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a song of pure romance

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He’s never been one to sleep in, unless he’s been up all night. He’s lost more than one day by crashing out of insomniatic stupor at five in the morning and sleeping ‘til five at night, waking to early evening heat seeping in through the windows, and jeans bunched up around his calves. But beyond that he’s up early, early-ish. On tour he’d been the one to start the coffee, to wake up and putter, tool around on the internet and make toast and wait for everyone else to wake up. At home it’s the same; even if he has nothing to do, he’d still rather be awake and ready for it.

So he’s awake, feeling nostalgic for tour bus life, making coffee in a coffee pot that isn’t his and curling up in a kitchen nook with an unfamiliar view. Unlike the continuously changing one of the bus however, this view is one he’s getting more and more used to.

He looks up when Isaac pads in barefoot and shirtless, sleep pants slung low. It’s unsurprising that he’s shirtless, because it’s Isaac, but Tommy raises an eyebrow anyway.

“Morning,” Isaac says, and he pours himself coffee. He lifts it to his face, closing his eyes and breathing it in. Tommy nods, hiding his smile in his own coffee. Isaac’s non-functional pre-caffeine, and Tommy’s learned his lesson. He waits, watches Isaac sip the coffee black before he pours milk and an unhealthy amount of sugar in it. Tommy’s also learned that Isaac operates on sugar more than natural perkiness and energy. They’ve shared more than one nighttime trip to the corner store for candy and soda. Isaac sits across from him, one leg up on the kitchen bench that Tommy’s sitting on, and smiles at him.

“Sleep good?” It’s all Tommy can come up with and Isaac shoots him a look. Tommy fiddles with the loose edges of his hoodie sleeves, his eyes on his coffee.

“Stop freaking out,” Isaac answers, and he sips at his coffee. “You’re such a worrier.”

Tommy isn’t, though. Ok, maybe he is. Maybe he spent an entire tour mother hen-ing most of the bus, worrying his ass off about Adam burning out, or the dancers getting injured or whatever. He’d made more tea and rubbed more sore backs on that one tour than he’d done in his life before it.

But this isn’t a sprained ankle, or a string of too many shows without enough sleep. This isn’t being fucking homesick.

He opens his mouth, but Isaac cuts him off, reaches over and touches Tommy’s cheek, gentle.

“I slept great. I was pretty worn out,” he says, and he smiles wide when Tommy blushes, taking a sip of his own coffee and pouting a little. “Oh, so modest.”

Tommy swats at his hand, standing up and fixing another cup of coffee. He can hear that Sophie’s up; the tap is running in the upstairs bathroom. He puts some milk in the mug and sets it on the table somewhere between him and Isaac, and he’s just sitting back down when Sophie walks in.

“Hi, beautiful boys,” she says, and she leans down and kisses Isaac. When she leans down and gives Tommy one too, he can’t quite ignore the heart clench he gets. It resonates, somewhere. Maybe more than anything else that’s happened. He can’t pinpoint why it’s more intimate than last night. Harsh light of day, maybe. Maybe not.

She sits down, hands wrapped around her coffee mug and Tommy realizes way too late that he knew what she took in it; that he made it for her, unthinkingly perfect at it, by rote and routine.

Now he starts to freak out.

“So, I guess I’ll just. You know,” Tommy starts, setting his coffee down pointedly. Awkwardly. “Get going.”

“Sorry, what?” Sophie says, looking at him in amazement. She’d put her feet in Isaac’s lap, but when Tommy actually moves to stand up she plants both feet, wrapping a hand around his wrist.

“He’s freaking out,” Isaac says, sounding unsurprised. Tommy frowns.

“No, I’m not freaking out. I’m just. You know. I did my part,” he says, and fuck it, he’s blushing again. “So to speak.”

Last night had been amazing. Tommy’s not denying that, it had been a really good night of really good sex with his two really good friends. And that last part is the sticky bit and it’s why he’s standing in their kitchen ready to bolt while Isaac sighs at him and Sophie looks pissed.

“What?” Tommy says, and he looks away from Sophie (that look is terrifying) to Isaac. “What?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” It’s all Isaac says and Tommy feels the spark in his stomach flip to anger.

“I just figured, you know. Last night’s over, I made the coffee and now it’s time for the walk of shame, right?” He’d driven to thier place last night, but the point is the same. “I mean, the bed’s been made. Or unmade, as the case may be. Not really sure what I’m hanging around for.”

Sophie slaps him.

He deserves it. He knows he deserves it. Because a one off might be a one off, but these guys are still his friends. He knows they’re better people than that, that they wouldn’t have jumped into this without caring about his feelings. That if they’d been looking for an easy fuck they’d have easily found someone else, and that he’s not standing in their kitchen dealing with the morning after just because he’d been, you know. There.

