Work Text:
It's well gone 1am when Alex literally stumbles out the pub. A proper stumble, too.
He's swaying unsteadily. Greg's got an arm around him already, and he's debating whether to just pick him up and carry him, but Alex wanders off awkwardly across the road and falls, quite neatly, into someone's meticulously pruned hedge.
Greg swears.
'C'mon,' Greg says, extending a hand. Alex takes it, and pulls. Greg lands squarely on top of him, hears the last few branches snap as the bush gives up trying to fend them off.
'Oof,' Alex says.
'Whatd'you have to do that for,' Greg grumbles. 'Idiot,' and the halogen warmth of the streetlight has caught Alex's face in an odd way. His eyes are sparkling. He looks startlingly like a cherub that's fluttered off a vintage greeting card. Like he should have a little harp and some floaty gauze encircling him, instead of box hedge.
Greg puts the thought aside, because even though he's half-cut he's the most sober person in this bush right now. Jesus Christ.
'Y'alright?' he says. Alex nods. 'Wonderful. Come on,' Greg says, but Alex has looped his arms around Greg's neck, awkwardly. He's all angles. He looks like he's trying to bring himself to say something. 'Alex,' Greg says again.
Alex kisses him. On the mouth, live and unscripted and hungry, and he shifts his weight against Greg's leg, and oh God, it's a good kiss, and he tastes like beer and salt, and this shouldn't be happening, it shouldn't, he's too drunk for this -
'Oy oy!' someone yells, cycling past. Greg doesn't look but flips them off anyway. The ambient rumble and shout of the city filters back into his head.
Alex is still kissing him, determinedly, and Greg leans into it for just a moment, but remembers himself and pulls back, hastily, trying to disentangle Alex's stupid arms.
He's clinging on with the determination of an Airedale terrier, and Greg thinks he hears him whine, maybe.
'You're really...y'know,' Alex says, with the kind of clarity of mind you only get once you've achieved a particular blood alcohol concentration. Greg just blinks stupidly at him. 'Handsome.' he manages eventually, and then he smiles like a sunrise.
Greg doesn't know what to do with that, with any of this. If he starts thinking about it he'll either panic or do something stupid, so he just gets awkwardly to his feet.
Of course, he then has to bend down and haul Alex out of the bush, and Alex gangles completely ungracefully. There's a few sticks caught in the weave of his stupid jumper.
'Come on, old man,' Greg says, hoisting him onto his back. 'Let's get you home, eh.'
'Take me to bed,' Alex says breathlessly.
'I'll put you to bed.' Greg says.
ย
It's a strange walk, because even though it's not far, it feels like forever. Alex has pressed his face into Greg's neck, and he's mumbling a string of the most profane shit Greg's ever heard, and part of him wishes he was more sober so he could commit it to memory. He can't quite believe any of it is about things Alex wants Greg to do to him. The list is pretty fucking extensive, with indented bullets and everything. Everything feels totally and completely unreal.
ย
'Which pocket are your keys in?' Greg says, slightly out of breath.
'...A pocket,' Alex agrees. Greg deposits him on the stoop and pats him down as briskly as he can, considering he's had Alex's tongue in his mouth in the last half hour. Alex tries to lean in to kiss him again, but he dodges, because Jesus Christ the last thing he needs is someone opening the door on this absolute casserole of a situation.
No keys. Shit. Can't ring the doorbell, it's too late. Can't knock. He's just drunk enough that it seems completely plausible for a task to materialise somewhere, but it doesn't. He checks under the mat anyway, and there's only some ants.
Eventually, he fishes Alex's mobile out of his pocket. 'Put your thumb on it,' he commands, and tries to ignore the little noise Alex makes. 'Thumb,' he says firmly.
Rachel answers after a couple of rings.
'Idiot lost his keys,' Greg says. 'We're outside. Didn't want to try the doorbell in case I woke anyone up. It's Greg. By the way.'
ย
Rachel opens the door, laughing at the tableau. 'Bout you? Come in,' she says, and Greg carries Alex in like a sack of potatoes, slings him onto the couch. Alex giggles hazily.
'Sorry about this,' Greg says, and he suddenly feels very awkward. 'Guess he had a few more than I realised.' He shrugs.
Rachel looks up at him and smiles. 'Trying to keep up with you, I expect,' she says, but it isn't a jibe. 'Well, he's steamin'. Fancy a cuppa?'
Greg looks at Alex, who's already fallen asleep. It'll be at least another half hour before he gets home, at any rate.
'Oh, go on, then,' he says.
ย
He pushes Alex's legs out of the way and sits unsteadily at the end of the couch. Feeling like he should be doing something, he takes Alex's shoes off for him, and tries not to focus on wishing he was sober, because it never works.
Pink socks, with doughnuts on. He's horrified by the lump in his throat at that, and furiously thinks about when his water bill's due until it goes away. There's a big drunk part of his brain that wants to lie down on top of Alex and hold him, but the part of his brain that's really good at thinking like a sober person is tamping it down furiously.
ย
Rachel returns, kettle rumbling promisingly in the background.
'Wake him up and make him drink this,' she says, handing Greg a glass of water. 'Or waterboard him, whatever gets it down.' She disappears again.
Greg pulls Alex into a sitting position, shakes him gently.
His eyes open, unfocused. 'Drink this, you stupid bastard,' Greg says, nudging the lip of the glass against his statuesque Cupid's bow. Alex opens his mouth obligingly and gets most of it down.
