Bedside Manner (Law x Reader)

08. Walk of Shame

You were exceptionally bad at darts. Meanwhile, with a steady and practiced hand, Trafalgar was winning round after round with ease. You blamed your poor game on the alcohol coursing through your veins, raising your temperature. Or the way Shachi bumped against you while he cheered you on. Anything other than admitting that it was the darker haired male's intense gaze that had you fighting to reel in your focus. 

It wasn't cold, critical or at all uncomfortable. It was unnerving only because you couldn't tell what he was thinking. You never could, but tonight it bothered you like nothing else. You found yourself overly aware of your self. The way your muscles stretched and the way your joints bent with each movement. 

"How much have you had to drink?" Shachi laughed as you nailed another dart into the edge of the board. You were glad he was kind enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. 

You huffed out a retort, about to throw your last dart when a hand wrapped around yours, halting your movement. You focused on the tattooed fingers as he stepped closer-- any closer and his chest would be at your back. He maintained a breath of distance, but you could feel his warmth and it had goosebumps blooming along the nape of your neck. 

"You've been rushing through your turns all night." Law pointed out. 

"And whose fault is that?"

He smirked, staring down at your crown. "Yours, I'd imagine, y/n-ya."  

All the blood drained from your face, fingers clenching around the dart. Your eyes were wide from the realization that you'd spoken your thoughts aloud. 

"Now, find your target with your eyes first." 

Any retort you had died in your throat as he guided your hand, bringing it back as you readied yourself to throw it. He stepped away and you let it fly, holding your breath. It landed on fourteen, close to the single bull. 

"Yes!" The sudden rush of adrenaline pushed you to pump your fists in the air. 

You turned to the male with a broad smile, ready to rub it in his face. Your eyes subconsciously followed his movements as he raked his hand through his hair. It worked to distract you long enough for him to get the first word in. 

You had never directed such a warm expression towards him. He had only ever seen it from the sidelines when you would chat with Doctor Newgate. It was almost blinding. He understood for a fleeting moment why guys like the family practitioner and Sachi were so taken with you. 

Then the rain cloud chased the sun away with three simple words. 

"You're still losing." 

You scoffed, the narrowed glare and pout he was most accustom to returning as though they'd never left. 

"For now." You poked the sliver of exposed chest before you spun on your heel. The man had to hold back a shudder when your fingertip grazed down his skin - brief as the contact had been, it still had an effect. 

_____ 

Your body jolted when his fingers touched your flesh beneath your top. His skin was cold at first - a stark contrast to your own which was burning. From the alcohol, or the heat of the moment you had lost yourself to. It didn't really matter anymore. 

You tried to recall the events that led up to this moment. Just when your mind was about to clear the haze, a sharp nip to your collarbone selfishly called back your attention. You gasped, fingers digging into the man's toned upper arms. 

You could feel the upward curl of his lips as he moved to the curve of your neck. Quiet gasps filled the air as you tilted your head to give him further access. 

You writhed restlessly beneath him, desperate for more than the teasing feather-light touches and the jolts of electricity that shot down your spine with each nip. 

Your hands slid up and over his shoulder; the male's soft hum reverberated against your skin. You continued to work your way up, fingers reached into velvety locs, tangling themselves up. 

But before you could bring his face to your own, a throbbing pain pulled you from your reverie. 

You groaned, hands falling to your face as you pressed against your temples. There was a lump resting in the base of your throat and you could feel the nausea building. At the lack of an alarm sounding off, it was safe to assume it was early. Too early.

How the hell did you manage to get home? 

Carefully, you pushed up onto your elbows and peeled your eyes open. You were greeted with your reflection in a floor length mirror built into a sliding closet door. 

Gray sheets covered the wide bed, a small nightstand could be seen. A lamp and thick book were all that lay upon it. 

This wasn't your home. 

Pushing past the intense drumming in your head, you sat up completely. The sheet fell to reveal that your torso was completely bare, goosebumps appeared on your skin from the temperature in the room. 

Your clothes had been scattered all across the floor. Your cell was underneath the dresser, which was the only other piece of furniture. The room was clean and minimalist; only the bare necessities in sight. You scanned around for any hint as to who you had gone home with. Remember a few chapters ago when it was said "doing the walk of shame was something you'd never do"? 

You scoffed, catching sight a small circular frame that had been flipped facedown after you slipped your top back on. You hesitated to turn it over. That lump in your throat threatened to erupt as the taste of bile formed on your tongue. 

It was better not to know. 

You peered out the door to find an open living space. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the left wall, bathing the room in natural light. Something your migraine wasn't very appreciative of. 

A flash of movement caught your eye. In the kitchen, separated from the living area only by a raised floor and island, was a very shirtless Trafalgar Law. A large tattoo covered the expanse of his back. It looked like some sort of smiley face. Well, whatever it was, it looked good on him. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, frozen in your spot. 

You couldn't clock how you felt about the revelation that you had gone home with him. 

You had gone home with Trafalgar Law. 

You had to have woken up in a parallel universe because there was just no way. No way at all. 

Law held a phone to his ear while he started up his coffee maker. It didn't seem like he had noticed your presence yet. You wondered for a moment how long he had been up. 

"No, you don't need to come over." He sighed, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Co-ra..." 

He barely got the name out before his bedroom door flung open, bouncing against the wall. 

"Of fucking course!" You cried out, not bothering to retrieve your shoes as you made your exit. 

You could hear the male calling for you, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared out his open front door. 

"Such. An. Idiot." You reprimanded yourself, urgently pressing the button for the elevator. 

You were going to be sick. 

He had a girlfriend, yet he slept with you?