fic exchange: Everything you know is wrong (well, almost)
Written by: evolia
Title: Everything you know is wrong (well, almost)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gen - side Marshall/Johnson
Recipient: greenet
Summary: Ian is in quest to understand exactly why and how her panties are disappearing one by one. (warnings: girl!Ian and cross-dressing)
The first pair of Ian's panties that disappear are actually one of her very favourites. She doesn't bother with a lot of frilly stuff, because it's more itchy than comfy when she's on stage, but these ones are frilly and comfy. Overall a winning combo, those boy-cut panties, and she has lost them.
It makes her rather angry, and the boys are not helpful. Not like she's going to tell them she's lost a pair of panties, no way, she wouldn't hear the end of it. But their incessant banter and innuendos, right now, are really, really not what she's looking for.
When she joined the band, she had some reservations. The idea of going through the country in a van, sleeping in it, with four boys her age being one of them (a big one). In the end, it was quite okay. She thought it would be much more awkward than it ended up being, despite seeing them naked more times than she really wanted to, and having to remind them she's not one of the guys a few times a week (last was when Singer tried to make her join in a game of strip poker. No, just no), they're snuggly and they'd probably punch anyone that looked at her wrong.
It's definitely better than being in a band with a bunch of other girls wanting to kill each other all the time.
"Get the fuck over here, Singer! Those Doritos are mine!"
But right now, yeah, not very helpful. Cash is lying halfway on top of her, elbowing her in the ribs, as he tries to get to Singer, in the back of the van and happily munching on some Doritos he stole from Cash's bag earlier.
The second Cash plants a hand on her face, she pushes him off her unceremoniously, watching him get stuck in between the driver's seat and the bench with a sick satisfied feeling.
"Get the fuck off me, ass!"
Cash groans and gets back on the bench beside her, Johnson sniggering behind the wheel. She can feel Singer approaching, hooking his chin on her shoulder. He's pouting, and giving her his best Bambi look. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Boys.
"Cranky, Anya?"
"Ian. Don't make me smack you."
"Aw, you love me."
"You're lucky I do. Now fuck off, and give Cash his Doritos back before he starts crying. I wanna sleep before we get to the venue."
::
Marshall's being quiet. He has been for a few days, and Ian wonders if he's coming down with something. She wiggles her toes on his thigh as they're all in their dressing room, Singer straightening his hair, Cash being an idiot and Johnson reading some old magazine left there before they got to the venue.
"Marsh, Marshall, Marshie, what's wrong?"
He grabs her foot (he got stealth, she didn't see it coming) and tickles the sole of it, making her writhe back quickly, few breathless chuckles before she punches his arm lightly. He leans into her, his head on her shoulder, and she blows a breath against his forehead, brushing hair off.
"Seriously, Marshall."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Hmm."
"Just tired."
::
When another pair of panties disappears, she totally blames Cash. Because, well, he's Cash, dedicated perv, and she really wouldn't put it past him. Now, how do you corner one of your bandmates to ask if they stole your underwear without sounding just a little off your axle? Especially if it's not actually him.
But, really, it's probably him. She can't believe she would just have lost two pairs of panties in one week, it's just not her. So someone's going through her stuff, and who else but Cash? After all, he's the only one who ever tried to get it on with Ian.
Granted, Cash'd been drunk, and he's handsy when he's drunk (even with the other boys). But the offer of getting Ian out of her pants and to make her sing, well, that has been more than just handsy. Ian just brushed him off and wiped his brow later on when he puked his guts out. He spent a week apologising, but she never really held it against him.
But still, it makes him her primary suspect.
::
The day her third pair of boy-cut disappears, Ian muffles a scream in her pillow, and gets out of her hotel room with only her key card, the clothes she has on her, and her credit card.
"Okay, this is enough."
She goes to Singer and Cash's door, not surprised when there's apparently no one to answer (would they be having monkey sex in the shower, she wouldn't be surprised either). Luckily, Johnson and Marshall are there when she goes to their room, and the way she plants her hands on her hips as Johnson look at her curiously leave no place for a discussion, and he knows it.
"Let's go shopping."
"What? But I was -"
He looks like he's naked, really, half hiding behind the door, so really, she doesn't want to know what he was doing. Isn't Marshall around? This is weird.
"Let's go shopping."
"Okay, okay. Just - sec."
The door closes and opens again a minute later, both boys standing in front of her. Marshall looks sorta flushed, and it makes Ian tilt her head to the side.