'Good boy,' Greg says, before he can stop himself, and hates the way Alex smiles at him, wanton. This is his fucking house. He lives here with his bloody wife, for Chrissake. Who's lovely.
'Thanks,' Alex mumbles clumsily, and Greg watches an errant droplet slide down the side of his beard. 'Youeur...good...Boy. Greg,' he says. 'Good boy.'
Greg watches him slide into the cosy semi-conscious not-quite-sleep of the generously pissed. He's down for a right headache.
ย
'Few wee sugars, right?' Rachel says, setting down a mug.
'Ta,' Greg says, politely. And she remembered how you like it, chides the little English teacher Greg who permanently mopes around in his brain. Go home.
'Um,' Greg says, after a moment, because he really can't just ignore it. He's too drunk. 'Your man here, well. Um-'
'Our man,' Rachel says, over her mug. It's got three geese on it, and they're wearing bonnets with bows. Greg smiles nervously.
'...Sure,' he says, slowly. 'Well, he. Um. He did kiss me, earlier. He fell in a bush and. Anyway. I just wanted to say...I...I don't know why, actually. God,' he drags a hand over his face. It's still garden-bed gritty. 'Never mind.'
Rachel gives him a bit of an odd look. 'Alright,' she says. 'Did you like it?'
Greg chokes, tries to clear his throat. 'Hardly think that matters,' he manages. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spluttering.
'I don't mind,' she says, and she's not lying either. 'He's been trying to work up the courage for ages,' she says. 'To talk witcher about it. You get him tongue tied.'
Greg's sat there like a stunned mullet. Mouth opening, closing. Brain desperately trying to parse it. He's not sober enough for this.
'Oh,' is what he manages, after a full Greenwich meridian nuclear minute. 'Well, alright. I...I'm. Just, um. I'm never quite sure where the bit ends,' he mumbles, and he takes his glasses off so he can think without all the fine details.
'Catch yourself on,' she says, bemused. 'Go for your life, honestly. If you're interested, I mean. Alex and me, we're solid. I think you're dead on, anyway,' she says, 'Really, it's fine. We've talked about it.' She watches him appraisingly.
Greg is just blinking. 'Sorry,' he says eventually. 'I think I'm fucking dreaming.'
She laughs, and it's a gentle warm sound. Next to him on the couch, Alex smiles hazily in his stupor.
ย
He manages to finish his tea eventually. Doesn't bother trying to make much conversation, because he can't even fucking think in sentences right now.
ย
'Oh, shit.' he says. 'Keys.'
'Airtagged them,' Rachel says, and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her dressing gown. 'He's always losing them.' She squints at the screen.
'Genius,' Greg says, and maybe the caffeine is sobering him up a little. Having his glasses back on doesn't feel so much like viewing the world with caps lock on.
'I did check his pockets,' he says, at exactly the same time that there's a tinny little rolling beep-beep-beep from somewhere in Alex's jacket.
Rachel bats away Alex's hands as he tries to to stop her unzipping the jacket. 'All good,' she says to Greg, and smiles, holding up a slightly battered set of keys.
'Zipm up, Rach,' Alex whines. 'Comfy.'
She obliges him, and Alex, eyes shut, smiles hugely. Greg feels like an unwanted growth.
'I'll go,' he says, too fast. 'Sorry. It's so fucking late โ I'm. I'm keeping you up.'
'Help me get him upstairs first,' she says.
ย
He hears the airtag cheep again like some kind of shrewlike domesticated animal as the door shuts quietly behind him.
2 am greets him like a maths teacher.
The air's crisp and bracing, and for a long moment he genuinely thinks he might just walk into the Thames. He walks to the tube instead.
ย
--
ย
10 am isn't much kinder to Alex, who wakes up all at once. His mouth's somehow dry and slobbery at the same time.
Daylight is lancing through the window. His neck hurts. His head hurts.
He's snuggly though. He sits up, all at once, and immediately regrets it, because he feels like a Picasso painting, one of the weird ones.
He's in bed โ well, on bed. No shoes, though. He lies back down immediately, lets the blood level itself out. He's still drunk, probably.
Rachel sets some water down on the bedside table next to him, and the thud of the cup hits like a mallet on a timpani.
'Aurgh,' he says.
'Morning to you,' she says, and pushes his legs over, so he's lying diagonally, like a backslash, and sits down. 'How're you feeling?'
Alex makes a noncommittal noise.
She pops some ibuprofen into her hand and, because Alex has his eyes scrunched shut, says, 'Open up,' and he obliges immediately without even looking, because of course he does. He swallows awkwardly around the tablets.
'Wa'er,' he croaks, shifts up onto an elbow and drinks the glass in one long gulp like a symphony. 'Cheers,' he says, and opens one eye.
'Completely legless,' she says fondly, and cradles his jaw with one of her hands.
'Yeah,' he says. 'S'coming back a bit.' He winces. 'Think I fell in someone's hedge.'
'I'd say so. Sticks in your jumper.'
Alex sighs. 'Dunno, I. I thought it might help,' he says. 'Not the hedge. Got really stressed out about getting old.' He blinks like his eyelids are weighted down. 'Got stressed about, y'know,' he bites the inside of his lip. '...things I want.'
'Greg,' she says, and she's rubbing circles into his cheek with her thumb. It's so comforting he might cry.
'Yeah,' he says tightly.
'Pot-valiance,' she says.
'Something like that.'
