Archive of Our Own

“I saw her last night,” he says, off-hand whilst sipping his coffee. 

Greg looks up at him from his phone. He knows that ‘her’ means Shiv. When Tom talks about Shiv he doesn’t say her name anymore, but the words ‘she’ and ‘her’ have become so loaded that Greg always knows who Tom’s talking about, even when he brings it up out of nowhere. ‘I spoke to her’, ‘She called me’. Tom doesn’t mention her often, but when he does it’s always when Greg least suspects it’s coming.

He’s sitting opposite Tom in his office, their spot by the window where occasionally, if Greg adjusts the seating arrangements, their knees almost touch. They’re supposed to be strategising and coming up with ideas to re-energise ATN. He’d just pitched an idea about live-callers when Tom had suddenly gone vacant and brooding, lost somewhere in his thoughts. Greg had a feeling something was off, largely because Tom hasn’t slung an insult at him or complained about the sweetness of the coffee Greg had procured for him. 

“Oh?” Greg replies politely, clearing his throat, “And how—“

“You know she thinks I fucked Naomi?” He says bitterly, looking up into Greg’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Greg blinks, momentarily chewing on his bottom lip, “I guess she heard you guys met up.”

Tom shifts onto one hip in his seat so he can drape one leg over the other with a sigh, “Well, I might have… Broadly implied that we met up.”

“Oh, I see,” Greg says. Tom was trying to make her jealous. Make more of the meeting than it was. He suddenly feels uncomfortable

“I didn’t say we fucked, Greg, I just said we met,” Tom snaps, then sighs. Moments pass before he inhales audibly and carries on, “And she heard about your little moniker for us, so… Thank you again for that.”

Tom’s tone is sharp and sarcastic and Greg can feel his hackles flaring, “Dude, it was your idea—“

“It was ironic, Greg. Now she thinks…“ he trails off, then rolls his shoulders out, “She thinks we fuck models. Together.”

Greg can feel his cheeks warming, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Tom mocks, “She basically implied I’m sleeping with half of New York.”

“Well, that’s not— I mean you haven’t—“

“Yes I know that, Greg,” Tom cuts across him, slamming his cup down on the coffee table between them and crossing his arms. Greg feels like he’s constantly making missteps in this conversation.

He was only going to point out that Tom hasn’t done anything like that. They’ve definitely had some crazy nights out, done some weird shit now and again, like paying enthusiastic drunk people to do dares, and one night they pissed over the side of the Manhattan bridge whilst Tom’s driver stood feet away holding up traffic, but nothing that would betray Tom’s marriage. Tom is super monogamous like that.

“Well, did you tell her that?” He asks, swallowing tightly.

Tom shrugs, “I don’t care, Greg, I don’t care what she thinks.” He rests his chin in his hand, staring out of the window now instead of at Greg. 

Greg knows Tom’s been conflicted about his marriage potentially coming to an end. His position on the matter changes often. They’ve had nights where Tom has bought champagne for the entire club, stood on tables and drunkenly announced his pending divorce to crowds of cheering strangers, but they’ve also had nights where Tom’s sat on curb-sides, pushing his palms into his eyes as he asks Greg over and over if he’s doing the right thing. Sometimes both things happen in the same evening.

“I kind of think…” Tom says suddenly, pausing and looking down at his hands as he chews the inside of his cheek, “I kind of think that if she already thinks that, what am I fucking doing?”

Greg watches Tom carefully and waits for him to continue. When Tom looks up at him for an opinion, Greg just shrugs, “I don’t know what you—“

“If she thinks I’m fucking models, maybe I should fuck some models, Greg,” Tom says, flatly, then seems to fill with purpose as he leans forward a little, elbows on his thighs, “Like, Jesus, you want to be disgusting so bad, why are we holding back?”

Greg hesitates, because he can see something in Tom’s eyes that seems unsure, that maybe isn’t quite convinced this is a good idea. He could potentially shoot this down right now and Tom would go quietly, but there’s something giving him pause, like maybe this could work in his favour.

Since they got back from Italy Greg has been testing the waters a little with Tom, trying to gauge his interest. They’ve gotten close to something a few times, but not quite all the way. In fact the closest Tom has ever come to cheating was the night on that bridge, but Greg has tried incredibly hard not to think about that since it happened and he isn’t about to start now.

Encouraging Tom at this juncture could create more opportunities to make him jealous. He could find himself in darkened clubs with nameless girls, watching Tom’s jealousy flare. Maybe he can get him so worked up that he finally loses it; gives in to the thing between them that’s unresolved and volatile.

Admittedly, this has been his goal for some time, and he’s going to increasingly deranged lengths to achieve it. The situation with Bridget, for instance, went reasonably well. Tom’s never demanded he walk him through the motions of his sexcapades before, certainly not in public with his lips mere inches from Greg’s. It’s encouraging, and it bolsters the part of Greg’s mind that believes the only way to get Tom to flirt with him is by winding him up and watching him go. It’s a dangerous game, but Greg can’t seem to stop playing it.

He starts nodding enthusiastically, “Dude, I’ve been like, totally saying this the entire time! You need some notches on the ol’ headboard, man.”

Tom’s nodding too, now. Greg has successfully fired him up, “It makes sense, right? Lean into the fucking narrative?”

“Literally,” Greg says, and Tom grins broadly, the one he reserves just for Greg as he leans over the coffee table between them and grabs Greg’s knees, shaking them recklessly.

“Literally, you fucking scumbag, fuck it.”

“The disgustibus is exiting the station, first stop: Victoria’s Secret,” Greg grins, amping up his enthusiasm for Tom’s benefit.

Tom winces through a smile, but high fives him anyway, and something tugs lightly at the back of Greg’s mind, questioning what he’s got himself into with this.

Invigorated by intent, Tom drags him out of the office the moment their working day is done, and Greg can’t help but admire his enthusiasm as they tumble into his car together. Though enthusiasm, he thinks, is probably the wrong word. It’s more like determination. Like he’s going to make this happen no matter what. He’s going to do this because Greg said it was a good idea.

He figured they would start off small, maybe find some girls, maybe do some drug-fuelled kissing, but it doesn’t pan out that way at all. Within hours they’re crushed up against the side of a bar where the drinks are too expensive and the vodka’s watered down.

“Do you have any condoms?” Tom asks him, too close as always, practically pressing his chest into Greg’s to speak directly into his ear. Greg feels taken aback.

“What for?” He asks like an idiot, leaning back a little and watching Tom smirk at how scandalised he sounds.

“What the fuck do you mean what for?” Tom replies, “You think I’m gonna make fucking balloon animals, Greg?”

“No…” he says weakly, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and making a show of looking inside. He knows there are none in there, all of this is perfunctory, “Oops, I’m all out.”

Tom frowns at him, “Seriously? Did you waste them? Are they lining Logan’s wine cellar right now?” he asks, making a face of abject disgust, “I hope you deleted her from your phone.”

“Ha,” Greg says, closing his wallet and pocketing it. He can’t quite believe the mileage he’s getting out of this.

“Well? Did you?” Tom asks, looking serious.

“What?”

“Delete her,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets, “Did you delete her, Greg?”

“I—“

“Give me your phone,” Tom says, all talk of condom procurement suddenly forgotten as Greg tentatively hands it over, “We don’t do girls with knock-off Burberry handbags, Greg. If we’re going to do this it should be with a better calibre of individual.”

Greg’s mind lingers on the fact Tom chose ‘individual’ in this context as he peers over the top of his phone, watching Tom scroll through his contacts.

“Who the fuck is ‘Clarice’?? Are you profiling the old peoples homes, Greg?” Tom asks, clicking on her name and deleting her.

“Fuck! No, dude, that’s my chiropractor—“

“We’ll get you another one,” Tom says, uninterested as he completely decimates Greg’s phone book, “What about tonight, do you have your little cow eyes on anyone in particular?”

Greg blinks slowly at Tom whilst he’s distracted, “Sort of.”

“Well then you better get us some condoms, Greg,” he says, slapping his phone back into his hand, “I’m not taking you to the clinic during office hours.”

Greg winces, “I—“

“‘It burns when I pee, Tom’, I won’t want to hear it, this isn’t high school.”

Greg feels affronted and makes to defend himself before he’s distracted by hands winding their way around Tom’s middle. Suddenly a stranger materialises next to them, pulling Tom in close so that they’re nose to nose. He smiles at her, hands moving to her hips, and Greg sighs, annoyed.

Tom whispers something in her ear and Greg finds himself leaning in trying to eavesdrop before Tom snaps his gaze back to Greg’s. They look at each other for a moment, something simmering in the space between them before the stranger with her hands all over Tom ruins it by starting to lead him away. Tom resists, grabbing Greg by his shirt, hand fisted in the centre of his chest, and for a second Greg thinks maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment. Tom looks at his lips, then back up into his eyes before he speaks.

“Condoms, Greg, for fucks sake,” he says before he vanishes into the crowds.

~

Things only really deteriorate from there. Since they started on this insane journey together, Tom has basically delivered on his intention to ‘lean into the fucking narrative’ by hooking up with half of New York. Through every misadventure, Greg is right at his heels, his loyal dog, making sure he makes it out alive. He’s lost count of how many one night stands he’s been privy to the beginnings of, standing awkwardly off to the sidelines whilst they wait for a car. He’d pretend to be on his phone then secretly spy on Tom, feeling like a freak. 

He’d watch the way Tom kisses with so much intensity, watch him push his conquest up against the brick wall of an alley with his hands all over them. It’s mostly women, but sometimes it’s men if Tom is feeling particularly adventurous, filled to the brim with reckless abandon and a determination to be messy. Regardless of who it is, every time Greg wishes it was him.

Tom always seems to escalate, which makes sense given the games they’ve always played with each other. Now, though, he doesn’t even need Greg making him jealous to take everything further. He’ll ramp up the stakes all on his own with a single-mindedness that can only be born of divorce and scorn for a wife he once loved.

Which is why Greg finds himself swaying next to some girl who has her arms around his neck, constantly peering around him like she’s looking for someone.

“Is that Tom Wambsgans?” She yells into his ear, and Greg just nods. It probably is. He has no idea where Tom is exactly, but he knows they came here together. “My friend hooked up with him a few weeks ago, said he was the best lay of her life…”

His heart stutters a little at this. He feels conflicted, a weird mix of curiosity and hurt. It makes him think about what sex with Tom would be like as he momentarily puts himself in the position of one of his many suitors. 

“Yeah, he gets around,” he says weakly after an awkwardly long pause, head spinning. He’s ready to go home.

“Are you as good as he is? You’re like… Little buddies, right?”

“Uh… Yeah… Something like that,” Greg replies to the latter part of what she said, his arm winding awkwardly around her waist for support more than anything else. His feet hurt and he’s a little too drunk. 

They’ve been at this for weeks now: long nights, punishing days, not enough sleep… The worst part is he’s had barely any opportunities to make Tom notice him. Women seem to flock to him like flies, and it’s only gotten worse since he built a reputation up for himself. Now that Tom’s ‘the best lay of New York’, everyone they encounter seems to think Greg handles his fuck diary.

Often he doesn’t see Tom for hours until he stumbles outside and there he is, hands down the pants of some lucky fucking stranger. This isn’t how he thought it would go at all. He figured they’d spend maybe a week chatting up girls and giggling, then fall into bed with each other and that would be that. It’s been almost a month, maybe more, Greg is losing track. Everything is terrible.

“I think I might head—“ he starts, then suddenly sets eyes on Tom, about ten feet away talking to a woman who’s at least six feet tall. Surely she’s wearing heels…

“Maybe I should head,” the girl around Greg’s neck whispers to him suggestively. He doesn’t even remember her name. He’s not sure he even asked.

“Mhmm,” he says, not listening, eyes totally on Tom. He’s offered so few opportunities to make Tom jealous lately that he tries to capitalise on every single one, “Can you maybe like, scooch this way a little?” He moves her more so that Tom can see her. What’s the point if he can’t see her?

He feels somewhat embarrassed by his current position, posing with someone for attention. He’s done this a few times, but lately it’s like Tom has tunnel vision. All he cares about is getting someone home with him. Now that Greg thinks about it, Tom hasn’t spent a night alone since all this started. Greg can’t quite believe how successful he’s been, whoring around New York at a rate of knots, but he’s grudgingly impressed that Tom is managing to maintain a degree of class around the proceedings, at least. It’s never one and done, he always puts the effort in because he clearly enjoys the process.

He buys them drinks, he flirts, he tells lame and embarrassing jokes, laughs a little too loud, he puts his hand at the smalls of their backs… Right now he’s handing this veritable supermodel a flute of champagne, glancing over his shoulder and finally catching sight of Greg.

Greg seizes the opportunity whilst he can, grabbing the girl he’s with by her face and pulling her in for a kiss. She was in the middle of saying something so it’s pretty clumsy, and their teeth immediately clack together, but Greg pushes through all of that, reinvigorated with determination to make this good. He’s been following Tom around like a neglected puppy, watching him get his dick wet each night, now it’s his turn. And it’s not all bad… Greg doesn’t mind girls, he just prefers Tom. 

It’s short-lived, however, as he’s jolted out of it by a hand on his arm, tugging him around.

“Greg, we’re leaving.” 

“Oh,” Greg says, dazed as he tries to read Tom’s expression, “Who— Like, you and me?”

Tom studies him for a moment. He looks at the beautiful woman standing next to him, then back to Greg like he’s a fucking idiot. Greg hadn’t even realised she was there. Then Tom’s face changes, his mouth shifting into an unreadable set frown that Greg hates. It usually means he’s thinking about something; plotting even. He’s momentarily captivated by the way Tom’s jaw flinches before he speaks.

“Yes,” he says, and Greg gets the distinct impression that that wasn’t part of the original plan, “You and me and—“ Tom pauses with a grimace, closing his eyes for a second to think.

“Sienna,” the woman standing next to him says, unfazed by Tom’s inability to remember her name as she looks between Greg and the girl practically hanging around his neck.

“You and me and Sienna and…” Now it’s Tom’s turn to look between them, “Whoever this lovely lady is.”

Greg scowls a little because he can sense that Tom is being rude, even if nobody else can.

“Summer,” Summer replies, and Greg feels just as awful as Tom is for a moment. Now that he’s heard her say it, he’s reminded that she’s told him about fourteen times. Then he catches up with what Tom is saying and starts to panic.

“Wait, all of us? Like— Like a fours—“

“No! God, no,” Tom says, looking at Greg with secondhand embarrassment, “Though that’s a very interesting window into your aberrant psyche, Greg.”

“No, it’s— It isn’t, man, it’s just the way that you said it—“

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, and Greg notices that he’s trailing his thumb down Sienna’s forearm before intertwining their fingers. Greg feels a hot stab of something in his stomach that must be apparent on his face as Tom grins at him, “I have a massive apartment, Greg, you can give Summer here a taste of luxury. Might be a drop better than whatever tantalising delights await you both at your latest hovel…”

Greg takes a deep breath, deciding to change tack, “That would be super great actually, Tom, we were literally just about to uhh, scope out a quiet corner, in a manner of speaking, so yeah, thanks, that’s perfect. Generous of you to let us, like… Borrow a room.”

Tom squints at him and he almost looks impressed, “Don’t be too grateful, I’ll be billing you for any semen stains my maids have to scrub out.”

Greg gives a forced laugh and follows Tom out, mimicking the way he is with Sienna with Summer as he takes her hand firmly, like he doesn’t want to lose hold.

The thing about Tom that Greg truly does envy is he seems to have a way with the people he seduces. It’s practically effortless. It isn’t what he says, because a lot of the time what he says is appalling or embarrassing or both. It’s what he does. Greg has seen it in action enough times by now. 

When Tom wants you, you know it, and Greg thinks that’s probably part of the charm. He’s different with every single person he meets, he puts up different fronts depending on what he wants, and since he started down this path of reckless debauchery Greg gets the impression he’s honed his craft when it comes to dating and sex. He really seems to understand what buttons to push, and what people really want from him.

Obviously Tom is good looking, but he’s also an incredibly attentive listener. He looks you in the eyes, watches you speak like what you’re saying is the most captivating shit he’s ever heard. He’s also an expert in small, meaningful touches, gentle presses of his fingers into your skin, or the sweep of his palms down your shoulders. And he has no concept of personal space, that much Greg has extensive experience of, but he will invade you in a way that feels breathtaking, like you never want him to leave. It’s then that Greg realises he’s been seduced by Tom many times, but never once to fruition.

Now he’s in a car heading back to Tom’s apartment to have sex with a woman, and everything feels even more terrible than before. He’s awkwardly folded himself into the back seat with Tom and Sienna, relegating Summer to the passenger seat by default. It was an excuse to press himself up against Tom’s side, just to see what would happen. Instead, he has a front row seat to Tom’s pre-fuck routine; one hand on Sienna’s thigh as he noses at her neck.

