jim street oneshots

for years or hours, your hand in mine [ ❥ ]

Though it's only gone seven in the evening, the sun has just started to slip below the crowded LA skyline and begun to bathe the city in a warm golden light. A warm breeze rolls through the streets, reaching you even where you're curled up on the bench by the back door of the house and makes you tug the soft blanket draped over your lap that little bit tighter around you.

You hadn't noticed the cold as much when Street had been there next to you, what with his arm laid protectively over your shoulders and the body warmth emanating from his broad chest keeping you shielded from the breeze. In his absence, doing whatever it is he'd quietly excused himself to do inside the house a few minutes ago, gooseflesh has come to pebble the skin of your arms and the cold slips down the neck of the t-shirt you'd long since stolen from him in a way that has you squirming uncomfortably in your seat as you try and make some warmth for yourself.

Only seconds later, like he'd known you were thinking of him, the back door cracks open with a weary squeak. A familiar worn black boot appears in the gap, tipping it open just enough for Street himself to slip through it with his back to you and seemingly, both his hands preoccupied with something you can't see just yet.

"Hey." You greet him, pushing yourself upright on the rickety bench and feigning a nonchalant expression in an attempt to make it look like you haven't, in fact, spent all the time he's been gone waiting for him to come back. "Where'd you go on me?"

If the wide smile covering his face as he turns to face you is anything to go off of, you fail. Miserably.

"Just ducked into the kitchen for a minute. Didn't think you'd miss me too bad." He retorts, without missing a beat - but there's nothing unkind in the way he looks at you as he says it. No, all you see is the way the waning sunlight catches in the deep brown of his eyes and makes them look even prettier than normal - and you have to tear your gaze away from him as he draws near, proffering one of the two glasses in his hands to you as he smiles. "If you need to know that bad, I was grabbing these."

You accept the tall, cool glass of tea from him gratefully, despite your grumbling. Despite his, no sooner than he retakes his seat next to you does he reach for you and smile contentedly as you lean into him without missing a beat, not forgetting to lift up the blanket for him to settle under with you.

"God, this makes me feel old." You groan, resting the glass on your blanket-covered thigh as you comfortably rest your cheek against his chest. "Sipping sweet tea on the porch hand in hand, like an old married couple."

"Shit, we already act like one." He says through an easy laugh, teasing a smile from you as the comforting rumble of his chest echoes fondly under your ear. A warm, gentle hand rubs at your shoulder as your hand comes to rest on his broad thigh, and you trace idle circles there as he tilts his face down to kiss the crown of your head. "Might as well get our practice in now, right?"

A warmth that, though foreign, proves not entirely unwelcome spreads across your chest at his words. Heat creeps up your neck to your cheeks and you try and hide your hopelessly endeared reaction behind a cloying sweet sip of ice tea, not before speaking quietly against the chilled glass rim. "I think I can live with that."