There's a pause. 'Gonna sit up,' Alex says, and, herculean, he manages it, rests his forehead against Rachel's shoulder. She rubs his back, kisses his forehead lightly.
Alex freezes. 'Oh, God,' he says.
'Hmm?' Her hand doesn't even pause.
'Oh, God. Fuck,' Alex takes a deliberate breath through his nose, panic rising. 'Shit. Rach,' he says, like he's a surgeon who's just amputated the wrong leg. 'I think I kissed Greg,' he says, and covers his face with his hands desperately.
'You did,' Rachel says calmly. 'He carried you home, also.'
'Oh, God,' Alex moans.
'You've been wanting to for ages!' Like he's being ridiculous.
'Well, sure. But. But, I work with him,' Alex says, and his head spins double with the twin discs of raging shame and anxiety. 'Oh, fuck. I might be sick,' he says. 'Shit.' He breathes very carefully, because he can't stomach or face doing laundry at this point.
'Rach,' he moans. 'I don't think I said anything. I think I just kissed him. I think I just fucking. Fell in a hedge and kissed him. Oh, shit.' He's absolutely horrified at himself. No manners. Insane, unsafe, nonconsensual. Jesus Christ.
'No, no, you did,' Rachel says. 'He said you called him handsome, first.'
'Oh,' Alex says. 'Wait, he said? What do you mean, he said?'
'Made him a wee cuppa, since he was nice enough to get you home,' Rachel says, and feels Alex deflate.
'Ohhh, God,' he moans. 'I'm going to live in the attic forever.'
'Be a nice change from the mice,' Rachel says. Alex groans, face in his hands.
'Fuck, I am going to be sick.' He's gone a pallid grey under his beard.
'I'll get you a bowl,' Rachel says, sensibly.
ย
-
ย
And he is sick, eventually. It does make him feel better. Physically. He continues feeling completely wretched, emotionally.
He has a shower, which makes him feel like a human being again. Some of the ibuprofen must have got through despite the upchuck, because his headache is easing a bit.
Rachel's gone to run errands in between bouts of sleeting rain.
ย
Alex manages a passable fried egg and toast, and, feeling sorry for himself, cuts his toast into soldiers and pokes despondently at the yolk.
He could almost cry. Instead, he eats the egg, and the toast, and stares into the crumbs, half-hoping they might reassemble themselves into something to say, ร la tea leaves. They remain infuriatingly randomised.
Rachel, beloved patron saint of practicality, has put his phone on to charge overnight. He texts her a thank-you.
Checks his emails absent-mindedly. Nothing urgent, which is annoying. No pressing texts. Nothing from Greg, which is fine but also isn't, at the same time.
There's nothing for it, then.
He opens the text thread he shares with Greg.
Writes a text. Deletes it. Rewrites it. Deletes it. Rewr โ
Remembers the definition of insanity.
Opens his emails again. Frowns. Greg's rubbish at responding to emails.
Opens the notes app. Makes a brand new note in honour of the severity of the situation. Tries a million sentences and hates all of them. He needs words that don't exist, which is very frustrating.
Sighs. Makes another tea.
He could always just pretend he didn't remember. But no, there would be something different between them, now.
He watches bedraggled starlings pick at the bird feeder outside and sighs. The longer he leaves it, the weirder it will be. He feels like the universe has set him an impossible task.
๐๐-๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ข ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐.๐ต๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐.
It's going to be a nul points round and no mistake.
He's tossing up whether to try ringing or texting first, or maybe recording himself doing an interpretive dance, when his phone goes off in his hand. He almost screams. It's Greg, because of course it is. He answers the call before the anxiety can set in.
'Sorry,' he says, catching his breath. 'Ringtone scared the shit out of me just now.' Greg's booming laugh takes his headachy brain by the cochlear and rattles it, but Alex smiles anyway. 'Sorry,' he says again. Clears his throat. 'Hello.'
'So, d'you want to talk about it?' Greg says, no preamble. Alex groans.
'Not really.' he says.
'Too bad,' Greg says, in his best asking-questions-of-year-9-skiving-off-in-the-back-row voice.
Alex sighs. 'Not much to say, is there?' he mumbles.
'You were pretty adamant that I fuck you,' Greg points out. 'Reckon that's a fair bit to say.'
'Ohhhh, God,' Alex says, and wishes he could fold himself into an envelope and post himself to hell. 'Greg, I'm so sorry, I-'
'Rachel said you'd been hard up for me for ages,' Greg says, with the complete and rolling unstoppability of a lava flow. Alex winces again. 'She said I make you, erm, quote, tongue tied, unquote. I think.'
Alex nods miserably, then remembers he's on the phone, and says in a very small voice, 'I mean. Yeah...sometimes.' He groans.
'Now times?' Greg says.
'I think so, yeah.'
There's quite a long pause. Alex can hear the music Greg's got on in the background. It's strangely comforting, because it also occupies the space with him.
'How's the head?' Greg asks, charitably backing down from the silence.
'Feels like I drank sand,' Alex says miserably.
'Still want me to fuck you?' Greg asks, mercurial. It's back to molten rock.
Alex chokes. 'Well, I think that's, um. That's probably an in-person, um. An in person conversation,' he manages.
He can hear Greg grinning, but maybe that's just because he's also chuckling. 'I think you may be right on that one,' he says. ' 'M headed over your way later on. I'll drop in?' He suddenly sounds very nervous.