“Is that Bvlgari you’re wearing?” He asks her, and she smiles, leaning closer towards him like she can’t believe how lucky she is to be here. Greg swallows and looks out of the window, knowing he only has himself to blame for this mess.

Once they make it inside Tom’s apartment, they split off somewhat; Tom over by the window of his sprawling seating area, Greg waiting awkwardly over by the stairs. Greg’s never really had an official guided tour of Tom’s place so he has no idea where to go. He clears his throat, waiting for some sort of prompt or indication from Tom that never comes, mostly because he’s already descended on Sienna, kissing her deeply against the window pane, backlit by city lights.

Greg’s not sure what to do with himself now, a little hypnotised by what he’s seeing, but Summer is growing impatient, pulling at his hand next to him.

“Come on,” she says, but Greg doesn’t want to go, he wants to watch Tom, he suddenly feels possessed with it. He wants to see what he does with people when he’s alone with them. He wants to pick up some legitimate details so he can add them to the fantasies he thinks about when he’s all alone. His heart is racing as he tries to decide what to do. It feels weird to stay and watch, but he doesn’t want to go.

“Uhh…” he says, stalling for time, and the sound seems to catch Tom’s attention. He looks back at him over his shoulder in the low light, pausing completely as a shiver snakes it’s way down Greg’s spine.

Tom blinks at him for a moment, then switches positions, turning around so that his back is against the window now, watching Greg over Sienna’s shoulder.

“Greg, come on,” Summer whispers, “Let’s find a room and—“

“No,” Greg says a little too quickly, watching Tom’s hand trail down Sienna’s back as he noses at her neck, “I mean, uh— Shit, I can’t wait, why don’t we like… Here is good, right?"

Greg sits down on the stairs, feeling a little like an audience member in an amphitheatre, directly in Tom’s line of sight. Summer looks a bit perturbed, but goes along with it, dropping herself into Greg’s lap.

He can feel his heart lurching in his chest and it’s making him pant for extra air. This is completely new. He’s never seen this far into one of Tom’s hook-ups before but he’s completely captivated. Over Summer’s shoulder he watches Tom’s process, watches his hands glide over Sienna’s body, the slow and measured way he hitches up her fitted dress inch by inch, agonisingly slowly as they kiss. Once he’s satisfied it’s high enough he pulls her in by the small of her back, his other hand disappearing between them.

Greg closes his eyes for a second, trying to find composure. He feels wrong and right all at once, and the feeling only heightens when Summer starts to unbuckle his pants.

“What are you doing?“ he whispers urgently, watching Tom’s eyes spark at the sound of his belt buckle jingling in the darkness. Greg shrugs weakly at him, no idea what the protocol is right now, but Tom just nods, like he’s giving him permission.

Greg practically gasps with relief, then immediately moans just a little too loud when Summer’s hand works into his underwear to take him in her hand. He’s already hard and aching to be touched, this past few minutes doing more for him than Greg expected them to.

Tom just rolls his eyes at him, whispering something to Sienna as he kisses her neck, and all Greg wants is to be where she is right now. He wants to crowd Tom up against a window and feel his mouth on his neck as he tears into Greg’s pants to jerk him off. He wants to feel Tom’s hands on him, broad and firm, holding him in place. He wants to kiss him, make him come. All of it. So that’s what he thinks about.

“Oh, shit,” he whimpers, fingers curling around the stairs either side of him as he rocks into Summer’s hand. In response, Tom glares at him with such intensity that Greg immediately snaps his mouth firmly closed.

For a moment, all he can hear is a roomful of laboured breathing and occasional gasps. He’s enjoying watching Tom with Sienna more than he expected to. He figured he would be jealous, and a part of him definitely is, but another part is so turned on by how proficient Tom is at this. He’s starting to understand how he built his reputation; why eligible singles across New York practically fall at his feet.

The tempo in the room is broken when Sienna moans, and Greg realises with a bolt of want that Tom’s fingers are inside her now, watching with rapt interest as she slides her leg slowly up Tom’s thigh. She has an arm around Tom’s neck, pressed fully in against him as she rocks her hips against his hand.

“Do you like that? Have you thought about this all night?” Tom asks her with more volume than is necessary, eyes over her shoulder and looking at Greg, who finds himself nodding slowly.

Tom quirks an eyebrow at him, eyes dark as his free arm winds around Sienna’s waist, pulling her in even closer.

“Did you think about me on the ride over here? About what you wanted me to do to you?”

Greg exhales a quiet, broken sound as Summer squeezes him in her hand and jerks him even faster, nodding as he presses his face into her neck, eyes still on Tom.

“Will you think about this after today? Late at night when you’re alone?”

Greg licks his lips. He’s never seen Tom’s eyes look like this before. He looks possessed and possessive, pressing kisses to Sienna’s neck like a reward for every reply that Greg can’t even hear. He nods again, slower this time. He wants Tom to know it’s purposeful. He wants him to savour it.

“Do you want me inside you? Is that it?” Tom asks, leaning forward just a little so that Greg can better see his face, waiting for his reply.

Greg’s breathing hard as he exhales a quiet ‘yes’, head starting to spin as Summer shifts in closer to him, exhaling pretty whines right into his ear even though all he’s doing is sitting here. He finds himself winding his arms around her, suddenly craving closeness.

He inhales her fragrance and it’s lovely, but it’s not like Tom’s. Tom’s scent lingers in a room because he wears far too much cologne, but it’s expensive so it smells really fucking good. Greg’s lost in his thoughts again, suddenly imagining the both of them in his bed at home, the sheets still smelling of Tom long after he’s gone. It’s a stupid thing to think about at a time like this but for some reason it’s plaguing him.

Suddenly his lust and desperation melts into something a little more painful, because this game they play is punishing and never ending. The lengths they both go to seem to get longer every round. They dance around each other always without ever doing anything, just slowly driving each other mad like it’s enough when it never, ever will be. 

He shakes his head, wanting to give himself over entirely to how much he wants this, how much he wants Tom, how much he really fucking likes him. All he can think about is letting him know.

“You’re so pretty,” Greg gasps, because it’s the best he can do right now, the least revealing thing to say, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before tearing them open again, Tom’s gaze is intense and unrelenting as they lock eyes. They both know Greg is speaking to him now, “You’re so pretty, you’re so pretty, oh fuck, you’re so pretty, I really mean it...”

Tom smiles at him, licking his lips as Sienna trails her mouth over his cheek, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling tight, making him gasp and making Greg angry. It should be me, he thinks. It should be me.

“I want you to come for me,” Tom says, his teeth worrying the curve of Sienna’s shoulder, blinking slowly at Greg as he watches him writhe and pant on the stairs, flushed and desperate, “Now…”

So Greg does, practically choking through it as he spills all over his shirt, eyes locked on Tom’s even as his vision starts to fray at the edges. Tom’s staring right back, breathing heavily as Greg comes down from it, the dampness of his release seeping through his clothes to his stomach.

“Fuck,” he says, swallowing dryly, hardly even noticing that Summer has vacated his lap, looking down at him with a thinly veiled look of confusion, “Oh, uh—“

“Come on,” she says, grabbing him by the arm, “You’re being weird.”

“How am I being weird?” Greg asks, but gets up anyway, looking over his shoulder as they ascend the stairs to find a room. Behind him, he watches Tom being led over to his couch, listens to them giggling as Sienna pulls him down on top of her, and he feels something flare up in his chest again.

“That’s how,” Summer says, damning in her assessment as they find a room for the night.

~

Greg awakes half-dressed, sticky, and with a pounding head, completely alone. He surveys the room he finds himself in, sparsely decorated, floor to ceiling windows, shades he left open. It takes him a minute to realise where he is, another few minutes to realise that at the foot of the bed is a neatly folded pile of clean clothes.

He gives them a wide berth as he heads for the shower, then once he’s clean he stares at them as he brushes his teeth with the disposable supplies that stock the en-suite. Staying at Tom’s is often like staying at a hotel, so Greg takes advantage of the facilities whenever he’s afforded the luxury.

Did Tom leave him clean clothes? Was it his maid? Then he suddenly remembers Summer, did she leave? When did that even happen?

He dresses and pads softly down the stairs, arms wound around his chest as he squints through the apartment. He’s partially afraid of what he might walk in on, but with relief he finds Tom alone in his kitchen, cooking them breakfast.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his face. He has a feeling there’s something he’s not thinking about. Something big. 

“Morning,” Tom looks fresh and content, and Greg wonders if he’s possibly awoken in an alternative universe, “You look very pretty, Gregory,” he says, pointedly, and Greg remembers all in one huge rush what happened last night. For one agonising moment he’s transported back to his delirious chanting on Tom’s stairs, feeling himself go red as he feigns ignorance.

“Oh. Thank you, that’s— This was very nice of you,” he says, clearing his throat as he indicates his gifted t-shirt, pretending that’s what Tom is referring to, “Where’d everybody go?”

“They left, Greg. Obviously,” Tom says, “Your little girlfriend snuck out on you.”

“Yeah I— I noticed that.”

Tom shrugs, then shakes his head, “You know she asked me for a job before she went?”

Greg wrinkles his nose, “Is that like, a euphemism?”

Tom makes a face of disgust, “No, I’m just saying she had ulterior motives. This is what you get for hooking up with someone named after a fucking season, Greg. Whatever next? Winter?”

“Seasons make nice names, actually,” Greg replies weakly, thinking fast as he tries to formulate a better comeback, “Well what about yours, did she ditch you, too?”

Tom smirks, pulling a business card from his pocket with a lipstick kiss pressed into it. He sets it down onto the counter and slides it across to Greg so he can see it in all of its glory.

Greg swallows, perching himself on a stool at Tom’s kitchen island, “Guess you’re gonna call her, then. Looked like you had a good time together.”

Tom looks at him then, full of heat, and Greg can feel his entire world zeroing down. He guesses that Tom didn’t expect him to bring it up so directly, and yet here he is, confronted by it in his kitchen.

“I don’t think so,” Tom says quietly, practically restarting time as he goes back to his stove, nudging bacon around in a skillet.

“Oh,” Greg says, feeling a renewed faith blossoming in his chest, watching the muscles of Tom’s shoulders flex beneath his shirt as he cooks, “Cool.”

Tom hums, turning off the heat and turning back to Greg. They both speak at once.

“Maybe we ought to ease off the gas pedal—“

“Maybe we should try doing that again—“

Tom stops, standing up a little straighter as he makes a face, “Ease off the gas pedal? Am I a fucking vehicle to you, Greg?”

“No, no I meant, like… Maybe we can… Stop for a bit?” He’s being very bold right now. He knows that Tom has gotten into a routine of having different women and men falling in love with him every night of the week, but after last night Greg was kind of hoping they could go back to doing things just the two of them.

He thought about it most of the night, actually, lost deep in his head as he struggled through one of the most half-hearted fucks had. He supposes he isn’t that surprised to find Summer long gone the moment he woke up, he thinks she could probably tell his mind was somewhere else.

“Stop,” Tom repeats flatly, palms flat on the counter as he looks over at Greg, “You want to stop.”

“I mean— yeah, like… I was mostly thinking we could—“

“Was last night not good for you, Greg?”

Greg blinks, not sure which part Tom is referring to, because one part was definitely better than all the rest.

“No, it— Obviously there were elements I enjoyed more than others, but—“ Tom looks incensed and Greg cannot figure out why as he starts to flounder, “Tom this is— Like I just thought it would be nicer—“

“No, no. I get it, Greg. Don’t worry about it. The vehicle is in park,” he says, maddeningly insane and looking like he’s about to combust.

“The vehicle is in park?” Greg asks, incredulous, “What does that even mean?”

Tom shrugs, refusing to look at him as he clatters around his kitchen, clearly pissed off, “You get what you want.”

Greg takes a deep breath in and sighs it out, trying to figure out how he managed to fuck this up so quickly, “I don’t think I do, though? I think maybe you’ve, like… Misunderstood? Either wilfully or un-wilfully, like maybe you didn’t—“

“Greg,” Tom says, slamming a plate down in front of him loaded with breakfast items, thrown onto the plate in a very un-Tom-like fashion, “Just shut up and eat your breakfast. I can do this without you, it’s fine.”

“Oh,” Greg says, suddenly not remotely hungry. In fact, he feels quite sick. He’s starting to see where he may have gone wrong here, but now it feels too late to fix. He feels stupid as he watches Tom march out of the room to sulk. 

He never was very good at any of this. He’s not very practised or comfortable with being explicit; he’s always plagued with so much doubt. There’s a permanent voice in his head telling him that he’s got this wrong, that he’s about to embarrass himself, that he needs to shut up. In an ideal world, he would march right after Tom and tell him he’s got the wrong idea, and that he wants him all for himself, just him. That’s what he meant. But he can’t do that, not now that his brain has latched onto ‘I can do this without you’. His only hope is that Tom comes to him first.

Instead what he gets is the silent treatment. Tom ushers him out after an hour or isolated brooding, fully suited up and telling him he has places to be. After that, they barely speak for a week.

It’s probably the most frustrating week of Greg’s life, wondering what Tom’s up to every night. They see each other at work but it’s strictly professional, and Greg’s steadily starting to lose his mind. He sends texts then unsends them, he silently leaves coffee on Tom’s desk, he leaves post-it notes on his laptop that say ‘call me’ or ‘can we catch up?’, but Tom barely acknowledges his existence. 

Greg knows he’s being punished and he has no idea how to fix it until Tom randomly flies into his office one evening, acting like it never happened. Such is his maddening way.

“Hey, Greg,” he says, with Tom-typical emphasis on his name, “Have disappointing sex with any seasons lately?”

Greg blinks up at him, trying to catch up to what’s going on. This is a very traditional Tom tactic. It’s as if he gets bored with being annoyed, so he just forgets it and moves on. He also seems to conveniently forget that Greg isn’t a fucking psychic and has no idea what’s going on in his mind when he gets like this. He just has to try and roll with the punches and hope his assumptions are correct. 

On this occasion, he decides to assume that Tom has forgiven him for his past errors because he’s bored of skipping around New York all by himself. It’s easier to think that then wonder if it’s because Tom was missing him.

“Uh—“ Greg starts, but Tom is already rounding his desk to perch on the edge of it.

“I’ve had a thought,” he says, suddenly turning serious.

“Okay…” Greg says, slowly, “Just the one? Singular?”

Tom smiles tightly at him but doesn’t rise to it, “We should have a threesome.”

“A— Who? Sorry, uh—“ he flounders as his brain scrambles to compute. All he can hear echoing in his ears is the way Tom said threesome over and over and over, “You, um… What—"

“You, me, and a girl makes three, Greg,” Tom says, looking manic, and all Greg can do is nod.

He’s mainly focussed on getting back into Tom’s good books, and maybe just on getting close to Tom again in general. It isn’t lost on him that this is another escalation, a significant one, but this is just how Tom operates. They leap frog through this mess until they end up somewhere insane, and then they start over.

“So… Okay, well… Maybe?”

Tom makes a face, somewhere between confused and annoyed, “What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe? What the fuck, Greg. Is this not like a little Hirsch wet dream?”

Greg blinks because his little Hirsch wet dream would probably feature Tom more prominently than anyone else, but he can’t say that so he just shrugs.

“I’ve never really… Had that kind of… Of interaction? Like an interaction of that persuasion before?” he says

Tom rolls his eyes before they lock back onto Greg seriously. It’s heated and charged and it makes something throb in the pit of Greg’s stomach. He’s missed being the centre of Tom’s attentions, crushed by the weight of his gaze in the best possible way. The moment stretches on for a while, bordering on uncomfortable before Tom slowly inhales, licking his lips before he speaks, “I’ll look after you.”

Greg’s heard that from Tom before, but he never expected it to be applied in this sort of context. It is strangely reassuring, though, to know Tom will take care of him, and it would be kind of cool to be able to say he’s done this, should he ever get asked at some undetermined future party. He’s mostly enticed by the idea of getting closer to Tom, maybe being allowed to touch him. 

The idea makes his body hum, something like excitement somersaulting in his stomach. If he does this, will they kiss? Will Tom touch him? Could this lead to something else? These are all things he should probably actually ask Tom outright, but instead he just nods. He’ll figure it out as he goes.

“Okay, I'm in.”

~

“So, where did you say you found this girl?” Greg asks, knee bobbing anxiously as he sits in Tom’s apartment.

Tom seems more calm, scrolling his phone as he leans back into the cushions of his couch. They’ve had a few drinks to loosen up and Tom is looking pretty fucking loose.

“I met her at, you know, that thing,” he says, noncommittally, taking another sip of wine straight from the bottle, “With the… You know the one, Greg, Jesus, you were there… I think.”