Johnson heaves a sigh, but pulls his hair up in a ponytail and walks out of the room. Marshall just follows silently, watching Johnson with a slight smile that makes Ian want to elbow him, only, weirdly enough, she doesn't dare. That smile, it's - oh, she doesn't want to think about that.
::
Cash called, in the middle of Ian's shopping spree, as she'd been inside a lingerie shop, and the guys had been waiting outside. They told her once she got out that Cash and Singer had been invited to some club for some party, and that they all wanted to go, apparently.
So now, Ian's watching her own reflection in her hotel room mirror, wondering if she did the right thing here. The dress she bought is short, a little bit too short for her to feel completely comfortable, but it flatters her. She's that kind of girl with good boobs but large hips, too, smallish legs, but toned. Finding something to wear that would compliment that wasn't easy. Found it in some empire-waisted (the saleswoman in the shop called it that, Ian wouldn't have known) green dress that showed her legs up to mid-thigh. She figures, if she doesn't sit down, she'll be all right.
Her hair's still a bit wild, but it's the way she wants it. Some of her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, while the rest is still blurrily cascading down her shoulders. It's in these moments she misses her girl friends from back home, because it's not like those boys can be of any help (well, maybe Singer could be, a little).
In the end, she puts on some makeup (she only has a few essentials anyway) and waits, because she's always ready before them, besides Johnson. But it's Cash who knocks on her door a second later, surprisingly enough. She doesn't question it, though, sometimes Cash will think about his outfit all day long, so will be ready when the time comes. Sometimes.
Ian slips into her Converses (because really, heels? She's not going through that kind of pain) after she opens the door, half hidden by it, but when she straightens up, his breath catches a little, and she frowns, looking down at herself.
"What?"
"Um. You, um. Nothing. Ready to go?"
She doesn't know what he means to say, but she knows that's not it. She just squares her shoulders, and nods, grabbing her purse (surprisingly, she has one of those).
"Yeah."
::
So, she suspected Cash was the panties-snatcher, but now, right now, she knows who is, and she's frozen and she kinda wants to hide and she kinda wants to confront him and she kinda wants to lock herself in a stall and bring herself off.
The panties-snatcher isn't Cash. It's Marshall, and he's wearing her underwear.
This joint Singer and Cash have brought them to? Is actually a gay club, and apparently doesn't have any girls' toilets. Yeah, go figure. So Ian had two choices. Pee herself, or go to the boys'.
And here is Marshall, his pants a little down his hips, with boxers that she doesn't think twice of at first. But the stalls are all taken so she has to wait, and well, she can't really help herself, she kinda has to stare, and - and.
That pattern, she knows it. The white spirals over the midnight blue cotton - the second pair of panties she lost. Got stolen.
A stall opens and she slides in there before he can see her, and she thumps her head against the divider wall, and she closes her eyes and it's there, the image, the soft cotton against Marshall's skin and fuck. What is he doing, wearing it? What kind of kink is that?
God. Marshall has a kink involving her underwear.
::
Later that night, she grabs Singer's hand and leads him to the dancefloor, dancing close to him and losing herself a little in the music, needing something to clear her mind. She doesn't want a stranger's hands on her body, either, and, well, Singer loves to dance and isn't as sleazy as Cash can be, so, it's all right.
They actually have a good laugh on the dancefloor, trying their best to re-enact Michael Jackson's Thriller choreography when it comes on, along with a few other people, and Ian's glad to find herself much, much more relaxed when they return to their cocktails later on. She doesn't even blush when Marshall looks at her, but she's flushed anyway.
Johnson grumbles about wanting to go sleep because he has to drive tomorrow, Cash grumbles because he's drunk, and, well, he gets grumpy when he's drunk and there's no girl to chat up, so Singer grabs him by the wrist and directs him to the bar, looking for a few ladies to talk to, cheer him up.
Johnson leaves only a little while later, tiredness claiming him, and he tells them he's going to sleep in the back of the van and wait for them to finish. So that leaves Marshall and Ian, and, well, the images flashing through her mind.
"You, um. You look great tonight, Ian."
"Thanks, Marsh."
The words are just there, on the tip of her tongue, but she can't get them out, not here, not now, not like this. She has this twisted need to understand why.
"Something wrong?"
She turns back to him, his fucking earnest face and those huge eyes, and she almost could slap him. Of course there's something wrong, he's stealing her underwear, and totally acting like nothing is happening! Ugh, men.
"Nah, I'm fine. Gonna go grab another drink."
"Well, I - um. Gonna go back to the van, too. Feel pretty tired."
