Make Me Juno - Cam

(Another little Tumblr backup. I will be adding these to a list for easier access.)
It never fails - even on stage, with the lights beaming down on him and sweat causing his hair to cling to his face, Cam still makes you feel like the only person in the room.

In a new bar, that will eventually become familiar, where the two of you will soon be regulars, he sings his heart out, his attention never straying.

Other patrons cheer him on, some heckling when his voice gets off—key. But it doesn’t faze him. A few people at the table nearby crack jokes about how he must be good with his hands, watching as he stums an acoustic version of Everlong.

At least one thing is certain - his guitar lessons weren’t going to waste. Something you know Em would be happy to know as you pull out your phone to record him.

His cheeks are flushed, rosy from the alcohol and attention, so close in color to his hair, but he’s locked in as he finishes the song. “If everything could ever feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again.”

Cam winks at you, holding the pick between his fingers as he croons the last line. “The only thing I’ll ever ask of you. You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.”

The playful flick of his voice, the way he winks at you like he’s saying something private, earns some wolf whistles and raucous laughter from the crowd.

He grins, standing to remove the guitar strap from around his neck. “Alright everyone, I’m done for the night. I think you've heard this pretty face long enough.”

You weren’t sure what you would sing when you got up there, but the way Cam’s lips curled into that crooked, knowing smirk gave you an idea. The question was – would he pick up on its meaning?

Cam takes your seat, ushering you to the front while stealing your drink and downing what was left of it. “You better do me proud up there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just finish my drink and order me some fries when I’m done.”

That was always the deal – he got whatever swill they called the drink of the night, and you got a free appetizer.

Groans ripple through the bar when the opening notes of a pop song play over the speakers.

“Hey! Shut up, they’re trying to sing.” Cam tosses pretzels at the hecklers with one hand, shoving another into his mouth with the other—ever the supportive menace.

Then you start,

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing. Oh yeah, you just get it”

It takes half a verse for Cam to lean back in his chair, mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. You see the exact moment it clicks.

He mouths the word, “Juno?”

Someone at the nearby table leans towards him, swirling the alcohol in their glass as they inch closer to him, their arm brushing against his. A Cheshire grin on their lips like they’re in on a joke he isn’t. They whisper something, and Cam’s easygoing smirk falters, his eyes widen a fraction. His fingers tighten slightly around your glass as the person presses a hand to Cam’s forearm and squeezes as their gaze flicks to you.

Oh.

That touch and Cam’s reaction send a spark of something hot and possessive curling in your gut.

You try to push it down, ignore it as you nearly fumble a verse.

“Adore me, hold me, and explore me.”

The next line comes out just a little slower, a little more deliberate as Cam’s eyes lock with yours.

“I’m so fucking horny.”

A chorus of whoops and whistles erupts from the crowd. A few people laugh, some murmuring, and the same guy who whispered to Cam smacks his arm, shaking his head like “Damn, bro.”

You must give credit where credit is due. Cam doesn’t fully choke.

Instead, he stands, grabs the basket of nachos from the nearby table, and unceremoniously dumps them on the guy’s head.

“Dude, what the hell?!”

Cam ignores him, marching towards you his steps full of determination as he grabs you by the wrist and straight off the stage.

“What- Cam wait. What the hell are you doing?” you laugh, stumbling slightly as he practically drags you to the exit.

He doesn’t stop until you're outside, where the wind is chilled and erases the heat of the bar, the noise and music fading behind you. Only then does he turn, glaring at you with the kind of exasperation that’s barely covering up something else.

He presses a finger to your forehead, pushing you back.

“You cannot sing about that!”

You can’t help but feign ignorance. “Sing about what?”

 Cam makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, tapping his foot along the sideway, and runs a hand down his face. “Oh, don’t you dare act like you don’t know. You can’t sing about… that. And look like-“ Cam motions to you, grabbing you by the shoulders to turn you around and then towards him once more. “That! In a room full of people. Drunk people./”

His overreaction makes it hard to bite back a smirk as you tilt your head. “Then where am I supposed to sing about it?”

Cam opens his mouth. Closes it and then rubs the back of his neck, visibly flustered.

“… You could’ve just sung it to me. At home,” he mutters, his eyes scanning the blinking Open sign on the glass window leading into the bar.

“Oh.”

Cherry red, you think. Noticing how that one word has made his ears blossom with color. He clears his throat, grabbing your fingers instead of your wrist this time.

“C’mon. I promised you fries.”

You follow lips pulled into a grin as your eyes trace his back as he walks a step ahead of you – still holding your hand, head tipped down, chewing his lip.

The sound of your footsteps on the damp sidewalk nearly keeps you from hearing what he mutters under his breath.

Something about “being bred.”

A sharp nervous laugh slips out of him as he bites his thumb, clearly spiraling.

Then he swipes his hand down again and sighs, glancing at you cautiously.

“Sooo.” His voice is almost too casual. “What were you, uh… y’know. Thinking. When you chose that song?”