Greg isn’t convinced he was there, but he doesn’t say that. He thinks about all the times he stood on the sidelines. He doesn’t want a repeat of that, and he wants to try and say that, but he doesn’t have a clue how to breach the subject in a way that isn’t completely mortifying.

“And like… Are there rules? Should we perhaps discuss terms—“

Tom scoffs, “Do you want to draw up a fucking contract or something?” He says, still not looking up from his phone.

Greg shrugs, thrumming with nervous energy. He can’t stop thinking about what’s to come. He can’t stop thinking about what Tom looks like under his clothes. What his skin might feel like under his hands, what it will feel like to finally kiss him.

He isn’t sure if this is going to make him jealous or not. He occasionally feels something tugging at his stomach whenever he sees Tom with other people, but as he discovered with Sienna, he mostly kind of likes seeing Tom in action. What he’s jealous of is the people who get to be with Tom, the people who get to experience what it’s like to be wanted by him, to be hungered for. Greg’s never had someone utterly desperate to fuck him before. Maybe tonight will change that.

“She’s here,” Tom says calmly, rising just as the door knocks. 

Immediately Greg is anxious, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as Tom sets his wine bottle down on his coffee table as he passes.

Okay, he thinks to himself, this is fine, this isn’t a big deal, it’s just sex. It’s just a threesome. A threesome with Tom. 

He watches Tom open the door, eyes widening when he looks at the woman Tom has invited over for this. She’s stunningly beautiful, but all Greg can look at is Tom. He watches the familiar smile on his face, the one that’s only about 50-60% there. He watches Tom pull her in for a lingering kiss, tucking her hair behind her ear. He watches the way her hands rest on his chest and then fist in the material, like she’s excited to see him.

Greg does recognise her, he realises, but not because he’s met her in person. He’s fairly sure he’s seen her on TV, or maybe on a runway. She’s in heels but Greg can tell she’s tall, just a couple of inches shy of Tom as he invites her in.

“This is Greg,” he says to her, giving Greg a look that he doesn’t think he’s seen before. It looks almost heated, “Have you met him before?”

“I don’t think so,” she says, stepping into Greg’s space and holding her hand out, “Eva.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding as he gently takes her hand and shakes it curtly. This probably isn’t how you greet someone you’re supposed to have sex with, “I’m Greg.”

“I know,” she says slowly, biting back a smile, and Greg feels like the worlds biggest idiot.

He doesn’t have long to linger in his suffering, however, as Tom takes her hand and begins to guide her towards his bedroom.

“Tom,” he says, urgently, and both of them startle. Had they already forgotten he was here? “Could I perhaps borrow you for just a— a quick word?”

Tom looks tense, but nods anyway, letting Eva proceed without them. It isn’t lost on Greg that she already seems to know the way.

Tom folds his arms and looks up at him in the corridor. He doesn’t look as calm and as confident as he did before, if anything he looks a little stressed as he gives Greg a little ‘what gives’ shrug.

“Um, I just wanted to be clear on the, uh… Parameters of this?” Can I kiss you, he thinks in his head.

“Parameters? Greg, it’s a threesome, we just… Fuck.”

Greg swallows, nodding along even though this isn’t clear enough for him, “Yeah, totally. But I was just wondering like… I think I’d feel better if we had a sort of plan? Just like… So I know my lines, so to speak?”

Tom looks perturbed, “You want a blow-by-blow account of the proceedings, Greg? Like: I fuck her, you fuck her, we all come?”

Greg winces, “No, not… Not exactly like that, I don’t mean that—“

“I don’t know what you want from me, Greg,” Tom says, flatly, and that voice is back in Greg’s head: I want to kiss you.

“Just a high level running order, maybe? Maybe some… Some idea of what I’m allowed to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Tom asks, and Greg blinks at him.

“Wh— like, as in, sexually?” Greg clarifies.

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitches slightly, and it shouldn’t feel like this much of a victory.

“Do you want to fuck her?” He asks then, and now that he’s been presented with it, Greg really isn’t sure.

“I dunno. I mean obviously yeah, but… I guess maybe?”

“Oh my god,” Tom says, rubbing his forehead.

“I guess what I want to know,” Greg says, steeling himself, “Is… Is what the rules are with… You.”

Tom looks at him, and there’s that look again, like it just got a few degrees hotter around them.

“With me,” he says, hardly even a question. Greg nods.

“Like I wouldn’t want to… Overstep?”

Tom looks down the hallway then back at Greg as he takes a step closer to him, “What exactly were you looking to step on, Greg?”

“Well,” Greg says, feeling his face flushing. He can’t say it, he absolutely cannot say it, it’s stuck inside his throat. 

He wants to ask if Tom is going to freak out if he kisses him at some point during this. He wants to ask if he’ll be afforded the opportunity to touch him, maybe even make him come. He wants to ask if he’s an active participant in this threesome or if Tom just wanted him there to watch. More than anything, though, he wants to ask if they can send Eva home and do this just the two of them.

But he doesn’t. He just stares at Tom with wide eyes, hoping beyond hope that Tom gets what he’s thinking.

Tom arches an eyebrow at the prolonged silence, tentatively lifting a hand to Greg’s chest to touch him. He hesitates, then goes for it, dragging his fingertip along Greg’s open collar and down over his adams apple. It’s so gentle and intimate that Greg shivers from the tips of his ears right down to his toes. He’s hard within seconds.

“Do whatever you want, Greg,” Tom says slowly, voice lower than before, “No holds barred.”

“Shit, well… Okay, cool. That’s… Great.”

Tom nods and turns to head towards his bedroom before pausing to look back, “And the safe word is helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” Greg questions, “Is— Will this stray into safe word territory?” 

Tom gives him the once over with his eyes, like he’s reading his thoughts, “It’s good to have a safe word, Greg. That’s like threesome 101. It’s the first rule in the Threesomes for Dummies handbook…”

Greg kind of hates the way he says that in this moment, as if he knows from experience. He experiences just the slightest pang of jealousy before he swallows it back and nods. He can’t let his mind wander right now. He can’t get distracted.

He follows Tom down the corridor and into his bedroom, where Eva practically pounces on him the minute he enters, like she could barely wait another second. Tom seems to relish it, hand at her hips as he steers her to his dresser and pushes her up against it, snaking a hand up her inner thigh and underneath skirt as he kisses her neck.

Greg feels frozen in place. It’s like he’s found himself sitting in the front row of a show he was supposed to star in, watching someone else play his part. There is a part of him that’s jealous, but there’s a bigger part that’s intrigued. It’s turns out that he’s so overwhelmingly into Tom that even watching him with someone else is enough to turn him on. It’s definitely not his preferred position in this scenario, but he finds himself panting regardless, eyes following Tom’s hands as the travel all over Eva’s body.

Over Tom’s shoulder Eva locks eyes with him and smiles. Greg smiles back automatically, because it’s warm and inviting and she seems like a nice person, then he remembers what they’re all here to do and falters. He doesn’t feel any jealous hatred towards her, surprisingly, more just an envy of wanting to be in her place. His hands are aching to touch at his sides, he can basically feel his pulse in his fingertips.

“You’re both so tall, that’s kind of crazy,” Eva says on an exhale, and Greg laughs before he can help it. She smiles, cheeks a little flushed, and reaches out for him, beckoning him over.

Greg goes because he’s desperate to be led in this situation. He wants to be part of this, but he’s so fucking terrified of taking what he wants. He was fully anticipating to be a voyeur throughout this entire scenario, but he’s surprised when Eva slips out from between Tom and the dresser and pulls Greg against her.

She looks at him very carefully for a moment, and Greg becomes extremely conscious of how fucking nervous he must look before she pulls him into a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it at all, wary of even putting his hands on her as he looks over at Tom for some sort of guidance. Tom looks very caught off guard, the kind of look he’s always wanted to get from Tom when he’s trying to get his attention by kissing girls, so finally he closes his eyes and melts into it.

It’s a pleasant enough kiss, and Eva is definitely beautiful, but his pulse really flares when Tom’s fingers brush against his clothed chest between them, unbuttoning Eva’s shirt as he sets his mouth to her shoulder once it’s bared to him. Greg pulls back to watch, his breathing uneven as Tom slips the material down her arms then moves on to her skirt, unzipping it at the side before pushing it down over her hips. She’s now naked save for her underwear, unashamed and unable to stop smiling as her fingers tease into Greg’s hair at the nape of his neck.

He feels constantly distracted. Every time Eva pulls him in he can only concentrate on her for a moment before his curiosity gets the better of him and he goes back to watching Tom. Tom doesn’t seem to notice, he’s pressed up against Eva’s back, practically breathing in Greg’s exhales over her shoulder as his fingers slip inside her underwear and push them down her thighs.

Greg swallows and looks away, like he isn’t allowed to see, so he stares over towards the windows instead. The shades are up, revealing the sprawling city outside, and he can’t help but feel like the whole world can see them doing this, can see him participating in a threesome just for the opportunity to get closer to someone he loves. 

The word ‘love’ came so easily to him in his head that he thinks he must temporarily black out, smothered with fear, like Tom can see inside his mind and knows what words he uses for him where nobody else can see. By the time he comes back to himself he’s been guided to Tom’s bed, sprawled out with Eva naked next to him, slowly unpicking his shirt buttons. At the foot of the bed is Tom, watching them as he undoes his own.

Greg is distantly aware that Eva’s hands are wandering, but his eyes are entirely on Tom as he slowly reveals himself. Tom’s bare chest is at least 90% of the reason she finds him hard when her hand reaches his waistband and palms lower. He looks so good, watching them with serious eyes, watching Greg intently as he squirms under Eva’s advances. Greg had almost forgotten they would all be naked, licking his lips as Tom drops his shirt to the ground and unbuckles his belt.

He aches all over now, breathing heavily as Eva nudges him up so that his back his against Tom’s headboard. His shirt is now totally undone and slipping down over his shoulders, so he quickly yanks it down his arms and tosses it over to join Tom’s on the floor. He quite likes the fact that their clothes are touching, tangled together in the way he’d like to be with Tom, then he shakes his head to dislodge any further deranged thoughts.

Eva climbs into his lap and Greg immediately finds himself back on Tom’s staircase; a beautiful girl in his lap who wants to make him feel good when all Greg wants to do is stare at Tom over her shoulder. He gives into temptation, pulling her close so that her bare chest is against his, tentatively resting his chin on her shoulder so that he can openly stare at Tom.

Tom opens his mouth to say something, then evidently thinks better of it. In Greg’s lap, Eva starts to shift, grinding her naked body down against the hardness concealed beneath his pants. It’s immediately overwhelming, especially when he watches Tom finally shove everything down his legs, leaving him hard and naked and wanting as he watches them.

Greg stares at Tom’s cock for a second, wondering who he’s hard for and deciding for his own sanity that it must be for Eva. 

“Are you gonna take these off?” Eva whispers into his ear, fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants and pulling to make her point.

“Oh, uh—“ Greg stalls because Tom has his dick in his hand now, staring into Greg’s eyes as he touches himself, “I mean— Y— Do you think I should?”

Eva exhales a quiet laugh as she unbuckles his belt, “I mean, yeah, I think that would be helpful…”

Greg swallows, feeling like he falls flat on his face at every juncture of this, wanting desperately to be cool and sexy but instead coming off awkward and unsure. He’s considering how best to get his pants off when Tom crawls onto the bed next to them, seizing control of the situation again as he pulls Eva out of Greg’s lap to kiss her into the mattress, pressing himself down between her thighs.

Greg watches awkwardly for a moment before clearing his throat and unbuckling his belt with shaking hands. He’s grateful that it’s kind of dark in here, at least he can hide a little bit in the low light as he hurriedly shoves his pants and underwear down and off. Next to him, Tom’s clearly getting to work, fingers trailing down Eva’s side before they disappear between her legs. Greg watches it happen, once again captivated by Tom’s hands and the calculated way that he uses them to take people apart.

Eva’s moan pierces the atmosphere around them as jealousy flares in Greg’s chest. He watches Tom finger her like a redundant spare part. She practically melts into it, like putty in Tom’s hands, hips rocking as her fingers press into Tom’s biceps. All he can think about is being spread out like this, Tom’s fingers inside him, working him open enough for his sizeable cock to fuck into him. His heart is starting to beat harder in his chest as he fights the urge to pant. He wants him so badly right now, he looks so good like this, when he’s comfortable and in control, murmuring embarrassing dirty talk into Eva’s ear.

Then he looks at Greg, breathing fast, right on the precipice of sex.

“What do you want?” He asks, and Greg just blinks at him.

“Wh— Now?”

Tom nods, “Do you want her?”

Greg opens his mouth to answer, but he can’t find the words. He doesn’t feel brave enough to answer honestly and tell Tom that he wants him, not her. He wants Tom on top of him instead, between his thighs, about to fuck him, pushing inside him so deep and hard that it’s overwhelming. 

“I— I don’t—“ he tries, which seems to act as enough of an answer for Tom, who quickly leans across to his nightstand to grab a condom. 

Greg’s heart is in his throat now, watching Tom tear into it with his teeth before getting up onto his knees to slide it down onto his cock. Greg looks at him pleadingly, trying to convey what he wants with his eyes, but Tom doesn’t bite.

As he lines up with one hand, he takes the back of Greg’s neck with the other, pulling him in close so that they’re inches apart. It’s kind of jarring to be sat like this, naked next to two people who are about to have sex, but then Tom exhales over his lips, dragging his tongue slowly over the seam of his mouth before he speaks.

“If you want something, you’re going to have to learn to ask for it,” he says quietly, before letting Eva pull him close enough to sink inside her.

Tom gasps against Greg’s mouth as he opens his own to taste it, “Oh god,” Greg whispers, “Are you—“ he closes his mouth quickly to prevent from asking the obvious question.

He’s never been this close to sex before that he hasn’t been an active participant in. He considers laying back down and leaving them to it, maybe trying to find a way to get involved, but Tom has a grip on him like a vice holding him close, breathing steadily against his mouth as he rolls his hips.

It’s obscene, definitely some sort of power play, but Greg can’t help but find all of this unbearably sexy. The sounds Tom makes when he moves, the feel of his breathing against his skin, the proficient way he builds Eva up then slows back down right when she needs it most. Everything inside Greg is screaming desperately, wishing it could be him right now, wanting so badly to know what it feels like to get fucked by Tom Wambsgans.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Tom grits out against Greg’s mouth, fingers tight in his hair.

“What should I do?” Greg asks, quietly, feeling like some kind of horny idiot. He’s achingly hard, but he wasn’t sure if it was okay to do anything about it.

“You want me to walk you through it?” Tom replies, leaning back just enough to glance down at Greg’s dick, “Touch it.”

Greg licks his lips, eyes on Tom’s mouth, “Touch— Oh, yeah, fuck. Okay, yeah, is that— I wasn’t sure if—“

“Greg,” Tom gasps against the corner of his mouth, “Is this turning you on?”

Greg nods, unable to quite say it.

“Then show me.”

Greg chews the inside of his cheek for a second, eyes wandering down to where Eva is arching off the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets, thighs draped around Tom’s hips as he fucks her. This is turning him on, but mostly because it’s Tom. It’s sexy that Tom knows what he’s doing, and that he’s confident, and that he wants Greg here, breathing against his mouth, close enough to maybe even pretend it’s Greg he’s having sex with.

He slowly takes himself in his hand, eyes flickering back to Tom’s. He’s thrilled to find him watching him, not Eva, eyes following Greg’s hand as he trails it down his stomach to his prick, squeezing it tightly.

“Shit,” he whispers, suddenly feeling restless as desire thrums like a heartbeat under his skin. He wants more than this. He needs more. He wants Tom. He finds himself shuffling closer, startling as his thigh presses against Eva’s. The warmth of her skin radiates into him, and it feels almost like an extension of Tom.

“Keep going,” Tom says, pressing his forehead to Greg’s to watch him jerk off, “Fuck, don’t stop…”

“Okay,” Greg says deliriously, falling into his usual rhythm. It feels weirdly forbidden to be doing this under Tom’s watchful eye, but that somehow only makes it sexier, “Like this? Is this—”

“You’re so fucking coy,” Tom says quietly, leaning in closer to pant against Greg’s chin, “Like this, Tom? Is this okay, Tom? Am I jerking myself off properly, Tom?”

Greg bites his lip to suppress a moan, “Well?”

Tom laughs on an exhale, shaking his head, “Yeah, you’re a real fucking pro, Greg, you look so hot, is that what you want to hear?”

Greg traces his lips over Tom’s, practically vibrating with how desperately he wants to kiss him, “Or similar notions, I suppose…?”