'I'd like that, actually,' Alex says, quickly. 'I dunno if Rach will be aroun-'
'Don't mind either way,' Greg says, 'Enjoyed the cuppa.'
Alex laughs, because he's relieved more than anything in the world. 'We don't have to, y'know. Talk about it, if you don't want to.' he says. He's scrunched his forehead up against his fist.
'Unfortunately, I think we do,' Greg says. 'Something something hot iron, et cetera.'
'Alright,' Alex says. 'I am truly sorry.'
'Don't be.' Greg says, and it sounds almost relieved. Alex doesn't know what to say to that, he's nothing but anxiety and dread and hope and desperation and the varied by-products of liver activity. 'Perfectly alright. See you later on, my good boy.'
Oh, God, Alex wants to wrap himself in the syllables. 'Catch you,' he says, before his throat totally closes over, and hangs up.
He wants, more than anything, to lock himself in the conservatory and throw fifty darts into the wall. So he does.
ย
-
ย
'Heya,' Greg says, and he's wearing a puffer jacket and some jeans and he's got his hands stuffed into the pockets of the jacket. It's fucking freezing, one of those horrible gloomy days where the weather chucks everything it can down onto the road and howls wind to boot.
'Come in,' Alex says immediately, 'Cold, isn't it?'
Greg shudders involuntarily when he's greeted by the warmth of the hall, follows Alex into the sitting room for the second time that day.
'Rach is out,' Alex says.
Greg nods. Pats the couch next to where he's sitting. Alex sits, and Greg turns in to face him.
'Now, we're in person,' Greg says.
Alex nods, and he knows he's blushing furiously. His ears feel hot. 'Yep,' he manages.
'Would it help the nerves if you kissed me?' Greg says kindly. 'Break the tension? 'cos it's fucking palpable.' He leans his face in towards Alex just enough that the invitation is open, but not presumptuous. Alex's eyes flick immediately down to his lips. His ears go pink.
After a second, Alex meets his gaze and there's a weird moment where he's very aware of being stuck between two moments of the before and the after. Kairos, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Not important, when you're in one.
Then he does kiss Greg, very lightly at first, on the mouth, eyes tightly shut. Greg smells like toothpaste and aftershave and, very faintly, acrid hangover sweat. Why the fuck that's ambrosial right now, he has no idea.
'Better?' Greg says, not pulling back any further than he needs to catch Alex's eyes.
'I think so,' Alex manages. God, and he's got a hand on Alex's waist, and his palm is warm. And huge. 'Thanks.'
'How long've you wanted this?' Greg asks, tilting his head slightly.
'Long time,' Alex breathes out all at once. 'God. A long time.'
'Huh.' Greg pushes his glasses up his nose.
'But s' completely fine if you're not interested. Like really, completely fine,' Alex says. 'I'm mortified about yesterday,' and proves it by going fully red.
'This morning,' Greg corrects him. 'What've you got to be mortified about? You've done worse on telly,' he points out.
'That's true,' Alex says, and relaxes a bit. 'But, still. Sorry.'
Greg gives him a smile that's exactly like the first bite of a pie, tomato sauce on your cheek.
ย
There's some quiet for a bit. Alex sighs lightly and rests his elbow on the back of the couch. Greg doesn't move his hand but he doesn't not move it, either. Alex is clearly unfolding a complicated logic tree like some kind of hellish fake Christmas pine monster.
ย
'How's it going to work?' Greg asks, when Alex seems to have settled down a bit. Traces squiggles on Alex's hip with his thumb, through his jumper.
'Well, when a daddy and a โ'
'Shut up.'
Alex snorts, and Greg cracks a smile despite himself.
'I think we just find a time and go at it,' Alex says, 'That's how it it usually works, doesn't it? However you like it, I don't really mind. Happy just to do hand stuff, even.'
Go at it, Greg thinks. 'You're genuinely fine with this conversation, aren't you?'
'Had it a few times,' Alex says, and he gets a little thrill at the look that flits across Greg's face. Surprise. 'It's pretty formulaic.'
'Fuck,' Greg says. 'That's actually getting me hard, hearing you say that,' he says. Alex laughs. Greg laughs too, but he's still got that fizzle of shock writ on his forehead.
'It doesn't have to be anything other than physical,' Alex says, seriously, 'If that's what you're comfortable with. And it doesn't have to be more than once, if you don't like it, or you don't want to, or anything. It doesn't even have to be once, actually. If you decide you don't want to. I'm sorry I didn't ask before I kissed you yesterday, really. Even if it is fine.'
Greg swallows, settles himself back against the cushions, arms folded across his belly. 'Right.'
'And, obviously, but just to say it, it doesn't mean you're my...' Alex makes a slight face but he can't think of a more Greg-y word for it right now, 'Boyfriend, or anything. I'd like to still be friends, though, anyway. I like you.'
Greg gives him another lopsided smile. It's gentle. 'I hope you do,' he says. 'You're my good boy. And you're sure Rachel is okay with this?'
Alex sighs at 'good boy', because it is exquisitely nice every time. 'Rachel's very okay with this,' he says. 'She was actually trying to give me advice about kissing people taller than you, before she went down the shops.' Greg laughs hugely at that. Rachel's a fucking weapon.
He watches Greg think, taking his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose.
'Alright,' Greg says, eventually. His phone buzzes. Alex can almost feel it through where their legs are touching. 'I've got to head,' he says. 'Meeting Sian for tea. I think I'll need a bit of time to think, if that's ok. Tentative yes, though, just so you're not squirrelling all your worry away.'
