Chapter 1: After the Show is the Afterparty
Chapter Text
Year Two
you 12:15am
oh princess
> L 12:16am
Yes, daddy?
you 12:17am
youre gorgeous you know it right?
> L 12:18am
You tell me:)
I sighed, reading the screenshots of texts that had made my heart flutter and my core ache. I knew what followed. I flinched as my eyes trailed over the familiar, vulgar letters.
you 12:20am
I'll show you.... fuck I cant wait to fill that perfect pretty mouth with my
— I quickly closed out the tab of TMZ's "#NSFW expose" leaking the past couple of years of text between me and Pedro. I hadn't reached out to him yet. I couldn't dare. The longer I waited, though, the more terrible I felt. Even though I had nothing to do with the leak, I couldn't help but feel guilty. I had barely lucked out in being able to maintain my privacy as I was only listed in his phone as "L," obscured my face in photos, and had managed to keep an identifying details about me out of our text conversations. He, on the other hand, was exposed immediately. I couldn't imagine what was going on in his head.
Then again, I began to wonder if he had already known this was coming, at least for a little while. The past few times I had tried to see Pedro, he dodged me with one- or two-word replies. Pedro has a publicist, an agent, a manager, a trainer, a nutritionist, a stylist, a dog walker. I don't have this network of people who are clued into every detail of my future. I just have me. I hoped I had Pedro, too.
Not that I want to be sentimental. In fact, my hobby — and I do consider it a hobby — specifically precludes emotional attachment.
The crude way of putting it? I guess they’d call me a “Starfucker.” But believe me, I’m not out hunting for sport. I’m no groupie. My intents weren't highly calculated, though keeping my rendezvouses covert was. I'm not an A- or even B-lister, but I've made quite the resume behind-the-scenes and I'm a big enough comedian in the LA scene that someone might recognize my name. I wasn't hooking up with Hollywood hotties to achieve fame or climb some sort of social ladder. These connections were just for me. The stage is where I work. The bed is play only.
It started innocently enough when I had my first gig as a featured extra. I never really put celebrity on a pedestal; I imagine they're all just as good or bad at sex as any of us. Although to be fair... I am very good at sex. But at that point in my life, I was attracted to the sense of being in control. This actor never dogged me in between takes. He didn't harass me or invite me to his trailer. It was me. I found him attractive in person. He was laughing at my jokes. I laid on the seduction, and it worked. It was hot, rough, emotionless but exciting. He might have been an A-lister at the time, but I felt like the coveted one. I craved it. To have that effect on someone so unattainable? I became addicted to the feeling.
I believe in friendships and platonic love, sure. I thrive in it and find myself often surrounded in it thanks to my communities. But intimacy, particularly romantic intimacy, kills it for me. The magic of sex is letting someone see a rare side of you who doesn't normally have access to your innermost self; to give someone emotional and physical closeness feels like too much. Like a violation.
But here we are, Pedro and I both violated as the world is now playing audience to our dirty laundry like some museum display. No pictures had been leaked (yet), thank God. Even without my face in view, I wasn’t ready to be on display in such a way — for speculation, dissemination, curious gossip, whatever. And… Pedro wasn't the only person I was seeing, and though most of them don't know about each other, I couldn't help but hold my breath wondering who was going to phone or text me in a panic should they figure out my involvement. I worried I was now poison; the lesser name becoming a scourge to greater fame. This is why I've always kept these lives separate.
When I saw the headline "MANDALORIAN TAKES OFF HELMET — AND MORE — FOR MYSTERIOUS 'L'," I knew everything was different now. It was a dissolution of everything I had privately created for myself. Everything I had created with Pedro.
God, Pedro. I hoped he was okay.
Year One
My closest friends have never known about Pedro. In fact, I'm not sure they'd even know we knew each other. For a while, we didn't.
We first met at the Emmy's two years prior. I had managed to get hired for the writing team and Pedro was now part of the pantheon of actors guaranteed to have an invite. He wasn’t some nobody — he was famous already, Game of Thrones legend, Disney candy, internet goofball — but it was still before he completely blew up. Being dogged by paparazzi wasn’t a regularity yet. People weren’t speculating about his sexuality on Twitter. It was strange to be around when that started to change, but I had known him before.
He was presenting a segment for the awards show and was asked to come to the rehearsal. Most actors don't actually come and send their stand-ins instead, but he made the effort.
The evening itself was stressful: Jimmy Kimmel kept changing the script on the spot forcing us to do rewrites during the broadcast. Many of the presenters (especially the ones who skipped rehearsal…) botched their line delivery, letting the jokes fall flat. Even when the show started running smoothly and some of our jokes made it to broadcast, we had no time to breathe and take it in. I almost forgot I was more or less attending the Emmy's because I was locked in a windowless room 15 feet from backstage, unallowed to dress up or take in the glamor. A gig’s a gig.
But during the rehearsal, we got to be in the theater. We watched the presenters/their stand-ins mark the run-of-show and made line edits. Pedro had arrived shortly before his scheduled time wearing a faded Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and jeans. We hadn't slept in days and were sweating caffeine while we sat in the front few rows. Pedro got on the stage to run through his segment, reading from the teleprompter. Ryan, our head writer, had written his introduction:
"Hi, I'm Pedro Pascal from the Mandalorian, Narcos, and your girlfriend's secret fantasies."
Insert sad trumpet. The joke wasn't landing. Katie looked over her shoulder to me, hiding a snicker. We had always hated that line and told Ryan just as much. The director had Pedro hold as the writing team got into one of our usual ridiculous arguments over the minutiae of a gag. Ryan was annoyed we wanted to edit it at all, but we all ultimately agreed; it sucked. A few of us threw out some punch-ups.
"Hi, I'm Pedro Pascal, the actor whose name you've never bothered to learn but whose mustache your girlfriend has committed to memory," Katie suggested. That was pretty good.
"’Hi — hola? Hola, I'm Pedro Pascal, Javier Bardem, Oscar Isaac, Antonio Banderas, and —’"
"Gabe, what's the joke?" Katie interrupted.
"The joke is that the audience is probably racist and confusing him with —"
"Gabe, it sounds like the joke is racist, though." Gabe was a nepo baby who Ryan kept in the room because he was hoping to get connected with Gabe’s ex-SNL Producer dad. He was a nice enough person that we tolerated him.
"Could we do something with subtitles?" I chimed in. Katie rolled her eyes at me. "No! I mean like, we can do a more direct joke about the audience. We could do a subtitles gag where, like, the subtitles say: 'Hi, I'm Pedro Pascal. The writers are making me do this Spanish bit. I do not want to be here, but I'm doing this because I could say anything, and it would sound sexy. Second most spoken language in the country and none of you have a clue what I'm saying. Normally you'd tell me to speak English, but because I'm famous and pretty, suddenly you like this. What else can I say? Baby Yoda did 9/11. iTunes Terms and Agreements,'..." Pedro chuckled to himself, overhearing our riff. Ryan stopped me, though.
"That's not bad, but it's too long, they’ll kill us if we add a technical element, and it probably won’t land with this audience." Ryan was right. When you write like this, you have to learn to kill your darlings.
"Katie, we'll do your line," Ryan conceded. "Lara, can you give Pedro the updated line? And then run it over to Chad so he can get it in the teleprompter." I nodded and dragged myself onto the stage, scribbling onto a slip of paper the updated joke. I approached Pedro. As I looked up at him, I almost was stopped in my tracks. Watching him from the seats was one thing, but being next to him on the stage? His presence was completely intimidating. He was taller than me by almost a foot and his casual confidence emitted an energy that went straight to my groin.
"Uhm, hi, I'm Lara. One of the writers."
"Pedro."
"Right. Uh, here's an updated line for your introduction." I handed him the slip, his large fingers brushing mine through the pass-off. He blushed while reading the new line.
"Did you write this one?" He grinned at me.
"Oh, uh," I nervously fiddled with the sleeve of my hoodie. "No, my colleague Katie wrote that one."
"Ah," he nodded. "What happened to the joke I heard you telling?" A spark fluttered in his eye.
"That was a bit too long, I think. Too intellectual for this crowd anyway." I chuckled anxiously, well aware I was not giving him my best material.
"Fair enough." He read the slip again, and then turned back towards me, cocking his hip. Holy hell, this man was hot. His clothes hugged the most enticing parts of his body. He looked tired with bags under his eyes and a messiness to his hair, but it didn't take away from his beauty. He bit his lip as he smiled slyly at me. "You like this line better?" He raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.
"It's pretty good, yeah."
"Is this a uh —" He laughed again to himself. " — popular thought… about my mustache?" He leaned a little closer towards me. I felt a throb of heat and gulped.
I suddenly wanted to run my teeth along his jawline, but I tensed as the image popped into my head. I was working. I need to keep my lives separate. Not like I was a real looker right now, anyways; my long chestnut hair was a rat's nest from being in the writer's room for 48 hours straight. I was wearing my ugly reading glasses. I wore a Chicago Cubs hoodie with no bra, D-cups sagging to the center of what would be my hourglass figure on a better day. But I still had some lines left in me, and in an inspired moment of fliration, gave it a go.
“I’m uh, not one to explain a joke usually, but I think there’s a heavy bit of innuendo in there beyond just admiring your appearance. I mean, I didn’t write it of course. I can just… guess.” I smirked, too nervous to look directly at his eyes, but quickly gazing up to him through my own eyelashes.
“Ah,” he leaned closer. Oh my god, what have I done? “I see. There’s subtext then, about…”
“... about your mustache.” I finished, starting to giggle at the absurdity of our banter.
Suddenly, the director yelled at me for still being on stage and holding up rehearsal. I jumped down without saying goodbye as much as “fuck!” I wasn't making enough money to push my luck, here. Anyways, it was for the best. I nearly pounced Pedro then and there. I ran the line over to the teleprompter operator as rehearsal continued in the background.
“A lot of subtext in this one, Chad,” I joked while writing the line out. Chad looked at me blankly before carrying on with the edit. Different strokes, I guess.
I was back to work in no time. No presenter stayed for the entire rehearsal, so as soon as our few minutes with Pedro were up, he was gone before I was even back in my seat, and we were on to the next set of jokes.
That night, the awards happened. It was a blur. I had a migraine to nurse the entire time as we overheard producers yelling at control room technicians over headset. We cringed hearing actor after actor fumble jokes that truthfully weren't very good to begin with. Pedro started laughing through our line for him just as quickly as he started to say it. Maybe it was because he was so damn hot, but I found his flubs endearing. I wondered where he'd be after the awards, though it was probably far from my own home planet.
And soon enough, the awards were over. I made a decent check and wrote a decent joke or two. More importantly, though, I was about to get wasted with the other writers, some of whom were already well on their way before the broadcast had even ended. We didn't get invited to the same parties as the actors in attendance, so the writing team had decided to hit up our usual dive down the street with possible tacos to follow.
I couldn't shake Pedro out of my head. It wasn't just his immediate sex appeal. It was how he flirted with me, leaning in close, teasing me about the lines. I changed my top in an empty dressing room and threw on some eyeliner. I wasn't expecting to see Pedro again, but I hoped I would find some sexual release that night.
As we begun to head outside, Ryan decided to be an asshole and reveal he wasn't coming with us after all. Apparently, the girl he was dating was Reese Witherspoon's assistant, so he had secured an invite to the Netflix afterparty. As we started to rag on him for being too good for us, I saw Pedro in front of the theater, a few feet away from where we were gathered, waiting for his ride to arrive. I accidentally made eye contact with him and averted my gaze. I peeked out past my periphery and saw him smile. As much as I wanted him to come over, I was a little bit embarrassed by this group of predominantly white male writers I was with — people I had a work friendship with, but very little attachment to. They weren't exactly the most refined. But hey, I was one of them.
Then, a voice: "Who's not invited to the party?"
We turned to see none other than Pedro Pascal easing himself into our semicircle effortless. He lit a cigarette. Gabe muttered, "Oh shit, it's Mando."
"Hi," Pedro bashfully introduced himself. "I'm Pedro." He locked eyes with me but didn't acknowledge me directly. "You're all the writers, right?"
"Depends on your standard for writing," my colleague Jack quipped. "Definitely not what Gabe's doing."
Gabe gave Jack a shove. "Like you're one to talk. Anyway, we all know Lara's the 'real' writer." The men in our group snickered. "We call her Spike," Gabe directed to Pedro as Jack held back a laugh.
Pedro grinned at me. "Spike?"
"Yeah," Ryan added. "Because anytime you try to set a joke for her, she spikes it into the ground." Ha-ha. We were all used to being the butt of the joke at one point or another.
"You have to ‘serve’ a joke to set it, Ry. You know, like serving talent? Still waiting for yours." There were some jeers from the group as I sniped back. This is how we wasted our time. Ryan flipped me off, but he smiled and let out a laugh.
"You're mad, Lara, because I'm going to a party, and you have to do bottom shelf tequila shots with these losers."
"Ah, so that's what I was overhearing." Pedro rejoined the conversation, clearly amused by our banter. "No interest?"
I snorted. "No invite." I gestured to our group, sans Ryan. "We don't get the party invites. Ryan's only going because his girlfriend wiped someone's ass one time or something."
Ryan scoffed. "Whatever." He turned to Pedro. "Hey man, can I bum a cig?"
"Yeah, sure." I smiled, bemused at the confidence of my cowriters to ask for cigarettes from Pedro as though he were some pedestrian, and bemused at Pedro's ability to seem so easy-going that I forgot he wasn't already embedded into our friend group.
"Want one?" Pedro offered me (and only me) a cigarette. Katie stifled a giggle.
"Nah, that's okay. I've managed to avoid nicotine for a month."
"Lara, I'm surprised you could give up your oral fixation so long," Gabe sniped, emphasizing the "o" in oral.
Katie elbowed him in the ribs. "Creep."
"That's impressive." Pedro gave Ryan his lighter, ignoring the juvenile antics. "If my friend Sarah ever brings it up, let's all agree I quit ten years ago."
"Impressive," I chided.
He shrugged. "It's a special occasion."
He took a big drag. As he exhaled, I had to resist taking in the intoxication of his smoke smattered with his breath. I was about to bum one after all.
Pedro turned away from me and to the group. "Did you all want to go to that party?"
Katie raised her hand. "Me! I'd like to go." Ryan scoffed.
"Katie, I told you Jess is happy to introduce you to Reese."
"Ryan, she's not even her assistant. She's her assistant's assistant."
"Ok," Ryan got red. "She's not a nameless writer on a stupid awards show."
" You are a nameless writer on a stupid awards show."
Pedro was amused by it all. He locked eyes with me as the two continued to bicker. I saw something in his look. It was a form of communication I became good at even before my sexual celeb-scapades: The nonverbal negotiation. His eyes asked, Are we doing this tonight? But I forgot how to respond. My breath got stuck in my throat. I didn't know what my eyes said back. I wasn't ready for this. I was ready for anonymous bar guy or gal #3. Not Pedro. We both returned our gaze to the group as Ryan and Katie steamed at each other.
"Look," Jack finally said. "No offense, Mr. Pascal, but those studio parties or whatever aren't exactly our crowd."
Pedro shrugged, finishing his cigarette and putting it out with his foot. "Not really my crowd either. All the people I like I see on a regular basis, anyway. But if you want to go, I can get you in." He looked at me pointedly. Katie started to catch on to Pedro's suggestion towards me. Her mouth went agape in delight.
She came over and draped her arms around my shoulder. "Oh, we'd looooooooove if you could get us in," she purred. I shrugged her off.
"I'm with Jack. It's honestly not my crowd." That was half true. I had a soft spot for the superficiality of Hollywood glamour. I knew it was meaningless and at times toxic, but I was drawn to it. My greater concern, though, was far more embarrassing: I didn't want to run into a past conquest.
"I mean, you can join us if you want," Jack chimed in. I went red in embarrassment that Jack had asked Pedro Pascal to join us, tux and all, at our favorite dive bar.
"Yeah," Ryan sneered. "It's a great place to go to if you like doing lines of coke in a shit-covered bathroom."
"Doesn't sound much different than the Beverly Hills rotation," Pedro joked. He was funny.
But just as Pedro considered joining us for bad alcohol and good karaoke (and so-so tacos), a car pulled up behind him, and a svelte blonde woman leaned out the window.
"PEDROOOO! ARE YOU COMING?!" The writers all looked at each other, amused by the absurdity of witnessing a tipsy Sarah Paulson calling for Pedro from a limo. Pedro smiled, but sighed.
"Dude," Gabe insisted. "Go to your party. We're good, we don't need a pity hang, but thank you. I promise, there's better alcohol where she's going."
Pedro hesitated, landing on me, seeing if I would stop him. I didn't. It was all a little too much.
"All right," he conceded. "Can we give anyone a ride though?" He was really trying. Ryan immediately raised his hand. "Uh, okay, ride for Reese Witherspoon's assistant's assistant's... boyfriend?"
"You can call me Ryan."
"Okay, ride for… Ryan. Anyone else?" Pedro cocked an eyebrow. "You're all sure?"
It was Katie's turn to lock eyes with me, urging me to take the opportunity. This was all too public for my taste. I shook my head. She looked earnestly disappointed in me. Pedro did, too. But he nodded.
"BE RIGHT THERE!" He called back to Sarah. "You all have a good night," he said to us. Gabe and Jack waved farewell to Pedro, and they turned in the direction of the bar along with Katie. Ryan hopped a little in excitement for the turn his night was taking. I lingered as him and Pedro began to turn away.
"Night, Spike." Ryan waved to me.
"Take care," Pedro nodded at me, still a hint of flirtation in his tone. I nodded back.
I watched as him and Ryan approached the limo, overhearing Pedro introduce Ryan to Sarah. I started to turn towards my group, trying not to dwell too hard on my own regret.
"Sarah, I'll be right back." I heard him say. I slowed my stride, but I was caught off guard when I felt a body behind me.
"You forgot this," Pedro growled into my ear. He wasn't making physical contact with me — as though he wanted to be positive he read my signals right — but as soon as I felt his breath, I instinctively leaned back into him, my body taking over from my brain. As I did, he pressed himself closer to me, putting one large hand on my waist and bowing his head into my neck. My breath immediately quickened, and I held back a groan as I felt a hard twitch against my rear. With his free hand, Pedro slowly dragged two fingers against my side, reaching down past my hip. I was about to protest to him being so bold, but his hand instead went into my front pocket; a tease, but ultimately not the touch I both craved and knew I couldn't have so out in the open. He placed a slip of paper there and pulled his hand back. I reached in, mouth open as I tried to think and act clearly, and as I looked at the slip, I saw it was the line I had given him earlier during the rehearsal. Scrawled on the back was a number. My heart raced.
"I wanted you so fucking bad tonight," he said at almost a whisper, lips mere centimeters from my skin. Uncontrollably, I pushed back harder against him, body aching for more contact. "Fuuuuuck," he exhaled. "We can both change our minds, skip the afterparties and go straight to my hotel bed." My breath picked up speed. I couldn't think. I was about to give in when I saw Jack up the street turning around to look for me. I caught his eye and suddenly, panicking, pulled away from Pedro a little too suddenly. He sighed deeply.
"I've got to go," I spat out, scrambling to be in control. Pedro was playing this game different than I was used to. I was still the coveted one, but I felt completely submissive. I didn't launch this seduction and I had zero clue how to handle it. He looked at me with tired, puppy eyes.
"Shoot me a text. I'll be thinking about you." We stared at each other for a moment, and I lost any words I could've possibly said. I just nodded yes .
Pedro put his hands in his pockets (helping to cover the bulge that had begun to form) and turned on his heel back to the limo. It was probably for the best, anyway. No one should be left alone to endure Ryan, let alone putting Sarah Paulson in that position.
I turned back towards my group who had stopped and were waiting for me, looking at my direction. Katie was smiling and the boys just looked confused. I looked down at the slip of paper. Along with his number, he wrote a note:
"To commit to memory, xx Pedro." My stomach fluttered. This feeling was new.
Year Two
And so, it all ended up starting with a text message. Reading the TMZ leak, I considered that maybe it was all about to end with texts as well. As I contemplated this, I received a notification from a number outside my contacts. I opened up the message.
555-0112 3:12pm
L, it's Pedro.
We need to talk.
Chapter 2: Out in the Open
Summary:
Wanting to avoid talking to Pedro and confronting the wrench that's been thrown into their arrangement, Lara goes back to their first text exchange the night of the Emmy's.
Notes:
Another re-written chapter. These crazy kids sure are hot for one another!
Chapter Text
Year Two
I was feeling masochistic, or at least self-pitying. Instead of answering his text, I hyperfocused on whether I had our first text exchange from after the Emmy's saved to my phone. Being the cheap-ass that I was, I had never upgraded from my old but reliable iPhone that I've had for near three years. Desperate to have anything to do but face Pedro, I decided to spend an hour scrolling through our past conversations. I wasn't ready yet to have a new one.
And alas, there it was.
Year One
you 2:04am
Hey
I played it simple. Stupidly simple, in retrospect, but at the time I thought, If he's forgotten, I can just say "wrong number!" and be done. But he didn't forget, and at 2 am he was somehow till awake. Just two minutes after my coy, "Hey," I received a reply.
> Pedro 2:06am
so is it just Lara or do you have a nickname? i can call y ou Spike if you want
I was anxious but felt relieved. He knew who I was right away. I was almost impressed by how confidently he had replied so uncooly quick by today's standards.
you 2:08am
Uh I don't really prefer Spike. lol
Send. I thought for a moment. I could flirt , I thought. Was it too much? Fuck it. I didn't have to pretend this was anything other than what it was. Let's go.
you 2:09am
I mean… unless you always wanted to fuck a Spike ;)
> Pedro 2:10am
Oh wow. .hmmm...
i don't think he'd take mebut spike Lee? I would
"Spike" doesnt fit yuo though
yup*
YOU*** fuck
hey dont mind me just sweating off teqwila
I laughed. He was being a dork.
you 2:14am
You and Spike Lee would me a handsome couplne
AHH handsome couPLE*
Maybe Im a lil drunk too
I wasn't. I had done my fair share of drinking with crew that night, but the drinks were watered down and I was already sobering up. But I wanted an out, wanted to play off looking over-eager. If anything felt weird in the morning, we could both blame it on the booze.
> Pedro 2:17am
im gonna put you in phone as L becaue i dont think im sober enough to not fuck it up
i keep putting Lola
you 2:18am
I can be Lola if you want
> Pedro 2:20am
all i want is to be inside of you.
I squirmed where I sat. The ellipses popped up from his end before my malfunctioning brain could even respond.
> Pedro 2:21am
sorry that was probably too much. sorry
Fuck.
I took a deep breath. I wasn't even in my bedroom but on the rugged red couch that made up the centerpiece of my living room. I had started living by myself a year ago when my first Netflix check allowed me to afford rent without a roommate. I had lived with Katie for three years when we decided to move to LA together, but after near a decade of friendship, living together was a skosh too close for us. We were roommates in college, but as we neared 30 and weren't alternating between shotgunning High Life and ripping bong hits anymore, the ways that we had changed and how our habits had manifested had put strain on our friendship. I decided I was going to move out and get my own place so that we both could have space for the sake of our relationship. I know it was the right call, but it had been a long road mending things to the place where they were before. Solitude, however, I could work with. And so I did, enjoying this moment of privacy as I made sure my shades were closed. I returned to my couch and laid back across its length, taking a deep breath before replying.
you 2:23am
No such thing as too much. I can take a lot.... ;)
My hand lingered across my stomach where my shirt was starting to ride up. I teased the hem of my jeans, debating on just doing the damn thing, finally releasing all that pent up frustration, but waited to see how this conversation played out. Either way, I would be taking care of myself tonight, but I wanted to see if Pedro would be a part of the process.
> Pedro 2:26am
ooh baby.... you have no idea.
youre such a tiny thing
i might just ruin you
I felt my skin go hot.
you 2:28am
Then ruin me.
> Pedro 2:30am
i wouldve ruined you on that goddamn stage tonght if i could have
fuuuuck i want to laeve a mark on you
was thinkin all night about making you mine. wasn't sure youd have me
fuck i cant stop thinking about it
what are you doing right now?
What was I doing right now? Besides watching as Pedro blew up my phone, unafraid and unashamed to send me a deluge of dirty thoughts.
I decided to commit, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling down the zipper with one hand.
you 2:32am
.... ;)
Don't worry I still have one hand free
> Pedro 2:33am
what does that mean?? dont tease
you 2:34am
sorry cant type out much
;)
There was a hot minute of silence following my reply. I hadn't done much more yet than give my hand an entry point to what was aching down below. I watched as the "..." popped in and out of my messaging app. Was I too forward? I know he said he was worried he was being too much, but maybe I had crossed the line. Went from flirting to… an actual sexual act.
For another quiet minute, it seemed like Pedro wasn't going to reply at all, but then --
> Pedro 2:40am
you wouldn't have to worry about your hands if my tongue was there
My breath picked up speed about 500%. The ache grew by about just as much. Why was I so flustered? It's not like I hadn't sexted anyone before, and certainly not like I hadn't exchanged dirty texts with someone more high-profile. But still, I felt nervous talking to Pedro. It was like I hadn't been with anyone, period. It felt new. I wanted to know what his tongue felt like so bad in that moment. I realized that this time I was the one replying with radio silence, too shocked and aroused by his suggestion to even think about hazarding a reply.
He texted me again, once more completely wowing me with his apparent shamelessness in flooding my phone. I had no complaints. Who complains about being the center of attention every now and then?
Pedro 2:43am
shit i hope im not beign too forward
still there?
I started breathing heavily as my hand slowly teased the edges of my underwear.
you 2:45am
I'm here
you want to see?
im soooo wet for you
> Pedro 2:46am
jesus you cut right to it dont you?? driving me crazy here girl
fuck yes i do want to see
My face flushed, looking around my apartment for the best place to snap a quick pic, but he replied again.
> Pedro 2:47am
uhh cant right this second though
shit
can you give me five mins? please
you 2:48am
lol what are YOU doing right now??
> Pedro 2:50am
im still at the party
I let out a big snort of a laugh as a visceral reaction. He was texting me while still at this party?
> Pedro 2:51am
im trying so hard to hide this little situation you gave me cariño
sarah keeps trying to look over my shoulder
This time I laughed in earnest. I felt anxious that someone was going to see this exchange, that it wasn't private, that he wasn't all mine in this instant. But… God, if he wasn't so damn cute that I couldn't stop myself from giggling at the idea of him drunkenly trying to hide his phone. It was like he was a teenager. Not in years had I connected with someone this way – immediately attraction, fierce lust, desire to the point of desperation, need.
I didn't reply, but it wasn't long before he got back to me.
> Pedro 2:56am
im ready
you 2:57am
Where are you???
> Pedro 2:58am
im in the bathroom
i promise i dont usually do this byt god i want to see you right now
can i call you?
FaceTime?
I bit my lip. This had all happened so fast, but I needed him. This was raw. Whatever of him I could get right then.
I didn't even have time to respond when I received his FaceTime call.
I panickily adjusted some of the lights in my living room – didn't want any harsh shadows – and threw myself back on the couch, panting. I didn't have time to fix myself up much more. A sheen of sweat from my arousal and my anxiety cooled me from the warm air that crept into my apartment. I took the call.
Fuck, he's so beautiful.
His eyes looked even more tired than earlier, but he flashed a big grin. He was definitely drunk, but he looked good. Seemed genuinely delighted to see me, even if through a screen.
"Hi gorgeous stranger," he purred. I realized I was covering half of my face with my hand. I slowly removed it and let out a nervous chuckle.
"Hi," I smiled. Once again, I couldn't stop myself from giggling. "I'm sorry, this is just... so weird. Not you! Just... this happened really fast."
"Not complaining though?"
"No," my smile settled into content relief. "No, not complaining."
"Good," Pedro smirked and winked. He laughed. "Yeah, this is really fucking sudden isn't it? But I like it. I like you." I noticed his backdrop was a dark tile. He was lit dimly by overhead lighting.
"Are you really in the bathroom?!"
"Yes, I told you," he replied matter-of-factly. "I couldn't wait. Not for you. I told you earlier. I wanted you so fucking bad tonight." He spoked lucidly. He didn't seem as drunk as I had thought, his words much clearer than his texts. "The only way I could patient is if I knew I could have you for real." I sucked my lip back between my teeth, contemplating. It was late, after 3am. I couldn't believe he was even still at a party. I had no idea how far away it was. I had to leave early the next day to house sit. I needed to be responsible.
He took my hesitance as my answer. "That's okay, I'm looking at you now." He smiled. It was a warm smile, offering more than lust.
"Yes. Yes you are." I returned his smile back. "... Are you sure you don't do this often?" I anxiously asked after an uncomfortable pause. "Picking up disheveled writers any chance you get?"
He laughed, loud. I heard the echo of his single "Hah!"
"No, I promise you, this is not my usual MO." He scratched his nose, starting to look a little embarassed. "It feels very easy talking to you, and I like that. Like I said. Do you feel weird about this right now? It's okay if you do." He definitely sounded lucid. I wondered if he had exaggerated his level of drinking too.
"Weirdly? Uhm… no." I looked away, instinctively hiding, but like a schoolgirl, his attention had me looking back at him through my eyelashes, smiling with simultaneously too much and not enough teeth, biting my lip. Shy. Excited. Wanted.
"Good," he said, pleased and warm. And then, a darker look fell across his eyes. The consent was affirmed and the desire returned. He looked straight into my gaze. "Show yourself to me," he growled. It wasn't a request, it was a command. My inner walls tightened around nothing, grinding against the seam of my jeans. That's all there was to feel. My mouth hung open as my eyes became hungry as well. "I'm not saying it again."
Very slowly, I placed my phone down, propped up against the arm of my couch so that the camera was facing me. I kept eye contact with the lens as I stood back, making sure I was in view. Carefully, I pulled my shirt off. I still hadn't gotten a bra on, so within seconds, there I was. Bare for Pedro. Open and vulnerable.
"Shit." The word barely escaped his mouth. I'm not even sure he knew he said it out loud. He licked his lips. "I don't mean to look like a wolf right now, but... shit." He shook his head, eyes sunken. "You are so goddamn gorgeous"
I blushed, half covering my torso with my arm.
"Is this okay?" He suddenly went serious, noticing my shyness. "Really, if you don't feel comfortable we can –"
"Can I see you?" I turned it around to him, dropping my arms from my chest, feeling confident now. Something about him checking on me comfort level emboldened me to feel more relaxed with the whole situation. He breathed deeply. I noticed his hand working below his waist, just out of view. I heard a zipper and the sound of metal jangling. As he readied himself for me, I watched his neck and jaw – where I so badly wanted to put my mouth earlier that day.
"Okay sweetheart," he whispered. "I'm out in the open for you." I sighed, my clothed legs opening slightly.
"Can I see?" I bit my lip, pouting slightly. He smiled, looking a little nervous himself.
"I gotta say, This really is... I swear I don't do this normally." He kept the camera on his face, looking flushed.
"I mean, same goes for you," I leaned forward, covering myself a bit again. "If you don't feel comfortable, we can stop." He thought for a long minute and looked around his surroundings. It seemed the coast was clear.
"Here, just one second...." I watched as his camera flipped, and... there. Held by the same large hand that had held me waist earlier was his thickness. The image quality wasn't amazing, but even so I could make out veins, ridges, and a slight curve upwards, the girth almost filling his long fingers. It twitched in response to the spotlight. I felt a wave of heat and blood flow downwards to my own groin. I could hear him breathing hard, trying and failing to be quiet. I wanted so badly to be in that stall with him, his hands desperately fumbling along my body as I put my mouth around him. I lost all ability to think like a normal human being and was consumed with lust. I tore my jeans and panties off in one movement.
"Oh my god," I heard him groan, forgetting he could still see me.
"Turn back to your face," I commanded. I was taking the wheel. I wanted him, and I wanted to drive him crazy. He did as I said, looking completely struck with desire. His chest heaved as I spread my legs wide for the camera. I felt bold. I watched his shoulder slowly begin to move back and forth. I slid my hand down between my breasts, down my stomach, and between my legs. My fingers brushed through the curly wisps atop my crest and found their way to my bundle of nerves. I was worried I might just explode. My mouth hung open as I began to rub, letting out a sound I'm not sure I had ever made before.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Pedro moaned, eyes closing. "You are so fucking sexy. I need you here. I want to kiss that beautiful neck. I want to be the one making you make those sounds."
"Mmmm." My speed picked up a little, matching his own rhythm. His eyes never left me. I felt the most desirable I had in my entire life. "I would guide your hands up and down my body." He groaned again. "I would run my fingers through your hair as you kissed me up and down."
"I'd worship that fucking body. So delicate. I'd take my time, drag my tongue across you." My hips bucked. His voice became raspier. "I'd pull those thighs around me, bring my lips down to you, see how wet you really are." Oh my God. I was going to get there pretty fast.
"I...," I was running out of breath. "I would lift my hips up to meet you, desperate for your touch. I'd want you to fill me."
"Fuck. Yes." His arm moved faster. "After I made you cum on my tongue, I wouldn't be delicate anymore. I wouldn't be able to help myself. I'd have – " He grunted. "-- I'd have to have you. Go as deep as I fucking can."
I could feel my lips, swollen with need, become drenched at his words. I wondered if he could tell through the video. The sound of it alone was scandalizing.
Suddenly, we both heard a noise past his camera. We froze. My heart practically stopped. He looked off, panickily. I covered my mouth, hand frozen at my core. I heard what sounded like a stream flowing. I couldn't help myself. I started giggling. The whole situation was strange, wrong, hilarious, and taboo. Pedro started to giggle soundlessly too, mouthing "Stop" at the camera. But we both spiraled into a fit of silent laughter. What a weird fucking night.
The stream of urine stopped. A flush. We listened for a moment. I thought maybe the bathroom guest had left, but then we heard a loud snort followed by a contented sigh. I gasped. After another moment, the door opened and closed again. Pedro paused a minute longer, and then looked around. He turned back to me on the camera, laughing in the way one does as release.
"Told you, Hollywood folks do lines of coke in the bathroom too." I returned his laughter. The moment of panic was enough to kill my arousal, but for some reason I wasn't that disappointed. "This was a terrible fucking idea, wasn't it?" He exhaled, looking down at himself.
"I mean, yes." I snickered. "But, it got pretty fucking hot."
He nodded enthusiastically. "It did." A pause. "I don't think I can finish, now."
I shook my head, closing my legs and feeling more self-conscious. "Me neither. It's okay."
I heard more metal clanging as he adjusted himself back into his suit. He leaned his head back against the tile, letting out a deep breath.
"Uhm," he started, bashful. I started to put my clothes back on. "Can I see you, though? In person. I fly back to New York on Wednesday, so I'm here a couple more nights." I thought for a second.
"Yeah... Yeah, I think I could make that work." I felt a twinge of butterflies in my stomach. Stop it, I told them. He nodded and smiled, dimples showing themselves.
"Okay, well... This was fun." He tried to hold a straight face, but broke down into giggles. "I don't really do anything like this. I'm uh... I'm glad I did, though." I felt my cheeks go red.
I bit my lip again. "Am I your only LA hook-up this week?" I cooed.
He tutted, shaking his finger at the camera. "You're more than a hook-up, gorgeous." My breath caught in my throat, trying to decipher his meaning. "You're my writer."
I exhaled, realizing he was just making a joke, though I felt oddly protective of my vulnerability in that moment. Why was I feeling so bashful? I'm not normally this shy, this nervous, this unsure.
"I'll shoot you a text tomorrow. We'll figure it out."
"Sounds good."
"Oh God, Sarah just texted me asking where I am." He snorted
"Is Ryan still there? My uh, frie– my colleague " I have no idea why I was suddenly thinking about Ryan, but I was curious if his antics had gotten him kicked out yet.
"Oh my God. I hope you don't mind me saying this, but he's the fucking worst." I covered my mouth laughing. "I had to institute a rule of keeping him at least ten feet away from Sarah. He kept screaming about his screenplay into her ear."
"I'm so sorry. I am mot responsible for him."
"Is he your friend?" That was a good question. I hadn't even done a friend inventory in a long time, outside of Katie and our weird relationship.
"No. Not really. We've known each other a while, but I wouldn't call us friends."
"Well, I fucking hate him." Pedro was so straightforward and yet did so in a way that was so down-to-Earth. He was funny. I couldn't wait to see him again.
"He's pretty hateable," I said honestly.
Pedro smirked. "I've gotta go, but I will text you tomorrow. Okay? I really want to see you."
"Okay. I... I'm looking forward to it."
"Good night, Lara."
"Good night, Pedro."
The call completed, ending an unexpected and wild ride of an evening. I had almost forgotten that I was at the Emmy's only a few hours ago. It felt like I had run through an entire month's worth of events in a 24 hour period.
I became very conscious of the puddle I had left on the couch. I cringed as I lifted myself from the cushion. I was so tired I couldn't even consider trying to finish what we had started. I would have to wait until I saw Pedro again.
Year Two
I looked at the last text from that night. "can i call you?" I was glad any and all uh, intimate displays from that evening had all happened over video, though I knew that wasn't the case for all of our text exchanges. The lust and desire that hit us both like a brick wall that night didn't end there, nor did it end when we finally did consummate what had begun as light flirting during an Emmy's rehearsal. I was never sure if I believed him when he said that he never did anything like that. He was so sure. I had a hard time believing that I had brought that out of him. But maybe it was true.