Tom grins, eyes dropping back down to watch Greg’s hand move, so Greg takes the opportunity to really look at Tom whilst he’s afforded it. 

He looks so fucking good like this, arms tense, shoulders massive and imposing, sweat peppering his chest. It feels like a secret thing he isn’t supposed to see, and he’s constantly fighting the urge to look away and blush. If he had the nerve he would lean in and taste Tom’s skin, lick the sweat from his body and take everything he possibly can from him. At the very least he’d like to touch him, palm over his chest, maybe feel how hard his heart is beating as he watches Greg touch himself. It’s enough to send him spiralling out of control.

“Tom,” Greg whispers against Tom’s mouth, the sound of Eva’s cresting pleasure suddenly catching his attention and drowning him a little. She’s clearly getting close, and Greg feels like he’s reaching breaking point, “Tom, please—“

“Ask me,” Tom says quietly, fingers tightening at the back of Greg’s neck, “Ask me you fucking asshole…”

Greg bites his lip with a groan because he has the words, they’re waiting in his mouth, they just won’t come out.

“Tom, I—“ he starts again before faltering, “I want…”

“What do you want?” Tom asks, then moans against Greg’s lips. Greg chances it and finally looks, watching Tom fucking Eva so dedicatedly as she arches into it, hips rolling urgently to match the pace Tom has set, “Do you want me to make her come?”

Greg closes his eyes, then shakes his head, “I want you to— to—“

“Yeah?” Tom breathes.

“Tom, please—“ Eva moans beneath him, hands at his waist and pulling gently, encouraging him to go faster; Tom complying.

“Greg,” Tom whispers, “What do you want?” he asks again.

“I want you, I just want you,” Greg breathes all in a rush, “Tom, please, I just want you…”

Tom groans, leaning in to press his mouth to Greg’s but he falters at the last moment, gritting his teeth as Eva moans and trembles beneath him, grinding her hips up against him as she evidently rides out her orgasm.

Greg blinks, wondering if he’s fucked it, wondering if it’s all over. What is he supposed to do now? What will Eva expect him to do, what will Tom expect him to do? He’s so consumed with this paralysing panic that he barely registers Tom shift next to him, pulling off the condom as he pushes Greg down onto his back and collapses on top of him.

“Oh fuck,” Greg moans, intoxicated by the sudden contact, Tom’s bare skin on his own, Tom‘s bare cock against his own, pinning him as he rocks down hard.

“Is this what you really wanted?” Tom pants against the corner of Greg’s mouth, grinding down against him, “You wanted to be her?”

Greg can feel his cheeks burning, grateful for the low light and the fact that Tom is too busy mouthing down his throat to see how enamoured he is by all of this. He immediately forgets everything, so consumed with the heavy weight of Tom’s body on top of him that it’s maddening.

“Keep talking,” he manages, hands finding Tom’s hips to pull him down harder against him, moaning when the friction feels just right.

“You’re unbelievable,” Tom breathes, “Fucking unbelievable, you want it so badly…”

Greg nods because he does, so, so badly. He squeezes his thighs around Tom’s waist, pulling him down harder, suddenly feeling unimaginably possessive. He can feel the heavy, thick weight of Tom’s prick grinding down into his pelvis alongside his own. It’s suffocatingly good, everything he’s ever wanted and more.

If he looked over to his right, he would see Eva watching them, wide eyed and flushed as she rocks her hips forward against the heel of her palm in silence, but it’s like she isn’t even there. The world has zeroed down to just him and Tom, grinding against each other in his bed, panting into the darkness.

“Is this how you’re gonna come, Greg? Untouched? Is that how you like it?”

Greg’s eyes flutter as he moans, pulling Tom in to that he can bite at his mouth. For a time they kiss without kissing, lips touching and moaning and breathing, tongues tentatively tasting, but not quite enough.

“Answer me, Greg, will you come like this? All over yourself?”

“Yes,” he moans, shuddering all over, “Please… Please, Tom…”

“I’ve watched you come before, remember?” Tom breathes into his ear, as if Greg could ever forget, “I couldn’t see your face but I could hear how desperate you sounded, were you thinking about me?”

“Yeah, yes, I was—“

“And were you thinking about me when you blew your load, Greg? Did I make you come without even touching you then, too?”

Greg practically growls, so close its agonising as Tom pants against his ear, “Yes—“

“And now? Am I in that head of yours, poking around, fucking your shit up?”

“Yes, Tom—“

“Am I always in there when you come?” Tom asks, cupping Greg’s jaw as he presses his thumb into his lower lip, blunt nail threatening to pierce the skin. Greg nods as he chokes out a moan. He can’t resist any longer as he tumbles gladly over the edge.

Tom leans up a little to see it, watching his cock grind against Greg’s come, his spasming prick creating pools of it all over his stomach. Greg finds himself watching too, a voice in his head echoing around and around, Tom did that, Tom did that to you, Tom made you come…

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes watering and tingling all over. He hasn’t come that hard in months. 

Tom’s now the last one standing, the only one who hasn’t come as he mouths down Greg’s throat, kissing along his skin before sucking a mark just next to his adams apple. Greg gasps at the sudden sharp sensation, Tom’s thumb pressing harder against his lip until it slips into his mouth for Greg to taste.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Eva says, both of them startling as they remember she’s still in the room. She locks eyes with Greg and smiles, giving him a look that Greg can’t quite determine as she slips off the bed and heads towards the bathroom.

For a moment they’re frozen as reality seems to hit, weighing down on both of them like a lead weight. The insides of Greg’s thighs are burning from the heat of Tom’s skin, and all he can think about is what the fuck they’re going to do next. Tom is staring down at him with the most unreadable expression, like he’s somehow happy and sad and angry and everything in between all rolled into one.

Greg licks his lips, watches the way that Tom’s eyes follow his tongue, “So…”

Wrong opening gambit, Tom immediately looks away and starts to shift, sitting on the edge of the bed to rub his palms down his face. 

Greg figures this can’t be good, but he’s filled with adrenaline and confidence and purpose that he hasn’t felt in months, still thrumming from his orgasm as he moves to sit next to Tom.

He taps his fingers against Tom’s mattress, almost saying it a couple of times before he closes his eyes and forces it out.

“Can I suck you off?” He blurts, turning to look at Tom to try and gauge his reaction. Before he can help it, his eyes dart down to Tom’s prick, relishing the way he actually witnesses it twitch in response to what he just said. It makes him feel powerful.

Tom looks at him, and there’s that expression again, so much heat, except this time his eyebrow is arched in question, “Can you suck me off?” He says slowly. He often does this, like he wants Greg to remember what he just said. Greg nods, and Tom nods slowly in return, like he’s processing the words in his head. “Alright.”

The moment he had permission, Greg tumbles down onto his knees with embarrassing haste, shuffling in between Tom’s thighs as he spreads them to accommodate him. In the background he can hear the shower running and immediately feels like he’s on a time limit, staring at Tom’s dick before looking up at him. Tom swallows hard.

“Look, don’t get any… Any fucking incorrect ideas, alright, I’m already worked up, so…” Tom trails off, eyes roving all over Greg on his knees in front of him, naked and flushed and covered in sweat and his own come. 

Greg suddenly feels self-conscious, looking down at himself to try and gauge what Tom can see right now, worrying his fingers through the mess all over his stomach in an attempt to wipe it off. He startles when Tom suddenly cups his face in his hand and tilts it up, his jaw tightening before he speaks.

“Leave it,” he says quietly, and it takes Greg a moment to figure out what he means. He slowly lifts his eyebrow in question before he removes his hand from his stomach and rests it on his thigh. Tom nods slowly, and something that feels like electricity shoots down Greg’s spine.

“Okay,” he says quietly, remembering what he’s actually here to do as his stomach flips over with anxiety. 

He’s done this plenty of times, he likes to think he’s pretty good at it, but this is Tom. He’s wanted to do this for months, he’s thought about it forever. He’s fantasised about Tom keeping him under his desk, or stealing him away to forgotten office closets, maybe even the men’s room. He didn’t expect it to happen like this, but he isn’t about to waste the opportunity. He wants to make it memorable.

He takes Tom’s cock in his hand, revelling in his gasp when he hasn’t even started yet. His prick is soft and smooth and intimidating, unwaveringly hard and leaking at the tip. Greg immediately hones in, leaning close to lick Tom clean. He tastes of latex and salt and something else so Tom that it makes Greg’s head spin, the entire evening flashing before his eyes for a moment before he takes Tom into his mouth.

He can feel Tom’s thighs tense either side of him as he does it, slowly sliding down the length of him in careful increments, inch by inch. His hair falls into his eyes, just now long enough to do that again, but he ignores it, too dedicated to giving Tom the greatest head he’s possibly ever had. He shakes his head a little, trying to discretely displace his hair from his eyes before Tom notices and brushes it away for him, his broad, warm hand lingering there on his head, thumb resting against the space on his forehead where he once kissed him.

Greg suddenly feels consumed with something suffocating and intense, something that starts in his stomach and flares up into his chest. It’s like wanton desire mixed with something else, affection perhaps. He knows what it is, but he can’t afford to think about it right now, not at such a critical point, not with Tom panting above him, hips twitching desperately and waiting for him to move. So he gets to work.

“Fuck, Greg, you—“ Tom breathes above him, rocking just slightly into Greg’s mouth, like he’s trying to hold back, “You fucker, you fucking—“

Greg smiles around Tom’s cock, then sucks him harder, resting his hands on Tom’s thighs and pressing his thumbs into the muscles there. He can feel him getting close already, can taste the bitter tang at the back of his throat that makes him shiver with desire. He wants this so badly, he’s never wanted to make someone come so much before. He moans around the base of Tom’s cock and that’s all it takes.

It’s unexpectedly quiet when it happens. Tom stutters a little above him and tenses all over, riding out his orgasm with occasional thrusts that make Greg’s eyes water just the way he likes it. The hand in Greg’s hair pulls slightly, just enough to hold him in place as Tom spills down his throat, gasping through it until it’s over and he finally moans; one long, low, drawn out sound that echoes around Greg’s head as he swallows.

He stays exactly where he is for a moment, feeling Tom relax around him as he starts to slowly soften in his mouth. Part of him would like to stay here forever, a vessel for Tom to just slide into whenever he wants, but another part wants to climb into Tom’s lap and kiss him like he needs it to live. Instead he carefully pulls back, letting Tom fall from his mouth with a gasp as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tom looks ruined; legs open, leaning back onto his hands, a thin sheen of sweat across his chest catching the waning light. His mouth is slightly open, like he wants to say something but he can’t find the words. Greg feels the same. He thinks he probably looks the same as Tom does right now — ruined and raw and wanting, words filling his cheeks but refusing to come out.

After a few moments, Tom licks his lips and sits up, taking a deep, cleansing breath, “Greg—“

The bathroom door opens and Eva re-appears, swaddled in Tom’s expensive towels. She doesn’t even flinch at the scene laid out before her, just towels her wet hair as she rounds the bed and gets into it.

Greg feels shattered, silently imploding into a million pieces. The moment has passed them by. All he can do is stare into Tom’s eyes and hope he can read his mind.

~

Greg awakes precariously balanced on the edge of Tom’s bed with Eva behind him and Tom behind her. He blinks wearily at the light in the room as he stretches out a little, slowly coming around to wakefulness.

It comes back to him slowly, the memory of the night before, the way his knees tingle with friction burn, the way his jaw aches at the hinge. He finds himself touching all the aching parts of himself and remembering what Tom did to cause them, hoping absently that it lasts the whole day so he has a physical reminder of what happened should he ever start to think he dreamed the entire thing.

He decides he can’t think about this without coffee, and he definitely can’t think about this in Tom’s bed, so he slowly disentangles himself from the crime scene. He silently rummages for his underwear in amongst the shrapnel of the night before, then pulls it on as he vacates the room. He spares a final glance at Tom, looking peaceful with his arm around Eva’s waist, then heads for the kitchen.

After spending at least fifteen minutes trying to work out Tom’s coffee machine he finally gets it going, frowning at the caramel coloured stream as it fills his cup, deep in his thoughts.

He’s trying to figure out what his next move should be, whilst simultaneously trying to anticipate what Tom’s going to do. It would be very like him to sweep this whole thing under the rug, then bring it up at the worst possible time as a surprise razz. Greg can practically see it in playing out already, a room full of board members watching on in horror as Tom says something biting like ‘What the fuck, Greg, you can suck my dick with proficiency but you can’t remember how I take my coffee?’.

Greg shakes his head and sighs. He doesn’t want to think about that. He’d much rather think about the best case scenario.

Best case scenario is that Tom wakes up after a night spent entirely dreaming of Greg and realises he is in love with him. He sends Eva home, kisses Greg stupid in the kitchen and then maybe bends him over one of the counters…

Greg rolls his eyes at himself. Too crass. Maybe instead Tom just whisks him off his feet and says, ‘I’ve got you, you’re mine, you always will be’ and they start something that’s real and honest and—

“Morning…” Eva says, having suddenly materialised beside him. Greg startles, then reaches for his cup. It’s lukewarm at best. How long as he been standing here?

“Oh, hey, morning, good morning to you,” Greg says, stepping awkwardly off to one side as Eva approaches the coffee machine. She’s wearing Tom’s shirt and the sight of it makes Greg’s stomach clench a little.

“Sleep good?” she asks him, reaching for a cup of her own.

“So-so,” Greg says mildly. His back is killing him. He had a fitful and tense nights sleep because he wasn’t sure if it was okay for his skin to touch Eva’s and he jolted awake every time she brushed against him in the night.

She nods and they fall into a comfortable silence for a while as Eva meanders through the kitchen. Greg can’t help but get the impression that she’s been here before, at least enough times to remember where everything is.

“I always thought it was his wife, you know,” she says suddenly, plugging her preferences into Tom’s coffee machine.

“Hm?” Greg blinks at her, wondering where this is going.

“That he thinks about.”

Greg shifts a little uncomfortably, leaning against Tom’s counter in an effort to appear calm and casual and composed, “What do you mean?”

“He’s never really like… All there, you know? He’s totally committed, obviously. Ridiculously good. Outrageously good, even, but like…” she shrugs, watching coffee stream into her cup, “I always feel like his mind is somewhere else.”

“Oh,” Greg says, feeling something cold and hard form low in his throat, somewhere above his sternum, “Right.”

“But it’s you,” she says, finally turning to look at him as she collects her coffee and takes a sip.

Greg blinks at her, shaking his head, “Sorry?”

“It’s you, you’re the one,” she says, then pads past him back towards Tom’s bedroom.

Greg nods for a minute, digesting this information until it finally clicks what she just said, immediately springing back to life as his stomach burns fiercely. He quickly goes after her, catching her in the corridor.

“Wait, what—“ he starts, then clears his throat and lowers his volume, “What do you mean, exactly? What’s me?”

She smirks, “Oh, come on… It’s you. It’s obvious. The way he was with you the second you touched him… That’s real chemistry. Can’t fake that,” she says, taking another sip from her cup, “You didn’t know he was into you?”

Greg shakes his head dumbly at her, feeling like he might pass out when he suddenly realises he’s forgotten to actually breathe.

“How is that even possible, are you blind? Or just wilfully stupid?”

Greg makes a face, crossing his arms in discomfort, “Well that’s perhaps a little harsh—“

“Think of it as tough love,” she says.

“Okay, well. I mean, he’s never really explicitly said—“

“He spent a good portion of last night writhing around on top of you, did that you not tip you off?” she says through a smile, “That feels pretty explicit to me…”

Greg sighs, “No… I mean yeah, but… He’s like… Very confusing, emotionally? And complex? He’s super layered, he never really says what he wants or what he means. Have you ever noticed that?”

Eva shrugs, “I just hook up with him, you’re the one he spends time with.”

“Yeah, in a sort of… In the colleague sort of way.”

Eva looks pained, “Okay,” she says, then waits Greg out, prompting him to keep talking.

“You know like, we sometimes grab a drink.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And go places together.”

“Yep…”

“But he’s not interested in me, he just… Likes to fuck with me? You know, like a razz? Like ‘haha Greg, remember when I— I was in the same room as you when you came that one time?’ You know? Boys will be boys kinda— kinda jam?”

Eva blinks at him, then takes a deep breath, “I think perhaps you have a communication problem. You’re giving out vibes and he’s giving out vibes and you’re both just… Completely oblivious. You have no vibe radar at all.“

Greg nods seriously, “Right.”

“So, do you understand what you need to do?”

There is a long, terrible pause where Greg wracks his brain for the answer that isn’t there. Eva rubs her forehead wearily.

“You talk to him.”

“Yeah, of course. Right. That makes sense. Talk.”

“About how you feel.”

“Gotcha.”

“And about how he feels.”

Greg’s heart is thunking hard in his chest, constantly tripping over itself due to the heady mix of excitement and deep anxiety swirling around inside him.

