WHO: Lyra & Avery, then Patrick, and later Jem WHEN/WHAT: St Patrick's day, baby! WHERE: Avery and Lyra's place, then the parade route, WARNINGS: Some sexytimes (not with Patrick) and then excessive drinking (yes with Patrick)
Lyra rarely got out of bed before she absolutely had to, especially now she lived with Avery; no one in their right mind was ever gonna describe her husband as a morning person. Together they ran masterclasses at milking every last moment in bed, sleeping or— not sleeping, but some days dawned and she couldn’t wait to get moving. St Patrick’s Day started that way, with light creeping in through Avery’s curtains, Lyra waking up straight away, grinning in her pillow.
"Baaabe, you awake?" She whispered at Avery’s back, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him, his eyes closed but maybe a flicker of awareness across his face. “Avery,” she whispered again, and leaned in to kiss his bare shoulder, which summoned a grunt of a ‘I’m sleeping’ in return. She considered pushing it, maybe nipping his shoulder while she slid in behind him, but… no, she’d let him rest. Tuck his shoulder in and everything. She wanted him to come find her after work so they could party together, so maybe she shouldn’t wake him and tire him out early.
Lyra grinned and bit her bottom lip. Maybe.
She’d put some coffee on first, anyway. Be a good wife, cept with none of that patriarchal baggage bullshit that phrase usually hauled along with it.
Wiggling carefully out from under the covers, she had to crawl down to the foot of the bed to get out, since she slept between him and the wall and she didn’t wanna wake him by scrambling over him. It did mean she had to be extra careful not to stub her toe on her toolbox at the foot of the bed, the only place it really fit since Avery's industrial looking shelves were already full of his stuff before she moved in, but after accidentally kicking it five (maybe six) times she was starting to remember it lived there, even first thing in the morning. She grabbed some underwear from a bag of clothes she hadn’t unpacked yet and a hoodie from the floor and kicked yesterday's jeans out of the path to the door and slightly more toward her toolbox-bag corner.
They hadn't really worked out how to fit in his room together, but it was cool; constantly dodging round each other's stuff wasn't like, a hardship or anything. They fit into his bed great, and that was the main thing right now. Anyway, Lyra had always lived somewhere small and crowded, and his room was still a little bigger than her old room, and the fact that she wasn’t constantly surrounded by grandmas who thought she was recklessly stupid or moms who thought she was a miracle or three years olds that… oh, there was nothing Jemma had done wrong, really, she was just such a three year old sometimes – anyway those things considered, getting some space from her family more than made up for the cramped conditions. And she liked being in this room, surrounded by him and his passions, liked coming home to him, liked hanging out with Netflix or video games or whatever they ended up doing while outside everything was icy. Yeah maybe it felt a little weird that all the stuff that’d been up on her walls was sitting in a box, but it didn’t matter; the bright side outshone everything else. She was feeling too optimistic and enjoying life too much to let it be any other way.
Outside his room – or, their room, she was working on thinking of it like that – the rest of the apartment was a different story; Armaan was kinda a neat freak. Jocelyn was one of those, out of necessity to balance out Jem's chaos, and she’d tried to train it into Lyra as best she could Personally, Lyra thought she was pretty well trained, but she’d been kinda hoping she could chill out a bit more when it came to living with people her own age. She didn’t mind mess, like, so long as nothing was growing or stinking or dangerous, clutter was fine, right? Clutter was interesting.
But for now she was still actively trying to create a good impression for Armaan, and she picked up a few of last night's plates and empty cans of drink from Avery’s desk (their desk? Nah, the desk was all his, covered in his stuff, his work – but to be fair some of those plates were hers) on her way out to the kitchen. Armaan was still asleep too, so she just ditched them in the sink with a splash of water instead of risking waking him by crashing about with dishes, and started on a pot of coffee for all of them. Maybe she was gonna make hers Irish, in honor of the day.
Actually yeah, YOLO, she was gonna make hers Irish, and send a morning snapchat out to everyone about it, a St Patrick’s day filter over everything, and follow it up with an exited message that delighted in the fact that there was a snapchat filter in honor of her father. Like, it was the coolest thing in the world.
Her thumb stopped, hovering over Armaan’s name on her screen, but she had to skip him this time, and just send it to Avery and Rosario, Patrick and Thalia, Addy and Iestyn and Henry. Dampening her excitement, just a little bit, was a touch of guilt; cus she hadn’t told Armaan who her dad was when he’d told her about his.
One of the problems with guilt was that it was kinda magnetic. The twinge over Armaan summoned up a relative; and then she was feeling crap all over again for telling Avery who Rosario’s dad was, because she shouldnt’ve, whatever justification she’d used at the time and however okay she and Rosario were ‘bout it now, she shouldn’t’ve done that.