All I knew was all that had built up over the past two and a half years hung in the balance, now. I allowed myself to return to Pedro's most recent text from an unfamiliar number.
> 555-0112 3:12pm
We need to talk
Given all that had happened, I couldn't have this conversation over text or even over the phone. I needed to be sure it was him. Or maybe I just wanted to see him.
I replied,
you 7:47pm
Can I call you?
FaceTime?
The "..." appeared on my phone, giving me anxiety just as it did during our first exchange – though for much different reasons.
> 555-0112 7:51pm
Yes
I FaceTimed this number, praying it was actually Pedro on the other end, but also terrified to face him. To my relief and my anxiety, it was his face that appeared. He looked worn down.
"Hi gorgeous," he smiled weakly.
"Hi Pedro." I took a deep breath. "So... let's talk."
Chapter 3: Something Stupid
Summary:
As Lara confronts what might be her final time talking to Pedro, she thinks back to their first night together.
Notes:
This is the final rewritten chapter from what was originally titled "Reap What You..." It's all new stuff from here on out, baby!
Lots of smut. Lots of angst too. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Year Two
Pedro sighed. I held my breath. "So... you've seen the news," he started.
"I wouldn't even call it news," I scoffed.
"No," he agreed with an empty laugh. "But it's out there." There was a long silence. Neither of us knew what to say.
"Pedro," I finally said. "I'm... I'm so sorry. And I should've called you sooner," I started speaking faster, beginning to ramble. "As soon as I saw it, I should have – I should have reached out, but I just freaked out, and... I'm sorry. I was selfish. It's your name on there, not mine, I – "
"Lara, Lara! Slow down. It's okay, okay?" His eyebrows raised in concern, widening his clear, brown eyes and emphasizing the crinkles of his forehead. It wasn't the first time he acted protective, almost paternalistic, of me. "This is... not ideal. For either of us. But it is what it is. It happened, it's too late."
"Do you know how it happened?" I asked.
Pedro shook his head. "No, but I don't find that surprising. Seems like anyone can find that sort of thing if they try hard enough. I should've been more careful."
" We should've been more careful," I reminded him, not letting him take responsibility for this. I hesitated. "Do you know if more is going to come out?"
He inhaled through his teeth. "No idea. My publicist advised that I wipe the phone."
"Did you?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "I should though."
"How much... does she know?" I asked, referring to his publicist.
"I wouldn't tell her who it was. She was pissed about that. She thinks you're going to out yourself before the press does. She keeps saying we'll lose 'complete control of the story.'" He rolled his eyes.
"Well, you know I wouldn't do that."
Pedro chuckled. "What are you talking about? You're so open and vulnerable," he teased sarcastically. I playfully narrowed my eyes at him. "I did..." he started. "I did, uhm, I did want to talk about that, though."
"Oh," I responded, surprised.
"It's not bad, I just...," he struggled for the words, looking up as he put his thoughts together carefully. "I can't help but wonder if this is worse because we aren't, you know... an item. Dating."
" Oh ," I said, somehow an even greater anxiety washing over me. "Isn't that a little... old fashioned?"
"I'm not saying we should be, or it's going to ruin my reputation, whatever. I just mean... I mean," he was being extremely particular with his word choice. "I mean that if there were some leaked texts of me flirting with my girlfriend of two years, it's not really news. We get some high fives, 'great sex life,' whatever. But the sneaking around? People are going to wonder why. And they're going to be more persistent in figuring out who you are. And even though it's not really a scandal for an unattached man and woman to be sleeping together privately, it's going to be blown way out of proportion. And I fear that the worst of it will come to you, if and when you get named."
I gulped, considering his words. A part of me got defensive. "Is it really news for two people to be hooking up?"
"Lara, I love them, but you know fans… especially the younger ones. I wouldn't lose work, y'know, but it'd get complicated. Plus, the age difference…." He spoke slowly. "I'm not – I'm not worried about a scandal, I'm worried about you. I just – Jesus, I feel like I'm not saying this right."
"How about 'we live in a society that hates women and getting revealed as your young sexpot thanks to a TMZ leak will probably not be a fun experience for me'?" I tried to keep my tone light, but I knew he was right – at least to some extent – and the part of me that always felt protective of myself started to wall up.
"That's why you're my writer." He looked at me with an expression I had been avoiding for the past few months, but knew was there gazing at me as I drifted to sleep in one of our hotel beds; when we FaceTimed from different time zones; when I read him something I had been working on while we drank in the bath. It was adoration. Maybe even more than that.
"Lara," Pedro continued seriously. "I don't want to stress you out, and I don't want to bring you into this. I could say this is what you signed up for, but it's not. I signed up for this kind of scrutiny. I don't want you to be collateral damage. I care about you too much for that." His voice subtly caught on the word care . He cleared his throat.
I contemplated. It was a lot to take in.
It was about to be more.
"And...," Pedro kept going, swallowing hard. "And... if I can be honest – and I wanted to tell you this before all this happened – I've been starting to wonder myself... why we aren't ... dating." He ended on that word slowly, carefully, and intentionally. My heart stopped. My brain flooded with indecipherable thoughts.
Year One
This wasn't the first time we had a conversation like this, but it had been a long time. Pedro learned early on to avoid the subject ever since it came up on our first real "date."
The morning after our virtual dalliance was filled with tension – at least from my mundane vantage point. I had to wake up at 7:30am to go housesit for my colleague Jessa while she took a trip to Colorado with her fiancé. I felt like shit, not so much hungover as just exhausted. Mind you, I had slept maybe 2 hours over the previous two days as the Emmy's sucked up all my waking (and sleeping) hours, and having gone to bed around 4:00am after hanging up with Pedro, I was delirious. My migraine from the night before returned, and I felt sick to my stomach. Whether it was because of the alcohol or because I was waiting to see if Pedro texted me... well that remained to be seen.
It was early afternoon and I was playing with Jessa's cat Eduardo when my phone buzzed:
> Pedro 12:31pm
Hey stranger.
I rushed to reply, ole Eddy meowing at me to wave the cat wand again.
you 12:32pm
Lol did you just wake up?
> Pedro 12:33pm
Rude assumption. But yes.
I giggled. He replied again.
> Pedro 12:35pm
I'm surprised you're not dead to the world yourself.
you 12:36pm
I had to housesit at 7:30
:(
> Pedro 12:38pm
Shit, you should've let me know. I would've let you sleep last night.
you 12:39pm
I liked you keeping me up.
The flirting was coming even easier than it did the night before.
> Pedro 12:40pm
Mmm, I can make that a habit.
you 12:41pm
Please do.
> Pedro 12:42pm
Speaking of... what are you doing tonight?
It wasn't meant to be a big deal. Patty Jenkins and her husband had invited Pedro over while he was in town, and he wanted a date. I was initially hesitant about the idea – I did not sign up for dates, ever – but he stressed that it was purely as a friend and that he thought it would be cool for me and Patty to meet each other. I didn't like the feeling that he was trying to make me a career connection, but he promised a fun night, a great dinner, and most importantly, a night in bed together to follow. I did admire Patty as a director. I had already acted far outside of my routine, so why not?
When Pedro pulled up to my apartment complex in a sleek rental car, I had almost forgotten that we had only met yesterday. It was easy. Natural. I watched through my window as he pulled up, left arm straight up to the wheel, right relaxed on the arm of his seat. I watched as he pulled in, looking around a bit before looking down to his phone. I got the text announcing his arrival (as though I hadn't been peeking out my window in anticipation for the past ten minutes). I watched for a half minute more, observing as he glanced at my building nervously, fingers drumming the wheel. He seemed jittery from my (admittedly blurry) point of view. I sucked in my breath, wishing I could hold it for five hours, and checked myself once more in the mirror. I had to clean up nicely following my ugly, half-asleep and unwashed display from the day prior. The messy bun of brown hair was now washed and teased into a cascade of wavy locks. The Cubs hoodie and worn jeans were replaced with a summer dress that came just above my knees. It was colorful, smattered with pinks and yellows that made up a citrus and flower pattern across a billowy skirt and a tight bodice. I put on a bra – and a nice one. A recent writing advance had resulted in a pretty good SavagexFenty haul. I knew what I was doing.
I trotted down to my building's lobby, pausing before opening the front door.
When Pedro spotted me, his eyes lit up. A wave of warmth covered my skin. It was a surprisingly breezy, golden early evening, but the sun wasn't what kissed my nerves. It was that damn smile, head tilted, dark eyes looking up through dark and wavy tendrils as laugh lines presented themselves upon my arrival in the passenger's seat.
He was dressed nice, though still casual. He had a button-up tucked into a pair of fitting jeans. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt was unbuttoned past his collarbone. Against my wishes, my gaze lingered on the slightest hint of skin peering out from his collar. His arm was still propped up against the wheel, framing him as relaxed but in control. I swallowed hard.
"Hi," he grinned.
"Hey," I blushed, getting situated in the seat.
"It's not too late to bail," he teased, a singsong lilt to his voice.
"Hmm..." I pretended to consider the option. "Well if you're not holding me hostage...."
He laughed. "Held hostage at a dinner party with a badass director, what a nightmare."
"Hey, I read that Fiona Apple story about being stuck in a room with a coked-up Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino. It can happen."
He held his hands up playfully to say My apologies. I giggled.
"Shall we?" He looked into my eyes, searching for any sign of hesitance.
I was totally game. "We shall," I purred. With a smirk and a nod, Pedro put the car into gear and pulled us onto the highway toward Santa Monica.
Year Two
"You can't throw that question at me right now," I finally sniped through FaceTime. Two years later, we were a far way away from the flirty smiles and puppydog glances of those early few days.
"Lara," Pedro started.
"No, come on. I mean, I don't want to take away how shitty this situation is right now. It's very shitty. We... have things to figure out. But this – that question – that's not a priority right now."
He started to get frustrated with me. The switch in his tone made me feel like a child, extra self-conscious of the two decades between us. "It is for me. And not just because of how I feel, Lara. Frankly, I'm too old to be managing bad PR about a friends-with-benefits thing. And having to do so, right now, it's making me wonder what I'm doing at this age in this situation. Doing... teenager bullshit."
That hurt me. I wondered if it was supposed to. "That's really unfair," I muttered, wounded. He sighed.
"I... I'm sorry, I'm lashing out at you." He took a pause. "I just...," he started to trail off. "It kind of sucks that there's this invasion of privacy, and I can't even say who this amazing person I've been with is. I don't have the power to do that. I can just try to kill this story, make it all go away. But..." Pedro looked tired. I felt stupid for wasting my day away searching through old texts to escape him. "Have you gotten the feeling that maybe this is a sign we've reached some sort of expiration date on this?" I could tell he wasn't sure if he should say it; that he had been thinking that exact question through for at least the whole day, if not longer.
Year One
"Patty, thanks for putting together another plate on such short notice." Pedro accepted a delicious looking plate of chicken parmesan, thanking our gracious host. I accepted my plate as well, overperforming my gratitude. I felt a bit uncomfortable that I was an add-on, but no one had indicated that my presence was any less than welcome.
"Of course," Patty assured, sitting down across from me with her own plate. We were each at least a glass of wine in with Pedro already nearly done with glass number two.
"It's always great to meet young women really making their way in the industry," Patty added. I tried not to choke on my wine, sipping through laughter. Me ? Making my way?
"I saw your half-hour special," Patty's husband Sam added. "You're really funny."
I went red. Pedro subtly snuck a hand onto my bare knee. "It's uh, it's silly, you know. Stand-up, it's just... I don't know if I'd call it part of the industry. Not like the work you guys do."
"Oh, it absolutely is!" Patty's face lit up. "You're writing, you're performing, you're here in LA. You're competing against what has to be mostly men." I nodded bashfully. " And you're good at it. That's great. And you're young! You should feel proud of all these things." I was screaming inside, desperate to have the spotlight taken off of me. Pedro rubbed his thumb against the inside of my knee in comfort.
"I don't think Lara expected to be the guest of honor here," he chuckled, saving me. "She's very impressive, though. That is true." Patty eyed the both of us, trying to determine what our relationship was. Pedro removed his hand from my knee and started to dig into his meal. We all followed.
"Well, I don't want to drag this out, but tell us – are you working on anything now?" Sam asked, seemingly genuinely interested. I was more comfortable talking about my process than my progress.
"Yeah, well," I started, thinking. "Now that things have kind of slowed down following the Emmys, there's a pilot I've been working on," I shared. "Actually, it's done. I just need to start to shop it."
"That's wonderful!" Patty cooed. I felt like I was having dinner with my mom.
"Yeah, I mean, who knows, right? These things are larks," I laughed to myself. "My agent is still in Chicago – that's where I started – so it's uh, it's been an adjustment as more and more of the work I do is LA-based."
"Well, if you need some financial backing, I'd be happy to take a look." I really did do a spit-take this time. Sam snickered to himself, but Patty acted as though she didn't notice. "I mean it, email me your script. Make sure it's watermarked," she added sternly. "You have to be extra careful that no one tries to steal your work."
I had no idea what to say. "Uhm, that would be incredible," I said honestly. "I mean, I would want to do a few edits, make sure it's in a really good spot –"
"Oh please, just send it to me." Patty waved me off. "I'll give you any notes if I think of them. I'd love to help you get something made."
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Pedro was beaming, quietly watching my and Patty's exchange. "You could do worse than having the insight of Patty," he assured me.
"Insight? When have you ever taken my 'insight'?" Patty teased. She turned back to me. "I just let him do his thing on '84 . He hammed it up. He's a natural." It was Pedro's turn to go red. Patty seemed to have the superpower of making anyone in her vicinity feel good about themselves.
We ate in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. I was hyper-conscious of my bites, making sure not to slurp, groan, or chew too loudly. I didn't necessarily consider myself ladylike, but I didn't want to show my hand here.
"So," Sam asked. "When did you two –" he gestured his fork between Pedro and me. I started to correct him, but Pedro jumped in.
"Last year, in New York actually. We only talked a little, though, so I was happy to see her again at the Emmys." I furrowed my brow. Was he just bullshitting on the spot?
"Oh, so this is... new?" Patty broached carefully. I didn't know how to appropriately and politely correct her and her husband that no, Pedro and I were not dating, we merely had unsuccessful FaceTime sex while he was in the bathroom at an afterparty less than 24 hours ago. But he jumped in again.
"Sorry, I should've been more clear, Lara is just a friend," he insisted.
"Ohhhh!" Patty understood, looking sheepish at her mistake. "I completely misunderstood, I'm sorry." She reached her hand out to me. "Sorry, I got too excited. I've been waiting for Pedro to find someone nice. And you seem, well, very nice!" She chuckled. We were all a bit dizzy from the wine.
"If I could only be so lucky," Pedro mused, polishing off his glass. He snuck a wink at me. My stomach did a backflip.
Year Two
"Expiration date?" I choked on the words. "What does that mean ?"
"Lara," he began in the paternalistic voice I sometimes hated. "Doing things the way we have been... that's not sustainable, is it? For either of us."
"So... what are you saying? Are you just saying... that's it?" I gulped. This hurt more than I wanted it to.
"No," Pedro said confidently. Then he paused. "Well," his confidence faded, "Not necessarily. But I don't think it can be like this anymore."
Year One
I stood awkwardly in the doorway of Pedro's hotel room, head spinning from wine and awe. He turned back and chuckled at me.
"You can come in," he teased. "If you want to," he added, serious. Slowly, I stepped in, crossing the threshold. I closed the door behind me. I looked and saw his eyes turn hungry as the door closed, a part of him wanting to push me against the door and do it all right then and there. But he restrained himself.
"Would you feel comfortable having another drink?" he offered. "I was thinking of finishing the evening off with a glass of whiskey, but I understand if you'd rather sit it out."
"No, that sounds great. Thank you for asking, though." I put my bag down on a chair near the door, stepping further into his temporary world. He pulled a bottle out of the minibar, then paused.
"On the rocks?"
"Yes, please." He nodded, leaving the bottle for now as he gestured One moment to me, strolling quickly out of the room, presumably to get ice.
Left alone, I sat on the edge of the bed, looking around.
One of my favorite parts of sleeping with someone is getting to know them in intimate ways. I think of all the ways you can know a person, and how many of those ways are only reserved in certain contexts. While someone might have company over often, that doesn't mean their bedroom is always open. Some of my favorite moments are in the early hours of the morning, tip-toeing around in just a shirt and panties, looking through a bookshelf. Admiring the pattern of the comforter. Seeing if they drop their laundry on the floor or keep it folded away, out of view. Observing their bedside table collection of chargers, glasses of water, lens wipes, and ibuprofen. Sneaking glances at how they sleep, how the morning light hits them, how dust gathers in the air of their room at 5 am, how they exhale, whether they smile in their sleep. I wonder how many people know these things about them. Even if their body count was high, compared to all the people they know in their life, the number must be small. And how many of those people notice? How many register the tenor of their moans, the pattern of the hair on their stomach, the way their vertebras shift beneath their skin?
I felt protective over my sex life, not just for privacy's sake, but because I never knew how to articulate that the sex was the least interesting part to me. I never knew how to convey that in fact, I loved emotional and physical intimacy, and that was why I wanted to experience it with multiple people. I wanted to share those deepest parts with each other without reserving that for one person exclusively. I loved the impermanence of it all. I loved the ephemerality. Seeing the deepest crevices of someone's being without the intent of staying there forever. Being there because that's what makes sense now, not because you are trying to make your way to an end. I wasn't sure anyone could understand, though. And truthfully, I didn't always know how much of this was simply my approach to life, or a rationale I had given myself for the walls I had built.
I wasn't in Pedro's environment, though. Not entirely. The hotel was mass-produced, made for any comer-by with a certain level of income. Nice, but cold. Welcoming, but impersonal. I looked around to see if there were any pieces of Pedro I could find – peeks into his being, into his life. The things that only a small subset of people get to see. But I wasn't left with much. His suitcase was neatly packed and sealed (my rule was always to only inspect what was out in the open, never to go snooping around). The top of the dresser was clear. The bedside table, too. He hadn't settled here. It was just a stop in his timeline. I scooted back, laying on my side as I looked at the hotel pamphlet, curious if the room service menu was any good. If he invited me to stay the night, maybe I could score some bangin' French Toast. As I flipped through the menu, I noticed the hotel-branded notepad that they always leave near the phone. It seemed antiquated to me. Who was taking written notes by the phone these days? But I smiled, because on the bottom corner of the page were a handful of doodles; a swirl, a bird, a cup of coffee, a squiggle. It wasn't much, but it was the first piece of Pedro I could see.
My phone suddenly vibrated, startling me out of my swooning. I reached for it, confused about who would be texting me.
> Chris 10:09pm
Coffee soon?
A pang of anxiety hit me. What was he doing texting me? And now of all times? But I couldn't even respond before Pedro reentered the room, ice procured.
"Sorry that took a minute, I got myself a Reese's from the vending machine. You're welcome to – " He shut the door and finally looked at me. I didn't even think about how I was posed, but I must've looked straight out of Titanic. I was still laying on my side. One of my legs was bent, hiked up towards my hip, leaving the skirt of my dress askew. I was leaning on my bent elbow, the position pushing my cleavage out. The strap of my dress was sliding down. Caught with my phone in my hand, reeling from the unexpected text, I must've looked like a deer in headlights, but my look was superseded by the way I was sprawled out. It was completely by accident, but I wasn't mad about it. Pedro slammed the ice bucket onto a table.
"Fuck the drinks," he growled, sulking towards me. I turned off my phone. He crawled on the bed over me, grabbed my phone from my hand, and tossed it to the carpeted floor. He looked like he was going to consume me. He held himself up, hand on either side of me, face and chest flushed with sweat. He was breathing heavily, and so was I, completely surprised by the sudden shift into unadulterated lust. I could smell his cologne this close.
I turned so I was on my back. My mouth was open and I leaned back slightly, arching my back. He groaned.
"That's dangerous, you posing like that, waiting for me."
I bit my lip, putting on my best pouty sex face. "You shouldn't have made me wait."
Pedro hadn't touched me yet, but I wanted him to. I finally initiated, slowly reaching my hand up to his clothed chest. I dragged my fingers across his collar, sliding them down to the buttons on his shirt. I moved to begin undoing them, but with a quick movement, Pedro grabbed my wrist with one arm and pinned it above my head. He slowly lowered himself to the side of me, placing his free hand on my waist as he did the night before. This time, though, we looked right at each other, sustaining thirsty eye contact. His hand tightened on my waist.
"Mmmm." A moan escaped my lips.
"You're the one who's had me waiting, sweetheart," he whispered. "I would've had you last night, remember?"
I nodded wide-eyed, muted by my desire. He leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above mine.
"...May I?" he purred. Something about him asking and asking in that tone drove me crazy. I nodded again.
He crossed the threshold.
His lips on me were gentle but hungry, slow but desirous. His urgent want of me was clear, but it was also clear he wanted to take his time to savor it. His hand around my wrist shifted from holding me down to entwining his fingers with mine, his other hand moving up to toy with, grasp, and enmesh with my hair. The kiss deepened as his teeth grazed against my bottom lip. Uncontrollably, I arched up again, whining pathetically. He groaned in turn, his fingers moving from my hair to my chin. He pulled away, still keeping his mouth only mere inches from mine.
"Your lips... Jesus, baby. I can't believe how desperate I've been to have you here, like this." He swiped a thumb across my lips, kissing my jaw as my mouth forgot how to form words. "I have... a confession... to make." He gasped between nips across the skin of my neck. "I wasn't lying... We've met before." I broke out of my overstimulated state.
"What?"
Pedro chuckled. "Yeah. It kind of bummed me out that you didn't remember."
I sat up. "What are you talking about?" He sat up as well, starting to look a little embarrassed.
"You did a one-man – or what, a one-woman show, right? You did a one-woman show in New York last year." I slowly nodded, feeling like a lost memory was coming back to me.
"Yeah... Yeah, it was uhm, it was at that Brooklyn black box theater." Admittedly, I had sometimes forgotten about that show. It was a labor of love I had worked on for five years, and the run was fairly successful, but it went quickly, and soon enough I was back in LA sending out writing packets, moving onto the next project. My agent thought I might have a shot of taking the show to Broadway, but it didn't pan out. I never admitted to anyone how much that had gutted me. I wrote something personal that I was performing solo. I didn't want to dwell on the idea that it just wasn't good enough.
"Right, right. Well… I went." Pedro eyed me carefully.
"What?" I thought about this for a second. I could swear I would remember if the star of The Mandalorian and Wonder Woman came to my show. But a flashback started to nag at me, the fuzzy edges of recollection making their way to my consciousness. "Wait... wait, wait. You uhm, you came with somebody."
"I went with Amy Sedaris." He laughed. "You were honestly so struck that she was there I think you barely noticed me." Oh. It was all flooding back to me now. "You also were really distracted by something else. I don't know, a few people I recognized were there that night, so maybe you were a little overwhelmed by all your adoring fans." He went shy.
I did remember now. It was a surprisingly high-profile evening. It was the Friday after I had gotten some good press in the New Yorker and the attention had attracted a few celebrity so-and-so's who tried to keep up with whatever piece of art or performance was trended on Twitter or Instagram for a few days. Amy Sedaris came, and I was ecstatic. I had a great crew of comedian friends from my generation of stand-ups, but I hadn't gotten to meet many from the past generations. She was a hero to me. But I was distracted by something bigger.
Because Chris came that night, too.
I wracked my brain and I remembered Pedro there, meeting me backstage with Amy, hands in pockets as I maniacally switched between geeking out over Amy and trying to see if Chris was coming to greet me or not. It wasn't my most impressive moment, even though I was coming off of an especially good performance. But it was because the show had gone so well that I was extra panicked about my social interactions. I only barely remembered Pedro. I couldn't even remember if I said more to him than "Nice to meet you!"
"Shit," I apologized. "I'm sorry, you were there. I completely forgot. Was I at least nice?"
"It's okay. And yeah, I think you were nice. I believe you tried making some joke about my face." He started laughing. "Something about how I have a lot more 'face' in person, because of…"
"Because of the Mandalorian helmet!" I remembered. "Yeesh, that's terrible. And you still thought I was interesting after that?"
"Of course!" He sighed. "I didn't bring it up to make you feel bad. I wanted you to know that you weren't just some writer I was kinda attracted to at an awards show."
"Kinda?" I teased. Pedro swiftly wrapped his hand in my hair, pulling my chin and lips up towards him.
"Very. Fucking. Attracted to." My breath caught in my throat. He relaxed his hand, switching back to his conversational tone. "Your show was great. Funny, touching, sexy, intimate. I've thought about it a lot. I was really nervous to meet you that night because I was just like – Wow. Amazed by you. And I didn't think I was going to see you again, least of all last night. But I did." He looked down at me. He looked sheepish from his admission. I put my hand up to his cheek. I wanted to reassure him, That's the nicest, sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I wanted to say I've been a fan of you for a long time, too, and the way you're making me swoon right now is enough for me to give you all of me, always, now, forever.
But I didn't. I couldn't. I knew I was swept up in the adrenaline of the past two nights anyway. This would be a beautiful, momentous dalliance that would come and go after a couple of days, soon to only be a fond memory.
Of course, it turned into more.
But before it did, I had to respond to Pedro and his bedside confession. I did the only way I knew how. I reached behind me, turned off the lamp, and pulled him down to me for a passionate kiss.
Shut up, I thought. Shut up, shut up, shut up. But was it to Pedro, or myself?
Year Two
"I don't think it can be this anymore." Pedro's words hung over a grim silence, sinking into the pit of my stomach. He looked down. It was awkward. We were FaceTiming, forcing cameras into the sightlines of our eyes, and yet he couldn't look at me. I had a hard time looking, too.
"What's... What's changed?" I spat out, unequipped to process my feelings. Pedro snorted humorlessly.
"What's changed ? My publicist is fielding dozens of phone calls. I have fifty fucking people in my texts asking questions. My sisters are pissed at me like I've been keeping some love of my life secret from them. That's their point of view," he added before I could protest that word choice. "I have to get on the phone with the directors of my next three projects to reassure them you're not a sex worker, that it's a 'legitimate' relationship because they're all terrified this is some sort of – dark fucking scandal, or something." He was angry, now. This is what I was expecting, but it still made me feel so small. In a different context, it might've turned into something lustful, more passionate, but there was no room for that now. "Lara, it's all just so embarrassing ."
"I'm... I'm sor –"
"Jesus, don't apologize." He interrupted, exasperated. "Lara, the problem isn't that you've slept with me. Don't do that. Don't take on some responsibility like you're some manipulative seductress." He paused. "I wanted you from the night I met you. The first time. Before you even remember meeting me." I wanted to cry. Why did I want to cry? When did I go soft? "The problem is that... I don't have any answers I can give anyone. I can't point to you. I can't... explain what my relationship to you is. Because if you try to convince me this has been sex and nothing else for this long, you know that's fucking bullshit." My cheeks went hot. "I don't know what it is, Lara. I just know you are... a really important person in my life. But how do I explain that? How can I... Piece this together, keep our privacy, and keep what we've been doing going? I can't." He swallowed, choosing the next set of words carefully. "So until I know... how to do that, I don't think we can do... this ... anymore." His voice was soft now. The anger dissipated. It was just sadness, now.
I felt it too.
I sat with his words across a long silence, screaming at myself to stop being such a baby about everything, knowing what I was about to do had no purpose other than self-destruction. And still…
"Pedro… you know where I stand on this."
"And that hasn't somehow changed in two years?"
I gulped. "No." Liar.
"Well… that's disappointing to hear." His face gave little away of his feelings. He was matching my emotional walls brick-by-brick. "Well, like I said, this wasn't sustainable."
"It was nice, though." And I meant that. He gave me a weak smile. "Come on, don't smile at me, not after this conversation."
"You know I'm a sucker for you, baby," he said with effortless charm.
"I know."
Year One
Kissing Pedro was Heaven. I felt like we could've done it forever. In the dark like that, removed from time or place, like it was just us suspended there. He kissed me slowly this time, tongue and teeth still present, but without the hurry to escalate the act into something more.
I could still taste the wine on him and I assumed he could taste it on me. He ran his tongue along my lips frequently, giving little nips with his teeth here and there. His arm wrapped around my figure, fingers laced through my hair, his other hand gently exploring the more innocent parts of my body. It was erotic without purposeful arousal. Maybe we kissed for hours. Or maybe only a few seconds. It felt like the first time you make out when you're younger – hot, exploratory, desperate longing with the enjoyment in the act itself. No plans to consummate. Just. Kissing.
I played with the soft waves of his hair. I giggled into his mouth every time the hair above his lip tickled my nose, or his deft fingers reached a sensitive spot. Every so often he would whisper my name. It wasn't in response to anything in particular and I wasn't even sure if he was saying it to me , or just saying it. Lara. Lara, Lara, Lara.
It rolled off his tongue beautifully. To say it was like a prayer would be a cliche. It was like a breeze blowing past my lips. Lara... Lara... Lara....
Soon enough, those whispers melted into more than kissing. The whispers rolled down my neck. Up into my ear. Sending goosebumps up my spine, like sensing a ghost. His hand returned to my jaw; his thumb caressed my mouth. Without thinking, I parted my lips to softly suck around the digit. He moaned, the repetitive string of my name punctuated with a lusty –
"Fuck."
I could see through the dark that Pedro searched for my eyes. His hunger was palpable, even through the shadows. He pushed my shoulders down so that I was on my back, and in one movement, he slid me down the bed by my legs. Gently and carefully, he parted them. His breath became quicker and more shallow, louder as his hunger grew.
Pedro grabbed my dress by the hem and slowly rolled it up my body, pausing to kiss every new inch of skin exposed. He carefully lifted my dress completely off.
"I know you showed me yourself last night," he remarked in a low tone. "But this is far better than I could've imagined."
"You didn't get to undress me yourself," I added.
"Mmm," he growled. "The things I hope to do myself...."
He looked down at me, lazily rubbing his hand across my naked waist as he unbuttoned his shirt dexterously. It was my turn to admire. I hadn't gotten to see this piece of him before. Not reserved for me, at least.
I sat up and ran my hands along his chest, relishing in the feel of smattered hair, warm skin, and the light pulse of a racing heart. He watched me with kind, vulnerable eyes that pierced me in the dark.
On the same wavelength, we both wrapped around each other for another kiss, this one deeper and needier. He reached his arm around to unclasp my bra and slowly pushed the straps down my arms.
"You are fantastic," he muttered, mindlessly bringing a hand up along my rib cage. His thumb slid back and forth at the edge of where the breast meets bone, waiting for my permission.
"Please," I gasped. "I need to be felt by you." He quickly obliged, sitting up on his knees and gently pressing me back down on my back. His rough hand found its way to my breast as gently as possible, firmly cupping without grasping. He hummed as his fingers met a stiff peak. I arched back uncontrollably, desperate for more. He leaned down to kiss my neck, movements becoming rougher and more assertive the further he inched down. Suddenly, I felt his mouth meet my pert nipple with a warm hunger. His teeth grazed with just enough force to make me gasp and to make the urge between my legs grow more and more desperate. He consumed every inch of me, leaning up to kiss across my collarbone before dragging his tongue against my other nipple. He licked along the underside of my breast as he slid a hand up, placing his thumb back on my lips. I understood this as a command this time, returning my mouth to him instinctively. He dragged his thumb back down, tracing my own saliva over each nub. With the absence of the warmth of his mouth, the mix of wetness exposed against the air sent a chill across my body.
He kissed my sides. Down the front of my stomach. Across the top of my thighs. Along my hips. And then, he hooked his thumbs into either side of the waistband of my panties.
He looked to me once again for permission.
I nodded.
Painfully slowly, he pulled my underwear down my legs with some assistance as I lifted my hips. He looked down at the pair, smiling, before ritualistically putting them aside.
Then he looked back at me. And Oh. My. God. That look.
He paused, almost frozen in time. But I could see and hear his breath. His chest heaved with a more pronounced rhythm as he drank in the sight of my exposure. He was right – he had technically seen this all the night previous, but there is nothing quite like the real thing, is there?
After what felt like hours of me observing him in anticipation, he dipped his head down, shifting his body back wordlessly. He wrapped an arm around each of my raised thighs, reaching his hand to rub up against my side. It was strangely comforting, a reassurance that yes, he was really here with me.
Pedro kissed the inner part of each thigh, taking long pauses in between each kiss to lock eyes with me in the darkness. He had to make sure I was watching.
He angled his face towards my center and inhaled, groaning at my scent. I was aware that the perfume of my arousal was beginning to fill the room. I was dripping for him.
Catching my gaze again, he leaned in to finally place a chaste kiss right where the concentration of all my desire lay. My hips shot up immediately as stars filled my vision. I had never had anyone start so directly before, going straight for my neediest spot, but giving it attention in such an innocent, delicate way. I was about to beg for him to consume me, entirely and completely.
I didn't need to. I saw the corners of his mouth rise in a devilish grin as he took in my reaction. Assuming his cue, he pressed his lips to me again, this time sustaining the contact by licking up from my entrance to my apex. He maintained this pattern, humming into the pink of my flesh as my wetness enveloped his lips and tongue.
"Taste... So... Fucking good." His groans were muffled by the sound of my slick. Dissatisfied with merely tasting me, he slid a finger into me, rubbing against my spot immediately. I cried out.
"Yes," he egged me on. "Yes, baby, just like that. You're being so good," he cooed. The sweet talk fired me up even more. I started to rock my hips against his tongue as he added a second finger, arching the digits up in rhythm with my own desperate movements. He flattened his tongue against my clit, holding it still to enjoy every brush of me against him. I was getting close – fast. Faster than I had when on FaceTime with him. This was better. It wasn't my hands. It was Pedro. All Pedro.
He stared at me in lustful amazement as I pushed myself onto him. He added a third finger, filling me. It sounded like waves were rushing in my ears. I felt my climax build to new heights as I thought I might pass out. As my knees locked and my toes curled, he alternated the movements of his tongue, switching between circling only the tip around my tiny pleasure zone, and what finally pushed me over the edge – enveloping me with his lips, gently sucking as he just slightly ran the tip of his tongue over me.
My pleasure cascaded over the edge. I had no idea how loud I was being as I cried out his name – yes, like a prayer – and pressed my whole being as close into him as humanly possible. He was relentless, maintaining the pace of his fingers and tongue even as my thighs closed in around his head. He watched me as I came, the devilish smile returning. I felt a wave of wetness flow from my core to coat his face and fingers. I blacked out for at least .5 seconds, completely overwhelmed by the intense pleasure that overtook me.
When I finally came down, I hadn't even realized that he had stopped altogether. He was holding both of my thighs, his cheek leaning against my inner leg, his eyes watching me closely. When I made eye contact with him again, panting and eyes dazed, he smiled adoringly with a teasing spark of self-satisfaction. His chin glistened with the demonstration of my desire; my want and need for him. He leaned in, chuckling as he left one more chaste kiss just above my clit. A shockwave hit me and I had to grab him by the chin.
"Too much?" He mused, cockily.
"Not enough," I purred, pulling him back up to be face-to-face with me. We kissed more, desperate, sloppy. I tasted myself on him.
I reached my hands down near his belt and he groaned into my mouth. Considering the state he had left me in, there was a sizable wet spot on his jeans from where he had pressed into me. It coincided with the presence of his own arousal.
I got his belt off and his zipper down, and awkwardly he fumbled to get his jeans off as quickly as possible without getting up. It was cute. But I didn't have time for cute. As soon as he had them off, I pulled him down so that his whole weight was on top of me, only his boxers separating us. I could feel the warmth emanating from his erection as he pressed himself against my cunt.
"You're so... Fucking wet," he gasped, biting my neck. "So fucking wet for me." He nibbled my earlobe, the sensation of his words vibrating adding to my impatience.
"Off," I whined as I pulled at his waistband, unable to formulate a sentence.
He stood up this time, learning from his mistake as he threw his remaining piece of clothing off. I could see his hard cock stand out from his lean silhouette. My walls tightened in anticipation. It was so much better than a grainy video. He crawled back on top of me, lining his tip up against my lower lips.
"Oh my fucking god," he panted at the feel of my slick. "Shit," he exhaled, holding himself back from burying his length in me. "Condom?" He also struggled to make full sentences.
"Tested. Clean. IUD," I blurted out the checklist from my regular maintenance. "Clean?" I remembered to ask.
"Clean." He nodded, answering confidently. I trusted him.
I nodded back, and so he wrapped an arm around my back, completely enveloping my petite form, and steadied himself with one hand as he slowly entered me, our foreheads pressed together and moans escaping in unison.
"Jesus, so tight," he muttered, more to himself than to me, pausing so that I could adjust to him and he could do the same. "Not gonna last long," he admitted.
"Don't care," I shook my head. His mouth hung open and he nodded again as he started to pull his hips back. He leaned his head into the crook of my neck as he pushed back into me, deeper this time. I gasped. He began a rhythm, fucking me with increasing speed and force.