Ian nods, but she doesn't miss the guilty look that crosses Marshall's features.
::
They have a photoshoot a few days later. Ian threatens the stylist with body harm when she offers her a range of dresses, because they have to play fight and be ninjas in this bloody shoot. A dress? What are they on, for fuck's sake. She ends up in one of the pair of jeans they chose for Singer, but anyway, he wears girl's clothes, so they fit quite nicely, she's comfy.
The shoot is fun enough, the guys being just the dorks they are and having a blast, with her in the middle, as always, making the most of it too. She can't not, not when Cash is holding her up in a secure hold around her waist and Johnson comes forward, all 'yataaa' and arms flailing, wanting to save her.
They end up all sending kameameas to each other, running around goofily, and Ian feels lighter than she has in a while, the images of Marshall in her underwear disappearing a little when he laughs at her, tying a scarf over his brow in a desperate attempt to look more like a ninja.
It doesn't last, though. She doesn't want to stumble onto Marshall getting dressed into his own - or her - clothes after the shoot. She's just out of the shower and the door is open and she'd thought the boys would be gone - or dressed, at least.
But it's only Marshall and he's pulling his jeans up over another pair of her underwear and, fuck, fuck. She dry-swallows, hard, and takes a step back, going back to the small bathroom and looking at her own reflection in the mirror. She can wait. She can wait until he's done.
She'll confront him, she has to, some kind of need coursing through her veins, but not now. Not like this. She doesn't know when nor how, but she just knows this isn't the right moment.
It's not the best moment to slip a hand between her legs and brings herself off, either, but she still does it.
::
"What is up with you, Anya?"
"Fuck off, don't call me that."
Ian sits back on her bed, frowning and pouting a little, arms crossed over her chest. They have a day off, they're in hotel rooms, and she's still in her PJs. Didn't plan on getting dressed, and didn't plan on seeing anyone, either.
Cash is dressed, though, and she doesn't understand why she opened the door when he knocked, but she did, and now she's got to deal with him.
"You've been biting everybody's heads off for two weeks, Ian. It's not. Usual. So what's up?"
He sits beside her, and she hates, she hates when he turns into That Cash. The friend, the one that makes her want to talk to him.
"Nothing, Cash. I'm just tired."
"Well then, sleep for 20 hours, because you're getting Johnson antsy. Johnson."
"I was planning on that, but, oh, look, you're here."
He rolls his eyes, and she doesn't even feel offended. Okay, right, so what if she's lying.
"You know what you need? You need to get laid."
Ian laughs at that, pushing at Cash's shoulder when he chuckles, making him stand and take a few steps towards the door of the room.
"Oh, get the fuck out, Colligan."
He stops at the door, hand on the handle, and turns back to her, a genuine smile on his lips.
"You do, though. I wasn't saying with me, although, you know, if you want... "
She barks with laughter, kneeling on her bed and throwing a pillow against the door as Cash slips out. She doesn't stop laughing for at least ten minutes, and then orders a bottle of red wine from room service.
::
Ian feels nicely drunk. Free and a little bit floating, maybe. Whatever Bill put in that cocktail she is drinking, well, it's amazing.
Okay, so she's on her way to being completely smashed, they're in Pete's house for some FBR party, and she lost her bandmates somewhere around an hour ago, actually, when Gabe gave her a first tequila shot. It was followed by a few others with Sisky and The Butcher, and, well, now, Bill's cocktail, and she really would like to know if the boys didn't leave without her, because, well. That'd suck a little.
The walk upstairs is pretty risky, but she manages it, and on the landing, there is Marshall. Marshall, who she falls onto, pressing him against the wall as she giggles and regains her balance. He's helping, though, warm hands around her elbows.
"Whoa."
"Hey, Marsh! I might be drunk."
"You let William give you a drink again, didn't you?"
Marshall, well, he smells nice. And Ian, well, she doesn't feel like she can resist that smell at all, so she leans closer, her nose in the crook of his neck, and she smells. He smells like lilies and like outside, like. Sand and wind.
"Come on, you wanna go and lie down, Ian?"
"I'm go-good here."
She can feel the way his voice rumbles up his throat as he talks, and that's nice, too. She can also feel the way his fingers are carding through her curls, down her back, and - and. It just feels so nice.
"Do you wear my panties because they feel nice?"
"Wh-what?"
Ian looks up, at the side of Marshall's face, and she can't see much because of his hair, but she can see his cheeks flushing and his skin is turning hot against hers.
"Oh, I know it's you who stole them. I saw you."