Alex beams a huge toothy smile that radiates joy and love and like and all the best in human social life. Greg leans over and kisses him on the cheek, and Alex makes a little sighing noise, threads his fingers through the nape of Greg's neck.
'I'll call you,' Greg says. 'Tomorrow,' because he has to commit to a time frame or he'll never go through with it. Even though he suddenly wants it more than anything in the world. More than an A3 sheet laminator.
Alex nods. 'Can't believe we're talking about it,' he whispers.
'I can't, either,' Greg says, equally quietly. 'Convinced I'm fucking dreaming.'
ย
-
ย
That night, full of pad thai and spring rolls and beer and a good amount of water, Greg turns it over and over in his head. He worries about what will happen if he says yes, a bit. He's mostly sure he wants it. The only bit of him that isn't is the bit that hates himself. He worries about what would happen if he says no. He worries about whether making no decision at all means he's making a decision. He worries so much he falls asleep on top of the duvet.
He wakes up at a relatively sensible time in the morning. The worries all return at once, and he rehashes them. Makes some toast and a coffee that's so strong the spoon almost dissolves. Then he worries about worrying so much, gives up, and facetimes Alex while he's got the nerve.
He almost hangs up after a second of the dial tone, but then Alex appears in a beanie.
'Hiya!' he says, a little too cheerfully. Greg knows he's also been worrying at it, and it's suddenly so much easier. It's just Alex, after all. He knows Alex. Mostly.
'Hello,' Greg says, smiling. 'Just wanted to say, um,' Greg says, 'Thought about it, and, well. Yeah. Absolutely, yeah. I mean, I think that came through yesterday, but. Yes.'
Greg can almost feel radiant heat from Alex's smile warming his face. 'Yeah?' he says.
'Um, Thursday? Whenever works. Text me,' Greg says, slightly faster than he'd wanted to. Because he's nervous, still.
'Alright,' Alex says, and his face has gone pink. 'Brilliant.'
'Gonna go now,' Greg says. Wishes he could give him a hug. 'Before I start overthinking. Ta-ra.'
He sees Alex give him a wave before hanging up.
ย
-
ย
It's Thursday. The Thursday. Greg lies on his couch for a full hour, trying to breathe normally. He's putting dishes away when the intercom buzzes, and narrowly avoids smashing a small stack of plates. Nothing for it, is there?
ย
'Wotcher,' Greg says, holds open the door to let Alex in, noting with strange affection how he scuffs his feet on the doormat. He's holding a gift bag in front of him like it's some kind of treaty.
'Hullo,' Alex says, and it's said nervously, which Greg understands, actually. His palms are a bit sweaty.
'What's this?' Greg says, taking the bag, but he lets his hand brush against Alex's much longer than it needed to, really.
'Wine,' Alex says, somehow reduced to single syllables.
'Hmm.' says Greg, and, just for the drama of it, because he's been thinking about literally nothing else, leans forward and kisses him, bang on the mouth.
Alex kind of just...melts into him, immediately โ easily, even, letting himself get pressed right up against the door, one arm reaching out to curl around Greg's neck. The slightly wet sound of their lips parting echoes in Alex's head.
'Oh, you liked that?' Greg says, as though his heart isn't fucking racing.
He watches Alex swallow slowly, Adam's apple bobbing underneath the peppery auburn of his beard.
'Uh, yeah,' Alex says, like he's touched down on Earth, finally. 'S' why I'm here.'
Greg's about to say something smart when Alex leans up (feels strangely wonderful to have to lean up, for a change) and kisses him, open mouthed. Greg can feel the gap in his teeth with his tongue, which is very strange but incredibly endearing. Alex is quite a good kisser. Maybe it's just the novelty of not having to fold almost in half.
'Right,' Greg says, eventually, pulling back, one hand still pressed against the door, the bag knocking gently against it; his other hand's holding Alex's jaw like a wizard consulting a magic orb. A bit more tender about it, though.
'So. We're going to have a tea, then I'm going to take you to bed and make you come so hard you see new colours, and then I'm going to make you a lovely bowl of pasta,' he says, 'If you're agreeable. Just to lay it all out, early doors.'
'Oh,' Alex says, slightly breathlessly. 'Right,' he says. Greg's watching him with a very self-confident look. It's doing something to his insides.
Greg raises his eyebrows. 'Right?' he says. Alex nods.
'Fair dos,' he says agreeably. Greg beams, which makes his eyes scrunch up. He's fallen back on the Greg classic faux-confidence, but it's working somehow. Or it isn't, but either way Alex isn't bringing it up.
ย
'Said tea but I've coffee, if you prefer,' Greg says, filling the kettle.
'Tea's good,' Alex says easily, and he's settled himself just within arm's reach.
'Have you slept with a man before?' Alex hears himself say, no preamble, watching Greg set the kettle to boiling and turn to face him, and Christ, what a thing. 'Like, internally.' he says, and makes a face at the sentence.
Greg does one of his expansive chuckles, arms folded, leaning against the kitchen counter.
'Yup,' he says, 'Have you? S' okay if you haven't.'
Alex nods, feels heat creeping across his cheeks. Why? It's not like he's embarrassed about it. Maybe it's just the fact that they're really going to do this. He feels a bit dizzy.