Desperate for more control, he paused and pushed himself off of me. I was about to complain, but he pulled me down roughly so that my legs hung off the bed. Standing before me, he pulled my thighs to either side of his hips and entered me again. His cock angled up inside me better and I pushed my hips up, matching the movement of his own. I watched as the muscles of his neck strained and louder moans escapes him. Holding me by my waist, he pulled me onto him harder and harder as his thumbs dug into my flesh. I felt delightfully used in this perpendicular position, watching as Pedro controlled my body for his own pleasure, and watching as that pleasure increased and increased. It was filthy, rough, and so fucking sexy. Sweat dripped down his chest and his biceps flexed, holding onto me even tighter. The sounds of his body meeting mine were lewd.
Without warning, he scooped me up so that I was upright alongside him, his cock still buried deep into my warmth. He supported my weight as my legs wrapped around his hips. He kissed me lustfully, pushing in and out of me a few times before forcibly flipping me over. He pushed me facedown into the mattress and pulled me up by the hips. Never had I felt so not in control. It turned me on to the point that I couldn't form words.
Even as his dominance overtook him, Pedro leaned over me and whispered, "Is this ok?" Fucked beyond comprehension, I just mumbled.
"Mm..hmm..."
"Good," he grunted, re-entering me roughly. He put one knee up on the mattress, his other leg still standing, and he fucked me wildly from behind, holding onto my hips for dear life. "That's it... That's sooo good. You're so good. Fuck. You're so wet. You're so tight. I want you like this... All fucking day. Fucking my cock so good. Fuck, you're..." he panted. "God, you're gonna make me... make – " he was losing words as he fucked me even faster than I thought possible.
"Cum for me, Pedro." I managed to squeak out. "Cum inside me."
"Ohh... Oh.... fuuuuuuck," he groaned out as his thrusts became more shallow and I felt his cum fill me, some of it dripping down my thighs. I felt absolutely fucking filthy. Straight out of a porno. I could get used to this.
I heard Pedro gasp, trying to return his breath to normal. He softly rubbed my hips, gently and unconsciously tending to the burgeoning bruises.
Finally, he pulled himself out of me. I felt an instant coolness that contrasted with the sheen of hot sweat across my body. I was very suddenly self-conscious of my spread-wide position. I felt his weight leave the bed and I slowly lowered my bottom half down, rolling over to my side. My energy was zapped. I was content in ecstasy.
I didn't even register that he was away from the bed for any length of time, but he had returned with a washcloth for me and himself. This was always the awkward part. I scooted myself down off the bed and held the washcloth to myself as I felt him drip from me. As I made my way to the sink in the bathroom, I heard him chuckle behind me.
"I'll have to tip the housekeeper well."
I don't remember how and when we transitioned from cleanup to lying with each other in bed. I won't pretend it was a romantic drift to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms and proclaiming love at first sight. But I did lean into his outstretched arm and nestle my head into his chest, drawing invisible lines on his stomach.
"That was fun," he smiled.
"It was," I agreed, still panting a bit. The room was thick and humid with sweat and the aroma of sex.
We didn't say anything more as exhaustion overtook us. I woke up shortly after dosing off. Pedro was sound asleep. I had a hard time sleeping in the embrace of someone else, so I turned over. Perhaps sensing my movement in his sleep, Pedro turned over as well. It was an incredible night and some of the best sex I'd ever had. But a melancholy washed over me. It was a melancholy that presented itself after every evening like this one when the intimacy shared washes away and in spite of being inches away from another being, the feeling of isolation prevails. Who was this man? I had learned how he breathed, how he fucked, how he whispered my name. But I still didn't know him. I didn't really know any of them. The quiet darkness of the room became more and more noticeable. I felt like a nomad and fell asleep to the deep, sad, itching suspicion that this feeling might never go away.
But in the morning, when the California sun crept in through late 90s hotel shades and danced across my tired eyes, I turned over again. Pedro faced me, still, sound asleep. For a few moments, I watched him. Learned him. And before turning over to go back to sleep again, I thought to myself, I wish to know this man.
The sex the morning after was decidedly less hurried than the night before. I found myself still sleepy, eyes hazily watching Pedro as he worked between my legs again. This time, we weren't working toward an end goal. It wasn't about the orgasm. He wanted to learn me.
Tangled in pure white sheets with sunlight filtering in through gauzy shades, I could see Pedro more clearly now than the previous night. I wove my fingers into the dark waves, a mess from sleep, draped across his forehead. As I did, he looked up at me longingly. Lovingly. Soft eyes and the creases of a smile visible past long eyelashes. He alternated between slow, explorative licks through my folds, and gentle, wandering kisses on every inch of my skin. He kissed my thighs, my hips, and the top of my pelvis. He got to know every inch of me.
After luxuriating in the feel of his mouth for nearly 30 minutes, I started to feel my climax announce itself below my belly. Pedro had warmed me up so well that my hips didn't need to buck as they normally did, desperate for more friction. They stilled as he flatted his tongue with consistent and persistent strokes against my clit. I came hard and quietly, feeling more vulnerable in the light of the morning, memorizing every detail of how the honey of his lips felt as the slick of my desire pooled down my legs.
He placed a gentle kiss on me -- the perfect punctuation for the soft and gentle act. Pedro crawled alongside me so that we were face to face again, pulling me in for a kiss.
"I love your taste," he whispered into my mouth, less a statement of seduction and more one of fact. I pouted as he rubbed his thumb along my side.
"I haven't tasted you yet," I protested.
Pedro chuckled. "Sweetheart, you'd kill me if you did."
I raised an eyebrow before leaning in to kiss his neck. Taking the hint, he adjusted so he was laying on his back as I started to lick and nip down his body.
"What would kill you...," I started, reaching the soft warmth of his belly. "My lips wrapped around you?" His breath hitched. "Or me swallowing every last drop of you?" He groaned, his head tilting back as he leaned into my words. I felt his cock twitch near my belly, prepared for the spotlight.
"Tell me," I commanded softly, now positioned between his muscular legs, holding his length at its base.
"Shit, baby." he choked out a laugh. "All of it." He watched me carefully as I grinned devilishly, inch by inch dragging a stripe of my tongue from his base to his tip, putting extra pressure just under the ridge of his head. He groaned, almost a growl, biting his lip as he watched me intently.
Year Two
"How many hours ahead are you?" I asked, starting to feel sleepy. We had been on FaceTime for two hours. I suspected neither of us wanted to be the one to initiate hanging up for the last time. I asked him the question often on our calls, even though I usually knew the answer.
"Eight hours," he sighed. At some point he had started to make his way into bed, his shirt now off and his hair a complete mess.
"Yeesh, you should be sleeping now!"
"It's fine," he assured me, though he rubbed his face in exhaustion.
"Are you in London long?"
"No, I have to get back to film pretty soon."
"Right," I nodded, unsure where to take the conversation from here - desperate to prevent it from ending. I looked down, my palm starting to sweat against my phone. "So that's it, huh?"
"It's... a break at least."
"Right," I said again, knowing full well this was more than "a break."
"Hey, between me shooting and you starting with the writer's room, we won't have much time to miss one another." He smiled half-heartedly.
"Yeah. I don't have to worry about Disney tracking me down, do I?"
He chuckled. "Probably not. I'll keep you protected, I promise."
A moment. "Well," I exhaled through my teeth. "No reason to drag it out anymore." My emotional fortress was at the ready. "Have a great rest of your trip and good luck on the new season. Good night and... goodbye. Maybe I'll see you around."
"I'm sure we'll see each other again." I wasn't sure he was so confident in that, but I got it. It just was the sort of thing you said in this situation. "Good nigh - uhm, goodbye Lara."
"Goodbye, Pedro." We both sighed and nodded. And while I was already sad about the loss of someone who had been close to me for the past two years, I thought I could make peace with letting go. After all, it was just a fling, right? And yet, as "Goodbye," rolled off my tongue, just as Pedro reached to hang up the call, more words followed. Instinctively, perhaps the same train of thought that causes you to accidentally call your teacher Mom or to respond to the waiter who tells you to enjoy your meal with, "you too." But whatever the reason, in the same split-second that the call began to go offline, the words spilled out from beyond my control.
"Love you."
I didn't hear them until they were already said, and his finger was already hitting "end call," the moment they came out, but we both heard me say it. His expression met me with confusion, surprise, and frustration, and I could see in the camera that my eyes widened in horror as I started to mouth the words, "I mean -- I, I don't," but it didn't matter. The call ended, our expressions only existing in the second of iPhone lag.
I stared at my empty screen, processing it all, wondering if he would call so we could resolve the new absence of closure I introduced. But he didn't.
And that was our goodbye -- a t least for a long time.
Chapter 4: Look at You!
Summary:
Lara is down so bad :(
Notes:
Notes - I think I accidentally wrote myself into a hole with this timeline (even as an AU) because I was originally thinking Year One was around 2019, but the Mandalorian wouldn’t have come out until after the Emmys that year… whoops! If you can forgive me for it, just pretend this timeline makes sense, I do not have the wherewithal to do the dramaturgy necessary to map out IRL timeframes lol.
Chapter Text
Year Four
We didn’t speak after that. There were no calls where he asked, “Hey, did you say ‘Love you,’ to me? What was that about?” There weren’t any “Thinking of you,” texts. We didn’t even end up crossing paths at any awards shows, industry events, or parties that ensued – though Pedro’s star had certainly eclipsed mine. It wasn’t as though we were exactly that close in stature to begin with. That was always abundantly clear to me, as shortly after we began seeing each other, it seemed people were finally starting to recognize him for his talents.
It was a bizarre period to be with someone, though one of the reasons I always believed our arrangement worked was because of how goddamn busy he was getting to be. I had to make up excuses to my friends of why I seemed disinterested in watching that new funny-sounding Nicolas Cage movie or why I didn’t care that Judd Apatow had a new movie coming out (though to be fair, they joined me in disappointment once they watched it). The closest Pedro and I had come to being in proximity again was SXSW – and believe me, I was sick to my stomach over the possibility – but thankfully his premiere coincided with the Comedy Showcase that hwas the whole reason I was down in Austin to begin with, and I never saw him around at any of the other events. I was relieved, but I couldn’t deny that I was also disappointed.
But Pedro was becoming harder to ignore, and the sheer magnitude of his stardom especially stung after I had a challenging couple of years with my own career. I was too on the rise without having actually arrived when COVID hit, and it had been difficult to get back. The shows that used to book me showed more loyalty to their male roster who had never taken the virus seriously to begin with, and I watched as every edgelord with a podcast and Mommy’s money surpassing me sheerly because they never went away when we were all supposed to go inside. And when I cautiously came out of the cave, the jobs were drying up. Rooms weren’t hiring or shows were getting cancelled left and right. My pilot in development turned out to be DOA as soon as studios reevaluated their budgets. Half of my friends took gigs with Quibi. It was a dark era, and I was debating whether to finally switch agents. My Chicago agent was lovely and I owed so much to her, but I wasn’t sure I could survive in this LA climate anymore without someone more connected. But did I really want to these days?
The dry career spell led to a dry intimacy spell as well, or at least one with just as few returns. I still had a few numbers in rotation, but I stopped caring as much about the effort that went into the whole thing. My confidence was shot.
I was getting by on workhorse checks – doing punch-up work for a few mid-level shows, working the comedy podcast circuit for exposure and hopefully invites to paid shows, and occasional one-episode appearances on Law & Order or a sitcom cancelled after one season. I even paid my dues with the requisite Chicago Fire, Med, and PD trifecta back home.
The one thing in my back pocket was the one-woman show. I had never done it outside of New York, and while I hadn’t thought about it for a while, recently, it had begun to tug at my mind again. I wondered if I could update it for a tour or a run at The Largo, and maybe if I begged hard enough, Netflix would give me a filmed performance. But every time I thought about the show too much, I thought about the person who gave me the most meaningful praise for it. And once again, I can’t escape Pedro.
It was in one of these moments on a temperate Winter day that I was walking in West Hollywood and saw the HBO billboard, towering several stories above me. My stomach sank, but I had to smile in spite of it all. Why can’t I let go of this man? I wondered how much of it was guilt; a sense of choosing the wrong direction.
Feeling down and reckless, I pulled out my phone and snapped a pic, attaching it to a text thread I hadn’t opened up in quite some time.
you 4:07pm
!!!
Well look at you. Congrats!
I sucked my lips between my teeth, my thumb hovering over the send button. I tapped it after a deep inhale and quickly stuffed the phone back into my pocket.
I walked a few more steps before stopping again, loathing myself for being so accessible right now.
you 4:08pm
Hope you’re well.
Send. Lara, Lara, Lara, Lara… tutted in my head. But whose voice was it?
Year One
“Oh, Lara… Lara, Lara, yes, baby,” Pedro groaned, careening towards climax. My hands braced his chest as I leaned back on my heels, chasing the high myself. As I arched back, one of his hands reached for my waist, just above my hip, and the other traced its way between my breasts, up to my neck, pulling my gaze back towards him. As he caressed my jaw, he traced his thumb across my lips before returning his fingers to my neck, gripping gently – enough to manhandle me and make my jaw hang open, but not enough for any real obstruction. He puppeteered my body on top of him, his grip on my waist allowing me to grind down even closer to his body, to give him access to reach every crevice within me. The hand around my neck couldn’t stay still as I looked at me with heated, dumbstruck eyes, moving up into my hair and grasping it, back to my jaw, pursing my lips, and again to the hold on my neck. We were both drenched in sweat, droplets running down my breasts and dripping down to his stomach, his hair matted to his forehead.
“That’s my sweet girl. Are you gonna – mm –“ he growled. "Are you gonna cum for me one more time?” His hand was back to my jaw and I rolled my head, pressing my cheek to his palm as I luxuriated in his praise. I nodded my head, a breathy moan, my only vocal response as he rutted his hips upwards against me. It was deliriously good, as our sex had consistently been since the week of the Emmys.
He was really holding my hip down now, matching my movements one-for-one while attempting to hold off his own orgasm. I could see the veins and tendons in his neck strain as he tried to last just… a little… longer….
And there I was, spilling into orgasm four or five (I lost count). I almost started crying, completely falling apart at the seams as the overwhelming sensation and exhaustion.
“That’s right, baby. I knew you could. You’re so beautiful when you cum like that. Fuck.” He closed his eyes and his head tilted back, signaling to me that he wasn’t able to hold off much longer. As I came down, I returned my attention to him, trying to will back just enough energy to get him to where was aching to be. His hands loosened their grip around me and started tensing up sporadically.
I placed my hands back on his chest, grazing my nails against his skin, taking the wheel back into my control.
But he took the control back from me just as quickly, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me flush against his chest, fingers laced in my hair as he crashed his lips against mine and as our bodies moved in tandem, deliciously close to one another. He grunted through the kiss as hips finally stuttered and warmth flooded out of him, inside of me.
I was spent and completely collapsed atop him knowing no more was required of me. We were both panting furiously, chuckles punctuating each breath as we soaked in the aftershocks of pleasure.
He had taken me out to Santa Barbara for the evening. It was our compromise: I could be coaxed into dinner just as long as we were away from any immediate spotlights. We had only been seeing each other sporadically for a few months. Even though he had been back in town to film The Mandalorian, we always took to a hotel. Neutral ground. That compartmentalization would become trickier once the pandemic hit, but even then, I kept my apartment for myself.
I showered after we had sufficiently christened the Santa Barbara room. Getting ready with the bathroom door ajar, my curiosity inclined me to open my ear to his comings and goings in the hotel room. I glanced through the cracked open door and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over his phone. A little tired, a little spaced out. As though he could sense my gaze, he turned his head back towards the door. I tried to coolly return my eyes to the mirror, trying to apply my eyeliner just right, but his eyes locked with mine in the reflection. His whole face warmed up in a smile.
Shortly after, I nervously emerged in my Little Black Dress. He made me so damn shy. But his face lit up again as he looked up from his phone.
"I'm ready if you are," I announced, eyes fluttering.
He stood up from the bed, checking to make sure he had his phone, wallet, and hotel key. He offered me his hand. "After you, Valentine," he purred.
I admired him all throughout dinner. It was certainly a romantic display he had prepared for me. We ate oceanside, the stars and moon painting the soft surface of the Pacific. While it wasn't the only expensive meal I had ever had, I wasn't exactly spending all my checks on fine dining. I was sufficiently courted, and yet he managed to still keep the night intimate; us, tucked away from the rest of it all, no pressure for this holiday to be more than an excuse to see one another.
His attire matched the light formality of the evening. Light blue dress shirt, no tie, simple slacks. Devil-may-care waves in his hair. In spite of the sexual confidence I had meeting this man, I was still in awe that he wanted anything to do with me. But I shouldn't have been surprised given how easily our conversation flowed, how dynamite our sexual chemistry was, and how uncannily correct it felt to sidle up against him at night.
"You know," I started as I finished my dinner. "This may surprise you to hear given how… effortlessly hot, charming, and yet obtainable I am, but… I don't go on dates like this very often."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Who said this was a 'date'?"
A lump appeared in my throat. "Oh, I'm sorry I mean, no I guess I just thought –" I noticed the cracks of a smile begin to form on his face. "You dick, you're joking aren't you?"
He caved and started laughing, the mischievous man he was. I teasingly kicked him under the table.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he put his hands up, grinning. "You were saying something nice, and you're right, I'm a dick."
"You're sooo lucky you made me cum like a bananas amount of times earlier."
"And counting…" he muttered, stuffing the last fork full of his own dinner into his mouth. I squirmed, aroused at the suggestion.
"Anyway, thank you for tonight. It's genuinely been very lovely."
"Well, thank you for keeping an old man company on Valentine's Day."
"I really don't think of you as an 'old man.'"
"Alright, tell me, how old is your dad?"
"Uh, well he's not alive anymore so you are unfortunately older than him." That took Pedro aback, and suddenly I realized how glib I came off. "I'm so sorry," I corrected. "I… definitely use shitty humor to deflect anytime he gets brought up. I wasn't trying to laugh at it, I…"
"Hey, no, I get it." He leaned in closer to me, looking serious now. "Were you close with him?"
"I…," I started to answer, but as soon as I felt the familiar throb of tears, I walled up. "We don't have to talk about this, it's okay. It happened a while ago. You didn't know. It's okay." His eyebrows scrunched up in concerned confusion, but I steeled my own expression, and once he clocked that I wasn't going to budge – that I wasn't going to let him in on this one thing – he leaned back in his seat, giving me physical and emotional space.
"Okay." He exhaled, looking at a loss. "Uhm, did you – did you want dessert at all?"
"No, I couldn't eat another bite." I smiled half heartedly, not trying to sour the evening.
"You know they're probably gonna force dessert on us."
"Man, what is it about Valentine's Day that turns everything into such a spectacle?" I rolled my eyes until the waiter came out with a small pot of chocolate fondue. My eyes went wide. This was my kryptonite.
"I take back everything I said…" I grumbled, starting to salivate. Pedro looked increasingly amused at my childlike glee over melted chocolate.
"Thank you, boss, and we'll take the check too," he nodded at the waiter, chuckling as I looked up at him, asking nonverbally for permission to dig in.
"Uh, yes, absolutely thank you!" I expressed my undying gratitude to our server.
Pedro placed his chin in his hand, looking at me with adoration and fascination.
"What?" I prodded.
"This is going to sound crazy, but I think this is the most vulnerable I've seen you," he teased. I kicked him under the table again.
The hotel room was beginning to feel like too much and like everything at once. Our dalliances existed in this liminal space of nondescript wallpaper and king-sized mattresses, but these rooms weren't ours – they were just the only place we existed in, together as an entity.
That evening after dinner, the sex was different. The fucking? We got that out of our system the moment we checked in. But now, in the late hours, with the lights off and in heated, relative silence, we were intertwined. For all of our usual dirty talk, we were nonverbal this time. Pedro wrapped the full span of his arms around me, reminding me just how much my frame was dwarfed against his, and he sank into me from above, face buried in my neck as our bodies moved impossibly close to one another. We only communicated through groans and heavy pants, but we understood each other's language perfectly.
Afterwards, I lay against him as I often did. I didn't yet wonder about how often this rendezvouses would occur as I knew he was filming for another month in town. We had an idea that something was beginning to brew with regards to COVID, but had no sense of the interruptions about to happen. I assumed in a matter of weeks he'd be off again, back to New York, gearing up for another shoot, and ready for his first Blockbuster premiere. And this is why our arrangement worked: How could I ever fit into all of that?
But after the sex that night, I was hit with a wave of unexplained melancholy and started to cry without warning. This happened to me occasionally post-sex, a phenomenon I still don't really understand. Maybe it was crashing down from the dopamine of a climax, or maybe it was an incessant loneliness that followed the absence of intimacy. But even in those rare times where the tears fell, I never allowed them to be visible to my partner. But I couldn't hide from Pedro, even in the darkness of the room.
"L, honey, what's up?" He inquired with concern as a silent tear dropped from the tip of my nose to the bare skin of his side. "Hey, hey, hey." He lifted my chin up to him. "Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong or, did I misread you at any point…?"
I shook my head quickly, hurriedly wiping my face. "No, no, you were wonderful. I… I just feel this sometimes, you know?"
He was quite familiar with the bottle of antidepressants that always followed me in my overnight bag. I was never bashful about the passive, default down feelings that followed me as well. But I often wondered if I preemptively shared my mental health struggles with confidence so that no one ever probed into the actualities of this weight and grief that hangs over me. If I strongly proclaimed I was taking control of my depression with a smile, I never had to show anyone the tears.
And yet.
"I know," he answered back. Not placating me, but truly affirming. "I know." He did know. He knew me.
A few weeks later, he asked me a question I was ill-prepared for:
"Are you sleeping with anyone else?"
I hesitated for a second too long – not because I was withholding my answer, but because I realized… no, I wasn't. It had been a while since I had seen anyone else now. It wasn't an intentional choice, but between the chaos of life and my satisfaction with our situation, I had one day stopped making the effort to sleep with anyone else without realizing it.
I thought about why he may have been asking. He had an easy, good reason – the country was going to go on lockdown, and he was doing the calculus of whether we could see each other with minimal risk one more time.
But we both implicitly understood that the question was not just one of logistics.
"No," I answered honestly.
"No?"
"Nope. Are you?"
"I'm not," he responded assuredly.
"Okay, then."
"Okay."
And maybe that didn't become an explicit agreement between us to stay exclusive. But we spoke each other's language.
Year Four
I was getting takeout with Katie when I felt a buzz in my pocket. My heart raced as I quietly opened up the notification.
you 4:08pm
Hope you’re well.
My eyes scanned for the source of the notification, but then I saw the small blue bubble on the corner of my message:
👍
Chapter 5: #Reunited #FeelsSoGood
Summary:
Everyone is messy and it's a silly time! Is Lara going to be able to finally work through her feelings?
Notes:
Lara's friends and writers from the first chapter return as the timeline catches up to one close to our own.
TW: A couple of allusions (nothing explicit or confirmed) to an original character possibly being abusive and/or creepy.
Chapter Text
Year Four
"It's so fucking good, right?"
"I was bawling at the end of the last episode."
"Okay, but not just the emotional stuff -- just the directing, the pacing, the acting --"
"I can't believe it was a video game."
"Mazin is putting all of us to shame."
"Yeah, really. We could all only hope to write Scary Movie 3 and then go on to make the new hit HBO show for millions of dollars."
"Plus..."
"Plus?"
"I mean... Pedro... he's so hot, right?"
"Well duh, but he's been hot."
"Do you guys remember when we met him after the Emmys?"
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, remember? He was smoking outside, he invited us to that after-party. We should've gone."
"Didn't one of us go?"
"He was trying to get Lara to come out. I remember he had his eyes on her."
"Wait, Spike hooked up with Pedro?"
"No, no, we all ended up at the bar."
"Someone went out to the party with him. It was.. it was..."
"Maybe it was Lara."
"Hey Spike, were you with us that night? I can't remember."
"No, right?"
"Hello? Lara to Planet Earth?"
"Yo, Spike!"
Jack threw a fry at me, pulling me out of my daze. "Hm?"
"Girl, you alright?" Katie snickered as I realized there was still ketchup on the fry and I made a face of disgust.
"Ew. Jack, come on!" I started dabbing a napkin in my water, my margarita still untouched.
"We were asking you a question," Jack replied matter-of-factly, as though that absolved him from the tuber warfare.
"What? What??"
"Emmys night, 2019. Did you hook up with the Mandalorian?"
My throat went dry. "Uhm, no --"
"Not hooked up, Jesus Jack," Katie chimed in. "Who went to that after-party that night? We can't remember."
"Uh," I cleared my throat, giving up on the ketchup stain. "Ryan. It was Ryan who went." The whole table groaned.
"Of course," Jack muttered.
"He was gonna go anyway, right? He just hitched a ride?"
"Who cares, I'm sure if he didn't have an in he'd find a way anyway," Jack waved Katie off. "Right Bill?"
Our pal Bill -- Ryan's former roommate -- rolled his eyes, sipping his beer bitterly. "Sounds like Ryan..."
"Speaking of...," Katie started. "Are we going Saturday?"
"I'm out," Bill said resolutely. "I got an audition."
"What, at 11 at night?" Bill sneered back at Jack like Jack was the dumbest person in the world.
"Dude, it's a self-tape." Katie and Jack glanced at one another, but let it go. Bill was in a mood.
"I think we should go," she urged me and Jack. "If not for Ryan, then for Gabe. It's nice that they invited us."
"Katie, I don't think they invited us as an extension of friendship," I groaned. "They wanna brag."
"Yeah, but we could get really fucked up at the after-party," she spun. I finally touched my drink, grimacing.
"I don't know, those SNL people always sound so... dark." Jack shook his head.
"Okay, so we don't get fucked up at the afterparty. We can still go!" Katie looked at us incredulously. "Really guys? Really? Do I have to spell out for you why it would be incredibly stupid to not make good with our two friends writing for SNL?"
"They're not our friends," Bill rejected.
"You know what I mean," Katie pushed back. "'Friends,'" she reiterated with air quotes.
"Hey," I started. "I never said we shouldn't go. I'm just gonna be hugely annoyed by the whole thing."
Jack started to grin. "Well, you guys know who's hosting, right?"
"Oh shit, right! Full circle." Katie threw up her hands as if to say, See? A sign.
"Yeah, Lara can finally have her chance with Pedro."
"Hm?" I snapped away from my drink. "I have not said one word about Pedro Pascal."
"I'm just saying, he's hosting... this could finally be your shot!" Jack teased.
Since The Last of Us started to get buzz, I stopped looking at social media for a few weeks. I had completely missed the hosting announcement.
"I--" I stuttered. "Shot? I never said --"
"Oh whatever, fine. It can be Katie's shot, then."
"I'm fine with that," she said with a smile.
"Great. Then Bill films his self-tape at 11 pm, we all go to SNL, Katie tries to hook up with Pedro Pascal, and we all get ins for an audition next season. Sound good?" Jack gestured to the table. Bill flipped him off, but Katie nodded enthusiastically, joining Jack as the parental figures of our friend group.
"Sounds great...." I said with a heavy exhale.
I saw my phone light up out of the corner of my eye and I absent-mindedly checked the notification:
> Chris 10:19pm
I’ll be in town next week. Wanna catch up?
I quickly opened my phone to type back.
you 10:20pm
Yes please.
> Chris 10:20pm
😘
Katie and I stepped out for a smoke. I had caved six months ago, undoing my years of having quit.
She leaned against the wall of the building as she put her lighter away, looking at me curiously. “Are you gonna be okay on Saturday?”
“Hm?” I muttered around the cigarette, avoiding direct eye contact, flicking ash away.
“You know…”
“No,” I exhaled a puff of smoke. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned to her straight-on.
“I just mean,” she took a drag, let it out. “You know. The stuff with Ryan?”
Oh. Ohhhhh.
“Katie,” I said, more relaxed now. “That was at UCB. Jeez, we’re almost 30 now.”
“I just thought you guys never really found closure on that. Is that not why you don’t hang out anymore?”
I laughed. “We don’t hang out anymore because he’s… he’s obnoxious. Anyway. You and I still hang out, you know,” I added pointedly.
“Well….” She looked down. “That wasn’t serious.”
“Neither was me and Ryan. Trust me, it was a whole lot weirder with him. That has not stuck with me.”
“Okay, well, good.” She paused. “Because…”
I blinked, irritated at the pussyfooting around. “Because…”
“Him and I are talking, that’s all. We have been.” She finished her cigarette.
“Katie, I mean this sincerely,” I sighed, finishing mine as well. “I could not care less about you being with one of my exes, especially one from almost a decade ago. But do not fuck with Ryan, okay? Not because of me, he’s just… he’s icky.”
“Did he do anything to you?”
“No!” I answered honestly. “But… I don’t know. He’s icky. I mean, at least he’s not teaching at UCB anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I mean the girls were into him, sure, but I don’t think he ever… you know… did anything. He always seemed a little weirded out by it.”
“I guess.” There was a long silence. “Just… just take it easy, okay? I don’t want to sound like I’m ragging on your crush, I’m glad you told me.”
“You’re gonna have to tell me something one of these days, you know.” She playfully shoved me, but her face fell as she turned inward. “You know, I just feel like you and I never got back to how close we were before you moved out.”
I took a deep breath, looking down at my feet. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine –”
“No,” I turned back to her. “Really. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, accepting my apology. We both looked away uncomfortably, rocking back and forth on our heels.
“Jesus, we really are gonna be 30,” she said. I was unsure if she was saying it to me or just saying it aloud.
“I know. Long way from Milwaukee Ave.” We both chuckled. A sizeable and natural chemistry between us emerged, though there had been fewer and fewer moments for it to settle in these days.
Both of our phones suddenly buzzed. It was Ryan to our group chat.
> Ry 10:59pm
Guys lol look who Im hanging out with
#reunited
#feelssogood
Shortly following Ryan's message was a photo of Pedro sitting across from Ryan at a table read, oblivious to the photo being taken of him.
"Dick…" I muttered under my breath.
" God, Ryan is such a dick!" I heard Jack groan loud enough to pierce through the closed entrance to the bar. And that was our sign that it was time to turn in on this depressing Tuesday night.
I felt my hands shaking in my pockets as we were admitted ahead of the line into 30 Rock.
"Jack, weren't you almost an NBC page?" I heard Katie ask behind me.
"CBS, sadly. And never heard back from them."
Ryan met us near the door, arms already open wide, cockiness on display for miles.
"You guys! Come here!" He pulled us all in for a hug. "It is amaaaaaazing that you came. Can you believe we're here?" I rolled my eyes out of view from everyone but Jack, who hid a laugh. I realized as he continued talking that Ryan was also loudly chewing gum. "I got great seats for you guys in the reserved section, but I'm so glad I was able to pull the strings to get you in a little early, see how the sausage gets made, you know?"
"We're not allowed to see anything backstage, are we?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, no, definitely not, huuuuge no-no zone. But I can show you where I'll be standing during the taping!" Ryan quickly ushered us toward the studio.
"Where's Gabe?" I piped up.
"Nice to see you too, Spike," he replied, annoyed. But before we could get into our bickering, Gabe came out and joined this mini-reunion.
"Hi guys, nice to see you." He gave each of us a warm hug. "No Bill?"
"He has a 'self-tape.'" Jack answered.
Gabe looked confused but continued on, "Uhm okay. Well, thanks really for coming. It should be a fun one."
"What was it like working with Pedro?" Katie asked a little too loud and a little too eagerly.
"Sh sh sh shhh," Ryan chastised her immediately. "Be cool, baby. I'll give you all the deets after the show."
... Baby?
"Oh, are you guys coming out with us and the writers later?" Gabe asked.
Jack, Katie, and I all turned to one another, trying to come up with an agreed-upon response on the spot.
"Uhh… yes? I think we… yeah, we'll come out!"
"Wonderful, wonderful," Ryan said, clapping his hands together. I saw a few figures move in the darkness behind him, brief glimpses of the cast and crew traveling backstage. "God, look at us, the Gang back together!" Ryan cheered, and as he did, I saw it get the attention of one of the figures passing several feet away.
Our eyes locked on each other as he continued watching and as Ryan continued to speak to the group. But I didn't hear what he was saying. I just saw the look of initial surprise, then confusion, and finally sadness on Pedro's face until he was again obscured from backstage.
"Lara, you okay? Oh my god, was that him?" I barely heard Katie say to the right of me.
"I'll try to introduce you guys to him," I thought Ryan maybe uttered. And the lightness of the conversation continued around me as Jack corrected that yes, we had all briefly met him before, and my friends and colleagues began to recall our time writing for the Emmys. But I didn't rejoin the conversation. I just stood processing why seeing Pedro for the first time in over two years made my heart feel this way.
It only got harder as the night went on. Because of course – of course – our seats were right up front.
I don't know what had happened since my mid-20s where I now no longer knew how to keep my cool or how to even be cool, but what was painful was how self-aware I was of how awkward I was acting. But I could. Not. Stop.
From the moment the house band started playing, I slouched all the way down in my seat, wishing I had a hoodie to pull over my head. Jack hit me on the knee and mouthed, "What the fuck," as we were encouraged to start clapping for "Tonight's Host."
He was probably only 30 feet away from me. He came out and he looked so good, so confident , so joyful. I hated him.
Redness ran to my cheeks from being so close to his presence again with nowhere to run off to. Jack raised an eyebrow at me, leaning over to whisper, "Hey, I know he's hot, but you have got to keep it in your pants. Don't be horny on main." He shook his head as he returned to clapping, surprised by my out-of-character discomfort.
Katie noticed as well, leaning over to Jack from his other side, asking something in his ear. He shrugged, and they both eyed me and finally returned their eyes back to the stage. I tried to pull myself together, sitting back up and taking a deep breath. This was embarrassing.
The applause subsided and the stage lights focused on our host. I might have imagined it, but I thought he looked at me just before turning to the cue cards.
But I only might have imagined it.
We got through the taping, but I could barely process a thing. I missed every laugh cue and only barely noticed as Ryan gave us the thumbs-up during commercial breaks. In another world, I would have been geeking out over this, maybe even taking notes, observing how the production ran. But I was a fidgety mess, and I could sense my companions becoming more and more annoyed as I struggled to sit still.
During one of the breaks near the end of the show, Jack finally snapped at me. "Did you forget to take your Adderall today or something? What is going on?"
Katie leaned across Jack to chime in. "Lara, I love you, but this is the absolute worst time and place for you to suddenly decide to be a weirdo."
“Guys,” I choked out. “I think I’m sick. Do I look sick? I feel sick.”
“You look deranged if that’s what you mean,” Jack replied sarcastically.
“You are like… so, so sweaty,” Katie remarked, mystified.
Adding to the chaos, Ryan ran over. “Guys, bad news, our sketch got cut for time.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, man. Please , send it to us after the show.” Jack gestured with prayer hands towards Ryan – who was oblivious to Jack’s snark.
“Also,” Ryan added. “Is… Lara okay? I can see her shifting around in my periphery.”
“Jesus, Jesus, I am fine!” I said in exasperation.
“And we’re on in 5, 4…,” we heard the production manager count down.
“Shit.” Ryan ran over, back to his post.
Only 20 minutes to go.
“OH MY GOD, LARA, IF YOU MOVE ONE MORE TIME I AM GOING TO PUT YOU INTO MY AIR FRYER,” Jack yelled as we waited outside the stage door. “Actually, I am going to put myself into the air fryer because wHY IS NEW YORK SO FUCKING COLD?!” Jack was in full-on bitch mode at this point in the evening.
“You wouldn’t last five hours in Chicago,” Katie rolled her eyes.
“GOOD!” Jack burst. “I WOULD NOT WANT TO.”
The fans waiting for autographs outside near us glared in our direction.
“Please, don’t worry, you’ll get to meet Daddy,” Jack sniped at them.
“Hooooookay.” Katie pulled both of us to the side, further away from the crowd. “ You ,” she gestured to Jack, “are crabby. You ,” she gestured to me, “are having some sort of quarter-life crisis, I think. We,” she then gestured to all three of us, “took precious unpaid hours away from our crappy day-gigs to fly over to New York to try to remind people that we exist and are incredibly hireable. Can you both please put whatever bullshit you’ve got going on aside for like… just two more fucking hours?!”
“Who’s hireable?” Ryan appeared like a specter in the mist, immediately putting his arm around Katie. I may have been distracted, but even that was enough for me to cock my head and give Katie a look. She almost seemed embarrassed.
“I…” she mouthed, just to me, leaving it there for now.
I heard Jack take a deep breath. “Okay, okay, I’m zen. Everything is grand.”
Several feet over, we heard the distinct sound of high-pitched squealing as a mass of fans converged at the door.
“Jeez…” Jack remarked.
“That guy,” Ryan pointed over his shoulder. “Do you know how popular he is now? You guys should’ve seen the dress rehearsal….”
I watched the crowd move behind Ryan, gazing at the door towards the figure hidden by the masses.
“Didn’t he have like some kind of scandal a couple years back?” I heard Jack say.
“Oh my God, that’s right! The uh – the texts!” Katie brought her voice down, realizing it was impolite. “Those were like… really dirty texts, too!”
“Yeah but that’s not really a scandal,” Ryan waved it off. “It’s not like he did anything bad. That girl – whoever she was – I mean, she was very much an equal participant. She was just as dirty.”
“We don’t know that it was a girl,” Katie noted. “Although he did call them ‘princess.’”