“Stop being a little bitch, Tommy Joe,” Sophie says, and she looks hurt now as well as pissed. Isaac looks like he’s wisely keeping his mouth shut. Tommy isn’t that smart.

“Look, Soph. I know you think I’m trying to save my own ass here, but that’s not it. I’m trying to fucking deal with this so that next week when you guys call me up to have brunch or whatever, I can come without it being so awkward or weird that we all decide it’s too much work and you decide I’m not worth it.” Tommy finishes, meeting Sophie’s gaze, his anger fading out.

“First of all, what exactly from last night made you think we weren’t going to call you for a week, and when we did that it’d be for fucking brunch, and secondly, in our entire relationship what in hell would make you think Isaac and I would ever decide that you weren’t worth it? Because newsflash, Tommy, this is a relationship. I don’t know if you noticed or if you were too wrapped up in being a drama queen over in your drama corner to realize.” Sophie’s standing now, hands on her hips, and she looks halfway between angry and pitying and sort of incredulous that Tommy could actually be that dense.

“We’re in a relationship?” Tommy says, and Isaac snorts.

“You’re sort of a tool,” Isaac says, and he tugs at Tommy’s hand, pulls him towards them. Sophie drops her hands from her hips and comes in too, the two of them essentially framing Tommy and cutting off his escape. “Yeah, Tommy. We’re in a relationship. We were before last night, and we sure as hell are now. I’m not saying that sex changes everything, but it sort of cemented whatever we had going here.”

“We didn’t think it’d come as such a surprise,” Sophie says and she sounds apologetic. “We took it for granted that you felt how we already felt. And we took it for granted that we hadn’t talked to you about it, because we’d been talking about it so it felt sort of like it had been talked to death.”

“You’d been talking about it? About. You know,” Tommy gestures at the three of them. “Last night?”

He’d sort of assumed it had been spur of the moment. Spontaneous. He hadn’t figured them for having talked it through, let alone at length.

“We’ve been talking about you for a long time, Tommy.” Isaac says, and he grins up at Tommy, mischievous. “Good thing you live up to expectations.”

“More than,” Sophie says, her smile matching Isaac’s. She rests her head on Tommy’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “We’re not planning on deciding you’re not worth it, either. And not just because you’re amazing in bed. We sort of love you, you know.”

And they’ve said it before, the three of them. But obviously it means more now. It means something bigger than Tommy’d thought when Isaac kissed him last night, when Sophie led him to their bedroom. Than when they’d texted it, or said it on the phone, or even called it before the bus left, or before Sophie’d left them to their inevitable madness.

And they can claim as much as they want that sex shouldn’t change it, won’t change it. But it will. Hopefully (and so far it’s looking like to Tommy) for the better. But it’s still a change, a huge leap of-- whatever. Faith, he guesses.

“I mean, I sort of love you guys too, obviously. More than sort of, but I just. C’mon, you guys. We can’t just. Do this,” He says, and then he blushes, sighing. “We can’t just fuck and then say ‘I love you’ [in quotations?] and pretend it never happened. That’s- It’s not fair. It’s fine for you guys, maybe. You’ll have each other, but what happens when I go home tonight?”

He doesn’t mean to sound as lost as he sounds but it seeps through. Isaac tugs Tommy onto his lap, so Tommy’s straddling him with feet on either side of the chair and his hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“We should have talked to you,” Isaac says. “Instead of assuming we were all on the same page. We’re not going to pretend this never happened. We’d never ask you to. You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair. But you’ve got us, too. I mean, as much as we have each other, Soph and I, we uh. We’d like to have you, too.”

“We’re sorry,” Sophie says, and she leans down, kisses Tommy’s head. “We will talk about it. But don’t worry, ok? What Isaac’s trying to say is that we’re keeping you. If you’re willing to be kept.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, looking up at her and then at Isaac, who has a shit eating grin on his face.

“Keeping me, huh?” Tommy says, but he’s smiling a little and it’s edging that bit of lost out of his voice. “So like, in your bed or-?”

“Like, every way,” Isaac answers, and he pulls Tommy down for a kiss, fingers threading through Tommy’s hair.

“We are talking about this, later.” Tommy says, and he kisses Isaac, licking at his lower lip.

“Later,” Sophie says. Her hands on Tommy’s shoulders are a promise, and she leans down, biting gently at the side of his neck.

“Hey,” Tommy says, and he turns his head to her, kisses her. “If we’re in a relationship, was that our first fight?”

He bites gentle at Sophie’s lower lip, then bites a little harder when she scratches her nails across his neck.

“I guess so,” she says, when he lets her go. He likes how her lip is swollen already. He’s imagining a million things they didn’t do last night that the three of them can do now. Or tomorrow.

“Sweet,” Tommy says, and he rocks his hips into Isaac’s gently. “We can have make-up sex.”

Sophie laughs at him, swatting him on the shoulder. He catches her hand though, and pulls her down into another kiss, Isaac’s hands going around his hips.