"Anya... "
"I-"
Oh, she's dizzy. She backs away, leaning against the opposite wall and puts a hand to her forehead, willing the room to stop spinning for a second. There are cool hands on her arms, and then she's moving, but she doesn't know where. She sits. It's cool under her, and when her eyes focus a little, she sees a sink.
"Marshall?"
"Yes. If you need to puke -"
"No, I'm a-all right. I wanna sleep."
It's a whine, long and drawn-out and probably very annoying, but there's no answer before she's pulled up again and then, then there's a bed, and, God, it feels like Heaven.
"I'm sorry, Ian."
She doesn't know why, but she snuggles in the bedcovers and forgets about it.
::
She finds her three missing pair of underwear at the top of her bag a few days later, and, somehow, she doesn't feel happy in the slightest about it. After they're checked in their hotel rooms, she doesn't waste more than five minutes to get out of hers and directly to the one Marshall is sharing with Singer.
He opens up, and she yanks him out, making him the door close behind him and he opens his mouth, looking just like a fish, as he turns to the door, and then back to her.
"Ian!"
"Whatever, Singer's in there. Marsh, you really think I want those panties back? Not that I don't like you and all, and I've probably wore your boxers more than once, but. You know."
Marshall blinks, and then bites his lip, looking down. Fuck, Ian would almost feel bad.
"It's just - you knew, so I -"
"Marsh, I don't. Well, it's not that I don't care, but I just. Want to know why, I guess."
"Alex?"
Johnson just opens his door and take a peek outside the hallway, stopping the second his eyes fall on Ian. Which is weird. And his tone of voice was really, really soft, and it's not so much like Johnson, despite what people say about him being a stealthy ninja and all. He's a drummer after all.
"Hey, Ian."
She raises an eyebrow, because she's fairly certain there's a blush creeping up his cheeks, and he's looking down now, and, fuck, okay, there is something she is missing here. She points to Marshall, and then her hotel room. She's going to understand, damn it.
"You, get in there."
::
"What the fuck just happened, Marshall?"
"Uh."
He's sitting on her bed and she can't get the look on Johnson's face out of her head. Why can't she shake the feeling that, well, something really weird just happened? Something she probably wasn't supposed to witness. She blinks, before deflating, and going to sit by Marshall's side, bringing her legs up and resting her cheek on her knees, circling her legs with her arms.
Neither of them talk for the longest time, Ian looking at Marshall looking at his fingers, picking at his nails. She sighs regularly, filling the silence in the room sometimes, until he looks up, his eyes huge and almost watery.
"Johnson and I... Well. You know."
"Seriously?"
So, she might have suspected it, but, still. Marshall admitting it, that's something new. He nods, looking down at his hands again, and Ian reaches out, grabbing one of his thumbs to make him look at her. She won't judge. It's not because she doesn't want any of them (anymore) that they can't have their fun together if they want to. To be honest, the images are pretty hot.
She closes her eyes for a second, willing said images to just disappear right now, because it's not really what she needs.
"It's... serious, or something?"
"I don't really know, Ian. That's - I didn't want to keep it a secret, or I mean, it wasn't planned. Just, we don't know where we're going, so."
"Yeah."
"And that thing about your underwear, that's another -"
Ian raises an eyebrow, but Marshall snaps his mouth shut, a deep blush creeping up his cheeks. He starts biting his lip, and Ian tugs him a little towards her.
"Come on, you started, might as well finish."
"It's just - he likes it."
It's blurted out quickly, and Ian can feel a smile starting to appear on her face and, okay, that is a little bit mean, because she really wants to laugh and now the images aren't so hot than they are ridiculous. She bites her lip, hard, trying not to laugh, and Marshall narrows his eyes at her.
"Don't you even dare."
She bursts out laughing, and doesn't stop, even when he pushes her onto the bed and starts trying to smother her with a pillow, that she pushes away when she finally calms down, her eyes glinting up into his. He's smiling.
"Sorry! Sorry. It's just - all right, okay."
"If you ever talk about it, Ian, seriously -"
"I won't. Now, maybe you should go talk to him. Tell him you told me, at least. He might be pretty worried and start trying ninja stealth tricks on my door. And lock us in, or something."
Marshall's smile grows a little, and he nods, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He doesn't say anything else, though, and leaves the room quietly.
She sleeps peacefully for the first time in weeks.
::
The next time she goes shopping, she takes Marshall with her, and this time, he doesn't wait outside when she walks in a lingerie shop. He ends up leaving the mall with four new pairs of panties, and Ian buys a new shirt in the male department of H&M.