“That’s right,” Jack added gleefully, keeping his voice to a whisper. “‘L.’ And we never figured out who that was, right? Like no one could piece it together?”
“Maybe it was Lara,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. I snapped back to the conversation.
“Hah-hah,” I played it off. “Don’t you guys feel gross reading private conversations like that? Like, come on guys, it was TMZ” I chided.
“Sure,” Katie conceded. “But I mean, come on . It’s not like it hurt his career.” She snorted. “That is so typical, too. If that was an actress’ texts, she would be begging for work right now alongside all of us.”
“Well I have work,” Ryan boasted.
“Case in point…” Jack muttered.
“Come on,” Ryan teased. “I know all three of you read those texts wishing you were ‘L.’ Like half the world did. Again, look at that guy.” He nodded his head back over to the crowd – which seemed to have somehow doubled in size.
“Is he nice?” Katie asked earnestly.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s nice,” Ryan confirmed. “Although – “ He paused a moment. “He did seem like he didn’t like me , specifically.” I couldn’t help myself from giggling, looking back over in Pedro’s direction, trying to imagine his face as he had to encounter Ryan for the second time.
“Well there you go,” Jack prodded. “Now we know he’s definitely a stand-up guy.”
Ryan frowned, but our conversation was interrupted by Gabe clawing his way out of the crowd toward us.
“Hey, thanks guys for waiting. You ready to go?”
“As long as we are going somewhere that has heat, I’m there,” Jack pled.
Gabe grinned. “You guys are in for a treat, I think everyone is going to come out tonight.”
“Shit, really?” Katie was smiling now, too.
“Yes. Everyone. ”
Chapter 6: The Hottest Club
Summary:
This chapter has everything: Angst, smut, flirty arguing, existential crisis, weird bartenders, being sad at a party....
Notes:
Okay probably got a wee bit carried away 🥴 it's been a long week. Hope yall enjoy!
Chapter Text
Year Two
The absence of in-person socialization was starting to get to him, so when it came time for Wonder Woman 1984 to virtually premiere, the loss of the grandeur of it all – especially with such a big movie where he held such a big role – was eating at Pedro.
I hadn't seen him in over a month since he had been filming in Croatia, but I was making do. I still hadn't been seeing anyone other than him given how rarely I had even seen my friends at this point, let alone potential lovers. But I was already used to living alone and found ways to bide my time. I had a meeting in a few weeks to talk to the studio about the pilot, praying that it wouldn't all fall through (it did). Jessa didn't need me to house sit anymore now that she was working from home, but I was riding out a few more checks to make do.
We hadn't talked much recently either, given the time difference and the exhaustion. But when he came back (with a delicious tan, if I may add), it was only days before his name popped up on my phone.
> Pedro 2:10 pm
i'm gonna ask you something and you can say no and i won't be upset, i promise
but
would you come out to new york and see me?
lets take precautions and everything
but how does that sound?
you come out for a week or two here and we just stay in and drink and fuck and watch old movies
have you seen peggy sue got married? i was thinking about it a lot working with cage and i thought you'd love it
anyway you don't have to answer now, just let me know, ok? i'll take care of my west coast girl out here. xx
At this point, I had gotten used to Pedro's multiple texts, but I never stopped finding it flattering. He knew how to make you feel like he didn't just have your attention, but that you consumed his attention.
I was standing in my kitchen, starting to feel a bit stir crazy myself. At first it was the pandemic isolation, but now I felt myself pulling away from people even when I didn't have to. It was a self-destructive isolation.
Plus, I could have used a good lay.
I sat with his invitation for a day before responding, but after binging an entire season of Married at First Sight, I realized I had a problem, and I needed company, like it or not.
you 6:29pm
What weeks work for you?
Year Four
Those texts came up at the after party, because as soon as Katie and Jack remembered they existed, it was all they could gossip about.
"'...we just stay in and drink and fuck and watch old movies,'" Jack read from his phone as I quietly stewed. "He is literally so…." Jack just waved his hand, unable to find the word.
"Yeah, that's pretty hot," Katie agreed with a swig of her beer. We had been at the bar for nearly an hour, but no more of the guests Gabe promised had arrived. Instead, Jack and Katie exchanged celebrity gossip while getting progressively blasted, Ryan kept trying to flirt with Katie (who continued to steamroll past him, missing all social cues), and Gabe listened quietly, a little uninterested in the conversation all together. No one noticed that I myself was already finished with drink number two, having not spoken in at least half an hour.
I kept replaying when we locked eyes on one another back in the studio.
Why did he look at me like that? Why did he look… upset? Why did he turn away?
I grumpily pushed off from our table and walked to the bar counter, my friends hardly noticing me.
As I leaned in towards the bartender, yelling my drink order over the noise, I heard even more people loudly talking outside, and then a door opened. I started to look in the direction of the entrance when I felt the bartender's hand linger on mine and the cash I was sliding over.
"Don't worry about it!" He yelled over the conversations around us.
"What– hm?" I tried to process.
"Don't worry about it. One on the house for the pretty lady." I blushed, and it occurred to me how long it had actually been since someone properly flirted with me.
"No, really, I can't let you do that…," I insisted, only half-heartedly.
"It's okay, this one's on me. You get the next one, huh?" The bartender winked at me, and I caught that he had an Irish lilt.
"Okay, deal." I grinned, receiving my gimlet and raising the glass.
The bartender grabbed an empty glass and raised it in solidarity. "To pretty ladies." We clinked glasses as I observed someone appearing next to me, ready to order. The bartender straightened up and put the glass down. "Hey man, what can I get you?" He yelled over the crowd again.
"Uhhh… just whiskey, please. Good stuff, but not too good, you know?" I recognized the voice and my skin turned cold.
"You got it." The bartender turned into a man on a mission, but he stopped to talk to me once more, "Let's pick out toast back up, how about it love?" I stammered as he winked again and went about his bartender duties. I froze in my spot, knuckles tense as I gripped the counter.
"Oh, and sir tell me – was that neat or on the rocks?" The bartender asked the man beside me.
"On the rocks," he responded, and I muttered along, mouthing the words. Because I knew.
I threw back a considerable amount of my drink, thought Well, let's get this over with, and turned to him beside me.
"So…. Hi," I finally said, a brilliant master of prose. But as soon as I looked at him in profile, his height so familiarly towering above mine, the way light drifted across his features, but also the things that were different now – the touches of gray hair, considerably more beard, and a weariness – I was gone. I was a schoolgirl with a crush again, remembering how he leaned into me on stage as I gave him the new line to read.
But what killed me even more was that he didn't respond. He didn't even look at me.
Now I was annoyed. "Hi," I said again, more insistent. But he still didn't acknowledge me. I looked around, wondering if I had somehow died and was in some sort of Ghost situation, but the bartender's flirty look at me as he handed Pedro his drink confirmed that I was alive and existent. I stared at Pedro, trying to mentally will him into looking at me. All I did was atrract more attention from the bartender.
"Jeez, I thought we had something going but guess not. Buy your own drink next time," the bartender rolled his eyes before adding in a lower voice, " bitch. "
That snapped Pedro into action. "Whooa! Hey man, come on. That's not a nice way to talk, is it?" He held his hand up, semi-consciously forming a barrier between me and the bartender.
"Hey, Mando, she's all yours if you want her. You can buy her next drink, how about that?"
The bartender scoffed and walked away, onto the next customer
Finally, turned to me. He sighed with frustration, obviously annoyed, though his frustration did not feel like it came from a place of anger. It was begrudging. The long sigh you let out when you can't will yourself away from one more drink, one more dance, even when you know you're tired and already a little nauseous. But as he finally, fully looked at me for the first time in nearly two years, all he could do was shake his head and turn away, leaving the scene.
What he didn't realize is that I had enough to drink where I wouldn't accept that. And so I started following him through the crowd.
"Can we please talk?" I called after him, the other bar patrons oblivious to us. He continued to ignore me. "Really? Not even 'hello'?" My own irritation began to rise. "You're acting like a child," my words slurred as the alcohol started to make my head dizzy. "Hey!" I prodded, grabbing him by the arm this time – perhaps a touch too aggressively. I had started to draw the attention of people around us, undoubtedly looking like some rando harassing a celebrity.
Pedro finally stopped and we both looked at where my hand held his bicep. I felt him tense up, feeling his muscle turn rigid against my fingers and seeing a familiar strain in the tendons of his neck. He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at me, but still not giving me what I wanted.
After a moment of not knowing what to do, I tried to lower my voice before pleading, "Talk to meeee." It was pathetic and whiny; I was frustrated and not feeling like myself; and it caused him to immediately roll his eyes.
And then – the subtlest tug at the corner of his mouth. A smile?
I watched him mentally war with myself, slowly removing my hand from his arm. I thought he maybe muttered something in Spanish before he finally, finally acknowledged me.
"Fine," he huffed. I noted that more people were entering the bar – familiar faces. The afterparty was finally kicking off. Ryan tried to wave some over to the table in the corner, but to my knowledge, no one had noticed our exchange. Pedro eyed the entrance as well before finishing off his drink and setting it down at the nearest empty table. "Come on," he instructed, sounding resigned to my persistence.
He moved through the increasingly crowded room towards the back. He caught sight of another employee and grabbed their attention – something I assumed was easier and easier for him to do these days.
"Hey, my friend and I want to take a smoke break but I don't want to draw any attention. Is there a back door we can use?" The employee eagerly nodded, happy to help Pedro with anything he asked for. They led us past the bathrooms, through a hallway to a tucked away exit to the alley. "Thank you so much," Pedro nodded kindly.
"Of course, let us know if we can do anything else for you Mr. Pascal. I'll keep the door propped open, but please make sure it closes all the way when you're done."
"Absolutely, we will." He smiled so warmly at the employee as they returned back inside.
Then it was just us, standing a few feet apart, alone in the New York cold. I was dizzy and the low lights made him difficult to discern.
"Everyone loves you," I remarked sheepishly, the "L" in love catching in my mouth as the alcohol continued to restrict my speech. He shot me a damaged look that cut through the shadow, and then, the big idiot I am, I at last put together why he wouldn't talk to me. Oh. Oh. Lara, you moron.
He leaned his head back against the brick wall before pulling out a case from his pocket.
"You're smoking again?" I asked.
"Mmhmm," he hummed, lighting the cigarette.
"Same here," I shuffled my feet. "Can I bum one?" He nodded, slightly more at ease as he handed it to me and offered his light.
We smoked in silence for a minute, backs to the wall.
"It's good to see you." I turned to look up at him.
"Yeah?" He didn't look back. "Well… you wanted to talk to me," he reminded me.
"I mean… I guess I don't have anything specific to say. I just… I was sad that you wouldn't talk to me, and I don't know. It's just a nice thing to see you."
"You know, when I saw that Ryan guy was one of the writers, I had this feeling. I dunno, like I was getting fucking Christmas Carol-ed."
I laughed. "What??" He couldn't help himself and laughed in return.
"I don't know, haunted or something."
"By me???"
He shrugged. "Maybe." His face fell, and his neck tensed again. "You were being a brat in there, you know."
I took this as an invitation to flirt. "Oh? Was that… bad of me?" But it wasn't.
"Don't."
I shrunk. "Oh, I'm… I'm sorry." We sat in silence more, cold air and hot exhales puncturing the air.
But in this silence, I started to become annoyed again. Why did he placate me if he wasn't going to talk?
"Why won't you just fucking look at me?" He grunted. "Okay, nice, cool, don't communicate with me or whatever. So so sorry that I was happy to see an old friend. I thought we ended things on good terms, so maybe I'm not the one being a brat."
"Oh, that's rich…" he muttered, putting his cigarette out.
"Excuse me??"
"That's rich," he said louder, fully turning his body towards me, hands on his hips.
"Hah, got you to look at me." He narrowed his eyes, looking really angry with me now. I wished it didn't kind of turn me on. "Come on, dude! What did I do that was so bad? You, for all intents and purposes, seem to be doing absolutely fine. And I'm just… I'm just trying to catch up. See what's going on. Look, you're on fucking Saturday Night Live, and I'm fucking – I'm fucking – it doesn't matter. You seem like you're doing great and I'm happy for you and it's pissing me the fuck off that you won't just look at me!" My voice squeaked at the end of the sentence, continuing my streak this evening of acting below my age.
He shook his head and started to step towards me. "Are you – are you – I can't tell if you're being intentionally obtuse or if you are really, really so self-involved that you cannot put together why – you are being a brat, you're acting like a child, Lara. We said we're just two adults who will move on with our lives and –"
"I have moved on with my life!" I stomped my foot, not helping with his argument. He raised an eyebrow at me, crooking his hips in that way I was once addicted to.
"Really?" He said with disbelief.
"Yes, really. I've – I've moved on and I am being a grown-up because it's all water under the bridge for me and I'm just trying to shoot the breeze and say hey and – and if you're so moved on than you would – " He was stepping closer, officially entering my personal bubble. "You would…" my voice lowered. "... look at me." He stood directly in front of me now, staring directly down at me, reducing me physically and emotionally.
"Water under the bridge for you?" He asked quietly.
"Yes." I trembled, only slightly.
" What is water under the bridge?"
"I…," I trailed off. I sighed in aggravation, trying to will away the drunk tears in my eyes. "You… you used to make me feel wanted, and you're not making me feel that way, and I… I want to feel wanted by you. Even if we're not…." I trailed off again. I began to realize that he had me cornered against the wall.
"But," he scrunched his face in confusion. "That only happened today. How is that water under the bridge? Did you think I'd see you and be… what, overcome with lust? That we'd just pick up an old forgotten page?" His words were that of annoyance, but his breath was more shallow. Mine too. His mouth hung open and I almost wondered if it was a dare to kiss him, but I had enough of my wits to not test those waters. He searched my eyes to try to understand me, and I hated it, because there was a time he didn't have to. "You want me to have moved on, but you want me to be so addicted to you that… I mean what, Lara? What do you think my feelings were the last time we spoke?"
"I don't know, maybe you…," I started, but didn't want to articulate what I knew. Instead, I deflected. "... Is this because I said 'love you'? Because you could've just fucking called me and asked me about it, but you didn't, so if you're hung up on that buddy, that's on you. I'm happy to clear that all up now, because it wasn't anything. It was a force of habit, a slip up from calling my mom earlier, and if that's been bothering you for two years, that just makes me sad."
Oof. That came out meaner than I had intended. And I saw it on his face. He swallowed. I wondered if he was going to let me have it, bring out his own set of knives. But maybe I was only provoking him because I knew it would keep him here, locked in with me, something I had craved for months but wouldn't admit to myself.
"Lara," he started, remarkably calm. "I didn't call to ask because I never questioned if it was a mistake or not. I knew where I stood with you. So no, I never wondered if you meant it, because there was never a chance in my mind that you would."
"Did you wish I did?" I asked, immediately cursing myself for speaking faster than I could think.
"No." Pedro shook his head, and I didn't try to decipher whether he was telling the truth. He inhaled deeply and a light chuckle spilled out of his mouth. "You're killing me right now, though."
"How??" I asked incredulously, eliciting another, hardier chuckle from him.
"It's…," he began, but began to act embarrassed. "It's your scent."
"My scent??" I continued to ask, surprised at every development.
"Yes," he laughed. "Your scent. You've got… I don't know, you've got this particular smell. It's not a bad one, it's just… this strain of something that's all you. Smokey, a little floral, a little sweaty, especially when you're anxious." He looked directly into my eyes. "I still sometimes smell it on my clothes."
No, Lara , I told myself. I was drunk and thinking foolish thoughts. This day was a whirlwind of emotional escalation that was the culmination of a mental spiral that started months ago.
And yet…
I looked down at his mouth quickly before returning his gaze. "I know I'm not thinking straight right now, but I want to kiss you." He inhaled through his nose and his eyes went darker, but he mentally resisted, leaning his forehead against mine but hesitating to close the gap. His eyes were closed and I felt as though I could read his mind at that moment. He opened his eyes again, centimeters away from mine, and I remembered that expression instantly – lust, frustration, adoration, resentment.
He wrapped his arms around me and gave in, immediately deepening the kiss before bring his lips down to my neck, taking in my scent as much as he could in these spare minutes.
"Lara, Lara Lara Lara…" he whispered familiarly.
I moaned, a little too loud, a little too pathetic. He nipped at the skin. And I remembered: God, we are really good at this.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket but ignored it. His hands felt every part of me as our lips returned to one another; so desperate, so needy.
"Missed. This." He punctuated in between kisses. He gave every inch his attention – my bottom lip, my top lip, the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my forehead, just under my jaw, just where my neck met my collarbone, my earlobe, my shoulder, and back to my lips again.
"Need. You." I matched his rhythm with my own breathy plea, my fingers laced in his hair. He groaned into my skin. We fell back into our routine so effortlessly.
"I can't," he panted into my mouth.
"Please," I whined.
"I can't," he repeated.
I tugged gently on his hair, pulling his face far enough away that he could see my pout. He bit his lip and wrapped his left arm around me, fully encasing me, reminding me of how he used to tell me what a "pretty little thing," I was. I rocked my hips towards him as his right hand trailed down my stomach, gently teasing the top of my jeans.
He looked at me for permission. "Can I?" he asked in the quietest of whispers. I nodded quickly. Yes, yes, God yes.
Without wasting time, he slipped his hand past the waistband, easing into my panties and immediately finding has way. He never forgot.
While continuing to embrace me by supporting my weight with his left arm, he leaned me back slightly, watching me intently as his finger found my entrance and returned to its rightful place, unraveling me. A second finger joined. This was not a gentle act, and it was exactly what I needed. He curled his fingers upward and moved at a relentless pace. I lost whatever self control I convinced myself I was bringing to our encounter, fulling moving my hips at the pace of his wrist, fucking his fingers brazenly in the alley behind the bar.
"This is what you've been whining for all night, isn't it?" He growled into my ear. "Is this why you couldn't sit still watching me? Were you squirming thinking about me? Were you this. Fucking. Wet." He moved his fingers to his words. "Sitting there in the studio? And then just now, waiting for me to come to the bar, pleading with me to look at you. You can't help yourself, can you princess?" He continued his pace, adding a thumb against my clit. I squeaked and he muffled my sounds with his lips. He bit my bottom lip before scolding me. "You can't be doing that, princess. You've got to be good for me. You remember, don't you?" I nodded, gazing at him through hooded eyes. "Tell me, baby. Tell me you remember."
I struggled to form words, provoking him to press his fingers deeper into me. I struggled to hold in the instinctive moan. "I remember," I whimpered.
"Good girl," he purred, grinning down at me. And I lost it. He kissed me again to help me keep my voice down as I came hard on nothing but his fingers, our bodies close in that way that ruined me so many times.
As my climax at last subsided, his hand lingered only for a moment while we caught our breath, tobacco still mingling in the air between us. He closed his eyes as he took in the feel of me for a second more before removing his hand. He stepped away from me, which caused my heart to sink more than I wanted to admit. Eyes still closed, he put his fingers in his mouth. It felt like a private moment more than anything for my benefit. Like he had to taste me again. Whatever he could get.
Once he had enough to sate himself, he return his eyes to mine. Though his cheeks were still flushed, the lust was already gone from his eyes. He just looked tired. He always looked tired with me.
"If you're still around, come to my hotel tomorrow night. And we'll have tomorrow night, and then that will be it." He sounded resolute.
"Hotel?" I paused. "Not your apart–"
"Ive been in California."
"You have?" My voice sounded sadder than I wanted, but he continued.
"Tomorrow night, and that's it." He affirmed definitively. I hesitated, but I nodded.
He sighed, returned my nod – like we made some sort of gentleman's agreement – and walked past me to return to the bar, leaving the door open for me, but not looking back.
I felt lost and sad, like the typical heartbroken drunk girl at the party who can't get it together. I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw several texts from Katie and Jack wondering where I went.
I returned back into the bar, being careful to close the door all the way. When I was back amongst the crowd, Pedro wasn't even in view. The party was at full blast, with every cast member, writer, and interloper in attendance.
I finally saw where Pedro had made his way; a crowd of people naturally gravitating towards his energy as he laughed and joined in the good vibes.
My friends were among the gravitating crowd. I finally understood the feeling that had been eating at me for ages now, and a piece of it was tied to Pedro, and a piece of it wasn't. But in spite of the liquor and post-orgasm haze, I knew it now:
I felt alone.
Chapter 7: New York Isn't New York
Summary:
As Lara visits Pedro's hotel while they are both in New York, she can't help but think back to a familiar time.
Notes:
Y'all waited patiently for this update! Thank you for following Lara and her messy little life. :')
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Year Four
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Pedro smiled half-heartedly, greeting me at the hotel bar, where I was already halfway through a G&T. I noticed his eyes shuffling around the area cautiously before sitting at the stool next to me.
“You didn’t have to come down, you know, I would’ve met you upstairs,” I leaned in to assure him quietly.
“I know, he nodded. “But I thought it’d be nice to start here.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re okay being down here?” I had been so elated to see him that the thought of us being seen together publicly didn’t even cross my mind, and I felt a twinge of shame that he thought I might be more worried than him.
I shook my head. “This is great. Though I promise I’ll… go easier on the drinks compared to last night.” Pedro chuckled softly, and I already felt better that he was warmer with me now than he had been the night before.
“Just wait until I’m out of the room before you start flirting with the bartender.” My cheeks went red.
“That was – that wasn’t anything I was just –” I began stammering.
“Lara,” he cocked his head towards me, smiling. “I’m teasing you.”
I grew redder, but I returned his smile. “You dick…” I muttered. I think we both knew that was my code for I’ve missed you.
Pedro grabbed the attention of the hotel barkeep and ordered a glass of wine. This meeting felt much classier than our earlier encounter.
“So,” he asked in that small-talk type of voice people put on. “Did you enjoy the show?”
I tried matching his tone cautiously, not reading too much into any gesture or inflection. “I did. As much as I could focus on it, that is. You were great. You were natural.”
“If I’m being honest, I was nervous seeing you there. Not just for the…” he cleared his throat. “... Obvious reasons, but I was mortified that I’d be horribly unfunny in front of you of all people.”
“Hey, you’re the one on SNL, not me.”
“Sure, sure, but as a host. They put athletes on the show.”
“And fascists,” I joked. Pedro smirked. “... Of which you are neither, of course. Well, not any more,” I kid, referencing his swimming background.
“Right, right. No, no more fascism for me, it was time to hang that hat up.” I snorted at his unexpected quip.
“See, you’re funny. You were great last night, I mean it. Plus, I’m not sure you need to be using a washed up stand-up comedian as your rubric.”
“Stop,” he said immediately and sternly.
“No, really. I mean that… I’m not being self-deprecating. It’s been…. It has not been easy since the pandemic.”
“Didn’t I see you at South by Southwest?”
I blushed at the idea that he had kept tabs on me, looking down and away from his attention. “Yes, but that was nearly a year ago.” My voice was quieter than I wanted; too vulnerable.
“You know, Lara…,” he started cautiously. “I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I can always –”
But I cut him off. “That party was really crazy last night.” The small-talk inflection returned to my words. If this was two years ago, he would’ve gotten frustrated with me, miffed at my transparent deflection. But like in the earlier days of our relationship, he let it go.
“Yeah, yeah, it really was. I didn’t see you after we….” He trailed off, looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a sly grin.
“There were so many fucking people there at that point. And Katie and Jack and Ryan –” Pedro groaned in response. “Oh my God, what was it like seeing Ryan again?”
“I hate that guy. You know I hate that guy, right?” I caught the giggles imagining Pedro having to be stuck in Ryan’s vicinity for nearly a week.
“I know you hate him.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“It’s not funny, he’s unbearable.” But Pedro was laughing too. “Why are you hanging out with him still?”
“Oh…,” I grumbled. “It’s complicated. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have spoken to that dude for years.”
“Is it not up to you…?”
“Uh… It’s complicated like I said.” I shook my head, playing with the ice in my glass. “But if I wasn’t still in contact with him, I guess we wouldn’t be here.” I thought out loud. I turned to Pedro, eyeing his reaction as I continued. “That is if you’re… happy that we’re here.”
I could see him thinking on this for a moment, but he turned back to me, returning my gaze. “I am.”
And we both smiled at each other. And God, I missed this. It was so easy with Pedro, except when it wasn’t. Like the night before. And in a split second – like my life flashing before my eyes – I tried to remember all the reasons why we stopped seeing each other. And I couldn’t remember. But I did remember that it was me. That I had made the decision. That I had walked away.
Why?
Year Two
I had never been to Pedro’s place before. Up until this trip, all of our dalliances had remained confined to hotel rooms (with a couple of instances in a car when we really couldn’t wait). This was a rule I didn’t like to break with anyone I saw whose face drew any amount of recognition, and I wasn’t sure why then I was compelled to take him up on his offer to nest up for a week or two.
I was really fucking nervous.
This wasn’t neutral territory. This was his. And I was going to spend a week there.
In my insecurity, I had nearly pushed away the invite or at least hedged, secretly putting a cancelable hotel reservation on the books for the week we blocked off – but between COVID risks, my dwindling bank account, and the bitter self-acknowledgment that I was being a bit of a baby, I took advantage of the free cancellation and never mentioned my brief alternative lodging plans.
It was a lot to jump into, even if under the guise of casual sex. As both cautious people (and it’s not like the world had opened up anyway), there wasn’t going to be much for us to do but hole up in his apartment as promised (and drink and fuck and watch old movies). That was new for me, an intense amount of time in each other’s company. I got anxious – would it come easy? What if we didn’t have much to talk about when the sex was through and the takeout cartons were empty? What if it felt too intimate? What if it felt too forced? What if his apartment was ugly?
I knew my anxieties were beginning to veer into the ridiculous, but my brain was reaching for any reason to believe this was a bad idea. Plus, what if someone figured out I was out of town?
But I had little time to fully dwell on those thoughts before I was tested, mask, and aboard a plane to the opposite coast. We had gone back and forth on how we would link up – would I navigate to his place? Would he buy me a taxi? Would we meet each other halfway? I knew he was holding back on a caretaker instinct to pick me up from the airport for my benefit – to give me space, not come on too strong. I felt bad and I was already traveling cross-country for him, so I figured… why the hell not? We agreed he'd stay in the car, however. TMZ had dogged him at the airport before.
As I exited the gate with my single carry-on bag and made my way to the pick-up zone, my heart was pounding. Pedro always inspired a twinge of anxiety in me, but I always chalked it up to how damn disarming his effortless charm could be. This was different. This was nerves. And I did not know how to deal with nerves.
My pace slowed as I stepped outside, timidly eyeing each car, looking for a familiar face through the windows. I looked a little silly, trying to nonchalantly peer into each vehicle as though I was waiting on a Lyft and went to the wrong place.
I was about to check the time when I saw he texted me:
> Pedro 4:35pm
to your left, black car a little ways down
you look very cute looking around for me
My cheeks went hot as I felt embarrassingly on display. Using his directions, I walked down a few feet – and there he was, grinning at me through the windshield with his fucking sunglasses on and hand draped casually at the wheel.
I was disarmed again.
I probably continued to look like an idiot, because the joy on his face was too much for me and I immediately averted his gaze as I approached the vehicle.
He rolled his window down and leaned toward the passenger door.
"Go ahead and toss that in the backseat, it's open. It, er –" he quickly glanced behind him as though he realized he forgot to make sure it was clear. "Uh, yeah, shit one second." I started to open the back door and giggled to myself as I saw him hurriedly reach an arm back to toss things around – an empty used coffee cup, an old water bottle, a pair of running shoes, some random receipts – while muttering, "Jesus, sorry…about…the mess." under his breath. "Um, okay, it should be good now." He huffed and nodded at my bag with a grimace. "Sorry about that." I thought he might have been blushing a smidgen beneath the sunglasses. His immediate cool confidence was shaken as the human quality of forgetting to clean your car peeked through, and it endeared me. I immediately felt more relaxed and ready as I tossed my bag in and slid into the passenger's seat, game for anything.
"Hi," I beamed.
He smiled back, and then nervously looked back over his shoulder. "Uh oh, paparazzi, you're gonna have to get down," he said flatly, nudging my shoulder. I followed instructions and hurriedly bent forward into my lap, avoiding the windows.
There was a long silence, and then I started to feel a little bit silly. I peered up at him from my crouch, and his smile broke, laughing at me while shaking my head.
"Ugh, dick!" I sniped, sitting back upright, folding my arms across my chest stubbornly. But I had to smirk. He got me.
Pedro pulled up his sunglasses and put a hand on my knee as his laugh subsided. "I missed you."
"I know," I stuck my tongue out playfully.
He cleared his throat. "Can I uh, can I kiss you? Is that alright?"
I smiled, feeling surprisingly warm, relaxed. "Yes." And we leaned into each other across the center console, lips touching gently and sweetly as the hand on my knee moved to lightly caress my face.
As we pulled away, there was a glance, filled with an indecipherable emotion. But I knew whatever it was, we both felt it.
There was an angry honk before we even had a moment to process what it meant. We both chuckled. He put his sunglasses back on and put the car into gear, pulling off away from the airport and towards the kind invitation of his home.
Year Four
"... So after the pilot fell apart, I dunno… I've felt aimless, I guess. I've been trying to get booked where I can but the people who'll have me aren't paying, I am not doing bringer shows, and I've been trying to do some of the podcast rotation but that's really all exposure. And I guess just at a certain point I'm like, okay, I'm exposed, what is this all for?" We were on our second drink over two hours of conversation, and surprisingly, I was opening up. It felt natural – sometimes you're catching up with someone and it's difficult to go through the map of recent years without going a little into the emotions that accompanied it. If Pedro felt my vulnerability was notable, his expression didn't betray any feeling, but he listened intently, nodding empathetically and never looking away from me as I finally unloaded how damn frustrating my career had become, asking questions here and there, but mostly just letting me… go.
I threw my hands up as if to say, "that's it!" He sighed understandably.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't know exactly how that felt, but I understand if you don't want to hear me try to spin you some 'just keep trying' bullshit," he finally interjected. "It's a dehumanizing feeling, and I can only imagine the pandemic exacerbated all of it."
I sipped my drink, shrugging matter-of-factly. "It did and it didn't. In a way, it had always been like this, I just didn't want to think about it – or I was young enough that you know, being in LA and trying to make it still felt thrilling." I sighed, adding "I'm gonna can my agent. I love her, but I gotta just say goodbye to the Chicago years, y'know?"
"I always wish I spent more significant time in Chicago," Pedro mused as an aside. "Well… and please let me finish, I can already see you're giving me that look… if you're in search of a new agent, can I give you some names?" I already began to protest, but he stopped me. "Not mine, I promise, but highly recommended people. Consider it? Please?"
I shook my head, resolute. "I do not want your help in this. Believe me, I appreciate the offer, it's very kind, but I need to do this on my own."
His mouth hung open, exhausted by my stubbornness. He looked at me, serious and direct. "You know how I just said I'm not gonna give you some 'just keep trying' bullshit? Well, I would not have even dreamed of surviving as an actor if I had tried to go it alone. It's friends who were able to help me survive and get out of the rut."
"Are we 'friends'?" I asked pointedly. Pedro started to speak, but held his tongue and just laughed, shaking his head, leaning over his empty glass.
"Baby, you are tiring."
The word "baby," made my heart skip. I changed my attitude, happy to quickly move on from this conversation to something entirely different.
I leaned in close to Pedro and whispered with my lips close to his, "Well then I think that's our cue to take this somewhere else." I could sense him inhaling deeply and shifting ever-so-slightly in his seat.
His eyes twinkled, but behind them was the sense of resignation I had noticed becoming a theme when he looked at me. "I guess it is," he nodded, reaching into his wallet to pull out cash to tip the bartender with.
Year Two
Pedro guided me into his apartment with his hand gently against the small of my back. I walked in slowly, taking it in, thinking back to our first night together and how I desired to know this man.
Because in this apartment? Pedro was all over it.
Photos – so many pictures of family, photos old and new of friends. Decades of memories framed at nearly every available corner.
Artwork and books found themselves scattered, filling in the empty spaces throughout. I wished I could catalog them all in my head through a single glance, but I knew throughout the week I'd be slowly fingering the spines, hoping to memorize their grooves in what short time I had.
Where there weren't books, there were movies – old copies of DVDs whose labels were peeling. And then there was the music. Records, CDs, and tapes. I had the impression that this man held onto everything that ever meant something to him once and had a hard time letting it go.
There were signs of comfort in the apartment too – a throw blanket, a lush looking couch, a large rug, slippers strewn about.
I began to clock that Pedro was intently watching me take in his apartment, and so I turned back to him and smiled.
"Do you uh, do you like it?" He asked, scratching his nose in an attempt to seem nonchalant.
"It is very much you," I responded, squeezing his hand to assure him that I meant that as a good thing.
"Well, get used to it," he teased, wrapping his arms around me to pull me against him. "Cuz you're gonna get more than your fill of me by the week's end."
"Promise?" I purred. Pedro groaned, rocking his hips gently into me.
"Oh baby, I promise," he mumbled, leaning down for a heated kiss.
Year Four
As I entered Pedro's hotel room, it occurred to me how mechanical this all felt. Once, when we would fall into each other, we could barely get through the door. Once, when I first came to his apartment, the giddy nervousness was evident. But this night, it felt like an obligation – less to each other and more for ourselves, a vice as difficult to quit as the cigarettes we kept falling back on. Even the night before had felt like we were back into our routine. This evening at the hotel was melancholy, and we couldn't escape it.
The hotel room had the same decor that they always do, the same layout as every hotel room we had ever found ourselves in, and familiarly, Pedro's neat, closed suitcase sat in the corner, very little of him permeating the room.
I felt a loss of something, but I wasn't sure what.
I heard the door close behind me. Without words, Pedro and I fell back into each other, sealing whatever this night meant with a kiss.
Notes:
Great stuff on the horizon, including a smutty New York chapter (you think I wouldn't tell you about Lara and Pedro's week of drinking and fucking and watching old movies)? Plus, we'll finally get into Lara's mysterious Chris. Which guy named Chris could it be?? Stay tuned!
Chapter 8: A New York Minute
Summary:
The story momentarily switches point-of-view to flash back to the first time Pedro and Lara met each other in New York and the crush that ensued.
Notes:
Wanted to switch up POV a little bit! Majority of the story will still be told from Lara's first-person POV, but I wanted to take a peek into what was going on with Pedro during some of the time. I think I'll return to this POV every so often. ;)
Lots of warm feelings in this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Pedro noticed about Lara was her lips, and that was something he felt he could forget. The second thing he noticed about Lara was her vulnerability while she was on stage, and that was something he’d find himself chasing after for a long, long time.
Pedro’s Year One
He was back in New York after a particularly busy and even more surreal time, filming Wonder Woman in London back-to-back with the first season of The Mandalorian in California, and to New York for King Lear rehearsals. He was exhausted and wound up, in constant disbelief of the massive work he was being allowed to front; and always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop – for it to all fall apart or fall flat, and for him to be back on the grind, name forgotten and face lost behind a helmet.
If he had anything good come out of these experiences, though, it was new friends. So when Amy Sedaris asked if he wanted to grab lunch once they were both back in their familiar NYC apartments, he was warmed with the sense that he must be doing something right to continue meeting and connecting with so many amazing people.
Amy’s Greenwich apartment was famously beautiful, and Pedro wasn’t going to deny himself an opportunity to be served lunch at her home. She greeted him with her infectious spirit, kindly accepted the bottle of wine he had brought, and seamlessly, they were chatting in her kitchen while she worked on a Mediterranean chicken dish of fire-roasted tomatoes, feta, and enough herbs to permeate the air of the entire block.
“So tell me,” she said excitedly in her signature slight drawl. “Has it all sunk in yet? I mean, your hot stuff now!”
Pedro chuckled bashfully. “I just hope people like the show.”
“Oh, everyone loves you. How could they not? And the show will be a hit, you know that. I can’t believe Jon even bothered to call me up for it.”
“I know the show will be big shit, I just don’t know if that will have anything to do with me,” he admitted.
“And so what if it doesn’t? Enjoy your time with it, and then you’ll work on the next thing, and enjoy that too! You’ve got great judgment,” Amy assured him, her tone naturally inflected with maternal instinct. “You know what is gonna be really difficult?” she added, licking a spoon and content with her findings. “Not talking about the little green guy.”
Pedro laughed. “It’s gonna kill me to keep my mouth shut.”
“Oh, I know hun, you’re a big talker.”
“Guilty,” he grinned, drinking his wine.
“You got a girlfriend – or boyfriend – you talk to?” Amy asked directly. Pedro shifted in his chair and sighed.
“Don’t have much time for either, and that’s okay. My family and friends are my priority, and sometimes I worry I don’t have enough time for them or I’m not taking enough care of them.”
“Well don’t you worry about that, because today, I’m taking care of you and making sure you have a good meal – and don’t worry, I will be sending ya home with leftovers so you can brag to all your hot friends about my cooking. Maybe you’ll even take someone home that you can rave about this chicken too.”
Pedro chuckled, turning slightly red. “I will certainly do my best, thank you, Amy.”
It was early evening when Pedro stood up to depart the Greenwich Village haven, hands loaded with bespoke Tupperware.
“Pedro, you promise me you’re not gonna isolate yourself with your work, okay?”
