gay one shots | ✔️

shot twenty two: any regret? (allen x lucien au)

a/n: this is separate from the two part shot that was shots 18 and 19. enjoy my crappy writing

"You burnt the fucking cookies? How does one burn cookies?" Lucien laughed at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Perhaps I was getting my work done because I actually have a job, Lu," I teased, and he grinned sadistically.

"Low blow, Ginsey—"

"Yeah, just like the one I gave your mum yesterday!" I was on a roll of bad comebacks. He giggled and facepalmed.

"Just help me get these cookies out of here, you little shit."

My face dropped slightly. "Don't call me little shit."

"Oh, I'll call you whatever I want," he giggled again. "You're my little shit," he said, coming over and wrapping his arms around my waist. I swallowed, bad memories and images burned into the backs of my eyelids flashed before me as I buried my face in his chest.

"Please, Lu, don't call me that... it... my father called me that when he..." I sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault, Al," he murmured, touching my face lightly, his fingers trailing along the crevices in my cheekbones, barely making contact with my skin, sending shivers racing up and down my back.

"Let me help you clean up the burnt cookies," I offer, and he takes my hand, shaking his head.

"I'll clean it up, don't worry," his smile promises mystery, but also reality and a genuine promise.

I sigh. "Okay, I trust you." But I don't know why. Lu hasn't always been the best with cleaning up. In fact, he's terrible. He couldn't clean up for his life, but somehow there's something that tells me I should trust him with this one. Even though I know he'll probably make a bigger mess trying.

I just hope he doesn't surprise me. I hate surprises. That's why I hated waiting for my acceptance letters for school; especially the one with Columbia. At least now that I completed four years there for grad, I have a degree in literature that I can either write with or teach with. Currently, I'm doing the former, as the latter involves too much human interaction. I'm not only a journalist, but an author too—I've written a kid's book, two mysteries, and a romance novel so far. On top of that, I work at the New York Times as a head columnist for book recommendations.

And Lu? He just free-lances it. He'd just been fired from the library for being too eccentric, and before that from a restraunt for messing up orders on purpose, and before that from another library for not doing his job. I thought he'd just about had it with libraries and restaurants, but he'd just applied for a job at another one—his job?—a book filer.

But I needed to stop thinking about anything at all because the obvious was being ignored. Lu has reminded me of my father, and it wasn't such a great memory. He'd called me what my father had called me when I was just thirteen. I went into the bathroom and tried to subdue my tears, but I couldn't.

I was only trying to help my mum. She only wanted to talk to me. Wasn't a mother entitled to talk to her son? Didn't she have the right? Father certainly didn't think so. That's why he would hit me and call me names every time I did so. Sometimes, even his belt would get involved.

I cringed in the mirror at my red eyes and swallowed. I didn't look so good. Too soon, I heard Lu's tapping on the door, his beautiful voice calling my name.

When I didn't reply, he called again. He was probably worried that I hurt myself. I bit my lip and told my brain that that was not a good option while I grasped my forearm and rubbed at my scars.

"I'm coming, Lu. I'll be there in a moment."

"Okay," he hesitated. "I love you."

My heart did a flip even though it wasn't the first time he'd told me in the three years we'd been dating and the two that we've roomed in an apartment for.

"I love you too," I responded, and washed my face again, towel drying my hands and face afterwards.

I studied my reflection in the mirror and bit my lip. I didn't know how Lu had even liked me, let alone fallen in love with me. He was so beautiful, and I was just so... just ew. Yeah. Ew and ugly and stupid were the only words I could come up with to describe myself.

After running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath and came out of the bathroom. I looked at the clock. It'd been almost twenty-five minutes since I went into the bathroom. That's probably why Lu was so concerned. I swallowed.

"Lu?"

No reply. "Lu?!"

"Yeah?" He yelled back, his voice shaking. He was in the storage room—a slim space meant only to store things in, so that's what we used it for. But sometimes Lu would hide in it when he was crying or panicking about something. What was he panicking about though?

"Are you okay?!"

"I could ask you the same thing, Al!"

I grimaced. He was right. If he was being his normal witty self right now, he wasn't panicking. Was he trying to find something? Maybe? I'm not quite sure. I walked into the kitchen, and surprisingly, it was all clean again. I inspected the oven: clean. It was clean. I was shocked to say the very least. He'd never been able to clean, let alone clean up a mess made of burnt cookies—not that we've ever burnt cookies before. At all. Like we didn't burn them every weekend and resort to store bought. Never. How could you assume such a thing?!

I leant against the door to the kitchen and admired the cleanliness of it all. It was almost pristine. But my calm mood was spoiled when I felt warm breath on my neck, and arms wrap around my waist, a chin on my shoulder. I whipped around just to stare into Lucien's gorgeous eyes, which were playing tricks on me again; they gleamed without malice in the dim light emitted by the kitchen light.

"Lu!" I scolded, but he only giggled.

"You're so cute when you're frightened. I'm sorry..." he bit his lip and his hand came up to push some stray hairs behind my ear.

"I don't think so," I smiled a little. I blushed and rolled my eyes, but held my resolve otherwise steadily. "Fight me," I said, trying my best to keep a straight face.

I said 'fight me' way too often and without any reason. He would always oblige, just chase me around and trap me in a corner. Usually, we ended up either making out or making food. Now I had a reason to challenge him, but I knew even if he did 'fight me' I would never win.

Lucien smirked. "I'm starting to think you just like me pinning you up against things, darling."

My cheeks were bright red, and his smirk widened. There wasn't a possible answer to this anyway. So I didn't answer, I just admired him smirking deviously. He made a manoeuvre so that he was pinning me against the wall, and his hand came up to cup my cheek, his eyes lingering on my lips before closing the gap between our mouths.

His lips moved against mine and mine responded, slowly his tongue slipped into my mouth. I kissed back, doing the same, my hands coming up around his neck. I felt him smirk as I gasped; his hands had moved from their position on the wall to my hips, slowly moving upwards along my torso. One of my hands found his hair as we kissed more fervently, our mouths moving faster.

He slowly disconnected our lips but drew me closer to himself, one of the more tender moments that were growing on us. His lips were aligned with my ear, and his breath on my neck made me close my eyes and hug him closer. And he whispered something that I wasn't expecting but knew the answer to even before he'd asked.

And after he'd whispered it into my ear, he drew his head back to look me in the eyes, his blue orbs filled with passion, admiration and just unrefined love.

"Al?" He'd whispered. "Will you marry me?"