Title: Everything you know is wrong (well, almost)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gen - side Marshall/Johnson
Recipient: greenet
Summary: Ian is in quest to understand exactly why and how her panties are disappearing one by one. (warnings: girl!Ian and cross-dressing)
The first pair of Ian's panties that disappear are actually one of her very favourites. She doesn't bother with a lot of frilly stuff, because it's more itchy than comfy when she's on stage, but these ones are frilly and comfy. Overall a winning combo, those boy-cut panties, and she has lost them.
It makes her rather angry, and the boys are not helpful. Not like she's going to tell them she's lost a pair of panties, no way, she wouldn't hear the end of it. But their incessant banter and innuendos, right now, are really, really not what she's looking for.
When she joined the band, she had some reservations. The idea of going through the country in a van, sleeping in it, with four boys her age being one of them (a big one). In the end, it was quite okay. She thought it would be much more awkward than it ended up being, despite seeing them naked more times than she really wanted to, and having to remind them she's not one of the guys a few times a week (last was when Singer tried to make her join in a game of strip poker. No, just no), they're snuggly and they'd probably punch anyone that looked at her wrong.
It's definitely better than being in a band with a bunch of other girls wanting to kill each other all the time.
"Get the fuck over here, Singer! Those Doritos are mine!"
But right now, yeah, not very helpful. Cash is lying halfway on top of her, elbowing her in the ribs, as he tries to get to Singer, in the back of the van and happily munching on some Doritos he stole from Cash's bag earlier.
The second Cash plants a hand on her face, she pushes him off her unceremoniously, watching him get stuck in between the driver's seat and the bench with a sick satisfied feeling.
"Get the fuck off me, ass!"
Cash groans and gets back on the bench beside her, Johnson sniggering behind the wheel. She can feel Singer approaching, hooking his chin on her shoulder. He's pouting, and giving her his best Bambi look. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Boys.
"Cranky, Anya?"
"Ian. Don't make me smack you."
"Aw, you love me."
"You're lucky I do. Now fuck off, and give Cash his Doritos back before he starts crying. I wanna sleep before we get to the venue."
::
Marshall's being quiet. He has been for a few days, and Ian wonders if he's coming down with something. She wiggles her toes on his thigh as they're all in their dressing room, Singer straightening his hair, Cash being an idiot and Johnson reading some old magazine left there before they got to the venue.
"Marsh, Marshall, Marshie, what's wrong?"
He grabs her foot (he got stealth, she didn't see it coming) and tickles the sole of it, making her writhe back quickly, few breathless chuckles before she punches his arm lightly. He leans into her, his head on her shoulder, and she blows a breath against his forehead, brushing hair off.
"Seriously, Marshall."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Hmm."
"Just tired."
::
When another pair of panties disappears, she totally blames Cash. Because, well, he's Cash, dedicated perv, and she really wouldn't put it past him. Now, how do you corner one of your bandmates to ask if they stole your underwear without sounding just a little off your axle? Especially if it's not actually him.
But, really, it's probably him. She can't believe she would just have lost two pairs of panties in one week, it's just not her. So someone's going through her stuff, and who else but Cash? After all, he's the only one who ever tried to get it on with Ian.
Granted, Cash'd been drunk, and he's handsy when he's drunk (even with the other boys). But the offer of getting Ian out of her pants and to make her sing, well, that has been more than just handsy. Ian just brushed him off and wiped his brow later on when he puked his guts out. He spent a week apologising, but she never really held it against him.
But still, it makes him her primary suspect.
::
The day her third pair of boy-cut disappears, Ian muffles a scream in her pillow, and gets out of her hotel room with only her key card, the clothes she has on her, and her credit card.
"Okay, this is enough."
She goes to Singer and Cash's door, not surprised when there's apparently no one to answer (would they be having monkey sex in the shower, she wouldn't be surprised either). Luckily, Johnson and Marshall are there when she goes to their room, and the way she plants her hands on her hips as Johnson look at her curiously leave no place for a discussion, and he knows it.
"Let's go shopping."
"What? But I was -"
He looks like he's naked, really, half hiding behind the door, so really, she doesn't want to know what he was doing. Isn't Marshall around? This is weird.
"Let's go shopping."
"Okay, okay. Just - sec."
The door closes and opens again a minute later, both boys standing in front of her. Marshall looks sorta flushed, and it makes Ian tilt her head to the side.