Pedro tried to shrug her off but was caught off guard by how well Amy could see him in such a short amount of time. Then again, he often found himself as a person seeking emotional intimacy and found himself drawn to others who were the same. Those deep connections were anything but few and far between – but that didn’t mean he didn’t close himself off when he felt like the world was too good for him.
“I wanna make sure you get out of the house – and not just for the rehearsal room, okay? How’s this, I was thinking of checking out this off-broadway thing. One-woman show, could be a little pretentious, but the New Yorker wrote a nice thing about it, and I think she might be a new comedienne to look out for. You wanna come with? Be the audience member for once.”
“Ah, I don’t know…,” Pedro started, trying to think of when he’d even make time for that. But… it had been a while since he had seen a show, and he was always craving that feeling of being thrilled by a live performance once again. “Let me know what night you’re thinking and I’ll try to make it.”
Amy tutted but grinned at him. “‘I don’t know, I’ll try…,’” she poked fun, doing a poor imitation of his baritone voice. “Give yourself a damn break and don’t act like it’s such a chore! Read the New Yorker review, it sounds fun, different.”
Pedro resigned and nodded. “Alright, alright, you got me, I’ll take a look, ok?” They hugged at the door and said their goodbyes as Pedro left, driving back to his own apartment.
As he put the leftovers in the fridge, he couldn’t help but feel the absence of company in his cozy unit. He didn’t mind living alone, but with all the recent travel it was starting to weigh heavier on him and felt even more present when he returned home from socializing – from being surrounded by so many lovely people.
He sighed heavily as he crawled into bed, deciding he’ll finish unpacking another night.
He saw his phone light up on his nightstand and grumbled, reaching over to check the notification. Through his blurry vision, he could see a text from Amy:
> Amy 11:54pm
Here’s that article- we should go! If it’s bad we can gossip about it over dinner.
A New Yorker article was attached with the headline:
Pretty in Pink: The Hottest Off-Broadway Newcomer Twists Heartbreaking Knives Behind a Pastel Veneer
The header image was a production photo of a young woman – likely mid-20s – wearing a pink jumpsuit with hyper-feminine makeup and tussled brown hair, appearing to speak emotively on a stage washed in pink light.
Pedro put his reading glasses on and opened the link, getting a better look at the photo. His eyes went immediately to her lips (he couldn’t help himself), and with a tiny twinge of self-conscious shame, he privately zoomed in on the photo through his phone to see her just a little closer.
She was pretty and exuded a softness, but also looked completely in command of the stage.
Not wanting to stare at the photo too long (even if no one was around to notice), he returned to the article and began reading about this woman – Lara Edwards – her show, which the article delicately disclosed dealt with sexual assault, and how she utilized a comedic storytelling style to explore longing, vulnerability, and the nature of performance. As Pedro finished reading, he returned to the photo – and suddenly, the confidence he initially clocked looked different. He could sense her command of the stage wasn’t simply self-assured egotism, but an implicit trust to be on display for an audience, opening herself up nightly and allowing herself to be seen.
He wanted to see her.
> you 12:13am
i’m in. friday?
“Come on, don’t you wanna meet her?!” Amy goaded after the stage manager gave her the go-ahead to go backstage to “meet the artist.”
“I’ll wait for you, I just don’t like bothering someone at the stage door,” Pedro replied sheepishly. Mostly, he was intimidated.
“Well, I’m already gonna bother her, so you might as well join me. You say hello to the people who say hi to you, don’t you?”
“That’s different…,” he tried to protest.
“Pedro, she seems nice, I’m sure she’ll be lovely. Come on.” Amy wore him down, and he held his jacket over his arm as he followed Amy backstage. Pedro couldn’t believe that he was nervous to meet an artist after the show – like he was a kid again, marveling at the people on stage and screen. But Lara’s show really hit him in a way he couldn’t articulate. Yes, it was heartbreaking in the ways he expected from that New Yorker review and given the subject matter, but she wove the show together so deftly , with such attention to details in the lighting, sound, and the little pauses and inflection changes in her performance. She also made him laugh quite a bit, and nothing was more intimidating to him than a funny person, let alone a funny beautiful one.
Beautiful? Did he just use the word beautiful?
Uh oh. He was done for.
The stage manager knocked on the dressing room door. “Lara, you’ve got some visitors. You decent?”
“Yes, one second!” a muffled voice called from behind the door.
The door opened and Lara appeared, looking slightly frazzled. As she processed her new guests, her face fell slightly, as though it wasn’t who she was expecting.
“Oh,” she said, betraying a little too much disappointment. But as her brain wrapped its head around Amy Sedaris, her eyes lit up again. “Oh! Wow! Oh my God, uh, hello, come in, please!” She laughed in disbelief as she led the pair into her dressing room. Pedro felt a little discouraged that Lara didn’t even acknowledge him, but he tried not to take it personally.
Lara stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her hands, but continued. “Amy Sedaris, wow. Uhm, hi, I’m such a big fan!”
“Well, I was about to say the same of you! Well done, you! It was such a lovely show,” Amy beamed, always personable with everyone she met.
“Oh my goodness, thank you, I’m speechless!” Lara giggled. She then paused, suddenly conscious of how she had rudely missed that Amy had someone accompanying her. “And, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, hello, you’re uhm… Shit, this is embarrassing, I definitely do know who you are, but I’m blanking on the….” Lara trailed off, desperate to pull a name out of her head, mortified and hoping for a lifeboat.
“This is my friend Pedro,” Amy came to the rescue.
“Yes, yes , wow, okay, yes, wow you’re like a – yeah, like a really big…” Lara started stuttering, seemingly distracted by something in the hallway. “I’m sorry, I have crazy brain right now, this is really embarrassing. Let me start over. Hello, thank you for coming,” Lara held her hand out to Pedro, and he warmly accepted the handshake. “You’re gonna be in that Star Wars show, right? I’ve seen some of the previews. You have uh, you have…” Lara was doing anything she could to try to form coherent sentences. “You have a lot more face in person, you know? Cuz of the… the uh, helmet.” Lara looked a little past Pedro to the hallway again. Remembering herself, she brought her attention back to her guests. “I’m sorry, that was awful, Jesus Christ. Are you guys sure you liked the show?” Lara broke out into self-deprecating laughter – and Pedro was a goner. Her laugh, her smile, her humor – he wanted to memorize it. His heart was racing, and for a moment, he almost hoped she’d go back to ignoring him completely.
“You were great!” Amy exclaimed, her mom voice coming out. “Gosh, I loved it. I think you’re better at this than my brother David, even, but you didn’t hear that from me, capiche?” Lara looked like she was about to cry with joy from the compliment.
“Uh, yes, capiche. Uhm, thank you so much!”
“Well anyway, we just wanted to say hello and congratulate you on such a great show." Amy turned expectantly back to Pedro, who had been strangely quiet.
"Uh – yes! It was great, really. You're an, er, you're a talented performer."
“Please be sure to write that down and send it to my mother,” Lara deadpanned. Her eyes flitted back to the hallway as she spotted some activity.
Amy could tell Lara was distracted, and using that keen sense of observation and a talent for being naturally graceful in any social situation, she found a gentle way to leave Lara to it.
“Well, we oughta scooch outta here so that you can get spoiled with well-deserved adoration,” Amy smiled warmly, and Lara began to protest, looking embarrassed over being distracted. But Amy stopped her. “Here hon, let me give you my contact information. You ever want to get lunch or just chat up, talk about the industry, whatever, please don’t be afraid to reach out.” Amy pulled a notebook from her bag and scrawled her info down, cleanly ripped the page out, and folding it for Lara. Lara’s eyes widened like she was handed the Holy Grail.
Pedro’s mind raced. Should he offer his contact info too? Would that be appropriate? She clearly has more career interests in common with Amy and she didn’t seem all that interested in him. But would it seem rude if he didn’t?
Before he could make up his mind, Amy was already hugging Lara and quickly grabbing a lost Pedro by the arm to start to move out. He immediately felt like an idiot, clearly smitten with this young woman and unable to make anything of this short time he was in her presence – but maybe it was for the best. Infatuation didn’t look good on him, and if he got even a modicum more of Lara? He’d be infatuated. He was ready to let the crush die at the stage door.
“Thank you, hon for meeting us. You take care of yourself, and congratulations again!” Amy waved as they walked out. She tightened her grip on Pedro’s arm, implying say something, weirdo!
“Yes, it was really great, thank you,” Pedro nodded, trying not to dwell on whether he should’ve offered more praise or even come backstage at all. Dammit, Amy.
As they reached the doorway, Lara waved farewell to her guests, for a moment looking entirely present, very grateful, and so, so warm . Her smile was luminous, her eyes twinkled with humble joy, and her body language opened up, even if for a goodbye. “It was really nice to meet you both! I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you!” she called after the pair.
As Amy and Pedro made it to the outside hallway, out of view from the dressing room where the stage manager passed them to notify Lara of another guest, Amy pulled Pedro aside to raise a pointed eyebrow at him. She didn’t need to say anything for him, and her ability to pick up on his passive anxiety. Pedro didn’t know how to respond to her scrutinization, so he just shrugged, nodding for them to get out of there.
Amy shook her head and walked forward, Pedro trailing behind. They started to pass another person who appeared to be waiting to meet Lara next when recognition made Pedro paused. “ Pine? ” The steely-eyed man turned in surprise.
“Pedro? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here man!” Chris Pine grinned and pulled Pedro in for a bro hug. “Well, I guess you’re probably here seeing the show.”
“Yeah, yeah, I came with –” Pedro started to point to Amy to realize she had already bounded off, unaware Pedro lagged behind. He chuckled. “I was here with Amy Sedaris. We just met the uh, the writer, uh, Lara. Are you waiting?”
“Yeah man, that was great, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was really impressive. You should’ve seen Amy and her, they were fawning over each other,” Pedro paused, not wanting to give himself up. “But yeah, Lara seems great. Really talented.”
“You know she’s got an uh, a comedy special I think on Netflix?”
“Oh wow.”
“Yeah, talented woman.”
“I gotta check that out…” Pedro trailed off. “Well uh, I won’t keep you, it’s nice to see you, man. How long are you in town for? How was the rest of the shoot?”
“Just the weekend, just the weekend, yeah. And God, it was a whirlwind. I’m sorry we didn’t have more scenes together.” Chris lamented. “Hey, let me know when Lear opens, though, I’d love to see it. Maybe I link up with Kristen for it or something?”
Pedro smiled lightly, at least now moved on from buzzing about Lara and remembering what was on the horizon. “That would be really nice, I’ll let you know. It’s uh, it’s gonna be in February.”
Chris nodded as the stage manager emerged from Lara’s dressing room, waving Chris over. “I’ll keep an eye on the calendar. I’ll see you around, man. Enjoy the quiet while you can!” Chris teased, shaking Pedro’s hand before heading off to the dressing room.
Pedro was almost out of the woods, mind now on Lear rehearsals and Wonder Woman and wondering how far off Amy had gotten when a last sound pulled him back in: The lilt of Lara’s laughter as she greeted her new guest, echoing in the halls. Pedro tried to shake it off as he marched towards the theater’s exit.
Pedro had never told Lara while they were together that his friends were already quite familiar with her, primarily because he was too embarrassed to admit how much he had talked about her before ever knowing he’d see her again.
It had been a while since he felt inspired by someone else’s stage work – the medium that lit up his interest in acting in the first place – but Lara’s show held its grip on his creative conscience. He had considered seeing it again multiple times before backing out either due to schedule or to the self-conscious worry that he was a little too engaged with the show. He was able to successfully urge Oscar and Elvira to see it after multiple conversations filled with his hype, but he began to feel a little dumb when he tried to pry Oscar’s reaction.
“It was good, it was good!” Oscar assured Pedro. “I think…,” he added carefully. “I think it resonated with you a little more than it resonated with me, but that’s not me saying I didn’t like it. El really dug it, she looked up the girl’s comedy special afterward.” Oscar eyed Pedro to try to parse out why this of all shows was the one Pedro was so eager over.
Sarah started to tease him after he brought it up one too many times. “Yeesh, you’d think he met Shakespeare at the Globe,” she teased to their dinner companions. Pedro turned red, more than aware at this point that he not-very-subtly but very-very-annoyingly had a full-blown crush.
On a quiet night at home, he finally decided to look up that stand-up special that kept getting referenced, resigning that if he was gonna be enamored, at least only Ted Sarandos and the Netflix algorithm geeks would know.
Lara was in his room through the convenience of a TV screen, and he felt jealous of all the people who knew her and watched her before him. She made him laugh a lot in the short 30-minute routine, even causing him to blush (in spite of being alone) with her sexual candor in performing dirtier jokes.
God, he had to shake this.
And he tried, with moderate success. Because it was only a crush, and he didn’t actually know Lara, nor did he speak to her for more than a few sentences. Come the time that King Lear opened and his nerves about his performance could relax a little bit as he returned to the thrill of having a live audience, Lara was on his mind less and less. That might have changed if he had known that Lara came to one of the performances of Lear , shortly before moving out to LA; if he knew that the secret theatre nerd in her was elated by the performance, always particularly excited by Shakespeare; or if he had any idea that even though Lara was committed to theatre etiquette and was mature enough to understand how “acting” works, she accidentally giggled to herself at the sight of Pedro’s ass. She had buried that memory herself over just how mortifying it was.
Before long, it was summertime, and Pedro was between things, taking up Chris’ suggestion to enjoy the quiet. He loved New York in the summertime and made efforts to see and spend time with loved ones as much as possible. The impending anxiety of The Mandolorian premiering was something he tried to push out. He tried dating and had a few summer hookups, but none of it really stuck, though it was really on him. He just wasn’t the type of person who prioritized a single romantic relationship over the other relationships in his life, and as his schedule got busier with higher profile projects, friend and family time was always going to be the priority. His couple of flings ended without much fanfare, both parties drifting away and turning their interests elsewhere.
And then, The Mandalorian came out, and it was… good? Really good, actually. And while he knew (especially when comparing notes with Oscar) that there would always be fervent fans and always a group of people desperate to criticize anything Star Wars, regardless of quality, he was relieved that people – even the ones who weren ’ t diehards – really responded well to the show. He was disappointed he wasn’t able to film as much on set as he hoped, and he looked forward to the next season where the positive responses could carry him through doing much more on-set work.
Getting an Emmy’s invite wasn’t a complete shock, but Pedro was still in awe of how his life was shaping up. This career used to be so hard for so long, and it wasn’t like it was easy now, but his confidence was reassured. There was an actual place for him here, and it wasn’t just predicated on a stint as a fan favorite on Game of Thrones. There was real work he could do, and he was excited as all hell.
So of course, he didn’t want to wave off the opportunity to take it seriously, and he was all-in on making sure he attended Emmy’s rehearsal. Tons of people were coming together to make this one night happen smoothly for the vanity of people like him, the least he could do was show up and mark his lines.
He had initially been running a little late, not able to do much about his unruly hair or to throw on more than his nearest t-shirt. He reminded himself that this was just a simple walkthrough, in and out, no big deal.
The stage managers got him lined up for his upcoming entrance, giving him the basic beats of how he’d need to walk on, tips for reading from the teleprompter, and how long he’ll need to stay, just in case there are minor writing or staging changes. He nodded, ready for direction, and waited in the wings for his cue.
And then he fucking heard that lilting laugh.
Notes:
Could Chris Pine be the secretive Chris Lara has been talking to? Is it a different famous Chris?? We'll have to see to find out....
Chapter 9: ... Without you, love.
Summary:
When Lara sees Pedro again after his SNL appearance, it's hard not to think about her visit with him two years before. How much changed, and how much was the same?
Notes:
Sorry for taking so long to update! It's been a busy few weeks and I admittedly was feeling a little blocked.
Tons of angst, and a healthy amount of smut.
We'll continue to flashback to more of Lara's NYC week with Pedro in later chapters. Stay tuned. :)
Chapter Text
Year Four
Whatever hurry Pedro and I were in during our back-alley rendezvous was washed away in that silent kiss past the threshold of the hotel room. Not to say that there wasn’t an urgency to this kiss – not so much imposed by Pedro’s insistence that we would only have tonight, but by a gut inkling that we wouldn’t have many more chances whether we wanted them or not. But regardless of the urgency, the kiss was languid, savoring what once was, preserving what might have been.
Pedro was always really the only person I ever kissed like that, and kissing had always been a much larger part of our foreplay than it had been with past lovers. Maybe it was because he didn’t live a stone’s throw away or maybe it was just because something felt so right with each other, but I would spend countless spare seconds between gasps, meals, conversations (or just because) kissing him. As a person who has always struggled to be present, Pedro’s kiss grounded me. I was there in that moment with him and nowhere else.
Perhaps our kisses were special because they lacked the messiness of a hook-up’s kiss. There were those times too – teeth and tongues and moans and groans into each other’s hollows. But so many times we could sit with nothing but our lips in endless caresses. Soft or chapped, wherever the day had left us, nothing was sweeter than Pedro’s kiss.
As he led me eyes-closed to the bed, gently sitting with me as the back of my knees hit the mattress, he quietly and patiently kissed down my neck, letting his bottom lip linger a second too long as the rest of his mouth travelled down the next inch. There was a welling in my chest. I felt so sad. The hotel room was too familiar, too lonely. And while I could luxuriate forever in his kissing embrace, I just wanted him to look at me again. Even throughout drinks at the bar, his gaze would wander forward, staring off as we listened to each other. He gave me his full attention, but it was as though he was protecting himself from fully taking me in. As we sat on the bed, lightly feeling one another’s hair and musculature against our fingertips, I had this sense that it was much easier for Pedro to lose himself in the sensation of me than in my own gaze.
Whether it was because of the melancholia teasing the edges of my thoughts or the pleasure of Pedro’s lips teasing my shoulder, I let out a soft whimper. As though he were reading my mind, the sound pulled him up and away, finally opening his eyes, giving me a sensitive and protective look as he pressed his forehead against mine. He seemed to be communicating with me via telepathy, What’s wrong? It’s uncanny how well he knew me still after years apart.
Heart on a mission of its own, words starting spilling out of my mouth (funny how he had that effect on me), drunk on emotion and alcohol and nostalgia and loneliness:
“I think I love you,” I mused in a low, insecure tone.
I held his contemplative stare. My tears threatened to make themselves known in the presence of his soft, beautiful eyes, every past emotion he’s ever felt decorating the creases framing his dark eyelashes. I wondered if he was going to yell at me for complicating things or reject me. Instead, he only sighed a lonesome sigh and nodded confidently, singing into my skull with our unspoken language, I know, sweet girl. I know. And I’m sorry. And I will give everything I can to you now, but only now.
I had spent my whole life terrified of putting the power of my feelings into the hands of another. Guarded myself from my parents, withheld information from my friends, kept at a distance my lovers. And here I was, wall completely obliterated for Pedro, trusting him to have me, to hold me, to understand that me telling him that I loved him was not a plea, but a confession – sharing that long-kept secret with the friend who knows you best, hoping to not be alone in your misery, hoping for a shred of comfort.
And God, that man knows me.
So without judgment, without frustration, without hesitation, he nodded, he took me into his arms, and once more, we kissed.
Year Two
New York, Day One
It didn’t take much time after I settled in before we were all over each other. I sat at his kitchen island while he fixed us drinks – whiskey, on the rocks. Always on the rocks.
He made small talk with me across the counter, and I always found that charmingly odd. We had been together a dozen times at this point. This was a man who I flashed my pussy to over FaceTime mere hours after knowing him. But something about this trip felt like starting over in a sense, or starting a new phase.
"You never told me what your favorite animal is," he mused nonchalantly while pouring out the liquor.
I raised an eyebrow and chuckled as he handed me my glass. "Was I supposed to?"
"Nah," he replied plainly, bringing his glass to his lips before stopping himself. He gave me an indecipherable look as he gestured his glass to mine. I reflexively closed the distance with a clink.
"Cheers…" I murmured, making sure I tapped my glass down on the counter before taking my first sip. Pedro eyed me intently, waiting for me to finish before taking his own drink.
"What was that?" He nodded, referencing my ritual.
"Oh, something you do for luck – or is it to honor those missing? I actually can't remember the superstition now that I'm talking out loud, but it's something I've done since college."
"Huh, never tried that one. But it sounds like it must be a lucky trick for you."
"I suppose I feel lucky enough." I blushed under his gaze, and then pointed my finger at the glass in his hand. "You should get lucky too," I purred, and it was Pedro's turn to blush. He held his glass up, tapped the counter with it, and threw the liquor back confidently now. He smirked at me as he slowly gulped.
"I feel lucky already. But… I think I'd feel even luckier in my bedroom," he broached carefully.
I nodded. "Can't be too careful." I took a hearty swig and stood as he offered his hand to pull me deeper into his abode.
"Don't think you're getting off easy on the favorite animal question," he teased, lightly brushing my wrist with his fingertips as he led me behind him.
I didn’t have time to make out the details of his room – that would come later as he drifted to sleep – as Pedro pulled me into a desperate kiss just past the doorway. He kissed me like it was a secret; something we could only do in this room. He nudged a lightswitch with his elbow, not allowing me to drift even a centimeter away from him while a dim light fell over the room. I finally managed to break the kiss, more in need of air than anything else.
“Pedro!” I started to giggle, flushed from the urgency. His arms were still wrapped around me, our pelvises just slightly touching. He pressed his forehead to mine, panting, but meeting my breathy laugh.
“Sorry, I – I really missed, uhm, this,” he admitted. “That was too forceful, though, I can ease –”
I returned my lips to him, forcing a startled groan to vibrate up his chest as both of our eyes fell shut and the fervent kiss resumed. I completed the embrace by wrapping my arms up his back, toying with the strands of hair I could reach. One of his hands trailed down behind me, gently nudging my ass, urging me to entrust him with my weight to wrap every part of me around him. With further encouragement from his hand, I hopped lightly to lace my legs around his hips as he shifted his arms to support me. Not once did our kiss break. At this angle, I could feel the entirety of his length straining against his jeans, pressing directly into my core. I whimpered into his mouth, which elicited a growl in response. He needily brought his mouth down just beneath my jaw as I gasped, grasping for whatever air I could before going back under his spell. He carried me until his legs hit his bed and he could lean me back into the mattress, his lips and teeth matching the descent. His course stubble burned against the slope of my neck. He must’ve sensed the scrape, because he pulled away, his dark, blown out eyes shifting from lust to concern as he held himself over me, casting his gaze over every detail of my form beneath him.
“I’m sorry,” he started to mumble. “I shaved yesterday but didn’t touch it up before leaving to get you.”
I shook my head, amazed that of all things, he was taking the time to worry about not shaving enough for me. “I don’t mind, really.” I bit my lip smiling up at him, feeling shy and coquettish and charmed and so, so desperate for him.
I watched Pedro’s eyes wander down to my mouth. “You’re so damn cute,” he sighed, smiling back at me. And I couldn’t help but blush, wanting to look away, but forcing myself to stay open to his attentive stare.
But in my restless nature, I couldn’t stay comfortable in this vulnerability. I couldn’t stay looking into his adoring eyes, or leaning into the light touch of his hand stroking my side. I couldn’t do light or soft, I needed hard – or at least I was used to hard. To make sure we didn’t lose the plot, I suddenly reached upwards to graze my teeth along his jawline. Pedro groaned, carding his fingers through my hair as his neck muscle strained against my lips. “Ahh, fuck…,” he hissed in arousal, almost a whisper. I nipped just where his neck met his collarbone, leaving the tiniest of marks, resisting the tug from my hair until I was pleased with my work. Pedro finally managed to wrest me away from him. I grinned up at him impishly as he huffed, catching his breath. His other hand caressed my jaw, making me purse my mouth as he swiped my bottom lip with his thumb. “Damn cute and… devious.” I drank in his flirty assessment. Pedro didn’t take his eyes off of my mouth, and my eyes travelled down past his belt.
“Lay back,” I instructed, emitting doe eyes and gently kissing his thumb as it continued to brush just past my lips. “Lay back, please,” I repeated, hoping he would sense my urgency to please him. A placating growl rumbled through his chest as he took the sight of me in once more before following my instructions. He started to unfasten his belt, but I brought my hands to his, pulling them away. “I only said to lay back,” I insisted, my tone bossier than before. He scoffed, but grinned at me. I had never been much of the dominant one in bed, and I was really just winging it now, but he was at least amused enough to let me carry on – and so I did.
I tried to hide that my hands were shaking the slightest bit. I told myself it was eager lust giving me the shakes, but honestly, I was nervous this time. I could never place my finger on why everything felt different during my visit with him in New York, but it did, and I don’t think I was alone in sense the shift. Even as I began to undo his belt, slowly and carefully pulling down the fly of his jeans, easing the button open, unable to ignore the heat radiating from beneath the denim… I could sense his gaze, and it was more than want and hunger. He watched me so carefully, his eyes softening every time he began to linger on me more than what I was doing to him. And everytime I became self-conscious of that gaze, I tried to distract it to anywhere but me, my face, my being. Everytime his expression was too filled with adoration, his eyes too full of longing, I pulled him out of whatever dangerous thoughts were running through his head to something more explosive and yet safer. It helped that I knew how to play him. So when he watched me softly as I loosened his belt, I quickly ran my hand along his length through his briefs to bring him back to reality. When the fingers toying with my hair were a little too sweet as I softly pulled him – hard and thick and hot – free from the layers of jeans and cotton, I had no choice but to wrap my lips around him quicker than I wanted, if only to cause his head to tilt back and to break the intensity of his too-sweet, too loving stare.
“Ffuuuck, Lara…” he stuttered. “Lara, Lara, Lara… Jesus.” The word fell from his lips, as was our habit, as I brought him further into my mouth. And against my better judgment, in spite of feeling so annoyed and frustrated by the way Pedro looked at me, as I took him in deeper, looking upward through my eyelashes and swept bangs, hoping to look back at him with self-satisfaction and lust and the pleasure I’ve always felt in knowing I’m fucking good at this and I’ve got him right where I want him….
My eyes softened, too. And a new warmth came over me. Not the one that comes with, well, having someone’s cock in your mouth. But… the warmth of feeling content.
I wished he’d forget my name. I wished he wouldn’t say it that way. I wished he’d stop looking at me like he did; that he’d stop touching me with such kindness; kissing me with such affection. I wished he’d stop laughing at my jokes with that stupid belly laugh that I sometimes wished I could hear rumble against me when I was alone at night. I wished he’d stop being so patient with me. I wished I’d stop falling for him – and I wished I wasn’t such an idiot to think falling for anyone was such a bad thing.
But I could only do what I’m good at, and I’m not good at that. I’m not good at feelings, I’m not good at letting someone in.
So I went back to what I am good at.
I moved my hand in sync with my mouth, rolling my tongue along the underside of his shaft. I could tell Pedro squeezed his eyes instictively and reluctantly, but the groan that came out of him was exquisite, and maybe it was for the best that he kept his eyes closed.
Year Four
Pedro and I sat outside on the hotel balcony, smoking. The sex was good – really good, actually. And it was familiar. But it was sad, too. It felt like we were falling into something we knew was bad for us.
He must’ve been thinking the same. “You think it’s a bad sign that we ran into each other when we’re both smoking again?”
I grabbed the cig from him. “Why…,” I exhaled. “You don’t think we’re taking up bad habits, do you?” I crooked an eyebrow at him, smiling playfully.
He shrugged while I handed the smoke back. “Yeah, you and I weren’t really a habit though, were we?”
“I take offense to that!” I half-heartedly shoved his arm, but he kept my flirtation at a distance. I slunk back to seriousness. “I know it was on and off, but… I don’t know, you were a constant in my life for a period. I didn’t really have a constant in anything else.”
Pedro nodded. “I get that. I always felt like… you grounded me, in a way.”
“We don’t have to go back to being strangers, you know.” It came out more like a plea than a reminder.
“Lara…,” Pedro sighed. He left a heavy pause as he contemplated. I looked out at Manhattan from our swanky position stories high. “I’m uh… I’m seeing someone.” I was going to be sick. I wondered if I hurled over the balcony if we were high enough for my vom to be lethal to some poor passerby. “It’s not exclusive, otherwise I would have never – It’s complicated,” he tried to explain. But he tensed as he navigated the conversation. “Actually, it’s not complicated. You and I were complicated, but this – it’s refreshingly simpl – I – I think it’s best you and I don’t get mixed up with each other… again.”
I forced a breath through my teeth. “Jeez, harsh dude.” He scowled back at me. “P, I’m kidding. I… I totally get it. I mean, you’re not saying anything I haven’t said to you.” I tried to be cool.
Pedro leaned his head back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. I wondered if we both had the same thought – This is so fucking hard . After a moment, he turned back to me. “I… I should’ve asked you. Are you… seeing…?”
I laughed a little too quickly at the idea. “No, no. No one I’d call a habit, anyway.”
He laughed – warm and earnest. I started to reach out to grab his hand out of some long-buried instinct, but caught myself. I was about to apologize when he closed the distance, covering my hand with his. He rubbed his thumb against my wrist. “We don’t have to be strangers, we just –”
“I know,” I cut him off. “Just next time I’m patting you on the back for your fucking mega-huge HBO hit, can you give me something? It sucks to feel like I’m getting iced out by the most genuine guy in Hollywood.”
Pedro let out what sounded like a wheeze. “Me??”
“Yes you,” I teased. “I can only assume it’s gonna be a busy year for you?”
Pedro’s shoulders relaxed, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder as I leaned back into him, perched on his knee. "It hasn't hit me yet. It's going to be nonstop – and of course The Last of Us was nonstop, but if my agent secures a couple of these possible projects?" He let out a whistle. "It's going to be a lot. Amazing, definitely. But a lot. Plus the For Your Consideration stuff –"
"I get it, I get it," I whined, lightheartedly. "See, we can't be strangers because I'm going to have to see your face everywhere. You have to be nice to me or else I'll start vandalizing magazine covers." I stuck out my tongue and Pedro let out a belly laugh, pulling me closer into him as I laughed along. It was amazing how easy this was, teetering on the edge of platonic and romantic.
"Is there anything you've got possibly lined up?" he asked me cautiously.
I took a deep breath as I pondered upon that uncertainty. "I don't know. Maybe. Things aren't entirely dire yet, but I'm hearing rumblings from the Guild that they think a strike might be coming. And I'm pro, of course. But… that's gonna be really fucking hard if it happens."
"Whew, yeah, that's… that's tough." There was a melancholy quiet.
"Well, if WGA strikes, probably not gonna look good for SAG either. So maybe you'll get to be miserable alongside me." I turned my face towards his, smiling through it.
Pedro's eyes searched mine, trying to read me. I still couldn't be the open book he needed. Instead, he just squeezed my side, and said, "Deal."
Chapter 10: Bad Habits
Summary:
Months pass and Lara turns 30. Things with Pedro aren't the same, but old habits do die hard.
Notes:
I apologize for everything and regret nothing.
Please for the love of God may he never see this fic. Smut, smut, smutty! Drama! Messiness! Oh man, so much messiness!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Year Four
2023 fucking sucked. For me, at least.
The departure from Pedro's hotel was awkward and amicable. He encouraged me to stay the night, but in the morning, I think we both wished that I hadn't. Things weren't the same and we both knew we couldn't pretend that they were.
By the time I reconvened with Katie and Jack for our last day in the city, I managed to hear an earful.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
"You have been insane this entire trip."
"The least you could do is reply to our texts."
"You were such a bummer at the afterparty."
"This should've been a fun trip and you don't have to enjoy it, but you can at the very minimum communicate with your friends." They alternated jabs at me, but Katie's last call-out hurt the most. Part of me felt like shit for not being able to control my self-destructive tendencies, but part of me wanted my friends to recognize I was spiraling out and to be there for me instead of chastising me. And rather than reflect upon why I wasn't the easiest person to be there for, I just internalized resentment.
Pedro and I did keep talking – at least for a bit. It was nothing special. Friendly, forced conversation, if anything. I wondered how he had me saved in his phone since the whole "L" debacle.
Sunday, February 12
you 11:59pm
Just watched the newest episode. That was devastating!
Monday, February 13
> Pedro 10:12am
was that the one with Henry and Sam?
you 1:27pm
Omg yes. Still crying.
You prepared to win… idk, all of the awards??
> Pedro 2:11pm
hah. not sure about that…
you 5:19pm
At least an MTV Movie Award.
> Pedro 5:27pm
hahahahaha. if i should be so lucky!
you 9:43pm
Nah, you got this!
Oh and hey, Happy early Vday! Get an extra order of dessert for me 😜
> Pedro 10:02pm
haha of course.
happy v-day to you too!
:)
When I woke up the next morning, I texted all of my friends Happy Valentine's Day. I guess this was just something I said to friends, now.
Monday, March 13
you 7:40pm
Uhm.
Wtf Joel??
Holy shit tho P. It was so good!
> Pedro 8:09pm
awwwwwww. thank you!
i cant believe everyone likes it so much.
you 8:12pm
Dude it's so good! And you're genuinely amazing in it. I'm so glad you got to do something like this.
> Pedro 8:17pm
that means a lot from you
really
thank you
honestly i havent even watched most of it.
cant look at my mug for that long
you 8:20pm
Not gonna lie I chuckle everytime you show up in one of those post-show interviews…
> Pedro 8:21pm
ughhhhhhh
you 8:24pm
If it makes you feel better, you sound very thoughtful!
> Pedro 8:27pm
ugghhhhhhhhhhhh
you 8:34pm
Oh stop it you baby
You—> 👶
> Pedro 8:41pm
lol
i gotta go but thank you again
really really means a lot.
you 8:59pm
Same, and don't mention it, dude!
You're a superstar
🌟
Pedro "hearted" the message. I went back to watching TV.
Wednesday, April 19
> Pedro 1:13pm
heard talk that the strike was likely. you ok?
you 2:37pm
Yeah it's lookin to be that way…
I'm okay. There's already talk of writer support.
Probably more than I got during the pandemic lol
> Pedro 3:56pm
shit that sucks
you 4:15pm
I wish I was pushing harder or more vocal or something
Just feels fraudulent to even consider myself part of the guild yknow??
> Pedro 5:17pm
hey, none of that
its bad timing is all
you 7:11pm
A regular occurrence for me it seems.
Thursday, April 20
> Pedro 8:33am
hah
hey, happy birthday, right?
Pedro's delayed response caught me as I was shuffling into the kitchen, dejected and depressed – and officially 30.
I poured tepid coffee – the leftover dregs of a pot brewed three days ago – and rubbed my eyes as I looked at my phone.
you 8:40am
Lol yeah
How did you remember that?
> Pedro 8:49am
youre a 4/20 baby! id never forget
too bad about not being an aries, though….
you 9:12am
Shit I'm sorry I missed yours
Wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me
Tauruses are better, tho. Sorry
Though I'm on the cusp anyway 😛
> Pedro 9:27am
its your birthday so i'll let that slide…
though that is categorically untrue
how many punches you getting this year?
you 9:41am
Ugh. 30.
> Pedro 10:10am
oof
you 10:39am
Oof??
Really reassuring…
> Pedro 10:44am
hah you know me
doing anything special?
I was, actually. In spite of my surliness, Katie and the gang were still intent to throw me a banger to remember, though if I was honest, I think it was more of an excuse for them to have a party.
you 11:05am
There's an elaborate and likely overindulgent party in my honor tonight.
I am dreading it.
> Pedro 11:12am
aww, whys that?
30 only happens once
you gotta go craaaaaaazy
I was more giggly than I should have been to be having a warmer conversation with Pedro, like the ones we used to have. I didn't know why he wasn't as guarded this time, but I missed it. And… I couldn't help myself.
you 11:18am
Oh crazy huh?
Crazy… how so?
;)
I tested the waters. What was I doing? Why was I like this?
But I didn't expect the response – not after he made it clear we couldn't get tangled up again.
> Pedro 11:20am
hmmmmmmmm
i got a few things in mind baby
you 11:23am
A few??
Here I just had one really specific thing in mind.
Don't know if I should tell you tho
> Pedro 11:31am
show me whatever birthday outfit you put together and i'll have a few more ideas
I bit my lip, instinctively squeezing my thighs together.
you 11:34am
I won't show you…. Yet. :)
> Pedro 11:36am
have i seen it before?
you 11:37am
Not in a long time.
> Pedro 11:39am
shiiiit
describe it?
you 11:42am
Red, tight, deep V, strapless, low cut, little slit over the thigh…
> Pedro 11:44am
oh i definitely remember that one
goddamn
im sure everyone will be all over you tonight…
you 11:47am
No one who I’d wanna hook up with.
> Pedro 11:48am
who would you wanna hook up with?
you 11:50am
Are you gonna make me say it?
> Pedro 11:51am
id like it better if you did
you 11:53am
How about we FaceTime after and I show you?
> Pedro 11:54am
i’ll do you one better
how about you come over and i celebrate the birthday girl?
In a rare instance, I was stumped in how to reply. On one hand – yes, God yes – but on the other, I knew in my gut it was a bad idea. That sort of self-destructive, self-indulgent behavior of crossing your own carefully crafted boundaries was typical for me. But for Pedro? I was surprised.
I couldn't commit to saying no, though, and I didn't have to (yet) because it was in that moment of painful indecision that my buzzer went off.
I peered out the window to see Katie downstairs. Relief pored over me in having a new distraction.
