Stephen is used to this, and so he smiles as he swings open the door. The whole thing is them before they knew anyone else, back when they were just themselves, just those two, and it's comfortable like that. They meet at the Skyline, as usual, because it's close, and because they've never been stupid enough to let this happen anywhere else but there and home. They could probably enter the lobby together at this point, without a single batted eye, but they never do. They always travel at least 30 minutes apart, as it always has been.
They have a favorite room, and maybe that's the one point at which things slip, the one minor thread of indiscretion, but they've been paying so well for so long, no one would ever dare breathe a word.
Room 1017 has double beds, which is its only real problem with it, but, in the beginning, bed size didn't really matter, and they've become attached to the space since then. Now, if Stephen wants to stretch out, which he does, more and more as the years pass, he just presses the remote to Jon's chest, flashing a little smile they both understand, then swings over to the other bed. It's okay, because they all need their space.
This time, they're taking their lunch break here, so they order room service after they've drawn apart. Stephen gets french fries with his burger, mostly just to toss them across the room at Jon. After half a dozen have scattered over the sheet covering him, Jon tears it off and makes a leap for the other side. They end up wrestling until they're both touching each other again, hands and thighs. They move together, stroking at rocking at the same speed until they're both done.
After they've relaxed again, when Stephen has his head resting on Jon's chest, feeding him cold french fries and making jokes about whether they're kosher, they finally find the old them. They make a pact to build a blanket fort next time, and Stephen teaches Jon the Secret Handshake, something they can't repeat in public.
Jon stands in the doorway of Keith's office, his head slightly cocked. He has an hour before he's supposed to record, but he's here just the same, swaying with his hands behind his back.
Keith frowns, nodding for Jon to close the door, but he doesn't know what to say.
"I need you," Jon says for him. It isn't a sexual thing, really, not right now, but that's how it ends up working out, with Jon straddling Keith's thigh on his chair, and Keith's fingers working buttons and zippers, sneaking into Jon's underwear.
It's fast and rough, and Jon groans into Keith's shoulder, biting into the cloth of his button down to keep quiet.
It's only a few minutes before Jon comes, and he does it all over Keith's pants, blushing when he realizes what has just happened. He can't even look at what he's done, but Keith just kisses him.
"I have a change of clothes," he whispers. "But, next time, just call. We can get lunch, really talk."
Jon nods and wraps his arms around Keith's shoulders, his head tucked into Keith's neck.
He won't call, because he can't. He doesn't even know where to begin.
Anderson keeps an apartment under his mother's name. It overlooks the Park, and, besides his mother (of course), only two other people know about it.
When Keith's with him, everything happens too quickly. They have a drink, and sometimes Keith even makes a show of putting the game on the big screen in the living room, but then, they just end up in bed, making tangles out of the sheets as they wrestle for control.
Whenever they end up in that apartment together, everything turns into a competition. Anderson still has the better muscles, but Keith has his size, so it's never really clear who will end up where until they're both moaning.
The last time, Keith ended up on top, folding Anderson's knees into his chest, and running his hands between their legs. Anderson's fingers curled around the walnut posts of the bed frame and he closed his eyes, just listening to Keith breathe. The sighs and grunts, and the way Keith eventually gave himself up to his own moans as he thrust harder and deeper... It was Keith's breathing, so much more than the fierce rub of his cock, that finally pushed Anderson over the edge. Afterward, they lay on their backs and talked about the world around them, skirting the future, skirting themselves, skirting everything except for the world at large.
When it's Rachel, she and Anderson drink more. Their conversation contracts, circling in around everyone else. Rachel plugs her iPod into the tangle of electronics Anderson has bought, but doesn't quite understand how to organize, and they sit together on the couch, his head on her shoulder, drinking straight brandy, or something she's made, depending on how tired they are. At first, they just talk. Anderson worries that Stephen is depressed. Rachel comments on Keith's eating habits. Anderson counters that by bringing up Rachel's eating habits--did he feel ribs the other day?--and she puts an ice cube down the back of his shirt.
He's strong enough to carry all of her long, lanky body to the bedroom, and her fingers massage his scalp as he tugs off her pants and underwear and slowly works toward pressing his tongue into her cunt. They're the best together when they're like this, with no one else watching. They can be careful and awkward, can try things, can work them out. He can tease her for hours, his brow creased and his mouth shy, out of curiosity and care and nervousness, and when she's come, he treats the whole thing like it's a gift she's given him.