“And how do you— Like, how do you anticipate he might react to that? Like, a conversation of that ilk?”

Eva takes another sip of her coffee to ruminate on that question for a moment before she gives her answer.

“I think, with some persuasion, he could possibly be prepared to admit that he likes you. In a more than colleagues sort of way.”

“Oh. Cool. Shit,” he says breathlessly.

“Yeah. Oops!” Eva says, as if she’s thrilled to be the one to spoil the surprise. She smiles as she slowly turns and heads back to bed. “You looked good together, by the way,” she adds over her shoulder, eyeing Greg up and down, “You’ll have to let me know if you ever want a third again.”

Something twists delightedly in Greg’s stomach at the idea of Eva being the third in this situation. Greg had thought it was him.

He spends some time lingering in the kitchen, turning over what Eva said in his mind. She hardly knows them and yet she’s somehow nailed them down right down. They do have a communication problem. There’s so much Greg always wants to say but struggles to articulate. Part of it is fear of saying the wrong words, and part of it is fear of saying anything at all. Tom can be so unpredictable, the wrong series of sentences could ruin everything forever. This is exactly why he’s been waiting for Tom to make the first move, to bring it up first and shoulder the responsibility.

In time Eva says his goodbyes and leaves them alone as Greg gears himself up to leave. It’s kind of the perfect time for them to address this. 

Greg’s heart is in his throat as he imagines how this is going to go. There’s a chance that Tom will say they should never speak of this again, or maybe he’ll suggest another girl, construct another ritual for them to be together in a way that’s less terrifying than one on one. Maybe he’ll confess his enduring feelings and ask Greg to move in. Admittedly the last one is a stretch, but Greg wants to be prepared for every eventuality.

Tom, as Greg should have probably predicted, chooses a surprise option that Greg hadn’t even considered in the wake of his optimistic chat with Eva, even though it was the most obvious choice all along.

The entire debacle ends with an awkward goodbye that somehow includes a charged handshake at Tom’s front door. Tom holds on for too long, and Greg starts to feel heat creeping down his spine, wondering if he’s about to pull him back inside when suddenly it’s over and Tom’s letting go, clearing his throat and stepping back.

Greg looks at him, building up his courage to say something that eventually comes out all in a jumble.

“Are we— Do you— Want to perchance address what—“

“I’ll see you Monday, Greg,” Tom says cheerfully, backing up into his apartment.

“Oh. Sure, okay,” Greg says, awkwardly waving before realising how much of an idiot he looks and pocketing his hands, “Monday it is.”

Tom nods, looking serious and bereft as he closes his door, leaving Greg alone in the hallway. 

And that’s that. It’s over. His conversation with Eva feels like it took place in another lifetime as he slowly makes his way back out of the building. He had felt so sure that things would be different now, but instead he’s back where he started; unsure if this is unattainable or just unrequited. Perhaps he got it wrong again. Maybe Eva did, too. Maybe this is just part of the game they play where nobody ever wins because it doesn’t ever end.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but there’s a part of Greg that’s used to it. He settles back into this familiar headspace, blinking fiercely as he walks the long walk back to his apartment.

~

After a weekend of fitful sleep and agonisingly vivid dreams, Greg stumbles into the office on Monday, tired and a little irritated. The more he’s stewed on it, the more he feels annoyed that Tom practically threw him out and hasn’t even text him since.

He did crack at one point, very late at night when emotions were running high. He scrolled to Tom’s name and called him, letting it ring just once before realising he had no idea what he even wanted to say and hung up. Tom did not return his call, but he did send a single question mark in a text moments after. Greg ignored it, what was the point anyway.

He gets to work late on Monday, forgoing his usually stop-off for coffee in the hopes it sends a message. Instead he heads straight for Tom’s office, arms folded and closed off as he waits for his weekly job list.

He’s gratified to find that at least Tom seems affected by all of this, too. He’s evidently so rattled that he hasn’t even noticed Greg’s lack of coffee procurement. Instead he just looks at him nervously from behind his desk, jaw set and brow furrowed.

“What was the deal with the phonecall? You butt dial me?” He asks before he says anything else. Greg just shrugs, watching Tom’s face harden up in response, “Were you out without me, is that it?”

“No, of course not,” Greg says, and he kind of hates how that’s just a given. Of course he’s not out by himself, he only goes out with Tom.

“So then why did you call me?” Tom presses, leaning forward in his seat, eyes trained on Greg’s.

“I—“ Greg starts, once again searching for the words and coming up short, “Must have done it in my sleep, I guess?”

Tom hums, and they share a lingering, heated stare that quickly dissolves into a Mexican stand-off, both of them waiting for the other to break it. Eventually it’s Tom who blinks out of it, opening his desk drawer and handing Greg some paperwork from inside it.

“Board meeting Friday so no frivolities until we hit a home run on that, okay?”

Greg nods and takes his list, staring at the tasks that lie ahead. He supposes this is it, then. Tom is never going to bring it up. He was just another one night stand, another meaningless notch amongst all of Tom’s other conquests. Maybe one night with Tom can be enough for him. Maybe in time they’ll build their friendship back up enough to rock it again with another threesome.

Was it even a threesome, though, if they were just two people having their turn with Tom? He doesn’t want to think about it. He definitely doesn’t want to think about the fact he would do it again in a heartbeat, even if he was last in line.

The week goes by slowly and uneventfully. Tom is stressed, so he’s more of an asshole than usual, but it’s nothing Greg can’t handle. He dodges his barbs and brings him his coffee dutifully until finally the board meeting rolls around and they’re heading into it. 

They’re tucked away at the end of the table; Tom occasionally contributing, Greg idly taking notes that are mostly doodles in the margins. He’s bored and he’s fed up and every so often his brain reminds him that he’s probably the only person here who’s seen what’s underneath Tom’s clothes. At least he hopes that’s the case.

Every time his mind takes him down that sort of path he jabs his pen into his leg in an effort to get it to derail it. The whole thing is filling him with a heady mix of want and endless frustration. He’s annoyed that Tom seems to be toying with him, he’s annoyed that he doesn’t know what’s going on, and he’s annoyed that neither of them are capable of broaching the subject like grown-ups. 

Sitting next to Tom like this is unbearable. They’re all crammed in, elbow to elbow, and Greg realises with a horrible lurch that this is they closest they’ve been since Tom came in his mouth. He’s considering feigning a migraine and ducking out when Tom’s hand suddenly finds itself on his thigh under the table, warm and large, radiating heat through his pants into his skin, just resting there.

Greg swallows dryly, leaning back a little to look at it, needing to see it to believe it. Above the table, Tom looks completely normal, engaged, unflustered. In contrast, Greg can feel his pulse rising, dewdrops of sweat forming under his collar despite the chill of the air conditioning.

His frustration temporarily melts away, so keen to be close to Tom again that he finds himself feeling more forgiving of his transgressions, opening himself up to the heady high of Tom’s attentions again with embarrassing ease. After a moment, Greg decides to test how far this will go, slowly spreading his legs to give Tom the room to slide his hand higher, shivering when he feels his fingers trailing along the inner seam of his pants in response. He’s trying to keep a firm grip on his breathing, eyes darting around the room, convinced it must be obvious what’s happening, but nobody is even looking at him. Tom’s hand is now mere inches away from his hesitantly interested dick, throbbing between his legs like a beacon.

He shifts forwards in his seat a little, feeling fraught all over. He wants to be touched, he wants Tom to touch him, see how much he wants him for himself. He wants to put an end to this endless unknown, unspoken thing that simmers between them constantly. Every so often he forgets where he is and starts quietly panting until he has to physically hold his mouth closed with his hand to concentrate on looking normal.

It’s such a minimal thing to get worked up over, but Greg can’t help it. Tom’s touching him and that’s enough to set his pulse alight. It’s not the ideal setting, but Greg decides that it’s now or never, he wants more and he finally feels bold enough to ask for it. Carefully he rests his hand on top of Tom’s, interlacing their fingers for a moment before moving it up higher, not stopping until Tom’s hand is practically cupping the hardness of his cock over his pants.

Tom startles next to him, tensing for a moment before his fingers press in, thumb tracing the length of Greg’s dick in one agonisingly slow movement before he yanks his hand away, pushing it through his hair before leaning aggressively into Greg’s space.

Greg’s flutters his eyelashes at him, hoping he’s about to say something flirtatious or something dirty, but he has a sinking feeling that it isn’t coming. Tom looks pissed.

“Go and get me a coffee,” he says, slow and measured.

Greg shakes his head, not comprehending the direction this is now going in as his excitement and apprehension starts to fade down to nothing again.

“Get you— from the machine?”

“No, from that place I like.”

Greg looks around them, “Right now?”

Tom nods curtly, “You need to cool off, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you—“

“Are you serious?” Greg says, with more volume than he intends. The entire meeting grinds to a halt, all heads present turning to look at him.

Tom clears his throat, “Yes, I’m serious. Latte me. Chop chop.”

Greg stands quickly, anger coursing through him like fire, hard-on long forgotten. What the fuck does Tom think he’s doing? He gives him a hard look, hard enough that Tom actually looks sheepish before he stalks out of the conference room and makes his way out of the building.

He deliberately takes his time with it, walking the long route there and the even longer route back so that by the time he returns the coffee is basically tepid. He doesn’t care. Tom deserves tepid coffee, and at least the meeting is over now. 

He decided on the walk back that he’s going to say something, really let Tom have it. He started roughly planning his speech along the way, but ends up pacing the lobby for about 10 minutes tapping it out on his phone and practising saying it.

He rehearses it again in the elevator, and eventually, almost 2 hours after he left, he stalks back into Tom’s office ready to get this over with.

Unfortunately, Tom gets the first move in.

“Where the fuck have you been? Did you pick the beans and dry them yourself? What took you so long? You just felt like slacking off? On fucking board meeting day, Greg?”

Greg’s speech is open in his notes in his hand. He stares at Tom, then stares at his words, then pockets his phone, rage bubbling up in his chest and forcing his impulses.

“Are you— are you seriously—“ Greg says, gesturing wildly enough that coffee sloshes out of the cup he’s carrying and onto the carpet, “Are you fucking with me? Are you fucking with me, Tom?”

Tom’s face goes steely, “I can’t say I know what you mean, Greg.”

“Oh you know, you know, Tom, are you— is this— I don’t know what’s fucking happening, dude, I feel as if…”

“Greg, Jesus, the door is open,” Tom says, looking pale, and something inside Greg just collides and implodes. There’s more he wants to say, he’s practically incandescent, but he won’t say it. His loyalty to Tom runs so deep that he wouldn’t dare embarrass him at work. The realisation of all this only makes Greg want to shout all the louder, but instead he slams the coffee cup down on Tom’s desk and leaves.

“I’m taking a personal day,” he grumbles as he goes, flying out Tom’s office and ignoring the dozens of eyes trained on him as he heads for the elevator, jabbing the down arrow repeatedly once he’s there. 

Maybe he can just quit, maybe that will help. Maybe he can make a big scene and quit and never see Tom again. Maybe he can call Bridget and ask her if she’s free for a date on Tom’s fucking doorstep…

The elevator finally arrives at his floor and he steps in, beginning a new assault on the button for the ground floor. He’s so angrily committed to getting the doors to close that he barely notices Tom chasing him down, slipping into the elevator just in time.

“Greg,” he says, looking panicked, “I don’t know what’s—“

“Oh, fuck you, fuck you, Tom, just fuck—“

Something in him snaps. Looking at Tom right now, his big wet eyes and his stupid broad shoulders and his hands in his pockets like he doesn’t even care, it sends him over the edge. Before he can stop himself, he has Tom by the lapels, shoving him backwards into the mirrored wall of the elevator, fully intending to punch him or strangle him or both, but instead he closes the space between them and kisses him.

It’s frantic and uncoordinated at first, but Greg kind of thinks Tom deserves something messy, something that musses his hair up and wrinkles his suit. It’s one sided for maybe 5 seconds before Tom is kissing him back, hands at his waist and pushing in, walking Greg backwards until he’s the one in charge again, commandeering the kiss as he slides a hand into Greg’s hair and pulls hard.

Greg moans at the sudden sensation, which only serves Tom with the opportunity to get deeper into his mouth, kissing Greg with such ferocity and desperation that he thinks Tom might climb inside him any minute. Between them their hips are pressed together, grinding just slightly as they tumble around the lift, Greg shoving Tom, Tom shoving Greg until they’ve kissed against every surface in the space.

It’s so heated and charged that Greg feels as though he would do anything in this moment, including taking off all of his clothes so that Tom can do whatever he wants to him, but then all of a sudden it slows down. Deep, intense kisses turn more languid as Tom cups his face with both hands, thumbing gently over his cheeks as he continues laying waste to Greg’s mouth with his tongue. Things suddenly feel intensely intimate as Greg pulls Tom in closer, every inch of them pressed together in the corner of the elevator.

Suddenly the elevator dings and the doors start to open. Tom leaps away from Greg like their kissing gave him static shock, wiping his mouth before resting his hands on his hips.

“What the fuck are you thinking, we’re at work, Greg—“

“Are you—“ Greg starts, then practically growls in frustration, shoving past Tom to get out of the building.

“Jesus, okay, o-fucking-kay you made your point,” Tom says, grabbing his arm in the lobby.

“I don’t even think there is a point,” Greg says, jerking his arm away, “You are— You are so—“

Tom’s got a hold of him again, rummaging in his pocket before handing him his keys.

“You are such a drama queen, you're wasted in the corporate world... Look just… I’m sorry, alright? I’m not very good at this. Go to my apartment, okay? Wait for me there. Have a drink, have a glass of wine, do whatever the fuck you want, just… Wait for me there and we’ll… When I’m done where we can discuss it. Later.”

Greg looks at him carefully, fingers slowly closing around the keys Tom has handed to him, “Do you promise?”

“What are you, twelve? Who fucking promises—“ Tom cuts himself off, observing the fire in Greg’s eyes and deciding not to risk it. “I promise, alright? I promise, pinky swear, just go to my apartment? Please?”

Greg looks at him and it does genuinely seem like he’s pleading in his moment, his hand hot like a brand around his wrist. He still feels stirred up and out of sorts so without really thinking about it he presents his pinky finger to Tom.

Tom rolls his eyes, “Are you serious?”

“Very,” Greg says darkly, staring venomously into Tom’s eyes until he acquiesces and takes hold of Greg’s pinky with his own, sighing dramatically.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Tom says before straightening his tie and heading back to the elevator, leaving Greg alone in the lobby, hands tingling and heart racing.

~

It takes Greg about four attempts to get into Tom’s apartment. He has no idea why he’s so nervous about being here, but his hands haven’t stopped shaking since he left the office.

He knows the basic parts of Tom’s apartment pretty well, but since he’s never had a formal tour he kind of feels like now is the prime opportunity to show himself around. There are places he wants to see. 

He peeks into Tom’s fridge, finding several boxes of pre-prepared salad his chef probably left there and not much else. He wanders Tom’s office, sits in his chair, pokes and prods the various keepsakes that litter his desk. He looks into guest bedrooms and reading rooms and more guest bedrooms, leaving Tom’s bedroom till last. It feels like sacred ground, something he wants to build up to.

When he crosses the threshold he immediately feels like he’s breaking the law, or worse: Tom’s trust. Then he remembers what they got up to in his bed last weekend and feels almost entitled to rummage around in here, like Tom owes him for the subsequent fuckery he’s had to put up with since.

He makes a beeline for his closet, keen to pore through Tom’s clothes. It’s impeccably neat and unbearably organised, just like Greg expected it to be, everything in colour order, shirts pressed and neatly hung, rows of shoes polished so hard they practically sparkle. He runs his fingers over the sleeves of Tom’s suit jackets, fingers scrunching into the ends just to leave an imprint, some evidence that he’s been here and messed things up a little. Before he can stop himself he’s drifting forwards, purely out of curiosity, wondering what Tom’s suits smell like before he puts them on…

“Jesus, what the fuck!”

Greg springs back like he’s just touched something with a high voltage warning, smoothing out his hair suspiciously, even though it’s not remotely out of place.

“Fuck, sorry, I mean— shit, what are you doing here?”

Shiv blinks and shakes her head at him in disbelief, having just emerged from Tom’s en-suite holding several bottles of perfume.

“Are you looking for Narnia or something? You scared the shit out of me,” Shiv says, rubbing at her chest with her free hand before crossing the room to drop the bottles into her suitcase, sitting on top of Tom’s bed. Greg has no idea how he missed that, now feeling embarrassed about his tunnel vision for Tom’s closet.

“Sorry,” Greg says tightly, eyes flickering over the open suitcase, half filled with badly folded clothes.