"30, bitch!!" she squealed up towards my window. I turned red, nervous about irritating the neighbors.
"Let me buzz you in before you get me evicted for screaming public profanities!" I called back, although at a lower volume.
As I buzzed Katie up, I picked up my phone and quickly sent a reply.
you 12:01pm
Katie's here, gotta jet.
Check in on that offer later?
> Pedro 12:03pm
deal
have fun birthday girl
dont forget to send pics
😘
My head was spinning. Did he not keep a distance from me when we saw each other in February? Has he not been overly platonic and vaguely cryptic over text? Was he just horny and I was just a placeholder?
I snapped out of it as Katie rapped at my door.
"Birthday bitch, birthday bitch, let me in! Or I'll huff and I'll–"
I flung the door open, causing Katie to jolt a little bit, though she gracefully landed with a giggle.
"You're insane. People are trying to sleep around here," I chastised her.
"It is literally noon." Katie scowled at me before breaking into a smile, dropping an assortment of bags, and wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. "Thirty!!!" she shrieked, shaking me in the embrace until I spilled over into laughter.
"Stop, stop!" I wheezed merrily until she let go. I feigned annoyance, though I was grinning. "Jeez, you'd think I was getting coronated."
"You're the first to turn," she proclaimed ceremoniously, bowing her head dramatically.
"You're such a fuckin' weirdo!" I shoved her playfully back upright. "Believe me, I hold no reverence towards being the first to hit 3-0. Hell, I don't have reverence towards 30 in general."
"Well you're gonna have to deal with it because I brought a shit ton of booze, Jack's bringing at least half a shit ton more, and we're gonna celebrate you and make it all about us and our… fading youth!" Katie was on a silly streak.
"Honestly? Fine with me. Please, take all the attention for yourselves." I shrugged.
"Booooo." I shrugged again to annoy her. Frowning, Katie bent down to lift some of the bags onto the kitchen counter.
She was right – it was a shit ton of booze.
"There's a present for you in one of these bags, too, but don't open it until later."
I pulled out a wrapped, rectangular box just a touch bigger than my hand. "This?" I gestured.
Katie squinted at the package. "Mmm, no, I actually think that's the one from me and Jack, and you should definitely open it now."
I eyed her suspiciously as she smirked. “Wouldn’t Jack be missing out?”
“Hmm… it’s more important to me that I see your reaction.”
“Oh boy…” I muttered, started to peel the wrapping away. There was a nondescript white box. I pulled off the lid to find… a small vibrator in the shape of the Statue of Liberty. Katie started keeling over with laughter. “What the fuck,” I stated more than asked.
“We saw that while you were AWOL in NYC. We’ve been holding onto it all this time. I was dying to see your reaction!”
“Okay but… why? Why??? ”
“We thought you could loosen up a bit.” Katie winked at me as she started stowing away a veggie tray she brought while I groaned and put the novelty sex toy back in its packaging.
Year Two
New York, Day Two
With the Oh-my-God-we-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-weeks-and-are-desperate-for-each-other’s-skin sex out of the way, Pedro’s proposal to drink and fuck and watch old movies for a week really became as indulgent and wonderful as it sounded. The tense trepidation of the previous day melted away for me overnight, and I think in sensing that, Pedro relaxed too.
I quietly padded to his bathroom at one point in the middle of night one, frantic to pee after passing out in orgasmic bliss following round three hours earlier. My eyes were slow to adjust and I had only barely gotten my bearings past his living room, so I used my phone screen as a candle, avoiding the flashlight to ensure I didn’t accidentally startle the sleeping, sweaty, angelic lump next to me.
I frustratingly stubbed my toe on my way back to the bedroom, but after managing to hold in my cursing and shift to the balls of my feet, I slid into my routine curiosity, taking the moment to really observe his room in a way I didn’t when we were in the throes of it. I couldn’t make out everything in the haze of my phone’s night-mode amber glow, but all that kept running through my head was warm . His place was so goddamn warm . It made sense to me viscerally why he felt more attached to New York than California. California may have been sunnier, but New York was cozier – warm in that way you have to be because the nights are sad and the winters harsh. To me, neither held a candle to Chicago, but I saw the allure of America’s largest city. My sleepy thoughts wandered and I caught myself mid-rabbit hole of thinking, Man, I’d love to give Pedro a tour of Chicago some day. “ Some day” ? It was too late (or early) for wistfulness, so I resigned to scoping out the rest of his abode during the daytime, tucking myself slowly back into his bed to not disturb him. I suspected I was probably being overly-cautious – he seemed like he was really lights-out – but I worried of taking up too much space, claiming too much square footage of his warm little home for my own.
In the morning, it felt even warmer, and I woke up to find myself sprawled out, taking up nearly the entire area of the bed as my sleeping partner had apparently sidled out. I guess I wasn’t the only one who could move without a trace.
I tiptoed out into his living space just as I heard a key turning the lock. Pedro tried to slowly open the door until he noticed me awake, and even behind his mask, I could see how widely his smile radiated across his face. He made it the rest of the way into his apartment, tucking his keys away before peeling his mask off as he held a coffee carrier in his other hand.
“Hi,” I mumbled bashfully, blushing and self-conscious about how I might’ve looked in the morning.
Pedro sat the coffee carrier down on the kitchen island before fully sweeping me into his arms. I immediately melted, pliant as his fingertips grazed underneath the oversized tshirt I had thrown on to lightly grasp my hips and place a soft and slow, closed-mouth, but not entirely chaste kiss on my lips. My insides fluttered from the sensual touches. “I had this weird feeling that I was going to come back to an empty apartment and it would turn out that I dreamt the whole thing from being stircrazy for weeks.”
I let out a muffled chuckle into his chest, but immediately pulled away, feeling the gesture was a touch too familiar for our arrangement. Pedro’s hands continued to chase my hips, pulling me back to him, but turned around now so that he could hold the front of my waist and press me backwards into him. I hummed reflexively, enjoying the sturdiness of his denim-clad hips against my ass in nothing in panties – now partially exposed from the t-shirt raking up.
“If this is a dream…,” he continued, right hand trailing up my side to trace the outer curve of my breast. “...I’m content to never wake up again.” He purred into my mess of hair – a result of sex, sleep, and now the nuzzle of his nose.
“I can’t believe you went out in public like that,” I panted.
Pedro snorted. “Like what?”
“All sex hair and fucked-out swagger.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest into mine, and he tickled my waist in retribution for my teasing. “That’s all thanks to you, baby.” He continued tickling me until my resolve crumbled, and he took my distraction as an opportunity to snake his hand down and drag his fingers over my panty-covered cunt. My laugh choked into a moan, and I heard another rumble through his chest – one of smug satisfaction.
“Phew… you…,” I breathed out. “You’re sneaky,” I managed to say. “Can I have some of that coffee that smells… unh… amazing before y– you– before we–” His fingertips were teasing over my clit, circling it softly and tantalizingly slow. I couldn’t eke out the rest of my sentence, but Pedro tutted in acknowledgement.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured, removing his hand and gently nudging me to turn around. I did so, eyes still half-lidded and breath shaky from the frustrating tease. With his hands on my hips, he slowly back me against the island, goofily moving one leg at a time.
"Up," he instructed. I put together what he was suggesting.
"No…!" I gasped. "But… your counter."
He laughed warmly, genuinely tickled by my concern. "It's marble, it cleans easy. Go on… up," he purred.
I bit my lip and eased myself the extra few inches up onto the kitchen counter. Pedro walked further, hands trailing from my hips to my bare thighs as he settled, standing between my legs.
"Go ahead, sweet girl." He nodded, catlike grin warming his features. "Drink your coffee and tell me about your week.
I began to stutter feeling put on the spot. "I… I don't…" Pedro looked down at his hand as he gently and reassuringly rubbed the inside of my thigh, not yet traveling further up, but languidly tracing along the skin. That glow of affection emanated from him. He looked back up at me through his eyelashes, placing his other hand on the counter and putting his weight on it to lean over me.
He whispered close to my ear, "Drink your coffee while I drink you, help wake you up." He kissed just past my ear, along my cheekbone. "Let me take care of you." I felt his hand finally trail upwards before he placed his index finger softly against my clit through my underwear. I relinquished my anxieties and rocked into his touch, leaning my head back with a dreamy sigh.
"That's it," he whispered before kissing my temple and brushing my hair from my face with his free hand. "That’s my good girl." I made a low groan at the praise – and Pedro couldn’t stop himself from the tiniest shit-eating smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He chuckled into my mouth as he kissed me unhurriedly, his finger meeting the pace of his lips with feather-light circular strokes, exploring the contours and give of my flesh through the fabric. His voice dropped to a baritone as he continued between nips of my lower lip. “So fucking wet. So fucking wet for me.”
It was easy to remember why I was so fuck-drunk for him.
After sufficiently riling me up, he pulled away, smiling down at me. He removed his hand – causing me to whine pathetically – and brought it to his mouth to take in my subtle taste before bringing his palm to my cheek, caressing and thumbing my face as though he were tending to me after an injury. His other hand reached for the back of my head as he pulled me in to kiss my forehead, his praise continuing, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” It was gestures such as this that gave me whiplash, always teetering on the edge of sharing something more than sex. I was mindnumbingly turned on and could only watch each gesture of affection with my mouth slightly agape, needing him desperately, but never daring asking him to stop.
Pedro kissed me once more, sweetly, just a peck, and his voice was playfully apologetic and his eyes pure puppy-dog as he flirted, hands now on either side of me, propped against the counter. “I’ve occupied enough of your lips’ time. Go on, tell me how your week was. Have your coffee. I gotchu,” he assured me, dorkily enunciating the words. I gaped at him, grinning and honestly impressed with his ability to covertly dominate me – and do it so sweetly. When I could tell he wasn’t going to budge unless I gave in to his request, I grabbed the coffee cup, peering over the edge suspiciously as I took a sip.
He didn’t move – yet. He smirked at me. “And?”
It was really, really good coffee. “Okay, yeah, that’s… that will do it.” I sighed as the caffeine and rich bitterness settled in. He continued to watch me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow, communicating “What gives?” He nodded, urging me to go on .
“You really want me to talk about my week?”
“Hell yeah I do,” he insisted, rubbing my side. “Tell me everything about you if you want. I still never even got favorite animal…”
“Hmm…” I started, taking another sip. “Okapi?”
“A-what?”
I snickered. “Okapi. It’s like a safari animal that kinda looks like half a giraffe, half a zebra.”
“Those have a name ? I really thought those were like a type of horse or antelope or something.”
“Everything has a name, P,” I deadpanned.
“Touche. Touche. Okay, well…,” he urged on. “Tell me more?”
“Really.”
“Yes, sassy, really. I’m all ears. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Pfbbbt.” I blew through my lips, trying to think of what in God’s name I would even talk about. I was so distracted by his insistence on such a mundane task that I had completely forgot about the hand that was toying with me earlier. “Uhm, alright, well, it’s been a pretty boring week truth be told.”
“Did you work on your new pilot at all?” he asked, absentmindedly rubbing my thigh. I shot him a curious look. “Sorry, I promised I wouldn’t say a word.”
“No, not that, I just – I didn’t know I told you I was working on something new.” He shrugged, nodding once more at me to continue. “Okay, well, actually yeah, I uh… I was feeling kind of restless on Wednesday and felt kind of sad at the idea of spending another night watching TV, so I opened a new bottle of wine and pulled up my outline and just… just went for it.” I took another sip of coffee, thinking. “It was… it was surprisingly good. I mean, I never actually feel that good about my work, besides the one-woman thing, that was good, but I usually hate what I write – and who even likes their first draft of anything? But this was – unh,” I choked midsentence as I felt Pedro’s finger slip just past my underwear. My eyes widened at him as all ability to form a coherent sentence flew out the window.
He grinned, pausing his hand but not removing it from its position. “Keep going, baby,” he whispered. Instinctively I clenched at the pet name, which elicited a satisfied chuckle from my conversation partner. By this point I understood that he was fully committed to this routine, so rather than argue, I tried to get back to my train of thought.
“Uh, I was uh, I was saying that… uh, I felt… good. For the first time in a really long time about my writing. And I think what was surprising is how un – mmm,” he resumed the graze of his fingers, but I was starting to enjoy the challenge, so I persevered. “How – mm — how unexpected it was to be — hoo, to be in that zone.” I huffed, my composure held together by twigs. I waved my hands to say, that’s it , as I finished my thought, eager to get on with the good stuff, but Pedro was relentless.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” His voice lowered again, taking on a sterner tone. I was self-conscious of the immediate effect his words laced with innuendo were having on me, and how he most definitely could feel every reaction.
“I – I don’t know what else to say,” I squeaked, embarrassed and flustered.
Pedro crouched down so that his face was level with my cunt. He rested his cheek against my thigh and looked up at me innocently. “Tell me about your pilot.”
“What?!” I squeaked again – the sound of my soul exiting my body. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t a pure writer’s fantasy, but I was awestruck and uncomfortably vulnerable. And even so, even through the sweetness, I was distrustful. That stupid insecure little voice yelling in my head, Does he even really wanna know, or is this all fantasy theater?
But his eyes had me melting. I tried to break the eye contact, focusing on continuing. “Uhm, alright well, I’ve been wanting to write outside of comedy because –” I gasped, peering down as Pedro mischievously pulled my panties aside, bringing his face closer to my heat. Go on , he mouthed, holding until I continued. “I… I am comfortable in comedy and so I – Ahh!” I yelped as Pedro licked through my folds torturously slow. “F… fuck, uhm, I – I wanted to work on something more dramatic and – mmm ohmygod – uh, something … something… something more personal… are you really going to make me keep going…?” I panted desperately, brain obliterated from the sight of him between my legs. Pedro chuckled as he left an all-too-short kiss against my clit. I arched upwards, fingers instinctively grasping his hair at the sudden sensation without much else to support me from my perch on the counter. My skin was flushed and I was deliriously wet from the prolonged teasing.
Finally – finally – he relinquished me from his command, leaving one last furtive kiss against me before pulling himself back upright, mouth, facial hair, and chin covered with my arousal. He looked so smugly pleased and I hated how much it turned me on. “Nah, now I’m just teasing you, baby." With him standing back up, I could clock the sharp tautness against his jeans. "I do want you to tell me about it, though. If that's… okay." Pedro suddenly seemed self-conscious – comically so given the slickness coating his lips. I took the tiniest bit of control back for myself and pulled him closer to me.
"Works for me," I whispered. I brought him closer for a kiss, tasting myself mixed with the taste that was always and all him. "Should we move to the bedroom?" I proposed.
"Mmm, fuck, I can't wait for you any longer. Not when your scent is all over me." The heat between us intensified and I groaned as we kissed desperately.
"Quickie now," I panted. "But I need even more of you later." Pedro growled in response and I heard the familiar jangle of his belt coming undone. I kissed down his neck, inhaling him as I reached to help ease him out of his jeans as quick as possible.
I looked down at I took his cock into my hand – heavy, thick, with the soft skin enveloping it unbelievably warm. He pulled me down further to the edge of the counter until I was lying completely back, and then he watched with mouth hung open as he eased into me, both of us moaning simultaneously. Pedro's voice dropped impossibly low as he showered me with further praise, egging on both of our urgent climaxes.
"Fuuuuuuck baby, look so fuckin good, sprawled out on my kitchen counter, can't even – " Pedro grunted as he thrusted deeper, grabbing my by the waist to pull my heat to take him in completely. "Can't even wait for me to fuck you. God I missed you, missed seeing you like this." He shifted his hips so that his cock was angled directly into where I needed him so badly. With little to grasp onto or be propped up against, I could only brace my thighs around his hips for purchase, completely overwhelmed by the sensation of Pedro fucking me so wildly and so perfectly. As he sensed me careening closer to bliss, he grazed his thumb over my sensitive clit, matching the rhythm of his hips – more and more erratic as he chased his own orgasm. "Come on baby, that's it. Just a little more for me. You're doing so good. Look so amazing. God, I lov – love watching you cum for me. Such a good girl.” I mewled, right on the precipice of pleasure.
Pedro snapped his hips harder, and the combination of G-spot and clit stimulation brought me over the edge – in a way that didn’t happen with me often. “Fuck, Pedro, right there – ! Fuck fuck fuck,” I squealed as I felt myself squirt around him, purring and moaning and rocking into him as close as possible. The sound of him plummeting through my cascade was sinful.
“Ohhh my god,” he groaned in response to my dramatic climax, placing his hands back on my waist to maneuver me towards his close-following release. Pedro threw his head back and held in a shout as his warmth spilled into me, overflowing from where our bodies met. He slowed, pumping into me a few more times before steadying with a deep-seated sigh, eyes closed and face in bliss. I watched through my own dreamy haze as he re-grounded himself and as we both eased our breaths back to a steady rhythm. I whimpered in playful protest as he carefully pulled away from me. I sat up on the counter and was increasingly aware of how much mess there was – on the countertop, dripping out of me, across the pieces of clothing we didn’t bother to remove. We shared a mutual look of embarrassment.
“I think we should uh, probably shower or something after that,” he muttered, inspecting the spill onto his boxers and the thighs of his jeans.
I giggled and agreed, sliding off the counter, adjusting my panties to limit the extra mess. I immediately felt the ache from such urgent sex on such an uncomfortable surface. “I’m gonna waddle over to the bathroom, and how about you take the rest of your clothes off and meet me there?”
Pedro leaned down for a sweet kiss. “Good plan.”
I allowed myself to wrap my arms around him briefly, reaching around to give him a gentle pat on the backside. “Don’t forget about your coffee, stud.” I winked before uncomfortably tip-toeing off towards the hallway, trying to not have intermingled fluids avalanching down my legs. I heard Pedro laugh behind me. “Oh, shut up,” I snarked back, smiling to myself as I turned into the bathroom.
There was giggling and kissing in the shower like we were getting away with something. It was so easy to be around him, and only got easier.
Later that afternoon we opened a bottle of wine and just drank and talked while lounging half-naked in his bed, light dimly setting past the shades. I asked how his family had been doing and he alluded to getting closer to his youngest sibling and what that relationship meant to him. He cautiously broached the subject of my family, and I found myself surprisingly willing to divulge, talking about my dad being my best friend when I was a weird and clumsy teenager, and how gutted I was when he died the year after I moved to Chicago.
“I know it’s not true, but there’s always that part of me that wonders if I didn’t move away, if he’d still be here,” I admitted.
“I understand that feeling,” Pedro responded quietly, placing his hand over mine. “Just keep reminding yourself that it’s untrue. The grief doesn’t go away, but the forgiveness comes in time.” I sighed but nodded, and we both let the silence hang for a minute, lost in thought. “Chicago means a lot to you?” he asked after a while.
I instinctively smiled. “Yeah, greatest city in the world if you ask me.”
Pedro snickered. “Not sure about that…”
“Well, you’ve only really gone for work. You haven’t had me as a tour guide.”
He tutted. “‘Spose not. Though I can’t imagine I’m missing all that much. It’s basically New York but worse.” He was provoking me, but I would not stand down.
“Uh uh, New York, while lovely, is overrated. Chicago… something special about that city.”
“Why did you move then?”
“Well…,” I hesitated. “People don’t really stay there. Not to do what I’m pursuing. You don’t have a successful comedy and writing career in Chicago, you get discovered in Chicago and then you leave. At least, that’s what most people do. Sometimes they come back, but they don’t really make Chicago their established home.”
“Alright, well between the two ‘industry’ towns, which do you prefer? NYC or LA?”
I paused, thinking on that. “New York,” I answered.
“Why’s that?” I started to speak and then stopped myself, stifling a giggle. “What?” he probed, amused.
“Uh… because it’s basically Chicago.” I covered my face after being caught proving his point. Pedro playfully pulled me in towards him, trying to get me to uncover my embarrassment.
“What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Come again?” I descended into a fit of girlish laughter as he held me to him tighter.
That night, I finally watched Peggy Sue Got Married with him. I could sense him holding back the little pieces of trivia he wanted to impart. I leaned into him on his couch, relaxed and at home in such a cozy abode with such a warm body next to me. I had already forgotten that this wasn’t my home, not even my city, and that this man wasn’t really mine.
Year Four
The party was lit and I was drinking like it was my last day on Earth. Katie had invited everyone, and Jack had nailed the humble job of food supply to prevent anyone from going home in a stretcher.
I had run to the bathroom after catching up with Jessa for the first time in ages. I inspected myself in the mirror, admiring how well I was pulling off 30. I was surprised my little red number still fit, even as I had put a bit more weight on in my lower half – but hey, thick thighs were in! My updo was starting to fall out of its coif from the night of gallivanting, but it only made my hair look sexier as waves framed my face. Even my red lipstick had stayed well in place. I had it to hand it to myself, and I was just drunk enough to hand it to someone else, too.
I snapped a picture in my bathroom mirror, pouting for the camera, and sent it off to Pedro.
you 9:43pm
I belevive you requested this ?
;)
I was surprised by how quickly he responded, glancing at my phone on the counter as I peed for the fifth time in three hours.
> Pedro 9:45pm
jesus christ
you look…
wow
I washed my hands and continued texting as I exited the bathroom.
you 9:47pm
Good wow or bad wow
> Pedro 9:50pm
good
really fucking good
I rejoined Katie and Jessa who were talking to our mutual friend Alex. Alex was going on about leaving comedy to go corporate and how much happier he was. Katie and Jessa exchanged eye rolls, and I zoned out, distracted entirely by my phone.
> Pedro 9:53pm
i cant stop thinking about you now
you 9:54pm
Yeah?
> Pedro 9:56pm
yeah
i want to just drag my mouth up those thighs
you 9:58pm
I want taht too
Mmmm youve got me so wet tthinkng about u
> Pedro 10:00pm
is your party still going?
you 10:01pm
Yeah im talkin to people but all i can think abuot is riding ur tongue
> Pedro 10:02pm
fuck
L you know i cant resist you
spend so many nights still thinking about you
you 10:05pm
I do to
too****
God miss u so bad
Want you, need you
> Pedro 10:07pm
i miss sinking into you
always so wet and so tight
miss your fucking scent all over me
miss making you cum
miss everything
I was passively aware that this was an incredibly bad idea – to be texting Pedro at all, to be texting him like this, to be texting him drunk, to be enabling this cycle.
I didn’t even realize that I had moved with Katie to a new conversation in the kitchen. I was drunk off bad habits.
you 10:13pm
No one ever fucks me as good as u do
Miss ur cock
Want to wrap my mouth around u and take u deep
> Pedro 10:15pm
fuckin hell
can you come over tonight? or i can come over?
you 10:16pm
P … we shouldn't
> Pedro 10:17pm
i know, just…
fuck
im sorry, i can leave you alone
you 10:18pm
No pls dont do that
I mean
I miss talking to u
I just dont know what to do anymore yknow
> Pedro 10:20pm
i know baby
its ok
you 10:23pm
Can i still facetime u tonight?
> Pedro 10:24pm
of course birthday girl
i gotchu
whatever you want
you 10:26pm
want u so bad still
> Pedro 10:27pm
fuck, me too
let me send you something to tide you over until later 😉
I bit my lip, eyes glued to my phone as I anticipated a photo from Pedro. Unfortunately, my reflexes were slowed down from the alcohol, so I was completely unprepared to find my phone snatched out of my hand by a just-as-drunk Katie.
“Who have you been talking to all night?” she pried. “You’ve been blushing and staring at your phone. Are you seeing someone you slut?” She amusedly held my phone out of reach. It was just the two of us in the kitchen now as the party moved into my living room.
“Fuck, come on, that’s not cool!”
“Nah, it’s not cool to be checked out at your own party!” she stuck her tongue out at me. “Okay, let’s see who it is.” She scanned my phone, holding me away from grabbing it back like a spoiled sibling. “Lara these texts are filthy! O-M-G who is Pedro??” Katie’s eyes widened, gleeful, though not entirely putting two and two together. She scrolled a bit. “Lar do you have a secret boyfriend named Pe –” Katie paused mid-sentence, thinking as hard as someone addled by liquor could. “Wait… no. No! No? You’re not –” At that moment, a photo with a touch more than a face in it popped up in the message thread, and Katie, having a moment of realization, screamed in surprise. I managed to catch my phone as she nearly dropped it and put a hand over her mouth.
“Shh!” I admonished.
“You – you’re – you’re sexting with – oh my God! That – Oh my God?! ” Katie was stammering in shock.
“Fine, fine,” I surrendered. “After the party, I will tell you everything.”
Notes:
This is unfortunately loosely based on some of my own experiences being messy on my birthday, so if it's too cringey, blame younger me!
Chapter 11: After the Party....
Summary:
As Lara finally lets Katie in on the past few years, she also must reflect on all of the things she's blocked out.
Notes:
Yooo I'm so sorry, I know it's been a while! I've been having writer's block and have been distracted by various life things. I can guarantee it will happen again, but I missed Lara and her messy little life. Hope you enjoy, it's a hot one!
Chapter Text
Year Four
However insistent Katie was earlier to the party going, this newest development had her clearing my apartment even faster. Jack wasn't buying her excuses either.
"You... both got your period, so the party has to end now?" he asked incredulously.
"Uh-huh," Katie hummed trying to usher Jack away from a stack of solo cups.
He asked point blank: "Are you two fucking again?" I blushed, but Katie was no-nonsense.
"No one is having sex, Jack. It's bedtime. Lara is old now, she needs peace and quiet and Alka Seltzer."
He drunkenly scoffed. "Just give me a heads up if you're fucking again. I can't mediate another dramatic breakup."
"Boo hoo. Now out!" Katie shooed Jack away, the last to leave the party. She leaned back against the door as though she was keeping a horde of partygoers from barging back in. "Tell me everything immediately," she pled. I sighed and grabbed one of the unopened bottles of wine from the kitchen counter.
"Bedroom," I suggested.
Both sitting on my bed, intermittently sipping rosé, Katie and I talked for hours like we used to back in the roomie days. I was impressed with her self-control as she diligently listened, sitting on her interjections and questions as I told her the entire, sometimes painful story of me and Pedro. If there was one thing I could count on with Katie, it was that she treated your most intimate thoughts and secrets as sacred, and she always held her attention with care.
After something like an hour of recounting my hushed dalliance, I finally arrived at the events of the last few days and the tawdry birthday text exchange. Katie sat patiently, making sure I got everything off my chest before commenting.
"That's all of it," I assured her.
She nodded and sighed empathetically. "Are you... ok?" I wasn’t prepared for that question.
“Is there something to be not okay about?”
“Well…,” she tread lightly and quietly. “You… seem to really care about him. And no offense, but that's not something that comes easy for you. And I imagine it's even harder now that he's just so… everywhere. Plus the text leaks, and now he's stringing you along, I mean Lara…."
My eyes widened. "Stringing me along? No way. Hey, I'm the one who ended things, plus we're not anywhere close to being an item right now –
"Lara, you've been eyeing your phone in my hand for the last hour." Katie wiggled the device around. "It's your birthday and he's sending you mixed signals, and now you're dying for him to text you. That's not a functioning friendship in my eyes."
I groaned. "I liked it better when no one knew about this."
"Why didn't you tell us? Jesus, Jack and I were reading the texts out loud after SNL… I'm sorry, I would never have pulled that shit if I knew. I shouldn't have pulled that shit anyway. I'm sorry."
"I don't know why I didn't tell you guys. It's just… simpler. I have my career and I have my sex life and I can keep them separate. And you don't have to apologize."
"You can still let people in." She gave me a knowing look. I sighed and flopped back on the bed.
"Please stay the night," I grumbled into my arm. "So that I don't end up doing something stupid."
"Pfbt." Katie blew a raspberry, falling on the bed next to me. "Bitch I couldn't get home if I tried. You're stuck with me whether you want it or not."
My light was still on, but I knew neither of us was getting up to get it at this point. We just had to make it through to morning.
I started dozing off mid-conversation when Katie said sleepily, "I'm rooting for you two." She trailed off into a soft slumber, and I heard my phone vibrate between us. But I ignored it, allowing myself to fall into sleep.
Year Two
New York, Day Three
"Ah, fuck, P — " My face and body were flushed head to toe in embarrassment and lust as Pedro guided my hips to press my core even more relentlessly against his tongue. I had one hand bracing the headboard and one tangled in his hair, finding it harder and harder to resist losing myself as I rode his face. He growled indistinguishably against my clit, and I bucked reflexively, my cunt gushing as he slid two fingers into me, continuing to coax me into grinding into his face and fingers, sensations entirely overwhelming. I gripped the headboard tighter and grasped wildly at his hair as I rode out my climax, tightening around his digits and slicking his chin, lips, and facial hair.
Pedro groaned as I came above him, gripping my thighs as he generously lathed his tongue across my folds, circling my pulsing clit with the tip of his tongue as his fingers pressed the sensitive spot inside of me. I was put over the edge just as it felt like my orgasm might subside, arousal crashing into a consecutive peak as the stimulation caused me to squirt, absolutely coating the inside of my thighs and Pedro’s mouth. He hummed appreciatively and gave my bottom a gentle, comforting squeeze as I finally came down from my high, sinking into the mattress beside him.
“You… can take me… however you want me… after that…” I panted, eyes closed in continued bliss. I felt the vibration of his chuckle next to me.
“That’s okay, baby. I just wanted to focus on you,” he assured me, wiping his face and casually licking my taste from his fingers. I whined, wanting him to get off as well as he got me off.
“Think of how fucking good I’ll feel, though, after that.”
“Hmph,” he hissed. “Tempting, but really, it’s okay, I’m good. I got plenty of time left with you.”
I sat up, pouting and looking down at his erection half-covered by the sheet, starting to come down following my orgasm. I gave him a sly look before shimmying to throw a leg over his hips, straddling him and holding my wet heat inches above him. His cock twitched instinctively.
“Baby…,” he gasped in gleeful surprise. “You want more?”
“I want you to feel…,” I grabbed his heavy dick – quickly returning to a full erection – and slid it through my folds, coating his velvet shaft with my arousal. “...all of what you do to me.” Pedro took a sharp inhale at the sensation, eyes and head rolling back as I gently rocked back and forth, languidly letting him glide along my dripping cunt. I paused, realizing I should break the dirty talk to at least check-in. “Is this okay?” I whispered. Pedro looked back at me amused, biting his lip and grinning.
“Hmm, I don’t know…” He snatched my hovering wrist and quickly sat up, flipping me over so I was face down in the bed with my wrist held behind me. I bucked my hips uncontrollably, needy for him to fill me. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you baby? You need me to fill that pretty pussy, huh?”
“Yes, please.”
“Mmm,” he growled, pressing his hips against my drenched core. “‘Please.’ Say it again, tell me what you want, baby.”
“Please, please fuck me. I need it, please Pedro.”
“You think you can cum for me one more time sweet girl?”
“Mmm!”
“Words, honey.”
“Yes. Yes, I want to cum for you again. Want to cum with your thick cock inside of me, please fuck me. Use me, please.”
“You’re so sweet, asking for it,” he said condescendingly, lining his tip up with my tense entrance. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet. I did that to you, huh?”
I nodded impatiently, pushing back into him so that he just barely inched into me.
“Phew, careful baby, you have to be a good patient girl. Don’t get greedy, I know you want it,” he cajoled. Shifting slightly, he started to move the rest of the way in, letting out a guttural moan as he bottomed out, tip perfectly brushing against my hyper-stimulated g-spot. I tensed around him, clutching the sheets as I chased the friction. “Fuck, you’re so warm and tight. Shit.” He stilled, trying to gather himself. I ground my hips backward to entice him to continue fucking me. “Whoah,” he chuckled, startled. “Patience baby, I’m – Jesus, I’m not gonna last long. Having you ride my face like that and feeling you so wet and – God.”
I turned so my cheek was against the mattress and I could look up at him. I batted my eyelashes sweetly. “I don’t care, just need you to fuck me. Want you to cum for me, cum inside me.”
“Ah, fuck me, L.” Pedro began to move again, watching himself disappear inside me. His dick continued to hit my G-spot perfectly, and the sensation was heavenly. He started to let go, fucking into me with desperate abandon. “So good, so fucking good, baby. I missed this. Can’t get enough of the feeling of you. God, you’re so beautiful, sprawled out like this for me – can’t even help myself, feels so – feels so fucking – ah – feels so fucking good.” He clutched my hips as his speed increased, impaling me onto his cock, taking full control.
“Cum for me Pedro, come on, take me, baby. I’m all yours, I’m only yours, want to feel you cum –” I careened into a moan as he hit me in all the right places, fucking me so fast that I could only let him guide me and bask in the pleasure.
“Yeah, yeah you’re mine. This beautiful pussy is mine, your incredible body is mine, you’re so fucking good for me, baby. I love this. Shit. I’m – I’m gonna – ” Pedro maintained his relentless pace as he filled me with his warm spend. We both stilled for several minutes, catching our breath and coming back down to Earth. He pulled out of me, but wrapped his arms around me in doing so, pulling me into a spooning position down on the bed. Our bodies were filthy messes, but for a soft minute, he held me close until both of our breathing steadied.
"Christ, you're energetic," Pedro chuckled, a low grumble vibrating against my back.
"You promised me but three things for this week, I'm just making sure I maximize my time here," I teased, voice dreamy as I wiggled backward against him.
"Oof," he groaned. "I love you but I'm gonna need a break before the next round." He paused and my breath stilled, my brain catching up with the words. Unable to see his face, I was unsure if I even heard him right.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I wondered if it had come out casually, Pedro unaware of his implication, sex, and bliss lulling him into a doze, or if he was on edge, anticipating a response from me that would hold even more weight the longer it took me to respond. Before I could think of a reaction, I heard his voice gently behind me. "L, you awake…?"
I lied by omission, staying silent and still. I could feel his weight shift, sinking. Pedro sighed, leaning over me. I quickly shut my eyes as he gently kissed my forehead before standing up to leave me in bed alone.
Year Four
I woke up in bed alone, though quickly heard the distinct sound of Katie in my kitchen. She was always an early riser – something that annoyed me as much as a roommate as it annoyed me as a girlfriend.
I was thankful for it today, though, because I needed someone to hold it down while I pulled the hot mess of the night before together. I trodded out of the room, head spinning. My phone was laid neatly on top of my kitchen counter as Katie made scrambled eggs.
"Morning," she mumbled while whisking.
"Hey," I rasped. "Thanks for taking care of me last night."
"No worries, sorry it was me and not your sex symbol ex-boyfriend."
I snorted. "He was never my boyfriend." Katie chuckled.
"Okay. Whatever you say."
"He wasn't!" I pouted before quietly adding for myself. "Not that I should be seeing him anyway…"
"No, probably not," Katie responded matter-of-factly, pushing a plate of eggs my way. "Eat. I'm making more, go crazy."
I sat at my kitchen with a heavy sigh, feeling deja vu as I watched Katie sternly at work. She was a no-nonsense person, hard to pull out of her head, but she was always radiant when in focus, lips pursed in a line but eyes alight with determination.
I shook myself out of my dated feelings, turning to my eggs. "That's how I feel," I deadpanned, displaying the plate to Katie, who raised an eyebrow at me. "Scrambled." She rolled her eyes as I started giggling like a toddler.
We chatted lightly while she finished cooking and joined me with a plate, recalling the previous night's events that didn't have to do with Pedro blowing up my phone.
"How does 30 feel?"
I shrugged. "I've felt 30 since my knees started aching whenever I walk more than two city blocks."
She laughed. "Feel any wiser?"
"Fuck, no." I shook my head. "Maybe slower."
"Slower can be good. There's a wisdom in moving slowly," she reassured me.
"Maybe…" I trailed off, staring at the light coming through my windows. It took me a minute to become conscious of Katie watching me intently.
"Are you okay?" She finally asked directly.
"Sure, yeah, why?" I shook out of my wandering gaze.
"I just get worried. I love you, you know. I want you to be okay."
I took a deep inhale through my nose, trying to center myself and force past my instinct to wall up. I kept a measured tone, attempting to level with myself on my feelings. I came up short, so I simply replied, "I love you, too."
Year Two
New York, Day Three
Pedro and I were draped across each other on his couch, stoned in front of the TV with a cheap New York pizza. We were watching The Philadelphia Story per my suggestion. It was a favorite of mine and gave me a good excuse to try to be funny and charming as I recited lines in my best Katherine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, and Cary Grant impressions.
"My Jimmy is terrible," I giggled. "It always somehow sounds like Edward G. Robinson." Pedro threw his head back laughing.
"It kinda does, you're right."
I shoved him, face burning. "You try it!"
"Oh fuck no, I cannot do a Jimmy Stewart. I just have the right of mind to not try."
"Give me your best Cary, then, stud."
"I can't fucking do that one either," he sassed before pausing. "I can do Hepburn, though."
I eyed him suspiciously. "No way."
"Yes way."
"Let me hear it." Pedro's cheeks reddened from being put on the spot with a system full of weed and wine, but he didn't hesitate. " Oh Dexter, I'll be yar now. I'll promise to be yar ."
I gasped and laughed in surprise, impressed by his accuracy. "That bad, huh?" He teased.
"Oh, you know you're good."
