Wreckless ( Ddlb ) *Complete*

A little

Finnegan:

All week I've been dealing with the slight problem that at the end of the day, I want to go to Emmett's. It's not just because he's there, I could invite him to my place but for some reason I want to be at his house and I'm not sure why that is. My 2:00 teleconference is a bust, two folks haven't joined, so I have time to think about it while I transform Bumblebee.

I don't dislike my apartment even though I complain about it. I do hate my couch but there are other places to sit and honestly, I could just get a new one. I'm too lazy to bother; it's a rental. The kitchen and bathroom are great, the bed is nice and the gym and parking are a bonus.

So what's the difference? I've had good times with Emmett in both houses. In fact, we've had more sex at my place and it's mine; I should feel more comfortable there.

But I don't.

Why?

The answer is so obvious that I'm sort of mad at myself after I figure out. I relax and have fun at Emmett's. I wear comfy clothes and we snuggle on the couch and we have pizza and watch cute movies. He has fun straws and a ferret and ice cream. When we're at my house I seem to have this need to maintain a certain level of, I don't know. Respectability? Decorum?

But it has to be this way. I can't just go around acting like a kid all the time, who would want that? I'm not sure why Emmett puts up with it at all. I spin a few times in my chair and then find myself googling 'Little', isn't that what he called me? I get Little Richard and some movies. That's not it. 'Acting like a kid' doesn't do it either. I give up on my conference call and end it. Finally, 'being a little' brings up some stuff that at least seems to be right.

Twenty minutes later I'm more confused than I was when I started. At least now I know what he was talking about but I don't know if I qualify. Still, maybe Emmett wasn't completely wrong, a lot of it certainly fits. At least sometimes. He seems to know more about it than I do and I should just ask him but somehow that means it'll be real and I'll have to deal with it and I don't want to. It's hard and stupid and... I sound like a kid.

I give up and call him. "Hey darling."

I love when he calls me that. "Are you busy?" It is the work day, after all.

"Nope, just finished an oil change. You don't usually call me in the middle of the day, you okay?"

He's right, I always text because I'm usually too busy to call. "I'm fine. Just wanted to hear your voice, is that stupid?"

"No, not at all. You wanna get together tonight? Have dinner?"

Absolutely. I've been thinking about him all day. And most of last night. "Yeah."

"My place or yours?" he asks. 

 Good question. Very good question.  "Um, I guess that depends on how uh, how mature you want me to be."

He sounds confused. "It does? I want you to do whatever you want, Finn."

"I don't know what I want." I sound petulant but it's close enough to the truth.

"I think you do. Maybe you're just scared or nervous about it for some reason. It's up to you, we can do whatever you want. We can just meet somewhere for dinner if that's easier, no strings attached."

He's too nice. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"Cause I think you're too hard on yourself" he replies immediately and I have no doubt that he believes it. "And" he confesses, "I sort of like you a little." A little. Did he do that on purpose? Is he saying that he likes me being a little? I'm probably reading too much into it. But he said 'sort of' which... "Finn?"

I put Bumblebee down, I need to concentrate. "Yes?"

"Come over to my place when you get off work, okay?"

"I... um sure. Sure Em. Thanks."

"Actually, text me when you're leaving please, can you do that?"

It's the least I can do. "Sure." He'd be a good daddy dom, actually. Reading about those did a lot more for me than reading about whiny brats getting spankies. "I've been googling stuff, little stuff. I just don't know. We should talk about it but I'm scared. I mean, I don't have to do any of that stuff with you, really. I swear."  And some of it I don't want to do.

"Finn, I'm glad you're reading and thinking about it and you don't have to hide it from me. We need to have this conversation in person, okay?"

He's right. "I'll try to get out by 6 o'clock."

"Good. Text me. I have to run but I'll see you later, Finn."

*** *** ***

I am a useless mess by 4:30 so I tell Megan to go home and I call it a day. I stop by my house to get some things in case I end up staying over. I hope I stay over. I'm ready to pack a suit when I realize I have some shirts and two suits at the dry cleaners and should just pick them up. I have time and they're already portable. Perfect.

That errand done, I'm ready. Except oops, I didn't text Emmett. I send him a quick one that I'm on my way and he replies almost immediately that he's ready for me anytime. Is he a perv for saying that or am I for thinking he was talking about sex? Hmmm, questions.

I park and just sit in front of his house, too nervous to get out. Granted, it's not the best neighborhood to sit around in an expensive car, either, but that's not nearly as scary right now as going inside. I'm being ridiculous, I know I am, but I can't quite help it. I ask myself what the worst thing that could happen is and all I can think of is not getting to see Emmett any more. That would suck. But since I can be mature and date like a normal person, what's the chance of that happening? Besides, he's said--

Locke: Get in here, rascal. What you doing out there darling?

FW4: I'm berating myself and second guessing my life choices.

Emmett's front door swings open and yes, there he is. I have to get out now so I do, grabbing my bag. "Anything else?" he asks, taking it from me.

"My suit, one sec."

Emmett grabs the entire bunch out of the back seat and then manages to wave to his neighbor who's sitting on her porch. "Fumigations are the worst, aren't they Mrs. Lewis?"

"Lordy, lordy, yes. We lucky."

"We sure are. Take care ma'am."

Slick, slick. "I don't want you to get in trouble with your neighbors" I say once the door is closed.

"She doesn't care, just needs an excuse to tell anyone else who's bothered. That excuse will work for a solid month so no worries. Let me put this upstairs while you get comfortable." 

He leaves me my bag, taking my shirts and suits upstairs where I'm sure he's hanging them. It feels weird to hang my suits in someone's closet. Nice, too. He's cooking something, the whole downstairs smells divine. "Chicken?"

"Yeah, with a white wine sauce. Making some noodles too in a sec." He looks good coming down the stairs. I've got my jacket off and am working on my tie but he comes over and helps me. I let him. He undoes my buttons then, working down my chest. He slides my shirt off, then unfastens my belt. "I really don't want you wearing a monkey suit in my house, darling, work is over."

Why is it so hard to swallow all of a sudden? "I'm, I'm good with that."