Greg reaches a hand out, grabs the front of his jumper, pulls him the half a metre so they're chest to chest. 'Yeah,' Greg says, and kisses him again. 'Thought so. One sugar or two?'
'Um, just one, please, ' Alex says. He watches Greg put three spoons in his own cup and makes a face.
'Wem special,' Greg says, catching the face. 'Makes you strong.' He pauses. 'Well, I guess you've still got tastebuds left.' He clinks the spoon a few times on the rim, and puts it in the sink, where it clangs. 'Get that in you.' He motions the non-Wem ordinary at Alex.
ย
Alex takes the mug and lets Greg steer him to the couch. He's been in Greg's flat before. It's not unfamiliar-feeling, but it's like someone's turned up the contrast settings. It feels a lot more real. Or something. It's probably just the hormones, though. He feels hot and cold with anticipation.
ย
There's quiet for a while. Comfortable. Alex sinks back into the couch cushions, thinking.
Greg can hear the current zipping from neuron to neuron. He resists the urge to do anything. He drinks his tea carefully.
'What kind of pasta?' Alex asks, eventually, setting his mug down squarely on a coaster.
'Whatever's in the jar,' Greg says, 'Tomatoes. Basil, probably. Pasta stuff.'
'I mean, pasta shape,' Alex says, seriously.
'Got bowties, 'cos they're fancy. Or spaghetti, if you're feeling boring.' He's not surprised that this is top of Alex's list right now, bypassing the use of jar sauce, which is why he got two distinct types of pasta at the shops this morning.
'Hmm.' Alex says, tapping his fingertips on the china. 'Good.'
'Is this a regular thing for you?' Greg asks, and he's giving Alex that big gentle smile that makes him feel completely at ease. 'Just curious, is all. Sorry if it's a rude question.' He looks slightly sheepish.
'Not rude,' Alex says, swallowing. 'Regular? Sometimes. It's been a little while,' Alex says, and he's suddenly nervous, Greg can tell, because he rubs unconsciously at his nose, stares at his hands. 'Kind of, um. Had you on my mind for a bit.'
'Me?' Greg says, before he thinks about it. Alex gives him a sly little look.
'Yeah, you. Go figure,' he says.
He hasn't seen this expression on Greg's face before today, but this is at least the third time in an hour it's come up now. It's like a reappraisal, like when you pick up a photo frame and wipe the dust off it, and you can see all the little details that were missing before.
'Huh.'
'Thought about you six out of the last seven times I came,' Alex says simply. Greg resists the urge to pull the Excel conversation ripcord.
'Shit.'
Alex shrugs.
ย
'And you really have spoken with Rachel about it?' Greg says, because he can't help but feel like he doesn't deserve to be any kind of interloper.
Alex nods emphatically. 'Loads,' he says, 'I texted her when I got here.' He smiles.
Greg nods slowly. 'Alright.'
'She sent me both the thumbs up and sunglasses face.' Alex says, like he's presenting an exhibit to a courtroom. He winks at Greg, which makes Greg laugh hugely, because it's like a one and a half eye blink, with absolutely no mystique. Still alluring though, which is just nonsense.
ย
There's some more silence, tense in the way that you nervously open the washing machine when you think you've put a red beanie in with all your white work shirts.
But still comfortable, because you know there will be shirts in there, at any rate.
'Are you...' Alex says, staring at his hands, and he frowns as he tries to think of how to phrase whatever sentence he's stewing up, and Greg's mind fills the blank with a million inanities, profanities, insanities. 'Big?' he says eventually, and cringes at the way it sounds. 'That sounded awful, sorry. Just wondering how much prep I should be in for.'
'Oh, you'll be taking it, then?' Greg says, and he grins. 'Dunno. Greg-sized, innit.'
Alex smiles, like it was a stupid question.
'Cop a feel if you like,' Greg says, indulgently, sounding much more self-confident than he feels, really, uncrosses his legs and sprawls them.
Alex chews his bottom lip for a moment, and then he leans over, carefully. He's breathing on Greg's neck, which is really fucking sexy, actually, and then he gently palms him through his jeans, and sighs.
'Great,' he says. Greg has both of his arms spread across the back of the couch, like a god on a kylix.
He doesn't move them, just enjoys watching Alex work through whatever calculations are happening in his head, taking long, measured breaths through his nose. 'That'll do nicely.'
'S' not a butcher's counter!' Greg chides, mock-outraged.
Alex kisses his neck. Greg's not expecting it, but God, it feels good.
Greg doesn't ask back, but does cop his own feel. He can hear Alex's breath catch. 'Completely passable,' he says, just to be mean, right into Alex's ear, and Alex laughs in that creaky gaspy way he has.
'Finish your tea,' Greg says, fending off Alex's hand, which has wandered back onto his jeans. Alex gives him a big wet-eyed look, his stupid eyelashes fluttering.
'One last thing,' Alex says, and he watches Greg drain the last of his mug, put it down with a certain set to his countenance, 'Why sex, then pasta? Generally people save sex for afters.' He's got cork coasters on the coffee table, which Alex has always found truly endearing in a spreadsheet kind of way.
'You gotta work up the appetite for a good pasta,' Greg says, unaware of the internal coaster appraisal. 'And I fucking hate shagging on a full stomach.'
Alex nods. He can't fault the reasoning.
ย
-
ย
There's an inevitability to the way Greg sets him onto the bed, fresh stripy sheets. Climbs on top of him and kisses him, slowly. Alex threads his hands through Greg's hair, which is very fine and mostly silvery grey. It's Greg's bed, and he enjoys that it's long enough that he has quite a bit of wriggle room. For a change.