"Sure do, honey," he purred, maintaining Hepburn’s lovelorn lilt. Pedro hazily beamed at me, subtly sidling closer to me on the couch. He placed a gentle hand on my thigh. It felt much more affectionate than a come-on. He tightened his grip around the soft flesh, focusing away from the film and squarely on me. I could tell his head was buzzing with more than a hazy high. He looked serious, longing, but guarded.
I returned his gaze, feeling my eyes soften, feeling too weak to even build the hint of a wall or at least fasten the gates. It was the first moment I had truly felt presently inside of myself in years. Pedro searched my eyes, glancing across the features of my face. His thumb started tracing my thigh lazily as he brought his other hand to my face, encouraging me to relax my cheek against his palm. I felt so small, contained. But not unsafe. Not vulnerable. Small as though I didn’t have to pretend to be big anymore. I closed my eyes as I leaned into his touch, and he pulled me closer, placing my head under his chin, languidly stroking my hair.
“I’m so stoned,” I stuttered like I needed to make an excuse for being so open, so affectionate. He didn’t acknowledge my declaration, just continued to clutch me softly, kissing the top of my head.
“You heard me in the bedroom, didn’t you?” I nodded into his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out, certainly not like that. I’m not… I’m not trying to overwhelm you with more than what you signed up for, I promise you that.” My heart splintered the teensiest bit at him feeling the need to apologize.
“I figured you didn’t mean to say it, but… did you mean it?” He sat backward, pushing me by the shoulders so that he could look at me properly.
He sighed heavily. “I’m being entirely truthful when I tell you I don’t know. And I understand that I need to figure that out on my own.” I opened my mouth, words caught on my tongue, wanting to tell him, “ No! You do not owe it to me to withhold your feelings!” but the words became trapped and he just continued on. “You made it really clear to me what you wanted out of this, and it’s really… I hope you feel this way, too, but I feel like you are really my friend now. And I wasn’t sure that was gonna happen or that this would be going on for as long as it has. I don’t usually have a lot of time for relationships and I told you early on that I prioritize my work and my family above that. So I know I love you in a sort of way. I’ve gotten to know you and I’ve gotten to be intimate with you, and I think you’re smart and you challenge me, and I think you’re an amazing writer and I want you to succeed. And you’re fucking hot shit, and you know that, too. It’s hard to not get carried away when I actually get to see you because I’m just happy you’re a presence in this world, in my life. Someone I can be honest with and who’ll be honest with me, someone who wants the best for the world and the people around her. And I think you deserve love, not that you ever had to earn that assessment from me. I just… I’m very fortunate to experience a warmth like yours. Nothing has meaningfully changed for me. I’m still looking forward to getting back to work, I’m still focused on my family and the people I care about more than anything — really now more than ever. You’re just… you’re in that category now.”
Pedro paused. I was taken aback. It was a declaration he gave me, in a sense, but it also felt like him talking out loud through something that had been plaguing his mind for a little while now. I was overwhelmed, but I wasn’t entirely displeased. I knew this was him being vulnerable with me and testing the waters of that vulnerability. I was scared of his feelings, but I didn’t want him to keep them from me. Because the truth was, I wanted to bask in his warmth, too. Maybe his openness was motivated by substances or maybe it just felt like what he needed to do. But before I could even collect my thoughts on the matter, he hesitantly continued.
“I know I’m opening up this question for you so I’ll just be entirely honest — of course I’ve wondered on and off what having more with you would be like. If that’s something I want. If that’s something that it’s hurting me to not have. But — I promise you I will respect the boundaries you’ve set. And it is something I know I need to figure out. I don’t want to try to manipulate my feelings and pretend we want the same things just to hold on to you. That’s not fair for either of us, I’m too old for that, and you’re too ambitious to be held back by that. This has worked and will work as long as we want the same things, and right now, I don’t think that’s changed, but I know the one thing I owe to you is to be honest if and when things do change.”
A small piece of me tensed in annoyance — he kept acknowledging that he wanted to respect where I was and not cross the boundaries of my needs, but he never bothered to ask if my needs or wants had changed either.
But even that tension I had to let go. This was a bed I had made, so to speak, not just with Pedro, but for years and years of refusing to even speak with myself about my feelings, years of guarding any chance of feeling something real for someone because I couldn’t allow anyone to have any sort of power over me. With Pedro, it was even more complicated, because he already had quite a bit of power over me. So I counterbalanced the power of his fame with a demand to keep our relationship secret. I protest the power of his role in the industry by forbidding him from introducing me to anyone or doing anything that could result in me getting ahead through him. I offset the power imbalance of our age difference by making myself unavailable, difficult to pin down. And I eliminated the power he held in me slowly — but increasingly quickly — falling for him by denying myself any acknowledgment of those feelings.
I half-smiled and nodded, accepting his words and offering none of my own. Fucking coward , I heard a tiny voice say. He smiled back placatingly. “L, your patience is award-worthy.”
I chuckled, embarrassed, feeling small once more — but not in the protected, held way of only minutes ago. I closed a gate inside me. “Don’t worry, Pedro,” I started, adjusting my jaw to match a perfect, impressionistic cadence. “ I’ll be yar. ”
Five Years Before Pedro
I said a short goodbye to Katie a short while after the scrambled eggs were finished. She offered her ear should I want to talk anymore about Pedro and promised her full confidentiality, which I appreciated and trusted.
As I waved her out the door, I wondered if her mind was where mine was at — remarkably far away from Pedro for a minuscule moment, recalling my 21st birthday.
The last of the partygoers had left our apartment. Katie and I collapsed back into the red couch, drunk, exhausted, and giggling.
“Dude,” she snorted. “We cannot invite Ryan to another party. He’s so fucking embarrassing.”
“I cannot believe he was trying to get us to do improv . If I paid as much as he has for Second City, I wouldn’t want to do a minute of improv for free.”
“I think he’s just desperate for attention.”
“Well, he can be desperate for attention at his 21st birthday!” I threw my hands up in the air. Katie dissolved into laughter at my exaggerated outrage.
“You like, look so angry right now!” she gasped, holding her stomach. I was faded, but I got lost in her laughter. She was so effortlessly pretty.
I got wind of my train of thought and quickly shook it off, standing suddenly from the couch. “Where are you going?” she called after me as I stumbled into my room.
“I’m getting a joint!” I yelled back.
“Ooh, share, share!” she giggled. I smiled to myself, grabbing one of the pre-rolls Jack had prepared for me.
I returned to the couch where Katie already had a lighter ready, holding it out towards me. I reached to grab it but she pulled back.
“No, sit, I want to light it for you like a noir movie.”
I snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
“So serious. Come on, if we go back and forth on it too long it won’t be cool anymore.” I shook my head but complied, putting the filter between my lips and leaning forward. I watched her movements as she slowly lifted the Bic, seamlessly lighting it on the first try, gently holding the flame to the joint to get the perfect burn. As I took the first drag, we made eye contact. She closed the flame as I pulled the joint from my lips. “See, so cool,” she said in a lower voice.
The high hit me quickly and I managed to hold in a cough. I passed it to her, keeping eye contact as she leaned back against the arm of the couch to take a puff. “I’ll have to light one for you next time.”
“Please do,” she blew out, smoke filling the space between us. I shook out of my hypnotism to jump up and open a window. “Wanna watch something or did you just wanna go to bed?” she asked me as I sat back down next to her, unconsciously sitting a little closer than before.
“I could watch something.” I leaned back into the firm cushion, bending my leg underneath me. “Isn’t Thrones back?”
“Yeah, it started up a couple weeks ago I think.”
I grabbed the remote, pulling up HBO Go. “I don’t know why I keep watching this show.” I shook my head, pretending to be annoyed as Katie softly punched my leg.
“You love it.”
“Sure, yeah, I like it, but it’s not like appointment viewing, you know? I’m fine letting it build up a little bit.”
“I hear one of the new characters is really hot. Like just a horny bisexual guy.”
I made a show of rolling my eyes. “Yeah, that’s why you like the show.”
“Mhm,” Katie hummed, taking another drag as the theme song started and passing the joint back to me. I carefully inhaled. It took me a few minutes to realize Katie’s hand was still on my leg. I leaned over her arm towards the coffee table to put the stub in the ashtray. “Oh, sorry…” she quietly apologized. “I didn’t notice I was —”
“No, it’s okay,” I assured, surprised by how quickly I responded and how close my voice was to a whisper, like someone else nearby might hear me. “Uhm, you can keep your hand there, if you want.”
“Oh,” she acknowledged, barely audible. “Ok.” Her hand remained on my thigh, a little awkwardly tense, like she was afraid even the slightest shift would have me scurrying to bed. I turned back to the show, feeling confused. There wasn’t ever really a tension between us for as long as we lived together, and certainly, neither of us was thinking entirely straight (ha-ha). Katie had been a close friend in my life for a couple years now. Had I been taking her for granted? The good times of my birthday had me yearning for more partying, more connection. The marijuana had me admittedly horny. I could’ve pretended this was all innocuous, chalked it up as a kind of weird moment that we had no reason to talk about, but I felt her breathing still, then get heavier.
I didn’t think either of us were watching the show.
Nervously, I trailed my hand towards Katie’s own thigh, too anxious to look at her. I felt her legs shift slightly, and her hand relaxed as mine traced inward. The faintest sigh escaped her lips, and I finally glanced over at her. She was looking down, watching my hand, mouth hung open.
“I’m okay with this,” she finally said. “Are you okay with this?” She turned to me, making sudden eye contact. In that second of seeing the heat in her eyes matching the heat I felt emanating near my fingertips, I immediately knew my answer.
Game of Thrones continued on in the background, but we never ended up getting around to watching the season. For a moment, there was only me and Katie and something that had possibly been quietly building for months at a time. But even now, I worry that it was all a mistake.
Chapter 12: The Hottest Chris
Summary:
Time passes after Lara's 30th birthday, and while her focus is on rebuilding friendships and supporting the Writer's Strike, she can't get Pedro out of her head. As more and more memories from the New York week continue, vulnerability continues to be a monumental struggle.
Notes:
I .... woof. It's a long one. I didn't think it would be, but I think this turns into a real key memory of Lara reconciling her past and future.
It is also... very filthy, and I deeply apologize 🙈
Chapter Text
Year Four
Three things happened after the strange events of my 30th birthday party:
1) Katie and I started hanging out more, 2) The WGA Strike started, and 3) I didn’t hear from Pedro again. Not for a few weeks, at least.
And that was fine(ish) with me, because the first two items were enough to keep me increasingly occupied. Even in the couple weeks leading up to the strike, Katie and I talked daily, something we hadn’t done in years, and the strike brought us even closer together again.
For a while, she couldn’t stop herself from asking more questions about me and P. I was a little annoyed, at first. This was one of the reasons I didn’t tell anyone in the first place, and while I know she respected that, naturally, she was curious. But I started to concede, offering more and more details and even beginning to initiate conversation about him on my own. It was an odd thing to bring us closer together, but it worked. It was the first thing only her and I shared that didn’t have all the baggage of our previous relationship or history or friends or work, and I began realizing how much bottling up all the feelings about Pedro for four years had gotten to me.
It helped that we were also in the mutual struggle together, so to speak, uniting with our peers and writers to strike and picket while also trying to help each other figure out survival. I started working to be the sole house- and petsitter for my block, and Katie started working as a hostess again. Rent was getting difficult and on more than one occasion I considered asking if we should room together again, but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was a bad idea. Things were just finally repairing themselves with us, again. I couldn’t ruin it.
We had stopped for In-N-Out after picketing in the LA heat all day, sitting in the parking lot and splitting fries in the car. It was silent a bit while we scarfed down carbs, but an anxiety had been nagging me all week — outside of the obvious When-the-fuck-will-the-studios-meet-our-demands-so-I-can-fucking-survive deal — and before I knew it, I was opening up.
“I haven’t heard from Pedro since my birthday,” I tried to sound nonchalant, like I was giving an update on how my mom was doing.
“Oh?” Katie mumbled, mouth full of food, but peering at me carefully.
“Yeah.”
“Hm.” She swallowed and wiped a hand on the napkin draped on her lap. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. It’s probably a good thing, right? I mean, I was so all over the place a few weeks ago because it was messing with my head, hearing from him. I feel like silence is better.”
“Maybe, but,” Katie thought for a moment before continuing. “Silence is kind of jerking you around, too. Have you reached out to him?” I shook my head. “Why not?”
“I can’t believe you of all people are encouraging me to be messy.”
Katie chuckled. “It’s not messy to have like a normal conversation as adults about what’s going on between you.”
“We did, though. I mean, we did two years ago when we broke — when we stopped seeing each other, and we did when I saw him at the hotel in February.” Katie sighed in exasperation.
“You are so stubborn when it comes to acknowledging what’s in front of you.”
“Ok, fine, what’s in front of me?” She dodged my question, tutting at me. “Really? What, you’re gonna make me work for my epiphanies?”
“Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly. We laughed. Quiet fell. “There’s… one piece of it all that I wanted to ask you since your birthday, but didn’t want to prod into too much.”
“Okay…,” I shrugged, not sure where she was going with this.
“If you don’t want to talk about it —”
“Yeesh just ask me the question?”
“I — Were you okay after the text leaks?” Heavy quiet, now. I took a deep breath, having avoided ever thinking too directly about that aspect of our situation. It was easier to get lost in a break up than to think about the mechanics of what precipitated the break up.
I leaned my head back into the car seat headrest. “It was pretty surreal,” I admitted. “It was… really hard for me to even wrap my head around. I’ve never been violated that way, and it was so much weirder to be violated but to be violated… anonymously still, I guess.” Katie nodded, listening. “I was really glad I suppose that the outlets only really picked up a few salacious ones and that it didn’t seem like anyone dug any deeper. Cuz it was like… from how I understood it, his whole text history with me was hacked and whoever did it just focused on a handful of messages to leak. I couldn’t imagine if — I mean if everything we ever said to each other, in text at least, like every detail of our conversations were just for everyone to see. And you know, I was so… I was so sad with him just gone from my life, I kept thinking about going back through those same conversations, but I couldn’t. I just thought of some stranger online who had seen all of it and I didn’t want to remember what I had said or he had said or… whatever. And I mean, that was just the conversations, because… well, I mean, you know….” I trailed off, knot in my throat as I processed the full scope of this vulnerable moment I was once in.
“There were pictures,” Katie finished for me, quietly.
“Yeah, there were the pictures.” I paused, sinking further into the seat. “I… I was just glad that I was intentional to never show my face in them. To me, that was always a precautionary measure. Anonymity just in case. And… I can’t believe I was right. And it just… it’s so fucking stupid, but I feel like I just have to be grateful, you know? That I can’t be upset. I got lucky, my name wasn’t in his phone, my face wasn’t in pictures, by some miracle he never referred to me directly, and so many more identifying conversations were had over phone or Facetime and —” I realized I was in the midst of crying. Katie softly reached out and held my hand, giving me space to continue if I needed to. “I couldn’t stop reading the stupid tabloids about it and the stupid comments and tweets and how everyone was getting a laugh out of it or talking about how jealous they were of me and — I’ve been carrying around for two years this want to understand if what him and I had was anything special, but it wasn’t just ours anymore. It was everyone else’s, and I just was… some girl in the story. Poor girl or lucky girl depending on who you ask. And like of course even without my face in anything there were people online being —”
“I hope you know that I never looked at the photos.”
I darkly chuckled. “Oh, I know you didn’t, because you would’ve immediately known it was me.” Katie snorted through her nose.
“That’s terrible!” she laughed.
“You would’ve seen the mole on my left tit and been like…,” I was caught up in laughter now thinking about the absurdity. “You would’ve been like… that’s Lara! I’d know that left tit anywhere!” I started doubling over, appreciating the energizing catharsis.
“Stop, oh my god. You think I have your tits memorized?”
“You and a dark corner of the internet. You’re in good company.”
“... You think Pedro has your tits memorized?”
“Now YOU stop!” I pushed her away, trying to play serious.
“I bet he does. I bet he’s just been spending the years hung up over your tits.”
“They are good tits.”
“Of course, they’re good tits.” I giggled, adding under my breath, “so fucking stupid…” as I shook my head at what an unreal conversation this was.
“Hey,” her demeanor changed to earnest. “Thank you for sharing that with me, though. I guess I wanted to ask because… I really wish I would’ve known and I wish you didn’t go through that… like entirely alone. Without even him to guide your hand through it. I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me, and I understand your reasons, I just… I can’t imagine being in that position and what you must’ve felt.”
I hummed in acknowledgement. Katie cautiously added, “And when I say that I think you two have things still to talk about, is it fair to say that this is probably one of those things? Among other things.”
I exhaled out of my nose as I pondered upon that. I had never thought about whether I needed closure with him on the text leaks, but I also tried quite hard to not think about the text leaks period.
Katie was hinting at more unfinished business with Pedro, though, and I was more frustrated that she was right than I was at her assumption.
“Maybe… I should reach out to him,” I yielded. “Tonight though, I just want to go to bed.”
Year Two
New York, Day Four
For the first time since I arrived, we ventured out of Pedro’s apartment together. The weather was pleasant enough for a walk without too much tooth chattering or seasonal depression from the clouds. I was relieved that I had lived in New York for a spell so that there was no pressure to “show me the sights” while I was there, and instead we could just exist in the city — the still, abnormally quiet city — and Pedro could let me in on his little life.
My old high school friends always thought I had a sort of glamorous life having traveled between three major cities, living on opposite coasts after a stint in the midwest. It was always hard to admit that it was a life of scraping by and small comforts. With my writing friends like Katie and Jack, we always felt torn about what was the greater risk: Barely affording New York or LA to chance being able to make it in the center of the business? Or stay grounded in Chicago or our other home cities, but risking never really having the same kinds of opportunities? Watching his star rise, I took for granted that Pedro had been there as well, and while New York had been his home for so long, he had been caught in that tension just as much as we were in it now. I could sense that hesitancy, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as I spent more time with him in the city. He never said anything about it, and it began to feel like the piece of himself that he kept most guarded (from me, at least). But every detail of his life was that of someone trying to enjoy the pleasures they could afford themselves with the reluctance of someone who feels it could be taken away at any moment. Was I one of those luxuries? I kept feeling the urge to hold his hand as we walked around Brooklyn, enjoying the serene anonymity. But my fingers did little more than twitch in the pockets of my wool peacoat.
I can’t remember what he was talking to me about so excitedly. Just warmth and energy in his eyes in those little moments I was too stupid to hold on to, too distracted thinking to myself, When was the last time I was freely out and about with a partner? Even with our dates here and there, I kept the radius limited and far away from anything that felt like it could be either of our realities. And then here I was, comfortably walking alongside of him, thinking of nothing but him and his world. But forgetting everything that he said.
Even grabbing coffee, I was unbothered by being so noticeably by his side. Maybe I felt safer behind a face mask, but there was no mistaking Pedro, his warm timbre, and the crinkle of his eyes as he asked about the barista’s day.
I was in a haze. Where did the minutes go between ordering a coffee and floating back outside? I surprised myself as much as I surprised him as I pulled away from giving an impulsive, public kiss as he pulled the cardboard cup from his mouth. When did I decide to kiss him? When did kissing him start making me feel this way? Why does he have to go and give me such a radiant, open smile as our lips separate? He looked at me like I gave him a gift.
And then we continued on.
However distracted I was, it wasn’t lost on me how much further we were getting from the initial proposal. In fact, we had spent nearly three hours that morning neither fucking nor drinking nor watching old movies. These were the secrets between the texts everyone eventually saw — the moments no one knew about and that no one could touch.
When our meandering walk winded down and we made it back to his place, it was seamless the way we fell into making love to one another. It was as though my earlier kiss was an unfinished conversation that we came back to again and again and again. I sighed into his mouth, pulling him backward with me toward his bedroom — when did I learn the way so easily? — and on top of me into the bed.
We moved wordlessly, wasting no time. He chuckled as I hurriedly undid his belt. He settled between my thighs as I tried to shimmy my fleece leggings down my body, fingers tracing back upwards to pull him from the confines of his jeans towards my entrance. I sensed his surprise in my desperation to skip all the undressing and foreplay, but he said nothing as he took my cue and eased into me slowly, gently pressing past the added tightness from my leggings pulling my legs close together. He watched my face through hooded eyes, a hand against my cheek as he rocked his hips into me, impossibly close. The feel of his denim against my bare thighs was delicious, naughty friction, like I stole him away from the world to momentarily be mine. I maintained his eye contact for a bit, struggling to keep my eyes open, to see him, as the hook of his thrusts pushed me ever closer to the edge. But as his pelvis grazed against my clit, I was overcome with the sensation, eyes squeezing shut. He matched my movements, lightly pressing up against the small of my back to urge me to arch up against him, to let go. I felt the ghost of his lips trailing along my jaw, savoring the tension of my skin as I moaned and whimpered. The hand beneath me trailed up my side, reaching behind himself, searching for my hands. He deftly laced his fingers through mine and pulled both my hands above my head in one movement. He held my hands there, clutching my straining palms as he gripped my hip with his other hand and moved into me faster, deeper. My orgasm tightened quickly, releasing just as the notch of his cock put perfect, sinful pressure deep inside me.
"That's it. That's my girl. Cum for me baby," he muttered just beneath my ear. I panted in response, a squeal barely audible. I nuzzled my head against his. His movements didn't slow as he just as equally lost himself in me. I found that I was absentmindedly rubbing my thumb against his wrist, still pressed against and woven through my two much smaller hands. I was pushing him through it, eager to coax pleasure out of him.
Our words subsided again. We were only gasps and indistinguishable whispers, little nips and kisses and teasing tongues in between the perfect synchronicity of our bodies. I sensed Pedro' core tense up, and I knew he was close. I felt compelled to use my words, though I was surprised once more by my impulse in such an otherwise tender moment. "Cum on me," I begged, voice barely above a whisper.
The request took him off guard, and he leaned up on his arms to read my face, maintaining his pace. I noticed the restraint across his features as he tried to check in with me in spite of very nearly being over the edge. "Please," I continued to beg. "Cum on me, cum on my face." He was unprepared for the request, but also dangerously close. I watched as he quickly made a split mental decision, timing the right moment to pull out of me and hurriedly shift himself so that he was straddling my torso. I stared hungrily while he took himself into his hand, his heavy dick slick with my juices. It took only a couple of strokes for him to finish the job, and I became obsessed watching as his mouth hung open, bottom lip jutting ever so slightly, breath absolutely in shambles while he towered above me, shooting his warm spend across my lips and chin. I kept my mouth open, giving him a show of how eager I was to receive him, all of him.
Year Four
Katie and my conversations didn't veer as heavy again, and for that I was grateful. If anyone knew how stubborn I was about opening myself up, it was Katie, and every day I felt more indebted to her for giving me the outlet to talk about Pedro without pushing me to think too much about the messy feelings involved. I wasn't dumb, I knew there was a selfish piece of it for her too — who else got such juicy access to the inner lives of a Hollywood sex symbol? — but I knew she would never pry if I wasn't open enough about it.
It was a bizarre learning process that was way overdue between us — way overdue from me — to figure out how to actually talk about things; figure out how to let her in; figure out how to give myself space; figure out how to be vulnerable with someone without feeling like you can only give them complete, fully understood thoughts; to allow someone to see you in process. I wished I felt like the focus was less on me, though. When we weren't at the picket line, goofing around, or talking about Pedro, she was engrossed in her phone, talking frantically to somebody. She was always cryptic about it. I thought about asking her about Ryan, but always chickened out, afraid if I knew too much about that situation, our work on our friendship would completely unravel. I did want to give her as much as she was giving me, though.
And then I understood it. All those years with her, thinking I was guarding myself, thinking I was focusing on her, taking the attention away from myself — it was always about me. My inability to let her in became a constant shadow where I took up all the space in our relationship, blissfully bitter in thinking no one owes anything to me, and thus never trying to owe anything to anyone else.
I'm a fucking idiot.
We were picketing in June when she leaned toward me in between chants.
"I hear the SAG strike is likely," she muttered, her tone suggestive.
"Yeah, everyone's heard that," I deadpanned, trying to keep my sore arms steady with my picket sign.
"Don't be a bitch, you know what I mean."
"Hey," I spoke a little louder. "I'm not using the picket line as a social tool."
"I know, I know. But it is more fun to picket with a friend, riiiiiiiight?" Katie jabbed my back with her elbow, corny as hell.
"I've got friends, he's got friends. It's all good."
I heard her sigh. "You're no fun. Can't even play around with a hypothetical."
Year Two
New York, Day Four
Pedro let out a deep exhale, admiring his work across my features, such a possessive, taboo act. To be blunt, it wasn't the first time he came on my face, but things — as they had the entire trip — felt different. As I begged him for it, I felt like I was sharing my most private secret. It wasn't just something I wanted from him, I needed it. Needed him. Needed Pedro.
We both watched each other as we caught our breath, and then, after a moment, both felt compelled to laugh. Laughing like there was an inside joke. Laughing like we were both pleasantly surprised to see one another, even though we were always right there. He leaned over to kiss my forehead before lifting and running to grab me a damp towel.
"I think," he started, sensually wiping a line of his cum from just below my mouth. I teasingly licked a drop from the corner of mouth, eliciting another chuckle from the remarkably handsome man above me. "I think that's all of it." He placed the towel aside and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead.
"You… you're killing me." He huffed with a smile, finally relaxing his body on the bed next to me, putting himself back into his jeans. I awkwardly shimmied my leggings back on before shimmying my body up against his affectionately.
"What?" I snickered.
He started belly laughing, flushing in embarrassment. "You're going to think I'm boring."
"What??"
"I've never had this much sex in just a week before," he admitted with a smile. "It's… fucking fantastic, but I can barely keep up with you."
"I find that hard to believe," I teased back. "You're more than holding your own. Really? Never had a week-long fuck-a-thon before?"
Pedro let out a raspberry. "No! Have you??"
"Eh," I shrugged, half playing coy for show, but half feeling genuinely self conscious.
"You can tell me, I really don't mind," he assured me.
"I'm not really into the whole body count conversation…"
"No, really. It doesn't bother me. I mean, don't feel like you have to tell me, but if anything, I'm kinda into it."
"Hah!" I blurted. "You're into it if I'm just like a massive slut?"
"Well… I mean I'm into the idea that there are people who know what a fucking sexy fucking hellcat sexpot you are and knowing that they don't get to have you as theirs."
"Ah, I see… so is that supposed to mean I'm yours?" I raised an eyebrow at him.
"No…" He hesitated. "But you're not theirs either. And maybe I like to think that no one can make you cum like I can." His voice dropped an octave. "You're so powerful and intimidating. In bed too. It's amazing to watch you undone." My cheeks went red. "Amazes me more that I can be your undoing. I love it. I want to memorize you. I want to be able to take you out of that little spot in your head you get stuck in. Fuck, I don’t even have to be the best, I just like knowing that in that moment, I’m the one who has you.”
“Soooooo clingy,” I sang, deflecting from the earnestness. He laughed softly. “You are, though. The only person who’s made me… feel like that.”
“Aw, come on, you don’t have to boost my ego now.” He peered down at me, grinning. “But go on.”
“Well if you’re digging for compliments, I'm not so sure….” I purred.
"Fair enough," he conceded with a chuckle. "So, tell me, though" he added, curiously turning over on his side, holding his head up by his arm. "Anyone I should be intimidated by? Bitter exes? Ones who got away?"
I laughed bemusedly at the question. "Why are you so interested in my sexual history?"
"I want to know everything about you." Warmth pooled in my belly at the admission.
"Well…," I thought for a moment. "No one you should be worried about, no."
"Okay, good, good…. I'm not your first, right?"
I nearly choked on my tongue, my sputtering causing Pedro to fall back in laughter before making sure I was not actually choking. "No, you weirdo, you are not my first."
"You're so mysterious, I had to be sure." I scoffed. "You are! I'd be lying if I said.. I haven't second guessed myself. Wondering if you're this secret and private with everyone or if it's something about me that you're…." He trailed off, deciding against the confession.
"I'm what?"
"Embarrassed by me," he answered bashfully but matter of factly, holding his confidence in opening up with me.
"Pedro, believe me, I'm not embarrassed by you." I hesitated. "I can confirm that I am indeed like this with everyone." It was an admission to something I had never said out loud before.
His voice got quieter, softer. "Have you been in many relationships? Not implying that we are —"
I stopped him from hedging for my benefit. "I know, I know. Yeah, I don't know. Honestly, I've been with a lot of… people… but I am not sure if I've really been in a relationship with anyone. Maybe one person." I was anxious that saying as much would turn him off, make him think I was a noncommittal, immature ghoul.
He always surprised me.
"Me neither, really. People I've loved, probably, but not many relationships." Those words were a watershed moment that I thought about long after they were said, and long after our break-up. It was maddening to be falling for someone, to feel so guarded in those feelings, and to realize that they were navigating the same challenge to their relationship to vulnerability that I was. And yet, I still wanted to run from him. I couldn’t fathom working through that life process together, because I couldn’t risk the possibility of getting hurt.
“You know, I was never sure…,” I joked around. “There’s been so many rumors flying around, you dating this person or being the baby daddy to this person’s kid —”
“Oh, fuck offffffff,” he pushed me away, hiding his face in annoyance with a deep sigh. “Fucking gossip….”
“Do you miss anonymity?” I asked earnestly. He hummed, his arm still across his eyes.
“Of course, a little. Mandalorian hasn’t really changed it much, though. I think it all feels weirder because it feels so… niche. I’ll get comfortable that I still have my anonymity, and then out of nowhere someone will pop out quoting Thrones at me or a friend will send me a horny Reddit post someone wrote. I don’t know that I prefer that it was all that, all the time, but it’s…” He removed his arm and turned his head toward me again. “It’s weird being jolted out of normal life and to suddenly feel like I’ve been watched the whole time.”
“I’ve seen you when you have that spotlight and… you’re such a natural at it, though. I mean when we met at the Emmy’s I was like, wow, this is a real celebrity. I can get feeling claustrophobic, but is there any part of it you love?”
“Oh, of course. I love not having to worry about money, and I love people whose whole job is to make me look good.” I giggled. “I love the security, and yeah, I have enough of an ego that I like the attention and interest for sure. You know, I’m human, I Google myself.”
“Such a dork,” I mouthed. He smiled at me appeasingly and casually reached a hand out to run along my shoulder, pressing soft circles into the tense muscle.
“I just wish I could control it,” he added, eyes now looking off somewhere as he continued to absentmindedly graze the skin of my arm. “How about you, Miss Rising Star? Have any fans?”
“No, sadly, I think I’ve always been the one in the bleachers. I have Googled myself though — of course, who the fuck wouldn’t? — and I found one thread on the comedy subreddit about my special. And… yeah, I kinda never wanted to look myself up again.”
“Jeez, that bad?”
“I mean, it’s Reddit, so you know…. There were a few nice comments, but it was overall just pretty gross. Visibility seems like a curse.”
“Hah! I guess so….” His fingers brushed along the inside of my wrist. I was embarrassed that such a simple touch was giving me goosebumps and tried to hide the effect from my face. “So, you’re in the industry, though. I mean, we’re all fucking each other, right?”
I snickered. “Are we?”
“So I’ve heard, at least. Anyway…. Come on, you’ve gotta have at least some juicy stories. I won’t handle this, ‘I’m just a no one who hasn’t done anything of note,’ deal. You’re remarkable, you’re fucking working in LA, I know you’ve got more stories than an, I’m guessing misogynistic, Reddit thread.”
“Well if you read that thread, you wouldn’t think it was insignificant,” I dodged, staying tight-lipped. His eyes pressed into me as his pointer finger moved to my palm, lightly stroking up and down. So simple, so featherlight, so frustratingly arousing. “You are…,” I gave myself away slightly, unable to contain a dreamy sigh as he followed the lines of my hand. “You are obsessed with my sex life, wow.” He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling it now to his lips, ghosting kisses against the sensitive flesh while staring at me provocatively. “Christ, now who’s the insatiable one.” I squirmed as his breath caused me to yet again break out into goosebumps, a gesture he certainly noticed this time. “I… I can’t believe you’re getting off on the idea of my past flings.”
“That’s not it,” he answered definitively, kissing my pulse point. “I get off on the idea of you — just thinking how easily you inspire awe, and I’m sure more feelings than that,” he whispered across my skin. “I get off on knowing what a sinful little thing you secretly are, all those little secrets you hold inside of you.” My breath caught in my throat and I glared at him headily.
“And… mmm… what makes you think you have access to those secrets?” I dared him.
He took my dare, increasing the pressure around my wrist possessively. “I think you’ve been waiting for someone to share them with. I think you’re desperate for someone to know.”
“And that someone is you?”
I saw his smile unfurl from behind my forearm as he slowly kissed upward, ignoring my question, but somehow not only answering it — but answering it with accuracy. I was ashamed of how punch drunk I was for Pedro, wanting to spill everything for him.
“Tell me all your little secrets,” he said in a low voice, just barely even a whisper, as his lip trailed across my arm back to my wrist. God, this was doing it for me.
I thought about all the things I hadn’t told anyone. All the little flings, the quote-unquote “Star-fucking,” the proud dalliances and games I used to chase. I expressed my power so much through sex, and I was starting to realize that Pedro not only knew that, but it was possibly one of his favorite things about me. I settled the matter in my head, picking out one long-kept secret I was privately proud of. “You know the whole ‘hottest Chris’ bit? Like the internet debates about which white actor named Chris is the best one?”
Pedro slipped out of his seductive act, laughing unexpectedly against my wrist as he peered at me curiously. “I guess?” He responded in his normal tone.
“I… have been with all of them.”
It was the first time that secret had ever seen the light of day, and I was worried it was way too much to admit to. My fears weren’t immediately assuaged when Pedro suddenly and completely broke his path of seduction, dropping my wrist and sitting up towards me, a curious, surprised, and disbelieving look on his face.
“Shut the fuck up,” he replied seriously. I couldn’t make out the feeling behind his response. I cautiously continued.
“Yeah… No, I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s not a lie. Evans, Hemsworth, Pine, Pr– well actually no, not Pratt, I had a chance but I turned it down.” I saw Pedro mouth the name, Pine as the gears in his head turned. He thought for another moment, and suddenly all my insides were melting into a gelatinous blob of misery. I was ready for rejection, even disgust – maybe not so much at my storied history, but my casual pride about it.
Instead… “That makes so much sense now,” he said in some state of actualization.
“Uh, come again?”
Pedro suddenly sat up on his heels, looking… amused? Intrigued, even? “I saw Pine outside your dressing room the night I met you at your show.” I looked back at him confused. “The night that you don’t remember meeting me? With Amy?”
It dawned on me — and then I put more and more together. The anxiousness of the evening, my shaky joy in meeting Amy Sedaris, embarrassing myself in front of Pedro, and…. Chris Pine showing up minutes later to fuck the shit out of me in my dressing room. My whole face turned red at the idea of Pedro being literally feet away from one of these flings.
“Oh, my GOD,”I groaned, covering my face and pushing away from Pedro, burnt out on self-loathing. He only chuckled and took my hands, trying to prevent me from hiding away.
“You look so embarrassed right now. It’s really cute.”
“Stop, you can’t look at me, this is the worst day of my life.”
He chuckled. “And why is that?”
“I – you were both — I didn’t even remember that you were — aughaughahau.” I made a gutteral sound of distress as I short-circuited. Pedro had to restrain himself from fully laughing at me to my face.
“Come here, come here,” he cooed, still holding my wrists, pulling me upward so that I was kneeling opposite him. He wrapped an arm around me to bring me even closer, til I was straddling his thighs. “If it makes you feel better, I am jealous, but I’m not mad.”
“Okay but are you like grossed out or anything?” He looked at me like I said the Earth was flat.
“Of fucking course not. I do have a dozen questions, though. I can barely process Pine, let alone — multiple Chrises? Good God, girl. I didn’t know you were so prolific.” I felt the unmistakable press of his erection beneath me. He looked at me knowingly. “I told you, I’m into you. Nothing is gonna interrupt that. I just… I didn’t know just how much a goddamn minx you were. You are.”
I still felt self-conscious, but started relaxing with his reassurance.
“I’m jealous,” he continued. “That I was standing there like an idiot, crushing on you, wishing you’d talk to me, and Pine is just strolling past me to have everything I wanted in that moment. Makes me feel like an even bigger idiot that I didn’t make more of an effort to get you to just look at me. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t have been the one you wanted.” His tone was calm, but a hitch in his voice betrayed his own self-doubt. I fully relaxed against him.
“I knew you liked the show, but I didn’t know you were crushing on me,” I said sweetly.
“Oh, God yeah. I think we’ve crossed enough thresholds for shame that I can tell you that… you gave me butterflies. Swear to God. Felt like I was 16 all over again.”
I blushed, a much softer heat than the red that covered my face moments earlier. “I was such a mess that night, I don’t think there’s anything you would’ve done to bring me back down to Earth, but believe me, it wasn’t you. Definitely wasn’t you.” I shifted my hips slightly, feeling a strained jerk of his cock at the movement. I whispered into his ear, “Now I kinda wish you were the one who took me in my dressing room.”
A deep growl rumbled in Pedro’s chest. “Don’t say it just to say it.”
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it. You should’ve been the one bending me over my makeup table, fucking me in front of the mirror.” I tested the boundaries of what I could say without him suddenly rejecting me, but Pedro wasn’t lying. He was into this.