“What are you even doing here? Do you have your own key now? Are you like his maid?” She asks, needling him with her eyes before she makes her way over to a dresser, pulling open the drawers to rifle through the contents.

“No. I mean technically I could ask the same of you?”

Shiv makes a face, she almost looks amused, “I live here, did you forget that?”

“Well, yeah,” Greg says with a shrug, “I thought you’d moved out.”

Shiv exhales impatiently through her nose, “Why are you here, Greg?”

Greg bristles, folding his arms, “I’m waiting for Tom.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, continuing to pack up her suitcase, “You guys have a little meeting arranged in his closet?”

Greg feels himself flushing, shame creeping up the back of his neck, “No—“

“Gearing up for one of your little nights on the town? Disgusting brothers on tour?”

“N— Maybe,” Greg says, just to be annoying, and when she looks at him he smiles sweetly at her, “We’ve been kind of busy lately? Lots on the, uh… You know, the schedule?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she says, pausing with her hands on her hips to look at him, “So who is it, then?”

Greg frowns at her, “Who’s who?”

She smirks at him, “Don’t play dumb on my account, Greg. All that bravado and now you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“I genuinely don’t?” he says, making a face, “Could you maybe give me a hint?”

Shiv scoffs, turning away for a minute to run a hand through her hair, “Shall I buy you a vowel, too? I know you’re the disgusting lieutenant to this casual sex rampage he’s been on. Making a little name for himself. Making a lot of names for himself, actually…”

Greg stiffens all over, standing up a little straighter.

“With you hot at his heels, no less, so I know you know who it is,” she says, turning back to look at him, her eyes steely and determined, “The one who got his attention.”

Something in Greg’s stomach starts to twist, “What do you mean?”

She looks at him for a moment, like she planning and perfecting her line of attack.

“You don't know? That’s kind of weird, aren’t you his little minion? His bro?” She says, and somehow Greg can sense she’s being insulting, even though she sounds quite calm. Surprisingly calm, given the circumstances, “I thought he told you everything…”

Greg swallows, momentarily breaking their locked gaze to look out of the window, gathering his thoughts. He supposes it must give him away on some level, because Shiv exhales a sound that could be a laugh.

“Are you jealous, Greg?” She asks with a smirk, studying him carefully.

He looks back at her with a start, feeling unexpectedly defensive, “Are you?”

Her smile falters. She wasn’t expecting that. Greg spares a moment to think about Tom. He isn’t sure how he endured this. Conversing with Shiv is a game of tennis where the tennis balls are grenades. She says something, and you have to quickly swat something back until one of you trips up and everything explodes and the game is fucked. It’s exhausting. 

He wonders if maybe Tom saw a different side to her. If she was different with him than everybody else. Softer or less argumentative. It makes his stomach twist so he quickly puts a stop to that line of thought.

“You know what, you’re totally right, he would have told me, so I guess you heard wrong,” he follows with, staring Shiv down. It feels like staring down the barrel of a gun.

She rests her hand on the chest of drawers behind her, smoothing her palm along it absently, “If you say so…”

“I do,” Greg says.

“I mean, I had started to wonder if it was Naomi, but…” she shrugs, then looks back up at Greg, “Guess not.”

“Guess not,” he repeats, starting to feel a little uncomfortable, “Where did you hear, anyway…? Like did he— Did someone mention it… “

He had intended to be subtle, but he’s pretty sure he just fumbled the hand grenade hard.

“The other night over dinner,” she says, and Greg can tell there’s more, but she’s holding it back. Is it because she doesn’t want him to have the upper hand? Or is she afraid of sharing something that might make her look weak?

Greg swallows, then nods along, “Oh, yeah, he said he was seeing you, actually,” he lies.

Shiv just rolls her eyes, “What are you really doing here, Greg? Do you hang out here when Tom’s at work? Is this your little fuckboy HQ, or is it something else?”

Greg feels a ripple of guilt run through him. He finds himself looking over at Tom’s bed, at the place where he had knelt at his feet… “I told you, I’m waiting for Tom.”

“Okay, yeah, but why?”

“I just am.”

She smiles and shakes her head, “Like a dog… He told you to sit so you sat. Interesting.”

Her eyes linger on him as she turns back to her suitcase, dropping a few more of her things into it. Greg can’t help but find it a weird sight; Shiv packing her own suitcase. He wonders if she came hoping to run into Tom, but why would he be here in the middle of the day when she knew he’d be working? Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe she wanted to be alone and now she’s here with Greg, seemingly unfazed by the awkward air in the room.

“I didn’t know he had it in him,” she says quietly, but just loud enough for Greg to hear. She glances over to him, waiting for a response but all he has to give is a shrug, waiting for her to continue. “He’s pretty boring like that. Always has to be in love, always has to have a favourite.”

Something flickers in Greg’s chest, something hopeful yet terrified. Shiv keeps catching his eye as she packs and he’s convinced she can see it. He’s worried she can smell it on him; his deeply guarded wish to be Tom’s favourite, the murmuration of optimism that’s coursing through him, hoping that it’s true.

Shiv zips her suitcase and shakes him out of it, pulling it off the bed and letting the wheels clatter loudly on the ground.

“Well, have fun at your little fuck festival,” she says as she passes him by.

“Will do,” Greg says listlessly, stomach churning like a washing machine as he listens to Shiv’s disappearing footsteps as she exits, rooted to the spot and more jumbled up than he’s ever felt in his life. 

~

When Tom eventually gets back, Greg realises he’s been sitting on his couch for hours, staring into space and thinking about the situation.

He’s mostly been thinking about what Shiv said, daring to speculate that maybe it might be him alongside more plummeting thoughts that maybe there is someone else. He hardly realises Tom is even back until he’s standing in front of him, looking nervous but trying his best to hide it.

“Did you have a nice time poking through my underwear drawer?” He asks. 

Greg swallows, “Shiv was here actually.”

Tom blinks at him, something shifting in his expression, “Oh. Today?”

Greg nods, “Grabbing some stuff.”

“Right,” Tom says, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets, “And did she have much to say?”

Greg studies Tom’s face carefully, “She thinks you’re seeing someone. Like, just one person.”

“I see,” Tom says, giving Greg a strange and unreadable look, “And what did you have to say about that?”

Greg sighs, staring at his feet, “I don’t know, Tom. I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

Tom looks at him ruefully, then sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “No. Well, I don’t suppose you do.”

Greg chews on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to mould the words he wants with his hands as he gestures a little uselessly.

“Do you think, perhaps… I could maybe broach the subject of… Of past transgressions? Please?”

“Please? How very polite. My cock’s been in your mouth, Greg, I think we can skip the pleasantries,” Tom says seriously.

Greg puffs out his cheeks then lets out a steady exhale of overwhelmed air, “I mean, yeah. I guess so.”

There’s a long, awkward pause where Greg waits for Tom to speak, and Tom evidently waits for Greg to be the one to get this going. Eventually, Tom sighs and turns away, wandering up to the window and leaning against it on his shoulder, hands in his pockets.

“I guess I’m not handling this very well,” he says, and Greg wonders what specifically he’s referring to. Tom seems to sense this from the look on his face and sighs, “The… Breakdown of marital relations.”

“Ah,” Greg says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“My head is so fucking full, Greg, of this and that and my marriage and of you…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair, “And it was your idea,” he says, with just a whiff of defensiveness, “You and your fucking… Headboard notches. It’s bedpost, by the way. Not headboard. You notch the bedpost not the fucking—" he waves a hand frustratedly, like he’s annoyed to be getting off topic.

Greg does his best to steel himself and get them back on track, “Do you want to maybe like… Talk? About… Her?”

It’s a first time either of them have used the loaded ‘Her’ in weeks. He watches as Tom immediately stiffens, staring resolutely out of the window.

“No,” he says, surprisingly, quiet for a time before he slowly looks back into Greg’s eyes, “Do you remember the night on the bridge?”

“The—“ Greg starts, there’s a split second where he doesn’t know what Tom’s talking about, purely because he’s done such a good job trying to forget it had happened.

They were drunk, of course, and they’d just pissed over the side into the Hudson like teenagers, and they were laughing like idiots, and Tom had crowded Greg up against the railings, his chest against his back.

“When…” Tom starts, not meeting his eye, “When you couldn’t remember the fucking quote…”

Greg had wanted to make a Titanic reference. He had his arms outstretched trying to think of the quote and the closest he’d got was ‘I’m on top of the world? Was that what he said??’ And Tom had laughed uproariously and wound his hands around Greg’s waist…

“Yeah it’s not the quote part that tends to keep me up at night, Tom,” Greg says, because it’s true. He tries so hard not to think about it much, but it still occasionally floats into his mind before he shoves it back out.

Tom’s hands on him, burning through the material of his shirt before they fisted tight in the material. Then he’d pulled him around, so close that Greg could count his eyelashes, and they’d almost kissed. He’d wedged a thigh between Greg’s and made him gasp and just when Greg thought this would be it, this would be the moment they give in to it, Tom dropped him with a nervous laugh and a jibe about his hard-on.

“I didn’t— I—“ Tom starts then sighs, “I don’t know. I didn’t think that we… Could. Back then.”

Greg nods along, then shakes his head, “I don’t understand…”

“I knew once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop,” Tom says, staring at the ground now, “And that felt like… A pretty bad wagon to attach my cart to.”

“Okay,” Greg says slowly, “So I’m just like, a shitty wagon now?”

“No, you idiot, I just meant—“

“Like, wheel coming off? Or… Or woodworm?”

“You’re focussing too much on—“

“It’s very on brand for me, I guess? Like, the last wagon at the… The wagon mart.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom says, exasperated. Greg hadn’t even noticed he’d been spiralling, but when he looks up at Tom he realises he’s been spiralling too, looking fraught and like he’s bordering on grabbing Greg by the neck and shaking him.

“Sorry. I just don’t think I’m all that bad. As a wagon or, you know. As me,” Greg says quietly, even though it’s a stupid thing to say.

Tom looks at him, slightly pained, “You aren’t all that bad.” There’s a long, cavernous pause where Tom evidently grapples with what to say, eyes occasionally flickering around the room like he might find the answer written on the walls, “I just meant that indulging in… You… Was liable to make a big fucking mess of everything.”

Greg shakes his head, “I don’t feel like that’s better?”

“There are layers to it, Greg,“ he says, vaguely, looking troubled, “I was afraid. There, are you happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Greg leans back against the cushions of Tom’s couch. He is kind of happy to hear that. Tom lives his life as a giant, in Greg’s eyes, towering above everyone, churning through every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in New York for sport these past few months. He hasn’t seemed afraid, but it’s gratifying to hear that he is. Greg’s afraid too. It gives them common ground.

“I think at the core of it,” Tom continues, swallowing as he looks down at his trembling hands before folding them around himself out of sight, “I didn’t want to be totally fucking fucked. Up shit creek without my ten foot paddle.”

Greg figures he must give Tom a quizzical look in response to that because Tom rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Things with Shiv felt sort of… Final. And you’d always been there. You’re my Greg, Gregging along, and if I fucked that up somehow then… Poof. Nobody fucking left. Tom Wambsgans totally alone—“

“You wouldn’t have been,” Greg replies, too quickly, “I didn’t want you to be alone either…”

Tom’s mouth is a grim set line, but he nods at Greg appreciatively, looking severe and uncomfortable. It makes Greg want to laugh, so he does.

“What’s so funny?” Tom asks, quickly bristling.

“Nothing, it’s— Eva said that we’re conversationally challenged.”

Tom smiles, just a little bit before he rubs a hand over his face and it disappears, “We converse just fine.”

Greg nods, feeling something prickle beneath his skin. It feels like impatience. He wants to hurry this along, get them talking, but he knows that neither of them can find the right words. He’s always known that Tom is someone who shows himself through actions, but he’s never really thought that much about it until now. Now he’s thinking about the forehead kiss, the way Tom’s so tactile with him, all the things Tom’s never said but has somehow still explicitly shown.

It’s enough to drive Greg to his feet, approaching Tom slowly, like he’s a caged animal, like prey, one slow step at a time until he’s standing in front of him, looking down at his mouth, then at his eyes.

Tom looks like he might cry, his shiny eyes betraying his hardened frown. He startles when Greg tentatively takes his hand and moves it to his chest over his heart, holding it there. He watches as Tom stares at his fingers, then slips a couple between Greg’s buttonholes to touch his skin.

Tom’s breathing deeply now, his hand tentatively fisting in Greg’s shirt, just like it did before on the bridge. The mere sensation of Tom’s knuckles brushing against his skin, even over the top of his shirt, is supremely overwhelming. Greg already feels dizzy. He had Tom naked on top of him recently but somehow this feels more intimate as they exist in each others spaces for a while.

Greg expects the same confidence he’s been witness to but it never comes. Instead Tom swallows nervously, staring at the fading mark next to Greg’s adams apple, the one that he himself put there. Greg realises, then, that after everything, after all of his doubts and all the time he’s spent waiting for Tom to make the first move, it has to be him after all. If Greg wants this from Tom, he’s going to have to be the one to take it.

It takes every bit of nerve he can muster, but with concentrated effort he cups Tom’s jaw with both hands. The move makes Tom jump a little, his glassy blue eyes immediately snapping up to meet Greg’s and it’s so arresting that he pauses, frozen in time for a minute just to look into them.

He exhales an unsteady breath before inhaling a cleansing one, tentatively closing the space between them until their lips touch, brushing slowly together as they start to breathe in unison.

Greg closes his eyes, just this small touch driving him insane as he savours it for all it’s worth. It’s taken so long to get to this point, just the two of them in Tom’s sprawling apartment, about to kiss like it’s their first time.

He can sense Tom getting restless, his fingers starting to flex against his chest in a way that seems irritated, and Greg is maddened by how that makes him smile before he finally gives in, pressing his mouth to Tom’s with determination and holding him close.

It’s nothing more than that for a few moments, just a kiss that lingers, but then Greg feels Tom relax against him and for some reason that kick starts everything. 

It’s like a surge of energy courses between them and suddenly everything is much more urgent than before. Within seconds Tom has his hands at Greg’s hips now, holding him still as he grinds against him, like he’s transitioned into another state of being, rubbing his prick against Greg’s as he murmurs into his neck.

“God, that’s nice, do you like that? Do you like when I fuck you there?” Tom asks, moving a hand between them to feel how hard Greg is for him, “Oh Greg, fuck, Greg…”

Greg’s head is swimming, panting as he focusses on the warmth against his neck as Tom speaks, and the feel of his palm against his dick. Over Tom’s shoulder his eyes fall onto the stairs, the place where he watched Tom that night. He realises that he’s switched places with Sienna now, crowded against the window with Tom all over him, the very centre of his attention. It feels good to be here instead of there, but it also gets his mind whirring.

“Greg, come on, does it feel good, you feel so fucking good—“

“Tom,” Greg breathes, eyes fluttering for a second. It feels so fucking good, “Can I— May I just… Not to interrupt your like, expected trajectory, I just wanted to know—“

“What it feels like when I make you come so hard your brain fucking leaks out of your ears?” Tom offers, free hand slipping around Greg’s waist to the small of his back.

Greg moans quietly because he does want to know that, he wants to know so badly, but…

“Tom, I— I don’t think I want to be her?”

Tom exhales a laugh close to his ear, pressing in closer, “What the fuck are you talking about, Greg?”

“Well, you know… Come on, you know what I mean…”

“Enlighten me,” Tom breathes, pressing his mouth to Greg’s skin, kissing down towards the collar of his shirt.

“I want to be with you as me, you know? And you as you?” Greg manages, feeling insane, “Do you know what I mean?”

“No,” Tom says flatly, “Keep going.”

Greg pauses, taking a slow, steady breath. Between them, Tom’s hand continues to palm in agonisingly slow circles, like he’s politely waiting for Greg to finish speaking before he really gives it to him.

“Like… I feel as if you have perhaps built up a persona? Like a sort of… A Tomsona, if you will, that you wheel out whenever you… You partake in… Rendezvouses of a sexual nature—“

Tom exhales, gusting warm air down into Greg’s shirt and making him shiver, “Do you think you can perhaps get to the crux of your point?”

“Okay, I guess the crux is that… I want to do this with Tom and not the Tomsona? And I want you to do it with Greg — me — and not like, a random faceless conquest?”

Tom leans back then and looks at him, carefully, eyes really staring into his soul.

“Okay…” he says, voice very low, “I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down, Greg…”

“Tom,” Greg sighs, worrying he hasn’t made his point.

“Greg,” Tom returns, moving his hand to press his palm against Greg’s, slowly, tentatively, the most gentle touch he’s ever bestowed upon him as he interlaces their fingers, “I get it.”

Greg swallows, so close he can truly appreciate the stark blueness of Tom’s eyes, “You do?”

