mirage or something, a second text came in. I added my contact to your phone. Sorry for not asking, but you were dead this morning and it felt weird calling your office to ask for it.
“What the fuck is happening?” mumbled Izzy.
“Well, it looks like—”
“Shut up. He probably forgot his jacket or something.”
“Uh huh.”
Izzy stared at the text messages for far too long. Then, as if he no longer had control of his fingers, he’d texted back. Sure.
“Please, please tell me how it goes.”
“He probably left something,” Izzy repeated.
“So you keep saying despite not having any proof,” snorted Ed. “Take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow too.”
“Ed, I can’t—”
“Boss’ orders.”
“We’re partners Ed. You’re not my fucking boss.”
“Don’t care. Boss’ orders. I expect to hear all the dirty details come Monday.”
Izzy simply groaned again. His head slumped to the table as Ed started talking about something else. Izzy didn’t pay attention, but he was too tired to get up until Ed was finally leaving their table too.
Once back at his apartment, Izzy scoured every god damn inch of the place in an attempt to prove his point. There had to have been something there! A jacket, his wallet-hell! Izzy would accept a fucking sock he’d never seen before as the excuse to why Frenchie of all people would put his information into Izzy’s phone and then text him. However, besides being a bit messy and the bedsheets in need of a washing, Izzy didn’t find anything that could possibly belong to the musician.
The next day, Izzy was still partially recovering from the hangover and maybe, just the smallest bit an anxiety ridden mess over what the hell was to come. Despite Izzy saying sure, Frenchie hadn’t texted back. Izzy ended up pacing his apartment most of the day. He hadn’t even been able to sit down in his home office and put some work hours in he’d been so unable to focus.
And then his phone buzzed with an address.
Izzy looked it up. Of course he did. He wasn’t stupid. The fact that it was a hotel made Izzy really question all intentions of what the fuck this was supposed to be or what he was opting into. Yet for some fucking reason, maybe because he was lonely like Ed had stated, he went. Izzy drove to the place, found a parking spot, went up to the room, only to then nearly chicken out and leave. Before he could fully turn his back though, the door opened. The musician, the slightly anxious looking musician like he’d been standing by the door and repeatedly looking out the fucking peephole, broke into a grin and said, “You made it.”
And because Izzy had no idea how to fucking talk to the man considering how they’d left things and was pretty sure if a stranger appeared in the hallway, he’d immediately turn tail and run, Izzy pulled an incredibly rash and stupid move. He captured Frenchie’s lips with his and pushed him back into the room.
A moment wasn’t even wasted by Frenchie as his tongue slipped between Izzy’s teeth once his mouth opened wide enough. Frenchie pulled him farther back into the room as the door automatically shut. His hands were already moving to undress them both, and doing a much better job this time around. When they had to come up for air, Frenchie mumbled, “You are a much, much better kisser when you’re not drunk.”
And Izzy laughed. He actually fucking laughed. Before he could worry too much about that though, Frenchie was swallowing up the laughter with another kiss before pushing him to the bed.
Neither would talk about what happened. Not right away. In fact, it would take almost two whole months after the first encounter for Izzy to be the one to text Frenchie first rather than Frenchie initiating everything. Eventually, they would stop running after it was done or disappearing from the other’s bed if they fell asleep. The actual staying with intent to sleep together would turn to pillow talk which was followed by talking beforehand and sometimes just talking when they managed to meet. Though there would still be plenty of moments being pinned against bedsheets too. Eventually, Frenchie would be the one who’d sit down on Izzy’s couch after growing far too comfortable in his apartment and say, “We need to talk,” and eventually, Izzy would decide he was truly crazy as he agreed to tell some of their closer friends.
All that would come later though. In the moment in that hotel room, it was just another fuck. Though a much better and involved one as the room wasn’t spinning for either of them.