Later, as she works her way down the length of his cock, sometimes slowly, sometimes more quickly, she tries things. She's gotten used to the way his hips sometimes buck up on their own, and it's rarely even unexpected any more. He apologizes, and she laughs, her mouth still half covering him, which makes him gasp, and then do it all again.
Their bodies never quite touch completely, and when they have nothing left to offer each other, they return to his head on her shoulder, her fingers trailing down his spine and his hands in her hair, whispering.
Keith presses Rachel back against the door of his office the moment she comes in. She was honestly just looking for a clarification relating to an e-mail he had sent, but--
She realizes this is the clarification he was looking for and relaxes, muttering his name against his jaw as he walks her backwards toward his desk. He fucks her standing in front of her, with her ass pressing against the edge of his desk and his hand under her shirt. He comes before she does, but she doesn't fake it. She just kisses his cheek and pushes him gently way, sliding her underwear back over her hips.
"I love you," she whispers, lips pressing into his cheek. Then, she drops to her feet. She slides her jeans up, buttoning them as she steps toward the door, then turns back with a grin. "You owe me, though."
Stephen makes Rachel origami out of everything, even the straw wrappers at restaurants (these endless folded chains that appear in the strangest places, peeking out from her coat pockets, wrapped around her toothbrush, crammed deep into her shoes). He leaves paper cranes on her pillow, and cootie catchers somehow keep ending up on her desk in her office.
When they're alone, he gently kisses up her spine before he presses into her, stroking her hips when he hears her moan, and he laughs when she thrusts back against him, groaning when he feels how soft her ass is against his hips.
When he wakes up in the middle of the night, he crawls over all the other bodies to get to hers, curling up against her stomach with his cheek against her chest.
When Stephen pisses Anderson off, there's no forcing it right again. It just fixes itself in the end. They never talk about it, not between themselves or to anyone else, but it's still there, hanging over everything.
Then, when Rachel has started working 14-hour days, Keith is almost punching walls, and Jon smells like cigarette smoke, the pair comes tumbling out of a bathroom or the bedroom, missing belts and shoes, and playing with each other's hands. No one talks about it.
It's kind of a legend among them, the time Anderson and Jon nearly got caught. Anderson jokingly blames it all on Jon, because it happened in a deli, but, whenever that explanation starts to come out, Stephen shoots it down by screaming "Racist! Racist!" until Keith tackles him.
All that's really known is that the story somehow involves a jar of pickles, but, both men swear not like that.
[Really, it was kind of an innocent thing, as much as sex in a supply closet can be. Jon was leaning into the shelf in front of him, to better push back against Anderson's hips, when he shook the case a little too hard. The jar fell and they went running out, still buttoning their pants when the manager came around the corner.
"Bathroom?" Jon asked. The man frowned and pointed in the other direction, and they took off.]
One Saturday a month, Jon and Rachel drive out into the depths of New Jersey to get high. When it's warm, they sit out in a field or on the hood of Rachel's truck, and from there, Rachel ends up on top of him in the grass, or on her knees in front of him as he leans back against the truck, letting him unbutton his pants and then doing the same or just sliding him out over his briefs. If she goes down on him, then she ends up on her back shortly after, with his teeth nipping at the line of her underwear. Either way, they end up with grass in their hair. Winter trips are more cramped, with Rachel's legs everywhere in the cab, Jon disappearing into her limbs.
They come back laughing, wearing each other's shirts and telling jokes that no one else gets.
Keith still likes to swear that he's going to kill Stephen one day, but then, there's this one thing he does, with his fingers on the back of Keith's neck and his lips next to his ear... Somehow, it keeps it all from boiling over. Once Stephen has done that, they usually can't even get their clothes all the way off. They rub together through their underwear, Stephen whispering quiet, dirty things as he sneaks a finger under the crouch of Keith's briefs to tease over and behind his balls. Keith groans and lets Stephen's body cover his the best it can, tensing and relaxing beneath it. Keith almost always comes first, but then he pushes Stephen backwards and works his hand into the waistband of his underwear, wrapping his hand around Stephen's cock. Stephen isn't much longer.
Any given morning, they're all just a tangle of limbs. Someone crawls out of the pile and sets the heat a little higher, then makes a pot of coffee. The morning speeds up from that point, through lazy kisses and showers and hunting for missing clothes, until they all cluster up in the kitchen, circling in and out of each other's way. Then, for a few minutes, things are simple, as routine settles in and everything falls into place.