Beyond those twangs was another thought that kept cropping up, one that was really uncomfortable to live with: that she was the one who wound up with the good dad. That Rosario got Apollo and Armaan got Varaha and they’d both knocked up teenagers and disappeared, and it was a war between them for the title of Creepiest Fuck of the Century: Armaan’s dad had ditched Armaan’s mom when she turned eighteen which just said a whole lot about what he wanted in a woman, ie, that she was a child. Ugh. But then, Armaan’s dad pissed off forever, and Rosario’s dad refused to piss off and now owned their apartment building.
She was so lucky with Patrick, who adored her, who seemed genuinely gutted that he’d missed her childhood, who was sweet and funny and gave a shit about Rosario and Avery just because they were important to her, who threatened to kick Apollo’s ass to keep them safe. Lyra didn’t know how to say to Armaan ‘oh yeah, my dad’s immortal too, but actually he’s awesome.’ Like, it was true, but there wasn't no way to say it that didn’t sound like gloating.
Though that wasn't the only reason she hadn’t said anything. The other was caution, cuz lately Lyra, who wasn’t usually cautious, couldn’t help thinking that if she’d cooled her jets when it came to telling Jem about Patrick, then maybe Jem wouldn’t be focussing on all the things she could do as a saint’s kid while forgetting bout all the things she did just as Lyra. Like, maybe her mom would see the work she was doing with Will as something that took skill and hard work and care, that it weren’t just a job that was noteworthy cuz Jesus did it too. Maybe she was a little too hung up on stuff with her mom to feel like telling anyone else about her dad was a good idea right now. It was just… once people knew, they couldn’t un-know, and who knew how he was gonna be, really?
But today of all days was not the day she wanted to get hung up about it, or ‘bout anything. Today she was joining with millions of other people to celebrate her said awesome dad, an idea that was so unbelievably cool she’d been buzzing with it for weeks. This secret she had; that she was celebrating St Patrick’s day with Saint Patrick – was like one of the coolest secrets she ever had. It made her feel like a celebrity undercover, it made her feel important, and totally unique, and so excited that the more she thought about it, the more impossible it became to hang out alone in the kitchen with her excitement. This feeling needed to be shared, she needed to do something with this energy.
Lyra threw back the last of her Irish coffee, slipped back into their bedroom, and stripped off her hoodie before crawling in with Avery. “Top o’ the mornin’, bae,” she said, giggle in her voice as she leaned down to murmur in his ear, lips pressed softly against the side of his neck as she stirred him awake. "Quickie before work?"
Lyra sure was pretty alert for this early in the morning. Avery yawned and cracked an eye to look at her and her obscenely perky face. Was it that day already? Oh yeah, he’d promised to get his work done as fast as he could today. Surely everybody wanted to get out early today. Nobody wanted to miss the parade.
Everything had been work the last week, and he felt a little bad for ignoring Lyra, but it was a new job, and he had to show everyone how committed he was, willing to pull his weight in the newsroom. It meant that he hadn’t really had a chance to clear any space for Lyra yet, but he would, he definitely would, soon as he had a minute.
“Why’re you so awake?” he asked, his voice croaky with sleep, rolling towards her. Maybe he could manage a quickie, if Lyra wanted to do most of the work anyway.
“Why wouldn’t I be awake?” she grinned back, wiggling excitedly closer and tugging the sheet away from where it was trying to keep them apart. “Today’s like Christmas, but greener— boozier,” she laughed, and pushed herself close to kiss his mouth, melting against him, hand sliding down between his legs to stroke him awake. “Can’t wait to see what happens today, can you?”
Avery grunted softly as Lyra touched him, and it didn’t take much for his body to respond to her. “I dunno. I got work, and then there’s the parade… not a heap like Christmas…” He wasn’t that in touch with his Irish heritage that St Patrick’s Day was a big deal to him, but it was a big deal to Lyra, so for her sake he hoped it was better than the last Christmas he’d had by a lot.
He kissed her kind of lazily, still feeling recumbent, and shifted properly onto his back so Lyra could straddle his hips. Morning sex was something he found to be a decent bonus to having to share his bed all the time now.
"Jeez, pedantic much?" she teased, but his pedantry wasn't going to stop her shedding her underwear and climbing on top of him, or deepening his lazy kisses into something more passionate, fuelled by the Irish coffee on her tongue and how good and warm and hard he felt as she rolled her hips against him.
Not that he was wrong 'bout how it wasn't a lot like Christmas, she supposed, as she reached over to his drawers for a condom. The whole reason for the season was like, commemorating the day her father kinda, y'know, died? But Lyra wasn't thinking bout it like that (especially while dealing with condoms), she was just equating it with the kind of excitement you got when something cool was gonna happen but you weren't sure what. Maybe it was more like the thrill just before you stepped on stage, not that she'd ever got the main role in school plays (theatre kids were cliquey) but she sure as shit felt like she was in a starring role in Avery's bed this morning. Maybe his body was the stage. How cheesy was that? Whatever, everything felt so good.