'Sorry to keep asking, but you're definitely alright with this?' Greg pulls back, asks, and Alex nods, clears his throat.
'Yeah.'
'Good,' Greg says, with a satisfied little smile, reaches over to put his glasses on the bedside table, and goes back to kissing him. Greg tastes like sweet tea, fry up, a faint haze of cigarette ash. Alex sucks at his lower lip, which makes Greg do a soft little noise in the back of his throat.
'We're a bit, um, clothed,' Alex says, eventually, conscious that he's grinding into Greg's leg like a fucking teenager.
'Patience,' Greg says, 'Is a virtue.'
'I'm not particularly virtuous,' Alex says, and he makes a point of shifting his leg against Greg's crotch. 'Don't think I'll start now, d'you?'and when Greg grins coyly at him, he almost wants to kick his legs back and forth.
'You've got a point though, I will say,' Greg does say. He pushes up the combined hems of Alex's jumper and his t-shirt, and leans down to kiss his belly. 'Stop wriggling,' he growls against him, and Alex can't help but arch his back a bit, because the feeling of Greg's slightly untidy beard is tickly and divine.
Greg keeps pushing the shirts up, pressing himself against each inch of torso. Alex has to lift his shoulders up to get everything up and over his head, and Greg puts the flat of his palm against Alex's sternum, applies pressure, kisses his chest as Alex gasps short breaths. 'Like that?' Greg says, and Alex nods frantically.
'Right. Trousers, off. Pants, off. I don't care if you leave your socks on,' Greg says, rolling onto his elbows. 'You seem like you'd have a thing about that one way or the other.'
He grins, watching Alex hop, struggling with a sock. Long johns, which Greg doesn't even bother getting annoyed about, because for some godforsaken reason he finds them kind of sexy right now. Pink kecks, of course. He can't tell what pattern they've got on, but he doesn't really care once they're on the floor. Alex's dick is magnificent, half-hard already. Greg's making a whole wishlist of ways he wants to touch it.
'What about you,' Alex says, once he's naked and pink and standing before him. 'Can I?' he says.
'Was rather hoping you would,' Greg says, and he sighs when Alex finally, finally, fucking finally undresses him, a bit clumsily, but Greg's prepared to put that down to his height. Or up, more correctly. He leaves Greg's pants, which are pink with palm trees, for last, and he sighs dreamily, leans down and presses a kiss to the waistband. Greg grunts, because Alex makes a little noise, and he's definitely just felt Greg's dick twitch against his cheek under the fabric. Why he's embarrassed about that at this juncture, he has no idea. It feels like bad manners.
'Did you wear these for me?' Alex asks, and oh fuck, Greg wants to bottle the way he says it and sup at it when he's low on self esteem. He nods. Because it's true. Alex beams. 'Thanks,' he says.
'Any time,' Greg says, and he means it.
ย
Alex does a sharp whistly intake of breath when he sees Greg's dick.
'This is doing a lot for my ego,' Greg says.
'Why've you got ego problems?' Alex says, eyes dark. 'Fuck, Greg. God.'
Greg laughs. 'Get your mouth up here.'
When Alex kisses him, it's hot and needy. Greg's pitched himself up on a forearm, and he's running his other hand up and down Alex's back, which is both hairy and a little bit sweaty, and he tries to remember which bumps in his spine make Alex shudder and moan each time.
'Alright,' Greg says, 'D'you mind lying down for me, Alex?' He scooches over to give him some space. Alex doesn't mind. He lies down with not very much grace, but impressive speed.
'Get comfy,' Greg tells him. 'You got enough pillows?'
Alex nods, settling back. 'Right,' Greg says, sitting at the end of the bed so that Alex's spread out before him like an absolute feast, and he stops himself from clapping his hands just in time, because Jesus Christ. 'You're a fucking sight, Alex,' he says, because it's true. Alex gives Greg a toothy grin.
'I could eat you up,' Greg says, and he picks up one of his legs and presses a kiss to the soft hollow of his ankle. Alex moans loudly, then looks slightly embarrassed. Greg smiles to himself.
'Another time, maybe?' Alex manages, as Greg turns his attention to his other leg. There's something so sure about his movements, it's like modelling clay in an oven. It's better than any of the times he's imagined.
'Bet on it, mate.' Greg says, voice gravelly. 'Y'ever been seduced like this before?' Greg's now trailing kisses up his shin, over his knee, runs his tongue lightly up the milkwhite pale skin of his thigh.
'Can't say I have,' says Alex, and he shudders when Greg's beard scratches at his pelvis but Greg, unperturbed, continues up and over the his tummy. 'Oo-oh.'
'Right,' says Greg, in a low voice, when he's at Alex's neck again, one hand splayed expansively over Alex's thigh, the other holding his waist. 'How'd you want it,' he says, and his nose is surprisingly cold against the curve of his chin. 'Whatever you like,' he says, kisses him sweetly.
Alex can feel the weight of his dick against his leg, and he hasn't wanted anything ever like he wants it right now.
'Definitely still want you to fuck me,' Alex says, a hand on Greg's back.
'Yeah?' Greg prompts, pressing against him; the feeling of the mass of him, broad shoulders and tummy, against Alex's own paunch, is making his mouth dry.