“That’s what he did, huh?” His voice dropped about two octaves. “You couldn’t wait to get us out of the room so you could be a good little slut for him?” My thighs instinctively clenched. He was my testing my boundaries, too, and I was shocked to discover that… I also was really into this. “Answer me, sweet girl,” he commanded, voice hushed.
“Y– yes,” I stuttered, his hand placatingly finding its way woven into my hair.
“Tell me, did you suck his cock?” I blushed red again.
“I —”
“Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
Pedro pulled my hair, gently at first, continuing to test the lines. He thought for a moment and sighed, a low sound emerging as he huffed. “Tell me how you sucked his cock.”
The request startled me. I pulled out of my arousal to sincerely ask, “I – are you sure?” I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but I found none. He was turned on, genuinely curious. But he understood my trepidation. His voice returned to a normal timbre, if only for a second.
“I’ll tell you if I think we should stop. You too, ok?” I nodded. He grinned, tilting my chin upwards and running his thumb along my jaw, eyeing my lips. “Good girl. Now… tell me.”
I hesitated. The hand in my hair tugged, drawing a light burn in my scalp as he egged me on. "He… after we talked for a bit, we made sure no one was coming in. And we kissed for a bit. And then eventually he was standing, leaning back against the dressing room table, and I got on my knees and I…" I paused again, feeling too timid to say the words. He tightened his grip on my hair without pulling. A warning that I needed to obey. To be good. The volume of my voice dropped. "I got on my knees and I sucked his cock." Pedro's hooded eyes pierced through me. I watched as a tendon in his jaw tightened, restraining himself, making his reaction nearly indistinguishable. But I felt his hips shift beneath me, his hard appendage straining to make contact with me.
"Be detailed. Tell me how you did it. Tell me what you liked about it."
I don't know that my face could've turned any redder. His tone was condescending — and it was 100% working on me. Was I turned on by my own embarrassment? I steeled myself to recall the details, faking a confident tone. "I… I undid his belt. And I liked that he didn't help me. He just watched me. Stared down at me. It made me feel small and I liked that. I don't know why. And uhm, I… I undid the zipper, slowly, and…" I noticed Pedro was breathing quite heavily now, completely still and transfixed by me. I fell to a whisper. "I slowly wrapped my hand around his cock." And the more I went on, the more we crossed this boundary, the more confident I was in retelling the dirty memory. "He wasn't even that hard yet, but I liked how hot it felt in my hand. Like it had been waiting for me. And I got lost in just touching him for a moment. I ran my fingers along the underside of his dick and I slowly stroked him off until he was so hard that it was pointed towards me, perfectly positioned for my waiting mouth." Pedro swallowed a growl, but I could feel his body gradually tense as I went on. I couldn't read him or figure out what he might do, but he just watched me and listened.
Whatever if was about our dynamic in that moment, it was working on me, and I instinctively bore my hips down in search of even the slightest bit of friction. Pedro noticed and cocked his head, observing me. I swallowed hard. "And then I…. I slowly licked the tip while gazing up at him." Pedro's grip on me tightened, though his face remained still. He was hardly blinking, just watching, listening to me with searing intensity. "I teased him for a bit. Licked slowly up from his base. Planted soft kisses up his shaft, relishing how hard it felt against my lips, losing myself in his scent." Though his expression remained steady, I barely clocked how Pedro pursed his lips. I wondered if that crossed a line, challenged his jealousy. But his eyes were daring me to continue. I tried to hold myself back from gently rocking over his lap, and he noticed that too. I tried something. "He had his hand in my hair. A lot like how your hand is in mine right now." I felt Pedro tug lightly. "And when he got tired of my teasing, he pressed his hips forward, placed his cock firmly against my lips, and I opened my mouth like a good girl." Pedro let out a full fledged groan that took us both by surprise. My heart was racing in anticipation of where he was going to take this, and with the softest of whimpers, I shifted my hips again, desperate to feel Pedro's touch. His mouth turned upward in a condescending smile.
"This is making you wet, isn't it?" I bit my lip, too timid to answer. "Look at you, fucked out from earlier and still wanting more. You're getting wound up just telling me about being with someone else. Such a little tease."
"It's you that I want," I muttered.
"What was that?" He pulled my hair back again, causing me to squeak. The sound snapped the patronizing lust out of his eyes, replacing with concern, making sure he didn't hurt me. That reassurance — that in spite of how nasty this was getting, that I was safe with him — was enough to drive me feral. So I leaned my head back further, encouraging him to pull harder — and he did. "Say again who you want," he growled.
"Y– you," I sputtered, needy for him to kiss me, touch me, give me anything more.
"So greedy. Letting Chris fuck that pretty little mouth and still not getting your fill. Teasing me, giving me those eyes, just begging me to give you what you want and to fuck you even better."
I was unconsciously rolling my hips back and forth, eyes heavy as I tried to meet Pedro's rigid length, hardly restrained by his denim jeans. But he wasn't going to let me get what I want so easily. The more I became drunk with lust, his smile only widened. He tutted at my attempt to grind against him. "You really can't get enough. You want me, you're gonna have to show me." My head snapped forward, pouting at him for denying me. I was floored by his own patient restraint and how well he was playing me like a fiddle. "Go on. You were getting off on that little story of yours. Keep going. I know you're already thinking about it, how he fucked you. You pretty thing. You want to be touched so badly. Go ahead and give yourself what you want for me. Touch yourself for me, and tell me, tell me what he did to you that has you sooo needy."
Jesus christ, why was feeling pathetic such a turn on? I felt at Pedro's mercy, absolutely consumed by how hot this was making me feel and unable to think like a functioning 21st century human being. I hesitated, but as he looked downward to where our bodies met, I knew he wasn't going to do anything to me unless I obliged.
It wasn't the first time I had touched myself in front of him — after all, that's how he saw me naked for the first time — but it felt so sinful this time. Like our earlier love-making, I hardly had an opportunity to get my clothes off. Seeing Pedro wasn't going to help, I reluctantly slid my hand underneath my waistband, middle finger searching for my aching nub. I moan pitifully the moment I made contact. Pedro grinned while watching me, releasing my hair and leaning back on his hands as I started to rub myself atop him.
He watched reverently as I started slow, feeling all too on display. In spite of the condescension, he softly touched my thigh in assurance — like he was thanking me for the gift. "Go on, sweet girl, tell me," he egged on, slowly undoing his jeans.
My breath was huffy now as I tried to form words, slack jawed watching Pedro reveal his erection, hand at the base as he held it between us. His own arousal my motivator, I concentrated and started touching myself proper, continuing as he matched my pace in stroking his thick cock. His eyes didn't leave mine.
"He — he turned me so I was facing away from him, toward the mirror."
"You were wearing a dress," Pedro added. "I remember that fucking dress. Such easy access to that sweet pussy. Did you even take it off? Or did you —" Pedro grunted. "Did he just fuck you in that dress?"
I whimpered again, my finger circling my clit in a steady rhythm. "I was in my dress. He bent me forward over the table and pushed my panties aside and entered me hard."
Pedro's speed picked up. "Now you're making me fucking jealous. The things I would've done to you in that dress." I shuddered, grinding closer to my palm.
"Pedro, please touch me—"
"Tell me whose cock you're thinking of."
I looked down, wanting nothing more than Pedro to bury his full length into me.
"Yours," I admitted.
"You tease," he mocked.
"I want yours, I want you. I'm thinking of you." My hand started moving wildly as I became so desperate for release, I could cry. "I'm thinking of you fucking me over that table, watching in the mirror."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, yes! Pl— please," I begged.
"That's it, come on, you're so close. Make yourself cum for me, baby. Show me how hard you can cum thinking of me. Just a little more, baby." I had no choice but to obey, chasing the edge I was oh so close to. Shutting my eyes… "Look at me, baby girl," he commanded, voice sweet but tone insistent. I urged my eyes open, mouth hung open as I felt the knot in my stomach begin to unfurl.
"Oh, fuck! Pedro, Pedro…" I moaned his name, climaxing from nothing but my hand and his words. He quickly followed, shouting something indistinguishably. His ejaculate shot messily between our bodies, the hot fluid spilling across my leggings and his jeans.
We panted as my name slipped out of his mouth, as it often did. "Lara, Lara, Lara…." He shook his head, shutting his eyes to recenter.
I fell forward, lazily throwing myself into his arms to press my forehead against his shoulder. I started laughing. "Freud would have a field day with that one."
He jokingly scoffed while lightly tickling my sides. "You're going to have to tell me the other stories sometime."
"Hm? I asked, distracted by my afterglow.
"The uh, the other 'Chrises.'"
"Kinda weird that we started with the one you've worked with, huh?" I teased.
"I'll unpack that some other time."
I turned my head so that my nose was pressed into the crook of his neck. He leaned into the touch. "I do kinda hate the whole 'hottest Chris' bit, though."
"Why's that?"
I sighed, hesitant, but feeling safe. "My half brother's name is Chris. It's kinda gross."
"Oh," Pedro replied softly. He chuckled. "Freud would definitely have a field day."
"Stop!" I groaned, trying to push him away (though my heart wasn't in it).
"Do you see him often? Your brother."
"Kinda fucked up, but the last time I was supposed to see him was that night of my show. The one you were at." A knot formed in my chest. "I… I was such shitty company because I realized he didn't come, and that's one or the reasons that I called, erm, 'Pine.'" Pedro rubbed my back lightly. "He'll randomly text me sometimes to catch up or for me to fly in back to Chicago, but he always bails or goes silent."
It was quite for a moment. My head was still leaning into Pedro, but I couldn't make out his expression. "I'm sorry, L," he soothed. "And uh, if it helps, I promise to never use the name Chris in a sexual context again."
I chuckled. "First off, he's gay. Second off, I assure you there are no weird psychosexual undertones, it's just weird to hear that name sometimes when the Chris I'm theoretically closest to is not the one returning my calls." I paused. "He goes through periods where he's really not doing well and I just get worried."
"I understand. Where is he now?"
I sighed again, rolling off of Pedro, subconsciously creating distance. "Chicago, still. You know, he actually was doing comedy before I did. We were both on the scene at the same time for a while. And then he stopped doing it and… I guess living regular life back home. Best he can, at least."
He watched me closely, frowning slightly as he tried to determine how to reach me. But for whatever walls he cracked through today, just as quickly, I was a million miles away.
Year Four
We marched in front of Paramount for another half hour when I felt Katie nudge me again.
“Whaaaaaat,” I whined. I turned and saw her looking down at her phone.
“Gabe said they’re putting an action together in Chicago.”
I slowed a moment as I processed the information. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, he said he thinks the support is looking good there, there’s a couple of productions that have crossed the picket line and they want to build more support to shut ‘em down.”
“Damn, wish I could be there.”
“I mean…,” Katie started. I turned my head back towards her again, raising an eyebrow. “We could go.”
I huffed through my lips. “Fly out just to go to a rally?”
“Man, where’s your solidarity Lara?”
“Aw shuddup.” I snorted. “It’s a little excessive but I kinda wanna be there.”
“We could see if we could couch surf with anyone, I’m sure someone would take us in.”
As I thought longer, I decided to take a break from the line. We both politely escorted ourselves to the side, chugging water and placing our signs between our legs for a beat. I pondered. “I guess a plane ticket wouldn’t be too, too bad.”
“When was the last time you were back?” Katie wiped the sweat from her forehead, dragging the fine hairs of her bangs into the perspiration.
I leaned onto the handle of my sign, contemplating. “Six years? No, that’s not true, I had a ticket to go but — Fuck, yeah, I was supposed to go in April 2020 to see…." She stared at me as I trailed off. "So no, six years.”
“Ok well, let’s do it! Show some hometown solidarity, get away from the sun here a little bit —”
“You know Chicago isn’t much better.”
“Yeah, but there aren’t hills.”
“True.” I sat on the idea for another moment. “Okay, tentatively I’m saying yes. Do you know who else will be there?”
Katie opened her phone and began typing. “No, I’ll ask Gabe. There’s gotta at least be a couple of writers who show up. Maybe someone kind of high profile who is still based there. Could actually be kind of nice.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. I always wished we could’ve held it down there, I really want to support anyone who didn’t try to do the whole LA thing.”
“Or who knew it was bullshit,” Katie said cuttingly.
“We did alright –”
“ — You did alright —”
“ — For a little while, anyway.” Katie responded with a playful dirty look. I nodded. “Alright, fuck, let’s do it.”
“Wanna see if we can get anyone else to come out with us?”
“Or at least try to catch up with some folks.”
“Alright, it’s a trip!” Katie looked back down at her phone, concentrating on something. She gasped and held a hand to her mouth, laughing. “Oh my God.”
“What? What?!”
“Our old apartment is an Air BnB.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I snatched her phone from her. “No fucking way, should we stay?” I teased, trying to ignore the little bubble that popped up in her notifications with Ryan’s name on it.
“I can’t think of anything worse than paying a cleaning fee to stay at our own apartment, but…. It would be a fun throwback. I can’t even imagine anyone paying to stay there on vacation.”
“Oh we’re fucking doing this.” Committed to the bit, I started eagerly looking up availability from Katie’s phone, when… another notification came in. Katie froze at the soft ring of her iPhone, watching me as my face fell. “Uh…,” I tried to make sense of what I was looking at, pulling the notification bar down. I felt a little nauseous.
“Katie…” I started. I could sense her tense up as I turned my hand to display her phone back to her. I continued, my voice quiet and confused. “Why are you… texting… Pedro….?”
Chapter 13: It Had to Be You
Summary:
Flashbacks to the early moments of Pedro and Lara's time together, seen through Pedro's eyes.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year Two
Pedro was well and truly fucked up in love. He just hadn't allowed himself to accept it yet.
In fact, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind when he invited Lara to visit him for a week.
What had happened was that it was winter and he was home alone, watching When Harry Met Sally — as one often does — and he had kinda wished Lara was next to him. It definitely had nothing to do with the moment of clarity Billy Crystal has about being in love with Meg Ryan. Definitely nothing to do with the longing of being single during the holidays. Certainly nothing to do with the romance of walking through New York City with the person who knows you best. He was sure it was because Lara really loved Carrie Fisher, a totally mundane bit of association completely divorced from how enamored he was with how her eyes lit up talking about the late actress. Not at all.
Dating Lara proper was a passive want, of course, but Pedro couldn't determine where that want originated. He didn't want to project his own self-consciousness about being unattached. He had fallen in love with the idea of someone before, and he certainly had experience with someone doing that with him. But in a way, he knew that the fact that he even wanted to shield Lara — be different for her — was a sign that this was something different.
Prior to the pandemic, when they had seen each other once every couple of months, he could live with it. And though it was true that since the night of the Emmy's she had regularly consumed his thoughts, he was able to compartmentalize the feelings as lust. It was so thrilling to charm her and to feel the eruption of tension that easily built up between them. When she leaned back against him while he slipped his number into her pocket, he knew he was instantly addicted. He tried to stop himself from diving head first, but he kept imagining how she had batted her eyes up at him on stage and how heady he was with her scent. Before Pedro even realized it, he was calling her on FaceTime, and — well, the rest is history.
But nothing could prepare him for how good they were together and how easy and natural it felt, like the magnetism between them was a force on Earth that had been placed there long before they were born, existing solely to cause them to collide. The first couple of times that they hooked up, he had to restrain himself from going completely feral over her lips alone. He had been with a good handful of people in his life and had his fair share of incredible sex, but beyond the pleasure of Lara's body was the sense of belonging there, with her, in her, wrapped around her. Her wrapped around him . And maybe the feeling that he was the most addicted to was the warmth and joy that emanated from her in those moments; like she felt it, too; like he was unlocking something sacred in her.
It was a fucking annoying feeling, and he tried to water it down by chasing other hook-ups in between his time with Lara, assuming he was just in search of company and climax, but no one else was measuring up.
“Did I shit the bed or something?”
Pedro didn’t even realize he was distracted when the man at his thighs snipped at him, looking up annoyedly. “Hm?”
The guy sighed, shaking his head and abruptly standing up and grabbing his clothes. “You know, last time I thought you were kind of aloof, but I thought we had fun. Now I’m thinking you’re just a shit lay.” He threw his clothes on, not even bothering with his socks. “Lose my number,” he spat before slamming the door to Pedro’s apartment.
It happened a couple more times — a woman from college who he thought he had some chemistry with, a guy he met at a club who was a little too obsessed with Shakira — even the stoner he met off an app got quickly tired of Pedro’s noncommittal distance and inconsistent enthusiasm. At a certain point, he realized he was probably becoming too known to be the asshole having lousy one-night stands.
As Valentine’s Day came around the corner, he realized he was absent-mindedly making plans, convincing himself that it was because they had fun together — not because the day meant anything or that spending the day with Lara meant anything more.
Further, it was hard to hold back those creeping feelings when she seemed to be quickly easing herself with him. And while he tried to remind himself She’s told me over and over again she doesn’t want a relationship, there’s no way this would work, we’re too far apart, we have conflicting schedules, we’re both private, it’s not what she wants, the way they could both sit comfortably in silence in the late hours of the night and the way Lara would gaze at him, eyes soft, warm, adoring, he wasn’t all that worried, Just anxious . She made him so damn anxious .
She never knew it, but he was clutching his knee all throughout Valentine’s Day dinner, struck with how seamlessly the waves of her hair mixed with the ocean breeze and how natural her face glowed in the starlight; like she was born on this shore, one with all of the beautiful things around them. But he knew better than to reach too far for her.
He hadn't really considered whether she was seeing other people, because it wouldn't have bothered him before, but one night when they rendezvoused while he was out west, he suddenly felt insecure about the idea. They were in a hotel tub after a long week, only a week before COVID would shut everything down. Lara was sitting between his legs, her back against his chest and her hair tied up. They were drinking wine and she read to him the pages she had been working on. Pedro realized he could've spent every day unwinding that way — and it scared the shit out of him.
He rubbed her arm passively, noting the way the heated droplets from the bath fell down her beautiful, warm skin. He tried peering over her shoulder while she read, carefully holding her tablet, but he was useless without his reading glasses. Instead, he just listened, as lost in her voice as in her words. Finished, she sat the iPad down on the floor, leaning further back against him. She didn't even ask what he thought, and he found that the most terrifying — that she trusted him enough to share without needing affirmation. She wanted to share with him just to share with him.
She sighed dreamily, and he watched the gentle rise and fall of her breasts just near the surface of the water. He realized after a minute that she was falling asleep. He tried to shift without disturbing her, adjusting so that he could relax his arm around her waist. She only moved a little, but as she did — whether intentionally or in the instinct of slumber — she put her hand over his, winding her fingers through his against her stomach.
Fuck.
He stilled, utterly content for the moment, but well aware they couldn't both fall asleep in the tub. Sufficiently pruned, he nudged her awake enough to lead her to the bed. She held a sleepy smile on her face as she following him wordlessly, her lids heavy. He helped dry her off and slid under the covers with her, quick to tangle their limbs around each other.
They didn't actually have sex that time they saw each other. It was easy to mistake that moment of intimacy as an erotic one, and he wondered if Lara even remembered that as the case, but the fact still stood, all that happened that night was they dined, they drank, and they drifted off together.
It was the next morning as they said their guarded goodbyes that the question fell out of his mouth:
"Are you sleeping with anyone else?"
"No," she replied quicker than he expected.
"No?"
"Nope. Are you?" Her eyes betrayed a lack of confidence.
"I'm not."
"Okay, then."
"Okay."
And Pedro wasn't sure what that conversation meant or what the months ahead held, but he knew from that point that he just wanted her. More and more and more of her .
And then? He had even less of her than ever before. Less of everyone, really. At first, they were comfortably texting and Facetiming each other — sharing pandemic experiences, sexting often, conversing normally — but Pedro drew back the longer the isolation went on. He felt selfish and needy in wanting her all the time, always, even if she wasn't objecting, and by the fall, their communication became further and further between.
It killed him to admit it, but it was him that did it.
He was doing it to a lot of people in his life, admittedly. He was still speaking regularly to his family, and he talked to his friends a lot the week of the election, but otherwise he was becoming more and more reserved, unconsciously electing to be alone rather than to seek the connections he had always surrounded himself with.
When L did text or call, he brushed her off as just being courteous. She's made it clear this is just a casual thing for her, of course she doesn't want to talk all the time, idiot. But he was mostly afraid that he felt the most vulnerable he had in a long time and that he couldn't set himself up for failure by risking letting it all out for her. Better to stay hidden, to steel himself until the need to be seen would finally go away.
And then he fucking watched When Harry Met Sally and couldn't help himself. He didn't know it until later, of course, how much the public would latch onto that specific text. It wasn't the one that broke the headline, but it became everyone's favorite.
would you come out to new york and see me?
you come out for a week or two here and we just stay in and drink and fuck and watch old movies
Everything he had resisted for the last year and a half, everything he avoided in Lara came crashing around him the minute she accepted his invitation. His distance was useless, because as soon as she was off the plane, in his car, standing in his door, it was over. He fucking loved her.
And he was opening up to her.
And she was opening up to him.
And it was just Lara, Lara, Lara; enveloping him for days on end. Her scent — God, her scent! — her smile, the way she looked waking up next to him, the way she knew the way around his apartment so quickly, the way she was endlessly, constantly her. It was worse being with her than without her, because how could he ever go back? And she was teasing out these desires he didn't even know he had in him. Surprising desires that met with a complete lack of judgment — even went so far as to reciprocate.
Day five of her stay with him came around, and that's when things became untenable.
She was packing. She was leaving the next morning. They would have breakfast, and then he would drive her back to the airport, completing their time together as planned. Pedro felt like such a fucking kid for wanting to cry, but the longing he knew awaited him as soon as he came back to an empty apartment made him feel sick. He still couldn't sort through whether it was Lara he was in love with or just that he had the opportunity to be in love with anybody, but in any case, the crushing loneliness on the other side of the week filled him with monumental dread. He tried not to voice any of these feelings, though he sensed that L could sense them. She didn't say anything, though, and the laughter, mirth, and sounds of pleasure that filled the last few days were absent. She just quietly packed.
It was like an addiction, the two of them. It felt so good to be in the midst of it, but to be without felt like hell, and Pedro was starting to not know how to be without at all.
He never actually told her that he was watching When Harry Met Sally when he had thought to invite her. It seemed like an inconsequential detail. But that night, her bag packed and the takeout cartons clear, he asked if there was a movie she wanted to watch. And when she suggested the Nora Ephron penned movie about two friends falling in love, terrified about what that love means, he didn't tell her that he had just recently rewatched it himself. It didn't matter that he did, anyhow, because he had never see it with Lara before, and as she recited lines out loud, mumbled movie trivia, shared her own opinion on the Casablanca argument (she would get on the plane, of course), and tried to cover up her sniffles forming over the closing minutes of the film, Pedro wondered if he'd ever really seen any movie before if he hadn't seen it through Lara's eyes.
Notes:
Okay yes this story has bi!Pedro but let's not make a big deal of it. This is by no means a speculation of his IRL sexuality, just felt like it fit this characterization in the fictional story. We're all adults here!
Chapter Text
Year Four
“Okay. Fuck, I swear I can explain.” Katie held her hands out diplomatically.
“I – you better explain quick because –" I started.
“I know, I know, it looks shitty.”
I sighed, withholding my anger for the time being. I would've been more furious if it didn't feel so out of left field.
“Okay, so uhm…” she continued, eyeing the picket line feet away from us. “Can we sit down?” I rolled my eyes but pulled her quickly aside to a curb where we could sit a moment. “So uhm, I did something kind of stupid.
“What the fuck is–
“Let me tell the whole thing, okay? I did something kind of stupid. On your 30th birthday, after you told me everything, I woke up in the middle of the night and I was still kind of drunk, and I saw that he was… texting you… and my head was reeling from this admittedly insane life update you had just given me, and above all I was livid that he was being such an idiot with you, so I… I stole his number from your phone and…,” Katie steeled herself before finishing. “Idrunkenlycursedhimoutovertext,” she said quickly.
“You what?!” I shouted, Katie hitting me in the arm to quiet down. I slapped her hand back. “Don't hit me, I'm not the one blowing up my friends’ life –”
“I'm not finished,” she gritted. “You are so stubbornly impatient and that is why I never told–” She stopped herself. “Okay, okay, I won't turn this back on you. Just, let me finish, alright?” I huffed but nodded. “... So, I drunkenly cursed him out. Told him I knew everything and kind of blew up at him for trying to hook up with you on your birthday after everything. And… to his credit… he was really receptive to my feedback. He uh… I think he was impressed with my tenacity. He uh, kind of immediately apologized. Seemed like he felt really bad about it. And then I felt bad for blowing up at him and then… we just kinda kept talking.”
I tried to maintain my calm. “Is there… more?”
“Yes, there is. You're catching on, thank you.”
“Why do you think sarcasm is going to work with me?”
“Because I'm very anxious right now! Okay, okay, I'm almost done, swear.” I quirked an eyebrow but let her continue. “I swear to God him and I have only been talking as friends, and quite honestly, the main reason we're in contact is because… he wants to know about you.” Katie sighed, embarrassment still tinting her face. “And… I don't know, Lar, he's like a sad puppy. I can't help but respond.”
“He's a man in his 40s,” I remark exasperated. “You've been the one egging me on to move on!”
“No, I've been egging you on to process things.”
“I…,” I was at a loss. No matter how kindly she packaged her words, it felt dishonest.
“Yeah, I know it's still shitty of me. I should've said something but… I don't know. I like him, but I love you. I just want you to be… okay.”
“I'm okay.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
I groaned, squinting my eyes as I hesitantly opened up the text exchange on Katie's phone, hoping for any incriminating proof that she was lying. I watched her wince as I scrolled back up through the messages:
April 21
you 1:57am
Hey fucko this is laras friend Katie and you heyter listen up because I'm not such a big fan of this little booth call business you're playing with her!! I know she may seem really cold sometimes but I know her better than anyone snd she has the biggest heart out of anyone I've ever met even if she hides it well and even if she'll never let you know how she feels. So I think it's especially cruel for you to pull this shit sith her when. You know deep inside yourself she can't sat no to you it would Hutt her toj much. Ifk if you guys are good for each other or not adlnd I'm sure you're a nice guy og whatever buy you gotta figure you'd zhit out before trying to bring her into it l. She was having a great fucking 30th birthday that I plan red f and planned and she got all distdac5ed trying to even figure out if you're gonna s3e her or not. Anyway iced already said too much but ih Neff you go knot that i l7v Lar xx Lara snf I Tony stand for this
I stifled a laugh of disbelief.
> Pedro 1:59am
i uh didnt understand everything at the end there but i've got the message. you are right, i’m being inappropriate and unfair to her and i’ll leave her alone. i’m really sorry, it is genuinely shit of me to do. you're a good friend looking out for her.
> Pedro 2:01am
just wish her happy birthday for me, ok?
you 2:05am
Damit hold on I'm sorry I was little harsh
And incoherent sry
Dont just disappear forrvr please
shell hate me if you do
> Pedro 2:06am
i'm not trying to cause trouble between you two, i promise
you're right though, i've done a shit job staying away from her and i think it's best that i do
you 2:08am
Tell me
What do u want from hr? Lara
Are u just trying to get off because do what you want man just don't use her
> Pedro 2:10am
i'm not trying to just get off but i understand if you don't believe me
i'm not gonna try to explain myself, there's not a good reason for it.
since snl it's been hard to help myself from missing her
i don't want to miss her, believe me
but i do
and i think i can say goodbye again but i just can't
i'm sorry. this isn't your problem and i'm just feeling sorry for myself now. i'm sure you think i'm an asshole, an idiot, or both.
thank you for looking out for her. hope you guys had fun tonight.
you 2:22am
I think she misses u too
Figure ur shit out dude
She's sleepin and I'm gonna also
If I find u texting her for a hookup again I will hunt u down
But if u ever wanna know how she's doin…. Yuo can ask me
Have a good night
> Pedro 2:35am
i’ll keep that in mind, thank you
you as well
I snorted out an incredulous laugh.
“The conversation from your birthday?” Katie asked. I nodded. “You don't need to go on– oh good, you're reading more.” Katie ducked her head down, unable to look at me.
April 23
> Pedro 12:35pm
hey katie, sorry for reaching out. just wanted to make sure you and lara got home okay the other night.
i guess you said you were sleeping so maybe you were already home. dumb question, ignore me.
you 12:53pm
Lol you're all good. Yes, no one went out that night. She is as well as Lara is capable of being.
> Pedro 1:12pm
great to hear, thanks. sorry again for bothering you
you 1:43pm
No worries. Anytime!
May 3
> Pedro 4:27pm
hey katie, it's pedro. not sure you saved my number. saw the strike news and wanted to see how you guys were doing?
you 6:19pm
That's nice of you to ask. We're… good! I guess. Already planning our picketing schedule.
How is SAG looking?
> Pedro 8:02pm
not great. hopefully we’ll reach a good agreement, but if you guys are on strike….
you 8:56pm
Well loverboy, you're more than welcome to join us in solidarity.
> Pedro 9:07pm
may have to take you up on that offer some time. production is about to start for glad2 but who knows where things will be over the summer
you 9:15pm
Remarkable that you'd even want to hang out with us peasants…
Anyway, let's keep in touch. Have a good night!
June 19
you 3:03am
I can't think og anyone else who would appreciate this so hereee:
Attached was a video I had never seen before of me in profile drunkenly crooning the Three's Company theme over a plate of poutine at a restaurant patio. I hardly remembered that night beyond the broad strokes. I had no idea Katie had recorded me. My hair was down and messy after probably being held up for most of the night. My eyes were puffy from the late hour but twinkling in the sort of self satisfied way they do when I'm feeling good. I flashed the toothiest of grins after successfully nailing every lyric.
> Pedro 4:10pm
❤️
sorry, long day and only just watched this now. thanks for sharing. she looks happy.
you 6:34pm
Haha kinda forgot I sent this, but glad you enjoyed it
I think she was happy last night
> Pedro 10:11pm
whatever it takes to get that smile out of her
you 10:13pm
Sorry if I'm meddling too much sending stuff like that. I'm sure you're moving on too.
> Pedro 10:19pm
don't apologize
i still think about her
am i an idiot to ask if she's seeing anybody?
you 10:21pm
You're not.
And she's not. We just see each other and the strikers more than anyone else.
She still doesn't know I'm talking to you, BTW.
> Pedro 10:25pm
that's probably good
you 10:27pm
I'll keep you posted with future smile content
> Pedro 10:31pm
please do.
Yesterday
you 3:35pm
Omg we just saw the gladiator photos with the cast!! I'm dying
> Pedro 3:59pm
haha oh no
i haven't even seen them
you 4:11pm
Well we think you look great
> Pedro 4:15pm
“we?”
you 4:39pm
Oh don't act like you don't know/care who.
I know your secret. 🧐
Been meaning to ask though… does this other person in your life know your secret?
you 5:22pm
Sorry, that was too personal of a question. We don't know each other like that. Just trying to protect her.
> Pedro 7:48pm
👍
i get it
it's a good question to ask me. i'd do the same if it were my friend
i guess i don't know if there's anything to have as a secret
i just think about her and we got together the last time i saw her
that's all
you 8:02pm
Are you sure about that?
> Pedro 8:19pm
you're quite persistent
wish i met you earlier, i get why she loves you. your tenacity is something else
you 8:36pm
I don't know that she “loves” me
> Pedro 8:41pm
she definitely does
you 8:44pm
How much do YOU know?
> Pedro 8:56pm
hold on to my secret and i'll hold onto yours, friend
you 9:01pm
Aw, we're friends! She would hate this sooooo much.
> Pedro 9:08pm
hahaha she would
i gotta get the day going…. i think our strike is likely. maybe i'll see you guys soon.
you 9:10pm
Do you want that?
> Pedro 9:16pm
working on figuring that out
you 9:19pm
You definitely should. Keep me posted. Break a leg, movie star
There were only two more texts – from today. At 2:35pm, Katie had sent a photo I hadn't realized she had taken of me mid-chant on the picket line.
I looked self-assured. Full of conviction. My face was tilted up towards the California light. My arms were sturdy, holding up my WGA sign. The lines that were starting to form in my face as adulthood marked my past smiles and laughter and worry perfectly framed my eyes and mouth as I was in the middle of forming words.
It was a beautiful picture of me. I barely recognized myself in that photo from how I had been feeling inside, but Katie had captured some innate inertia within me. Even in my self-deprecation, I could see it.
So could Pedro.
Today
> Pedro 3:37pm
god, she looks so beautiful
My jaw hung open at the final text received just minutes ago.
“What did he say…?” Katie asked cautiously.
I shook my head, frustrated and confused, shoving her phone back in her hands.
She glanced at his latest text and understood.
“I should've told you,” she admitted quietly. I made an exhausted sound close to a growl, shutting my eyes as I threw my head down into my hands. “There's a little more… and I know you'll be mad. You have every right to be. It's weird and… it's dishonest, but…. So him and I grabbed lunch shortly after we started talking. As friends, I swear, we've only talked as friends. But… here's the thing, I've never gotten to talk to anyone about when you and I were together. And I know you'll try to tell me that I could've always talked to Jack or Gabe or whoever, but… Lara, you were my best friend who knew me better than anyone, and I lost you. Who else was gonna understand? And it occurred to me that… maybe he hasn't really gotten to talk to anyone either? So I had a free afternoon and I called him and… we talked.” Katie’s voice got quieter. “It was nice. I get why he means so much to you, even if you won't admit to it.”
“So, you guys have just been talking about me in secret for the past two months? Checking in like you're babysitting me?” I grumbled, turning my head so I could glare at her over my arm.
“Yeah, it sounds really gross, doesn't it?” She wilted momentarily before sitting up. “To be fair, you owe me like… a year’s worth of dishonesty. And that's just from when we were dating not even getting into you sneaking around with…,” she lowered to a whisper, mindful of people nearby. “...sneaking around with Pedro.”
I narrowed my eyes but sighed. “I hate everything about this, but you are annoyingly honest to a fault, so even my dumb worm brain has a hard time taking your brief lapse in trustworthiness all that seriously. Anyway, what do I have to be mad about? I don't own him. I don't own you. Either of you! You’re… adults,” I spat out with more childish bitterness than I intended. “You can do whatever…” I mumbled, turning back into arm.
“He is hot, and I am jealous that you had a relationship with him, but I promise it's purely platonic. If anything, it's a post-Lara support group.”
“Oh, great, I feel much better hearing that,” I groaned. Katie laughed, feeling more at ease that I was more uncomfortable than angry.
“Lar,” Katie started gently. “He really wants to see you again.”
I sat with that information a moment. “I thought of all people, you'd be the one advising me to move on.”
“I don't know… I was, and then I met him and talked with him. And… I don't know that it works, I don't know that it's healthy, I just know that I like you both, and I can see how much has gone unresolved and how much you two have just… barely missed each other in your timing. And maybe it's something you can reconcile. However that means. Not through a guilty hook up or texts that dodge how you really feel. Like, actually spending real, vulnerable time together to talk. I think you have unfinished feelings and… I know he does.”
I felt my heart twist at that. It was an inkling I had but had denied myself from believing for so long, doubting that Pedro could be hung up on me, content to be in deep enough of a self-loathing spiral to believe I had fucked everything up forever.
“Did I fuck everything up forever?” I asked Katie point blank. She laughed again.
“You know, Lar, if you can believe it, I think love is more complicated than that.”
“Hey, who said ‘love?’” I joked, but I felt her tense silence in my periphery. I turned toward her again, meeting Katie’s earnest gaze.
“He did.”
“...Now I'm really doomed,” I mumbled, tilting my head up to the fading sun. “I’m going to stay mad at you, if only to ignore how generous it is for you to want me to be happy after everything I've done to you, even if you have a weird way of doing it.”
“Like I said, love is complicated.”
“Well, I do love you.”
“I'm warming up to the idea of trusting you in that.” Katie stuck her tongue out and I gave her a reconciliatory smile.
“My life is so goddamn weird… and I'm not even successful at it. What the fuck.” I started cackling. “Well, all that aside, are we going to Chicago or what?”
“If you want to, I have an idea… especially if the SAG strike happens.”
I narrowed my eyes at her meddling, but resigned, content to let someone else take control of my life.
“Fine. You might as well turn it into a group text.”
I saw her try to resist the turn of her lips into a smile. A sense of melancholy washed over me, though. Even with the reassurances of mutual pining -- or at least mutual desire for closure -- I felt like I was headed into the same rut. "What if this is bad for me?" I muttered, more to myself than to Katie.
She watched me intently. Katie, the person who knows me better than anyone. The person who time and time again has shown me more grace than I've ever earned. "Then I'll be here," she said firmly, lightly placing a hand on my arm. "Promise."
Notes:
Sorry it's been so long again! I've had some ongoing distractions and writers block, but wanted to get back to these crazy kids haha.
I initially thought this story would include more of Lara's non-Pedro celebrity dalliances, but it's felt right to focus on her and Pedro's main story. Would y'all be into it if I posted one-shots separate from the Pedro storyline? There are, after all, at least three Chrises....
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Deedeeuu on Chapter 1 Fri 28 Apr 2023 08:30PM UTC
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Smusch (Guest) on Chapter 5 Wed 19 Apr 2023 04:41PM UTC
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