Johnson heaves a sigh, but pulls his hair up in a ponytail and walks out of the room. Marshall just follows silently, watching Johnson with a slight smile that makes Ian want to elbow him, only, weirdly enough, she doesn't dare. That smile, it's - oh, she doesn't want to think about that.
::
Cash called, in the middle of Ian's shopping spree, as she'd been inside a lingerie shop, and the guys had been waiting outside. They told her once she got out that Cash and Singer had been invited to some club for some party, and that they all wanted to go, apparently.
So now, Ian's watching her own reflection in her hotel room mirror, wondering if she did the right thing here. The dress she bought is short, a little bit too short for her to feel completely comfortable, but it flatters her. She's that kind of girl with good boobs but large hips, too, smallish legs, but toned. Finding something to wear that would compliment that wasn't easy. Found it in some empire-waisted (the saleswoman in the shop called it that, Ian wouldn't have known) green dress that showed her legs up to mid-thigh. She figures, if she doesn't sit down, she'll be all right.
Her hair's still a bit wild, but it's the way she wants it. Some of her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, while the rest is still blurrily cascading down her shoulders. It's in these moments she misses her girl friends from back home, because it's not like those boys can be of any help (well, maybe Singer could be, a little).
In the end, she puts on some makeup (she only has a few essentials anyway) and waits, because she's always ready before them, besides Johnson. But it's Cash who knocks on her door a second later, surprisingly enough. She doesn't question it, though, sometimes Cash will think about his outfit all day long, so will be ready when the time comes. Sometimes.
Ian slips into her Converses (because really, heels? She's not going through that kind of pain) after she opens the door, half hidden by it, but when she straightens up, his breath catches a little, and she frowns, looking down at herself.
"What?"
"Um. You, um. Nothing. Ready to go?"
She doesn't know what he means to say, but she knows that's not it. She just squares her shoulders, and nods, grabbing her purse (surprisingly, she has one of those).
"Yeah."
::
So, she suspected Cash was the panties-snatcher, but now, right now, she knows who is, and she's frozen and she kinda wants to hide and she kinda wants to confront him and she kinda wants to lock herself in a stall and bring herself off.
The panties-snatcher isn't Cash. It's Marshall, and he's wearing her underwear.
This joint Singer and Cash have brought them to? Is actually a gay club, and apparently doesn't have any girls' toilets. Yeah, go figure. So Ian had two choices. Pee herself, or go to the boys'.
And here is Marshall, his pants a little down his hips, with boxers that she doesn't think twice of at first. But the stalls are all taken so she has to wait, and well, she can't really help herself, she kinda has to stare, and - and.
That pattern, she knows it. The white spirals over the midnight blue cotton - the second pair of panties she lost. Got stolen.
A stall opens and she slides in there before he can see her, and she thumps her head against the divider wall, and she closes her eyes and it's there, the image, the soft cotton against Marshall's skin and fuck. What is he doing, wearing it? What kind of kink is that?
God. Marshall has a kink involving her underwear.
::
Later that night, she grabs Singer's hand and leads him to the dancefloor, dancing close to him and losing herself a little in the music, needing something to clear her mind. She doesn't want a stranger's hands on her body, either, and, well, Singer loves to dance and isn't as sleazy as Cash can be, so, it's all right.
They actually have a good laugh on the dancefloor, trying their best to re-enact Michael Jackson's Thriller choreography when it comes on, along with a few other people, and Ian's glad to find herself much, much more relaxed when they return to their cocktails later on. She doesn't even blush when Marshall looks at her, but she's flushed anyway.
Johnson grumbles about wanting to go sleep because he has to drive tomorrow, Cash grumbles because he's drunk, and, well, he gets grumpy when he's drunk and there's no girl to chat up, so Singer grabs him by the wrist and directs him to the bar, looking for a few ladies to talk to, cheer him up.
Johnson leaves only a little while later, tiredness claiming him, and he tells them he's going to sleep in the back of the van and wait for them to finish. So that leaves Marshall and Ian, and, well, the images flashing through her mind.
"You, um. You look great tonight, Ian."
"Thanks, Marsh."
The words are just there, on the tip of her tongue, but she can't get them out, not here, not now, not like this. She has this twisted need to understand why.
"Something wrong?"
She turns back to him, his fucking earnest face and those huge eyes, and she almost could slap him. Of course there's something wrong, he's stealing her underwear, and totally acting like nothing is happening! Ugh, men.
"Nah, I'm fine. Gonna go grab another drink."
"Well, I - um. Gonna go back to the van, too. Feel pretty tired."
Ian nods, but she doesn't miss the guilty look that crosses Marshall's features.
