Golden Hour (GarouxReader lemon)

Part 4

Web Comic spoilers for Garou's job I guess ^.^

~*~

The job itself is boring as fuck. I just gotta show up and move boxes. A lot of boxes. Nothing but boxes. Well, occasionally furniture. In a way, I find it hilarious this old man's paying me for it but he seems impressed. It ain't glamorous, but he doesn't ask too many questions as long as I can haul these boxes around quick smart. And I get to sleep while he drives to the next job. I mean, he keeps talking, just happy to have someone in the passenger's seat and doesn't seem to give a shit I ain't listening so I just let him talk.
And I find it's like she said. It doesn't interfere with my nighttime activities at all. It might be mind-numbing but there it is. At least the power is back on, I think as I pull out the notice from the mailbox and glance over it. What d'you know. It's pop's name. The electricity is still in his name despite him having fucked off who knows how long ago. Why the fuck am I paying on his behalf? I find my jaw clench in a way I haven't felt in a while as my hand closes around the sheet of glossy paper, about to crumple it up and toss it when-
"Oh, a man in uniform," those lovely warm fingers run up the back of my neck, tenderly into my hair. "I like it. Well done."
Fuck.
I freeze. I want her to do it again. And again. I want her hand on me. Anywhere. Just one more time.
I hadn't been too careful today. And so this is all on me. And I'm more than pleased with my carelessness.
Usually, I'd make sure to get home well after golden hour, avoiding her usual arrival. But now as I turn around, she stands there in the thick sunsetting light, reflecting off her hair, soaking her white shirt under her coat.
I don't understand myself. On the one hand, I want her. Bad. I'd give anything to get into that house again, even just to sit on that couch and pretend to know what's going on on the TV. The invitation is wide open. But on the other, I stay well the fuck away. Maybe I know it will all lead nowhere and am sparing myself the disappointment. The longer this goes on, the more I feel I'm being pulled in two fucking different directions. But as soon as I feel her hand on my neck I can't help it anymore. I can't fight it.
Does she know? Does she know what her touch feels like? Does she know how much fuckin' torment and pleasure she puts me through? Does she know that every night, in my mind, I strip her slowly and carefully and-
"We'll have to celebrate!" she says brightly, shifting her little briefcase from one hand to the other and smooths down one side of my dark blue collar.
"Celebrate what?" I say, shoving the paper in my pocket.
"That you can now pay me back for all that food," she grins. "I'm joking!" she laughs, slapping my shoulder. "God, you should've seen your face right then!" She can't stop. "You think I'd be that cruel?"
Yes, woman. You are cruel. You are so sweetly fucking cruel.
What do I gotta do to get her to take me seriously?
"No, really," her laugh turns into a soft smile. "Well done. Let's celebrate."
"Meaning?" I'm still not following.
"You must be sick of coming over, huh?" she says. "And it's getting a bit warmer. Let's go down to the water and eat something disgustingly greasy."
The water. We don't live that far from the waterfront, it's true. But the water has never held much interest for me.
"If you say so," I say, being careful, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic.
I can see she looks a bit deflated. Fuck. I can't say anything fuckin' right.
"It's fine," she begins to wrap up the conversation. "I just thought it'd be nice to get out once in a while. It's fine. You're probably tired, anyway," she waves her idea away.
Fuck.
"No. I ain't tired at all," I try to quickly patch this up. "And I'm fucking starving," I add, completely honest.
Her smile comes back, and for a moment she looks like a happy kid.
"Cool, just give me an hour to freshen up then," she says, glancing at her watch. "Six thirty?"
"Six thirty," I repeat, still not quite grasping the situation. I hadn't seen her in at least two weeks and now it's like the floodgates open.

In hindsight, I could've said something more entertaining. Could've told her I'd pick her up at eight or however the fuck those stupid lines go but she'd got me tongue tied. I was impressed anyone could. Got concerned for a while there that I'd never impress her with my sparkling wit, but now I'm sure she wishes I'd shut up every once in a while. That thought makes me grin. She must be glad I'm falling asleep, falling deep and she doesn't have to put up with my constant bullshit. And I know she loves it. Rolls her eyes. But then turns away and I can hear that familiar laughter I fucking love so much.