He nods, leaning in close to brush their mouths together, “What can I do to you? As me?” he asks, quiet and earnest, and Greg is so immediately floored by such a question that he stumbles. 

He wants to say something sexy and confident, but instead what comes out is a strangled sort of noise that Tom immediately swallows with another kiss as his hands drop to Greg’s waist.

“I wanna take your clothes off, can I do that?” He asks and all Greg can do is nod as Tom’s hands tear into his belt buckle, the sound of his zipper being lowered making his heart race.

Tom’s movements are confident but clumsy, fumbling in his desperation as he finally shoves Greg’s pants down over his hips and guides them down his thighs. He drops down onto his knees to help divest Greg of his clothes, helping him step out of his pants before unlacing his shoes with such reverence that it makes Greg blush. There’s so much restrained haste that it makes the atmosphere crackle around them.

When Tom’s done, he slowly gets to his feet, fingers trailing up Greg’s bare thighs before crowding him back up against the window, kissing his mouth, then his chin, then up the length of his jaw.

“Fuck,” Greg breathes out whilst he has the freedom to pant, Tom’s mouth now somewhere at his throat. He feels Tom’s tongue worry the mark he left there days ago and for a moment he feels a little faint before he pulls himself back together.

He blinks up at Tom’s ceiling in an effort to re-centre himself, so riled up already that he’s almost ashamed of it as Tom starts to pick apart the buttons of his shirt, trying to go slow but clearly desperate to get his hands on Greg’s bare skin as soon as possible.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided you look best with nothing on,” Tom says somewhere close to his ear and Greg immediately shivers all over.

“Oh yeah?” He breathes, licking his lips, “Have you been thinking about that a lot?”

Tom pulls back to give him a look as his hands push Greg’s shirt down his shoulders and off. He blinks at him, half smiling, before settling his hands at Greg’s waist, “Oh, you’d like that if I had, wouldn’t you…”

Greg bites his lip, inhaling sharply as Tom’s fingers slip inside the waistband of his underwear, “Maybe…”

“Maybe…” Tom repeats with a scoff, eyes on Greg’s as he starts to push his underwear down, “You’re so full of shit, there’s no maybe…”

Greg smiles before he can help it, so endlessly enamoured by what’s happening that he barely even registers that he’s naked now, Tom’s hands skimming his thighs as they trail over his skin.

“I’m going to touch you now. As me. Just checking in.”

“Okay,” Greg breathes, letting his eyes flutter closed as Tom’s fingers curl around his cock, “Are you like, mocking me or something?”

He feels Tom smiles against his cheek, “No, just want to make sure that you’re you, and I’m me, and it’s just us.”

“Yeah, think so,” Greg says, arching his back against the window.

“You know the entire world can see your ass right now,” Tom muses.

“Uh-huh, well… Lucky world,” Greg says, a little deliriously. His naked skin feels hypersensitive to Tom’s clothes as he presses in between his thighs, steadily stroking him off.

Then the energy seems to shift as Tom backs him up harder against the windows, pressing them together chest to chest as his free hand pulls Greg’s thigh around his waist. It’s so sudden and possessive that Greg chokes on the heavy weight of desire that pools in his throat. He’s spent his life feeling too large for every space he’s found himself in, but now that he’s here, wedged between Tom’s big, broad body and the window, he feels just right.

Greg winds his arms around Tom’s shoulders and squeezes, his cheek pressed to Tom’s as he moans. The fact that Tom is still full dressed is making him feel unbalanced, made worse by the fact that the way that Tom’s control of the situation feels effortless. He knows he has to be making a mess, staining Tom’s pants and his shirt with every ruthless grind of his hips but he can’t find it in him to care.

Their clothing situation is suddenly more than Greg can bear, craving the feeling of Tom’s skin pressed against his own, but also feeling slightly feral with the rampant urge to look at Tom’s naked body. With great effort, he slips his hands between them to unbutton Tom’s shirt from the top down, slowly revealing his chest to Greg’s hungry eyes.

He presses his palms flat over Tom’s chest, watching the way they rise and fall in time with his breathing. He looks at Tom’s collarbones, his throat, down to his stomach, then down lower to watch his hand slowly jerking him off. It’s perfect, everything is perfect.

“F-fuck…” he stammers, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Can I suck you off?” Tom asks then, directly into his ear, and Greg’s reminded of when he asked the same question a week ago. It had just spilled out of his mouth, driven by how desperately he wanted to do it, how much he wanted to feel the heavy weight of Tom’s cock on his tongue, how much he needed to know what he tasted like. He wonders if this is how Tom’s feeling right now.

“Yeah, shit, okay, if you’d like to?”

“Oh yeah, I’d like to,” Tom says, like he’s fighting an eye roll, but he’s already making his way down onto his knees.

Greg tries to think about the last time someone did this for him, but he comes up short. He figures it doesn’t really matter anyway. From this moment on, it’s Tom that’s going to be doing this to him exclusively. Greg’s pretty committed to making that a certainty.

He’s annoyingly good at it. Tom presses open mouthed kisses into Greg’s thighs, trails his fingers up the backs of his calves, noses at the base of his dick before tonguing all the way up the length of him. And Greg feels perpetually enamoured, totally enraptured by the proceedings as Tom puts on a show for him, eyes closed as he takes Greg apart with ease.

He effortlessly guides Greg’s thigh up onto his shoulder like it’s nothing for better overall access to all of Greg’s erogenous zones. Greg finds himself falling to pieces somewhat when they’ve barely even begun, pressing both palms to the glass behind him for leverage as he tries not to spin out. He hasn’t felt this good in years. He takes a chance and rolls his hips a little, just a twitch that indicates how badly he wants this, and thankfully Tom takes the hint.

When Tom slides his lips over the head of him, Greg genuinely feels as if he could come right there on the spot. He balls his hands up into fists either side of him, hoping the blunt pinch of his nails into his palms is enough to yank him back from the edge. It’s immediately good, immediately slick and warm and hot, all made even better by the fact that it’s Tom’s mouth on him, Tom’s tongue dragging down the underside of him, Tom’s hands pressing dimples into his thighs as he holds him still.

“Oh my god,” Greg whispers, closing his eyes to better concentrate on the suction around his cock, letting himself relax in Tom’s capable hands. Occasionally he flexes his leg over Tom’s shoulder, experimenting with pulling him in closer, and Tom just takes it every time, moaning deep in his throat as he swallows him.

He’s embarrassingly close already, feeling the familiar tug deep in his pelvis as he rocks into Tom’s mouth. Is Tom going to swallow it? The idea makes him dizzy. He looks down because he can’t resist it any longer, and watches as Tom wipes the saliva from his chin with two fingers, then presses them back between his legs, leaving a damp trail as he moves them back towards his hole.

“Oh— oh Jesus,” Greg exhales, arching a little off the glass as Tom teases him with his fingers, simultaneously swallowing his prick with practised efficiency, “Tom, fuck…”

Tom’s eyes momentarily flicker up to look into Greg’s before he doubles down on his efforts, sucking him with more vigour as the tips of his saliva-slick fingers dare to press just barely inside him. Greg’s eyes practically roll in his head as he takes hold of Tom’s shoulder and squeezes, he’s trying to keep a hold on himself but it’s harder and harder the more enthusiastically Tom works him.

“Tom, I— I might come, can I come? I really— Shit, Tom, I think I really need to come… Please…”

He looks down in time to see a glimmer of a smile in Tom’s cheeks as he pulls back with a groan, “Please? I don’t even have to ask you to beg, you just do it,” he says, taking him back in his hand and stroking him slowly. 

The friction is delicious, especially when he’s so wet from Tom’s mouth, “Oh god, Tom, please… Please, please, I— I really can’t wait…”

“Well, don’t let me stop you, Greg,” Tom says, maddeningly, like they’re at work and it’s Greg’s turn to speak in the meeting. It’s crazy how much that does for him in this moment, just the idea that everything has changed now is enough to send him spiralling, colour exploding behind his eyes as he lets himself go.

It comes in waves all over him from head to toe, every pulse of his dick making him stutter, and Tom takes all of it. Every drop. He’s on his knees, mouth slightly open and eyes closed as he takes all that Greg has to give until his face looks like the most exquisite Jackson Pollock painting Greg has ever seen.

Before he can help it, he feels his legs give out, sliding down the window until he’s practically sitting in Tom’s lap, naked and breathless and drenched in sweat.

“Fuck, oh my god,” he exhales, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes as his thighs tremble in the wake of his orgasm, “Wow.”

Tom smirks despite his painted face, “What an astute review,” he says, voice a little gravelly and that alone does things to Greg’s heart. He watches as Tom swipes up Greg’s discarded shirt from the ground next to them and wipes himself clean with it. 

Greg frowns. “Dude, really? My shirt…”

“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you ten new ones,” he says, tossing Greg’s shirt over his shoulder once he’s done with it.

“You said that about my chiropractor and I’m still like, lacking chiropractical care, Tom.”

“Shall I buy you ten of those, too?” Tom asks, eyes blinking sweetly, “Does poor, destitute Gregory need snapping like a celery stick? You know I can blow your back out free of charge.” As if to prove his point, he takes Greg gently by his hips and pulls him down against the hardness concealed within his pants.

Greg fights a smile, “Well, they will too, technically, if you’re paying…”

“You’re so kept,” Tom says, brushing Greg’s hair out of his eyes, watching as he leans back against the window, relaxing in Tom’s lap.

Greg should probably feel self-conscious under Tom’s gaze, but the way he’s looking at him only serves to make him feel adored. Like he’s special and like he means something. He blushes under the weight of it.

“Listen,” Tom says eventually, “Let me wheel you to bed. You’re my favourite wagon, alright? Let me fuck you ‘til the fucking wheels come off…”

Something in Greg’s chest soars, like the burden of the unknown has finally been lifted from his shoulders.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to damage your delicate spinal situation by railing you against a window…”

“I’d be more concerned about your knees?” Greg says, indicating their current position with a tired sweep of his hand, “Like, surely that was kind of excessive for someone of your… Calibre?”

“Are you calling me elderly, Greg? Moments after going down on you with the dedication and precision of a brand new Dyson?”

Greg breathes out a laugh, getting unsteadily to his feet before holding out a hand for Tom to take, “Just being conscientious, really.”

“Conscientiously cuntish,” Tom grumbles, but there’s no heat there. He’s already pulling Greg in by his waist, “You’ll regret being such a prick when you’re aching and run through tomorrow, begging for a hot bath and a tylenol.”

Greg smiles, not even bothering to reduce the wattage of it because he’s so overjoyed that there will be a tomorrow.

“Maybe,” he says, letting himself be led through Tom’s apartment towards his bedroom. Towards his bed. As they pass the couch, Tom reaches behind one of the cushions and procures a bottle of lube, seemingly from nowhere — a random and amusing reminder of Tom’s relentless promiscuity. Greg briefly imagines the thought process and starts to laugh.

“Did you have that stashed there?” He asks through an incredulous grin.

Tom gives him a pointed look that clearly means yes, his cheeks flushed slightly pink, “I’m all out in the bedroom.”

Greg shakes his head, taking all of this in. He wonders if he should feel jealous or offended by this, but he only manages to feel amused. It’s so Tom to be this prepared for any eventuality.

“That’s—“ Greg starts, grinning a little, “That’s kind of slutty, don’t you think? Like… Do you hide one in every room?”

As they cross the threshold into Tom’s bedroom, he tosses the lube onto the bed in readiment and pulls Greg close to him, “If you fail to prepare, prepare to fail, Greg. Is that not one of the first things I taught you?”

“I guess I didn’t appreciate the, uh… Application of that to sex?”

Tom noses up the length of his jaw, lips gently pressing in at various points along the way.

“I’m going to apply you to sex, Greg, can you appreciate that? I’ll start by applying you to my bed, would you prefer it on your knees or on your back?”

Greg feels his heart swoop, his fingers pressing into Tom’s biceps, “Um… Wow, I guess… Like, I want to look at you, so…”

He can feel his cheeks burning, but it’s liberating to be able to say what he wants. He wishes he’d started sooner.

“Yeah? What else do you want?” Tom asks as Greg drops his hands, slowly unbuckling Tom’s belt between them.

He closes his eyes to think about it. This is essentially his biggest fantasy being realised, this is what he’s wanted from the start. He can’t quite believe he’s getting it.

“I want…” he starts, licking his lips and steeling himself, lowering Tom’s zipper with trembling fingers, “I want it all, Tom.”

“Are you asking me to participate in some kind of sex olympics, Greg?” Tom asks into his neck, “Shall I order the karma sutra?”

“No… Maybe,” Greg says, pushing Tom’s pants down and pulling their hips together by the waistband of his underwear, “I mean, like… I want to wake up next to you. And I want to… Go places, just you and me. And I want to…“ he trails off, noticing Tom has gone incredibly still in front of him.

“Keep going,” he says quietly after a moment, his hands framing Greg’s waist before tracing around and up the centre of his back.

“It’s silly,” Greg says, shivering as Tom touches him so reverently, tilting his head to give him better access to kiss his neck, “And it’s— I just want to be with you, honestly? That’s, like… Top of my wish list.”

Tom nods, staying close, eyes hooded as his fingers gently press into Greg’s shoulder blades.

“Just me?” He asks into Greg’s skin, relaxing a little as he drags his open mouth up Greg’s neck towards his mouth.

Greg exhales a long, drawn out breath, “God. Yeah. Like, more than anything? Just you more than anything,” he says, unsure why he suddenly feels so breathless.

“Oh Gregory,” Tom purrs, the tip of his nose just barely brushing against Greg’s, “You just know how to push every single one of my buttons, don’t you…”

Greg nods slowly, “Tom, are you… Are you going to kiss me now, or—“

Tom cuts him off before he can finish, taking his face in his hands and covering his mouth with his own. It’s like a sudden jolt of lightning, like a realisation that this is something they can do now. They can kiss and touch and fuck and everything in between, the gates are open for all of it and Greg finds himself just melting into Tom’s mouth, ready to take it all.

It becomes a frantic scramble as Tom steps out from the puddle of his pants and kicks everything off and to one side, taking Greg’s hands and setting them back at his waist.

“Take them off,” he says of his underwear, so Greg does, slowly pulling them over Tom’s hips and down his thighs, “I’m going to blow your mind, Gregory Hirsch.”

“Great. Cool,” Greg says, licking his lips as Tom pushes him back towards the bed, “Love the confidence.”

Tom grins at him like a shark, giving Greg a final shove that sends him toppling to the bed in a heap. 

It feels so good to be here again, alone this time, just him and Tom. It’s overwhelming, too, when Tom descends upon him, naked and gorgeous and confident. Greg shivers a little at the sight of him. It’s not that he’s inexperienced, but it feels good to be led by someone who knows how to get them from A to B in the most delicious way possible.

“You look a little starstruck,” Tom says, fighting a smile, “What’s that all about, hm?”

Greg settles back into Tom’s pillows, resting his arms either side of his head. Maybe he is starstruck. It is Tom, after all, and Greg gets to be here in his presence, looking at him, touching him; whatever he wants at any given moment he can take. Maybe he’s just so thrilled to be here that his inner excitement is coming off as awe. He licks his lips thoughtfully.

“I guess…” he begins, looking down as Tom’s big hands settle on his chest, fingers pressing in before they drag slowly down his body, “I guess maybe I am.”

“And whyever would that be?” Tom asks quietly, sitting himself up between Greg’s thighs.

“Well… You know,” Greg says absently, letting his eyes close as Tom’s hands trail all over his body, “You built quite the reputation up? Like, a lot of the people we bumped into… They all said you were the the best.”

“The best?” Tom says, mouth somewhere close to Greg’s stomach now. It’s so hypnotic being here, utterly at Tom’s mercy, “The best what? Conversationalist? Best businessman? Best kisser?”

“Best… You know,” Greg says, resting his forearm over his eyes with a low moan as Tom licks directly up the centre of his chest. Somewhere around him he hears the sound of a bottle being uncapped, “The best, Tom.”

Tom hums close to Greg’s adam’s apple, kneeling between his parted legs as his hands trail down the insides of his thighs. One of them leaves a cool, viscous trail as it goes.

“The best at identifying a good wine?” Tom continues, “The best public speaker?”

“Tom…”

“Were they inferring I had the best character? The best personality?” Tom spreads Greg’s legs a little wider, fingers slipping down between his cheeks, pressing down gently against his hole, “Best dressed?”

“The best fuck, Tom, jesus…” Greg breathes, arching down into the pressure, “The best in bed… It’s all everyone ever wanted to fucking… To fucking talk to me about…”

“Poor Gregory,” Tom murmurs against Greg’s chin. He presses a finger slowly inside and swallows Greg’s gasp, moaning in staccato rhythm perfectly in time with him, “Did you believe them?”