::
They have a photoshoot a few days later. Ian threatens the stylist with body harm when she offers her a range of dresses, because they have to play fight and be ninjas in this bloody shoot. A dress? What are they on, for fuck's sake. She ends up in one of the pair of jeans they chose for Singer, but anyway, he wears girl's clothes, so they fit quite nicely, she's comfy.
The shoot is fun enough, the guys being just the dorks they are and having a blast, with her in the middle, as always, making the most of it too. She can't not, not when Cash is holding her up in a secure hold around her waist and Johnson comes forward, all 'yataaa' and arms flailing, wanting to save her.
They end up all sending kameameas to each other, running around goofily, and Ian feels lighter than she has in a while, the images of Marshall in her underwear disappearing a little when he laughs at her, tying a scarf over his brow in a desperate attempt to look more like a ninja.
It doesn't last, though. She doesn't want to stumble onto Marshall getting dressed into his own - or her - clothes after the shoot. She's just out of the shower and the door is open and she'd thought the boys would be gone - or dressed, at least.
But it's only Marshall and he's pulling his jeans up over another pair of her underwear and, fuck, fuck. She dry-swallows, hard, and takes a step back, going back to the small bathroom and looking at her own reflection in the mirror. She can wait. She can wait until he's done.
She'll confront him, she has to, some kind of need coursing through her veins, but not now. Not like this. She doesn't know when nor how, but she just knows this isn't the right moment.
It's not the best moment to slip a hand between her legs and brings herself off, either, but she still does it.
::
"What is up with you, Anya?"
"Fuck off, don't call me that."
Ian sits back on her bed, frowning and pouting a little, arms crossed over her chest. They have a day off, they're in hotel rooms, and she's still in her PJs. Didn't plan on getting dressed, and didn't plan on seeing anyone, either.
Cash is dressed, though, and she doesn't understand why she opened the door when he knocked, but she did, and now she's got to deal with him.
"You've been biting everybody's heads off for two weeks, Ian. It's not. Usual. So what's up?"
He sits beside her, and she hates, she hates when he turns into That Cash. The friend, the one that makes her want to talk to him.
"Nothing, Cash. I'm just tired."
"Well then, sleep for 20 hours, because you're getting Johnson antsy. Johnson."
"I was planning on that, but, oh, look, you're here."
He rolls his eyes, and she doesn't even feel offended. Okay, right, so what if she's lying.
"You know what you need? You need to get laid."
Ian laughs at that, pushing at Cash's shoulder when he chuckles, making him stand and take a few steps towards the door of the room.
"Oh, get the fuck out, Colligan."
He stops at the door, hand on the handle, and turns back to her, a genuine smile on his lips.
"You do, though. I wasn't saying with me, although, you know, if you want... "
She barks with laughter, kneeling on her bed and throwing a pillow against the door as Cash slips out. She doesn't stop laughing for at least ten minutes, and then orders a bottle of red wine from room service.
::
Ian feels nicely drunk. Free and a little bit floating, maybe. Whatever Bill put in that cocktail she is drinking, well, it's amazing.
Okay, so she's on her way to being completely smashed, they're in Pete's house for some FBR party, and she lost her bandmates somewhere around an hour ago, actually, when Gabe gave her a first tequila shot. It was followed by a few others with Sisky and The Butcher, and, well, now, Bill's cocktail, and she really would like to know if the boys didn't leave without her, because, well. That'd suck a little.
The walk upstairs is pretty risky, but she manages it, and on the landing, there is Marshall. Marshall, who she falls onto, pressing him against the wall as she giggles and regains her balance. He's helping, though, warm hands around her elbows.
"Whoa."
"Hey, Marsh! I might be drunk."
"You let William give you a drink again, didn't you?"
Marshall, well, he smells nice. And Ian, well, she doesn't feel like she can resist that smell at all, so she leans closer, her nose in the crook of his neck, and she smells. He smells like lilies and like outside, like. Sand and wind.
"Come on, you wanna go and lie down, Ian?"
"I'm go-good here."
She can feel the way his voice rumbles up his throat as he talks, and that's nice, too. She can also feel the way his fingers are carding through her curls, down her back, and - and. It just feels so nice.
"Do you wear my panties because they feel nice?"
"Wh-what?"
Ian looks up, at the side of Marshall's face, and she can't see much because of his hair, but she can see his cheeks flushing and his skin is turning hot against hers.
"Oh, I know it's you who stole them. I saw you."