"Okay you're right," she whispered, just as she slid down onto his cock, with a low sigh of deep satisfaction. "Not like Christmas. Better– Aah,' her breath caught, and she leaned over him, face so close to his as she started to move, smile devillish. "Think of me while you're hard at work, yeah?" She grinned, feeling particularly pleased ‘bout that bit of double entendre.
Avery rolled his hips up to meet hers, biting his lip for a moment as Lyra breathed her words to him. “Babe-” he groaned in reply, eyes falling half-closed as he lost himself in her movements. “Think of you all day anyway.”
Another vocal sigh of pleasure fell from her lips, as much from getting off on what he said as how deep she could take him in this position; both felt so good. This was a fantastic way to start a morning, watching his enjoyment spread over his body as she could feel hers growing with each push of her hips. She moved languidly at first, relishing the feeling as she sat back, but she'd said quickie, hadn't she, so she was soon moving faster, till his hands were gripping her hips, desperate for her not to stop, and she was biting her lips together to remind herself not to be loud. There was some city noise from outside to soak up their sounds a little but the apartment walls were still thin, the others who shared these walls didn't need to know how great her life was, even though it was really great.
Like, really really great.
She collapsed down beside him afterwards, rolling onto her back to catch her breath, one hand still slung across his heaving stomach as he did the same. "Shit yeah," she said, grinning up at his ceiling for a longish moment before rolling her head toward him. "Y'better move,” she stretched out comfortably, basking in the afterglow and burrowing her head back into the pillow. “Or you ain't gonna have time for coffee before work. Up up up."
Avery smirked. “Already gotten up,” he said with a self-satisfied brow lift, and he rolled over to kiss her before he swung his legs off the bed. “But I could go again.” Fuck, being with Lyra was great. He hadn’t known that morning sex was something missing from his life until now. And if she wanted a hardcore St Patty’s Day, then she should have it, and probably by the time he found her later she’d be seeing leprechauns or some shit with her dad. That’d be something.
In the meantime, shower first, then coffee, then off to work to try and concentrate when half the city was out getting tanked by lunchtime, and getting to watch an epic parade. He might have to go interview someone close to the parade route and “work from home” for the afternoon. Worth it.
Lyra made herself another cup of coffee while he was in the shower, popped some toast for breakfast, and carried it plateless back into the bedroom to eat it while she got dressed. Of course in green; shamrocks round her neck, glittery emerald eyeshadow, her shirt was one she’d dug out of an op shop that said ‘Lucky! Your text Here and Here’ which had obviously been terribly unlucky for the person who bought it online, but was absolutely great for her. She had the classic top hat too, cuz she looked damn cute in it, and tight orange shorts over ripped green tights.
She started making her way up to Manhattan after Avery’d left for work, excitement only building at everyone she saw that was obviously heading there for the same reason. It did feel awesome, dressed to the same theme as everyone else, outdoing some people and being amazed by others, gushing on the subway at the woman who’d shaved a shamrock into her buzzcut, getting a selfie with the boys dressed as rainbows, high fiving several leprechauns and two guys dressed as beer bottles, and when the train made an unexpected stop for twenty minutes she wound up helping a couple of kids paint their faces with the rainbow-boys paint before the train finally let her out near the bar she was meeting Patrick.
Well before the parade was due to start, Gillooly's was packed, just like the street outside was packed, just like the subway had been packed. For some people, trying to find one solitary redhead in a crowded bar on St Patrick’s Day would have been a shot in the goddamn dark but Lyra didn’t even doubt herself, course she was gonna walk in (sideways, slipping in between a group of college guys) and spot him almost straight away; her dad, man of the day.
Though when she called out “hey Patrick!” he wasn’t the only person who turned around, and one of the college guys looked her up and down, grinned wide, and told her he was the Patrick she was looking for, baby.
“You really ain’t,” she said, but she said it fond, and pulled his pint glass toward her to steal a sip, and because she knew she was looking cute as she felt, he indulged her. Shit, she thought, swallowing her mouthful of free beer and passing it back to him with a wink, Rosario would hate it here. The city was so swelling with people she’d find it impossible to relax into the good time, and she’d probably have a couple things to say bout sharing strangers beer, too. Lyra loved her best friend, adored her, would do anything for her… but she definitely wasn’t wishing Rosario was here, right now.
“Real Patrick!” she called, leading fake!Patrick behind and ducking around a girl with a waterfall of green hair. “Yeah, you, best Patrick! I’m here!” She beamed, and dove into a hug.