Greg shrugs, thighs tensing and relaxing either side of Tom’s hips, “I, uh… Tend to prefer carrying out my own research, you know? Don’t always believe what you hear?”

“Yeah? So this is a research based task, Greg? You going to write a thesis?”

Tom’s finger presses in and out, soon joined by a second. It feels good in a way that it’s never felt with anyone else, slow and deep, achingly nice in a way that crackles deep in Greg’s stomach. Greg starts to squirm a little, already panting as his dick starts to harden all over again.

“I don’t know but I— I— oh fuck… I figure I better check a few times? To be sure? Like… Like to develop an average assessment, perhaps?”

“Your assessment isn’t going to be average, Greg…” Tom says flexing his fingers inside him, and Greg believes him. 

His free hand falls to his side, fisting in the sheets as his hips start to rock in time with Tom’s rhythm, “Fuck, oh god,” he whimpers, tingling all over, “Tom…”

“Easy…” Tom murmurs, pressing a hand to Greg’s stomach to slow him down a little, the heavy weight of his hand burning into his skin like a brand, “What’s the hurry?”

Greg groans in frustration, trying to shuffle a little closer to Tom down the bed, “I just want you like, right now…” he feels like he’s been waiting an eternity for this moment, his whole life maybe to find out what it feels like to be the single more important part of someone’s conscious.

Tom sighs, and when Greg peeks at him from under his forearm he looks just as needy as Greg feels, damp with sweat and a little flushed. “Roll over, then,” he says, sitting back onto his heels as he waits for Greg to do it.

Greg blinks, confused by the shift in tempo, “W— How, I—“

“Onto your side, don’t be shy.”

Greg finds himself pouting, “But… I kind of wanted to look at you, Tom…”

Tom smiles for just a second, like he’s trying to hide it and doing a terrible job, “Greg…” he says lowly, like Greg’s in trouble, and it’s so weirdly sexy that it makes Greg want to keep playing up to it a little, wondering if he’ll get punished. “I can’t just give you what you want whenever you ask for it, it sets a precedent. That’s how bad habits are formed.”

Greg arches an eyebrow at him, thinking about how that doesn’t sound like such a bad precedent to set as he does as he’s told, reluctantly rolling onto his side, “Is that what I am? An unfavourable precedent? A bad habit?”

“Unfavourable my ass… But you are the worst habit I’ve ever had,” Tom says seriously, leaning over Greg to his nightstand, “You’re bad for my wallet, bad for my health… You’re like smoking, Greg.”

Greg watches Tom rifle in his drawer for a condom, the delicious feeling of suspense starting to ripple through his body in currents, “Like… Bad for your lungs?”

Tom settles down behind Greg, shaking his head, “You’re addictive, asshole…”

“Oh,” Greg says, listening intently to Tom tearing into the foil with his teeth. 

It is, at least, more interesting like this; not being able to see what’s going on gives Greg a deeper sense of anticipation than before. So much so that he startles when Tom’s hand finds his thigh and nudges it forward a little, almost like he’s putting him in the recovery position. A slightly manic thought passes Greg’s mind that almost makes him laugh; of Tom preemptively doing this. Like he has so much confidence in his abilities that he fully expects to rail Greg until he’s passed out from bliss.

“Give me your hand,” he says close to Greg’s shoulder, so Greg does, letting Tom guide it behind him. He blinks ahead, biting his lip as Tom curls his fingers for him until he’s spreading himself open, waiting for Tom’s cock.

“Tom,” Greg whispers, licking his lips, “Is this still you?” It feels like Tom, but he’s so confident like this. Greg supposes he’s had a lot of practise of late, so maybe he’s fallen back into reliable motions…

Tom laughs against the back of his neck, “Who the fuck else would it be, Greg…”

“I just… Wasn’t sure if this was part of a standard routine?” he asks, “Like… With people you maybe don’t care about looking at?”

Tom stills behind him, then presses in close until his chest is against Greg’s back, the naked heat of him making Greg gasp a little as the thick length of his dick rests idly between his cheeks. He’s surprised by how normal this all feels. For once in his life, he doesn’t feel awkward at all.

Tom’s hand finds his chest, thumbing down over Greg’s sternum as he presses a kiss into his shoulder, “Nothing about you is standard or routine,” he says eventually, pressing his forehead into the nape of Greg’s neck where it’s safe, “That was the entire fucking issue. You’re not like anybody else. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

Greg swallows, his throat tight and burning with emotion he could never hope to quantify. I’m only me when I’m with you rings around and around in his head, the idea that he has the most authentic Tom there is making his stomach twist and turn with unbridled excitement.

“Can you trust that? Can you trust me?” Tom asks, squeezing Greg in his arms as he noses along Greg’s hairline.

“Okay,” Greg whispers, voice rough and uneven because that’s one thing he’s always known exactly how to do.

Tom tips his hips back a little then suddenly it’s there, the blunt head of his cock pressing against his hole. Greg had almost forgotten that this is what they were building up to, but it’s unexpectedly delightful to hand over control to this extent, Greg can’t help but close his eyes and let it happen, breathing heavily in anticipation as Tom moves in closer.

Behind him Tom is steadily rocking his hips in small thrusts until the head of his dick just barely presses inside, his breathing tickling Greg's ear. It’s more electrifying than Greg expects because as it happens he realises that he’s the one who gets to do this now. It’s finally his turn, and he’s not going to let anybody else have this for as long as he lives.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” Greg gasps, curling into the pillow as he arches back, eager to take more. Tom rests a soothing had on his thigh, holding him still as he continues his ascent, pressing in inch by endless inch in a way that feels like it’s never going to stop until it does and Tom’s pelvis is flush against him. 

“Fuck,” Tom groans behind him, breathless, squeezing Greg’s thigh, “That’s fucking good, is that good?”

Greg nods urgently, incapable of coherent speech. His entire body is throbbing wickedly at such an intense invasion. He feels so immensely filled, the feeling only heightening as Tom presses firmer against him, the weight of his body comforting and ever-present.

“I’ve thought about this before, have you?” Tom asks, steadily rocking his hips, every inch of his body plastered entirely to every inch of Greg’s, his hands holding him firmly in place.

“Of course,” Greg gasps, eyes squeezing shut against how overwhelming it feels to be here with Tom's words vibrating against his skin, “Obviously, I— For months… For… For forever, I don’t know.”

He’s being too honest, but it was clearly the right answer as Tom winds his arm around his middle, holding him close and enveloping him in his grip. He feels safe like this. Taken care of.

“When you thought about me…” Greg starts, feeling bold as he presses back against Tom’s hips with a gasp, eyes fluttering closed to better appreciate the sensation that’s starting to build, “What did you like, think about…”

Tom drags his teeth over Greg’s skin at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it…“ he breathes, his big hands spreading out over Greg’s body as he fucks him. They’ve found the perfect steady rhythm now, slow, deep and intense. It’s making Greg’s eyes water, “I thought about how you’d sound saying ‘please’… Asking me to fuck you… Begging, maybe… What faces you might make when you’re taking it… And what it might be like to kiss you…”

Greg moves his free hand to cup Tom’s neck behind him, fingers pressing in hard as they moan in unison, “You should have fucking said something, man, fuck…”

“Why didn’t you?” Tom asks, voice threadbare, and therein lies the issue. Greg thinks about Eva again, explaining how shitty they are at communicating with one another in the most basic terms possible. He thinks that about covers all of their issues up to this point, but he’s determined to be more honest from now on.

“I was scared. But I’m not now,” Greg says quietly as Tom trails his hand down Greg’s arm, outstretching it in front of them to interlace their fingers. He squeezes tight enough to hurt as they both stare at their joined hands, panting with every roll of Tom’s hips.

“Good. Me either,” Tom breathes, and starts to go harder.

The harder Tom thrusts, the more Greg finds himself turning until he’s practically on his front, moaning into the pillows as Tom pants over his shoulder. It’s actually better like this, now he can grind his hips down against Tom’s mattress, really leave his mark here forever.

“God, you are everything,” Tom breathes, moving to straddle Greg’s thighs and leaning down over him, one hand at his waist, the other pinning Greg’s wrist to the pillows, “Do you like this?”

“Yes,” Greg exhales, arching back desperately despite being so thoroughly pinned down. He feels bleary and delirious as Tom pummels him down into the sheets. He’s mouthing up the centre of his spine now as he does it, the scratch of his 5’o’clock shadow a perfect contrast to everything else, make Greg’s skin tingle in the wake of every kiss.

Then, on one particularly perfect kick of Tom’s hips, it stops, right when Tom is as deep as he can go, frozen and panting as he looms over Greg’s pliant body.

“Okay, turn over,” he says suddenly, pulling out unceremoniously.

It takes a few moments for Greg’s brain to catch up, the aching lack of Tom inside him coupled with the loss of his weight on top of him making him whimper.

“Jesus, Tom, you—“

“Come on,” Tom says, hand curling around Greg’s hip and pulling until he flips over.

Greg feels like dead weight, body thrumming with want as Tom gets back between his thighs, palms dragging up the length of his legs and up his sides as if he’s charting Greg out like a map.

Greg blinks up at Tom and for a single, maddening moment he thinks that this is what Eva must have felt like, staring up at Tom on his knees as he takes hold of his cock by the base and lines back up, gently encouraging Greg’s thighs apart as he does it. It makes his body burn all over, hips twitching a little needily despite how exhausted and overstimulated he is.

“Tom,” he breathes quietly, exhaling a low, breathless moan when Tom sinks back inside him, “You’re… You’re so annoying…”

Tom frowns at him in mock offence, but his heavy breathing and flushed cheeks betray how measured he sounds, “That’s not a very nice thing to say when I’m treating you so nicely, Greg…”

“No,” Greg says, head spinning as Tom starts to shift on top of him, stretching out over Greg’s body and covering every inch of him, “I mean you— You’ve done this to other people and you’re really fucking good at it, it’s a… A travesty, Tom, you— I had to wait so long and you—“

“You feel better than anyone else I’ve fucked,” Tom groans into his ear, and Greg arches with pleasure. It’s an utterly insane notion that only Tom could utter, but it’s a compliment Greg will cherish regardless. He’s always wanted to be the epicentre of Tom’s attention and now he’s here, the central focus of his world.

Greg realises they’ve been in this position before, except this time Tom is inside him and they’re as close as they can possibly get. It’s just the two of them, and even though the light is low, the room is warm and golden from the setting sun outside. He winds his arms around Tom and pulls him in closer, panting blearily against his mouth.

“Is that true?” he asks before he can stop himself, thighs squeezing at Tom’s waist, “Do you mean that?”

“For fucks sake, Greg. Of course. It’s you,” Tom pants, and kisses him, one hand taking Greg’s jaw and tilting his head back to better plunder his mouth, swallowing Greg’s tiny pleasured sounds as he exhales them into his mouth.

He feels re-energised suddenly, his entire body thrumming as he starts to move more enthusiastically against Tom’s thrusts. Every single one sends sparks through Greg’s body, hitting a place inside him that makes him writhe and moan and ache, his neglected prick twitching urgently between them as they both race towards the crescendo. He shoves a hand into Tom’s hair, pulling tight as his moans get louder and their kiss becomes less coordinated.

“Greg,” Tom breathes into his mouth, “Greg, fuck…”

“Are you gonna come?” Greg blurts out, because the idea is intoxicating. He’s made Tom come before but not like this, not with his body. He wants to know what it feels like, he wants everything Tom wants, he wants it all.

Above him, Tom nods, licking his lips as he watches Greg shove a hand between them to take himself in hand, only to have Tom swat it away to take over. At first he just squeezes him hard at the base, then he slowly drags his fist higher, making Greg’s toes curl as he finally thumbs over the head, rubbing agonising circles that make Greg’s body pulse with desire.

“I will when you do,” Tom says, but he’s grinding down so hard now that the bed is shaking with every thrust. Greg’s thighs are burning and his body hurts but none of it matters, he’s on the brink of total collapse and he wants to know what it feels like to come with Tom buried inside him.

“Tom, you— I— I really fucking—“ Greg tries, but Tom’s hand is firm and tight on his prick, and his dick is hitting the perfect spot every time inside him, and before he can breathe another word he’s coming with a sound that seems to pour out of his chest, head tipping back as he floods the space between them.

“Jesus, fuck, fuck…” Tom gasps as Greg throbs around his cock, stuttering out a moan as he finally lets go and comes. 

Greg’s completely out of his mind, delirious with pleasure and dizzy with affection but he has the faculties left to hold Tom close, winding all around him to make sure he stays right where he is for as long as possible. He feels Tom go boneless on top of him like dead weight and finally Greg feels like he can relax, leaning his sweaty temple against Tom’s as his fingers trail gently up and down his spine.

Tom breathes in deep then exhales a long, contented breath that skitters over Greg’s chest, pushing both hands under his back to rest under his shoulder blades.

“Marks out of ten?” He asks, gently dragging his nose over Greg’s cheek, “Any additional commentary or feedback?”

Greg exhales a laugh, still tingling all over, “What for? Do you like, keep a record?”

“I’m just thinking about your thesis,” Tom says, nipping at the hinge of Greg’s jaw with sharp teeth, “The one you’re intending to write.”

“Oh, my average assessment.”

“Not-so-average assessment,” Tom corrects, quiet and lazy as he slowly makes his way towards Greg’s mouth.

“My Tom Wambsgans sex thesis,” Greg says, closing his eyes, “I’m pretty excited to undertake further research, given the data I’ve collected so far?”

“Fuck off,” Tom says, biting at Greg’s lower lip, “You’ve never written a thesis in your fucking life…”

They lay together in comfortable silence for a long time until Tom slowly rolls off with a groan, tying off the condom and tossing it before shuffling up to Greg and resting his chin on his shoulder. It feels like a conversation is brewing, things that still need to be said, as Greg starts to fidget. He doesn’t know what to expect, he can just tell Tom wants to say something.

“Can I ask you something?” Tom asks right on cue, trailing a thumb back and forth over Greg’s collarbones in a way that soothes the anxious roll of his stomach.

Greg nods, shuffling down onto his side to face him, close enough that they’re almost nose to nose. They’re both flushed a little pink, matching shades of well-fucked.

“Why did you go along with all of this?”

Greg blinks at him, pulling the covers up around their shoulders so that it feels more private, “All of what?”

“When I proposed the idea of proving Shiv right you were very enthusiastic about it…”

Greg can’t help but feel a little relieved, but the question still intimidates him a little. This is a bit like the ultimate test; his final grade in being open and honest and saying what he means.

He thinks about it for a moment, choosing his words carefully. The conversation in Tom’s office feels like a lifetime ago but at the same time he still remembers exactly what went through his mind when Tom first pitched it to him.

“Monumental misjudgment?” He offers, feeling inexplicably guilty, “I just… It fit the narrative? Our narrative, that we had sort of built at that point? And I guess figured maybe… Maybe if I made you jealous enough it might make you do something insane and… And kiss me.”

Greg scrubs a hand over his face, then keeps it there covering his eyes. When he presents all of this objectively, it suddenly feels stupid.

“Like the whole thing with Bridget? I really thought you might… But then I guess… We went a different direction?”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Tom says quietly, hauling him in closer, “Easily the highest paid idiot in the state, I’d wager.”

“One of,” Greg says, relaxing a little into Tom’s pillows, “Can I ask you a question?”

Tom’s eyes narrow a little, “I will allow it...”

“When you met up with Shiv—“ Tom arches an eyebrow at him, “She mentioned it earlier,” he clarifies, “What did you guys like… Talk about.”

“Shall I forward you the minutes to review?” Tom asks dryly.

“No, I—“

“I told her I wanted to push ahead with our little divorce plan.”

Greg blinks at him, “Oh. Really?”

Tom looks at him carefully, like he’s searching for the words, “I said… That I couldn’t see a way forward. And she asked if I was blinkered because I’d met someone. Someone important… And at that point I didn’t realise it, but she was right. I’d met him just over a year ago on a baseball field.”

Greg feels his throat go tight, heart skittering in his chest as his brain connects all the dots, “Oh…”

“Yeah. Oh…” Tom repeats, pressing in close to kiss Greg on his forehead, the same coveted spot he kissed before when he got given his get out of jail free card. Things feel complete now. Like they’ve finished a chapter and started a fresh one.

They spend some time just looking at each other, gently touching fingertips and enjoying being close when suddenly Greg remembers something.

“You know, Eva said she would be cool with being our third again. If we, you know, ever wanted to revisit that.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Tom says, tracing a broad palm down Greg’s spine until he finds his ass and squeezes, eyes closing in contentment, “I think it will just be me and you from now on.”

Greg grins, utterly elated. This was his plan all along.

“That sounds perfect, Tom.”