"Anya... "
"I-"
Oh, she's dizzy. She backs away, leaning against the opposite wall and puts a hand to her forehead, willing the room to stop spinning for a second. There are cool hands on her arms, and then she's moving, but she doesn't know where. She sits. It's cool under her, and when her eyes focus a little, she sees a sink.
"Marshall?"
"Yes. If you need to puke -"
"No, I'm a-all right. I wanna sleep."
It's a whine, long and drawn-out and probably very annoying, but there's no answer before she's pulled up again and then, then there's a bed, and, God, it feels like Heaven.
"I'm sorry, Ian."
She doesn't know why, but she snuggles in the bedcovers and forgets about it.
::
She finds her three missing pair of underwear at the top of her bag a few days later, and, somehow, she doesn't feel happy in the slightest about it. After they're checked in their hotel rooms, she doesn't waste more than five minutes to get out of hers and directly to the one Marshall is sharing with Singer.
He opens up, and she yanks him out, making him the door close behind him and he opens his mouth, looking just like a fish, as he turns to the door, and then back to her.
"Ian!"
"Whatever, Singer's in there. Marsh, you really think I want those panties back? Not that I don't like you and all, and I've probably wore your boxers more than once, but. You know."
Marshall blinks, and then bites his lip, looking down. Fuck, Ian would almost feel bad.
"It's just - you knew, so I -"
"Marsh, I don't. Well, it's not that I don't care, but I just. Want to know why, I guess."
"Alex?"
Johnson just opens his door and take a peek outside the hallway, stopping the second his eyes fall on Ian. Which is weird. And his tone of voice was really, really soft, and it's not so much like Johnson, despite what people say about him being a stealthy ninja and all. He's a drummer after all.
"Hey, Ian."
She raises an eyebrow, because she's fairly certain there's a blush creeping up his cheeks, and he's looking down now, and, fuck, okay, there is something she is missing here. She points to Marshall, and then her hotel room. She's going to understand, damn it.
"You, get in there."
::
"What the fuck just happened, Marshall?"
"Uh."
He's sitting on her bed and she can't get the look on Johnson's face out of her head. Why can't she shake the feeling that, well, something really weird just happened? Something she probably wasn't supposed to witness. She blinks, before deflating, and going to sit by Marshall's side, bringing her legs up and resting her cheek on her knees, circling her legs with her arms.
Neither of them talk for the longest time, Ian looking at Marshall looking at his fingers, picking at his nails. She sighs regularly, filling the silence in the room sometimes, until he looks up, his eyes huge and almost watery.
"Johnson and I... Well. You know."
"Seriously?"
So, she might have suspected it, but, still. Marshall admitting it, that's something new. He nods, looking down at his hands again, and Ian reaches out, grabbing one of his thumbs to make him look at her. She won't judge. It's not because she doesn't want any of them (anymore) that they can't have their fun together if they want to. To be honest, the images are pretty hot.
She closes her eyes for a second, willing said images to just disappear right now, because it's not really what she needs.
"It's... serious, or something?"
"I don't really know, Ian. That's - I didn't want to keep it a secret, or I mean, it wasn't planned. Just, we don't know where we're going, so."
"Yeah."
"And that thing about your underwear, that's another -"
Ian raises an eyebrow, but Marshall snaps his mouth shut, a deep blush creeping up his cheeks. He starts biting his lip, and Ian tugs him a little towards her.
"Come on, you started, might as well finish."
"It's just - he likes it."
It's blurted out quickly, and Ian can feel a smile starting to appear on her face and, okay, that is a little bit mean, because she really wants to laugh and now the images aren't so hot than they are ridiculous. She bites her lip, hard, trying not to laugh, and Marshall narrows his eyes at her.
"Don't you even dare."
She bursts out laughing, and doesn't stop, even when he pushes her onto the bed and starts trying to smother her with a pillow, that she pushes away when she finally calms down, her eyes glinting up into his. He's smiling.
"Sorry! Sorry. It's just - all right, okay."
"If you ever talk about it, Ian, seriously -"
"I won't. Now, maybe you should go talk to him. Tell him you told me, at least. He might be pretty worried and start trying ninja stealth tricks on my door. And lock us in, or something."
Marshall's smile grows a little, and he nods, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He doesn't say anything else, though, and leaves the room quietly.
She sleeps peacefully for the first time in weeks.
::
The next time she goes shopping, she takes Marshall with her, and this time, he doesn't wait outside when she walks in a lingerie shop. He ends up leaving the mall with four new pairs of panties, and Ian buys a new shirt in the male department of H&M.