'Oh, definitely.' Alex says, and it's been a while since he was so sure about anything. It's not even really a surety. It's a need, now.
'Alright,' Greg says. 'I'm going to keep checking,' he says.
'I appreciate that,' says Alex, softly, and he cranes his neck up to kiss him, which catches Greg a little bit offside.
'You're a good kisser,' Greg says, a bit clumsily, because it's true.
'Thank you.' Alex says, proudly.
ย
Greg leans over and rummages in the bedside table drawer. 'Hang on. Essentials,' he says, turning his face into Alex. Alex shivers at the feeling of his breath curling over the shell of his ear.
'Right.' Greg says then, 'Do you like getting yourself ready, or do you want me to do it,' and he sits back onto his calves.
'I'll start,' Alex says, a bit awkwardly. 'Sorry,' he says.
'What've you got to be sorry about?' Greg says, bemused. 'Hot as fuck,' he says.
Alex blushes. 'Okay,' he says, and why is this the embarrassing bit? Greg's got his hands on his thighs, for fuck's sake.
'G'wan then,' Greg says, and tosses him the lube. Alex, force of habit, checks the ingredients label, mouthing the words as he wades through the polysyllables.
'Jesus Christ,' Greg says, affected. 'Jesus Christ.'
'Just checking,' Alex says, noticing the way Greg's breaths have sped up. 'Crazy what's in this stuff sometimes. Okay,' he says, and squirts some onto his palm. 'Warming it up a bit,' he says, like it's a fucking Youtube tutorial.
Hello everyone, welcome back to my channel. Get ready with me for having my brains fucked out through my ears.
'Very good boy,' Greg says calmly, and he's palming himself idly. Something about it makes Alex want to curl his toes up.
'Can you, um. Shut your eyes or something?' Alex says. 'I just got very self conscious.'
'No,' Greg says, and his voice is molten. 'You're going to finger yourself, and I'm going to watch every fucking second of it.'
Alex is bright red now, but he gets over the excruciating moment, and Greg nods appreciatively. 'S' good for you,' he says, like treacle, 'To get through it,' he says.
'Yeah,' Alex says, softly. He shuts his eyes because he really likes focusing on the feeling at this point, the stretching, the incredible knife's edge. Also, he'll probably come basically untouched if Greg keeps looking at him like that, like he's a lioness who's just come across a sleeping antelope.
He tries not to be embarrassed by the little noises he makes, involuntary, and gets two fingers in easily, feels the warmth spreading up through his nerves.
Greg's blinking slowly. He looks ravenous. 'Fucking hell,' he says. 'You've been like this the whole time I've known you?'
Alex can't stop the laugh that honks out of him, and Greg grins. Alex makes a show of adding a third finger, arching his back lasciviously. He adds some more lube, plays up the slick noise.
'Jesus,' Greg says, heavily.
He's momentarily annoyed by the faff of ripping open the condom packet, but Alex is watching him with an obscene expression. 'Alright there?' Greg says.
'Fuck,' Alex says, almost to himself. 'God, I want you.' The complete lack of embarrassment on Alex's face goes straight to Greg's dick. He meets Alex's gaze and there's a moment where there's absolutely nothing else in the world. 'I want you,' Alex says again, like he's barely aware he's spoken, and he's sure as anything.
'Jesus,' Greg says again, because seeing Alex like this is S-tier fantasy shit. 'Alright, little man. You sure you're ready?' Greg says, then, and he's smiling.
'I don't think I've ever been so fully ready for anything in my entire life, Greg,' Alex says, matter-of-factly. 'Please,' and he cants his hips up, buoyed by the pillows.
Greg nods, takes a deep breath, 'I'll go slow, alright?' he says. 'Don't you dare not tell me if I'm hurting you.' He caps the lube and chucks it off the bed, strokes himself a few times to spread it out.
'Double negative,' Alex breathes, 'A โ ough.'
Greg, true to his word, lines himself up slowly, deliberately, rocking in little by little, and Alex is sure he's going to die, he's never been less patient in his life, he wants to have trouble walking for three business days at least. But Greg's physically holding his hips down, so he can't force it. Exquisite. 'God,' he says, 'More,' he says, throwing his head back.
Greg's quite quiet, grunts a soft noise at him.
Maintains his snail's pace, which is making Alex furious in a dehydrated kind of way.
Finally, blessedly, finally, Greg bottoms out, and Alex groans. His brain feels like electrical wiring that's come down in a storm and is fizzing helplessly in the gutter.
'Expected it to come out my throat,' he moans. 'Jesus fucking Christ, Greg. Fuck.'
Greg smiles down at him like the Teletubbies sun. Resplendent. Radiant. Benevolent.
Alex curls one of his legs around Greg's back and groans again, because he can't quite believe the feeling of it. 'Please,' he says, 'Please do something. Please,' he says.
Greg kisses him, open mouthed, filthy. Another time, Alex thinks, he'll ask him to spit in it.
'More than that. Please,' Alex says again.
'Hmm. You're sure you're alright?' Greg asks, kindly, and Alex is genuinely going to fucking kill him if he doesn't die first just from the desperate need.
'Shit. Yes, please,' and Alex actually snaps at him, 'Please! Please, Greg. Please.'
Greg, who has fully been intending to rail Alex right through the clean sheets, duvet, mattress, bedframe, rug, floor, insulation, and into the flat below, only finds his resolve strengthened by the way Alex literally whines his name, pleading.
'Right,' Greg says, and kisses Alex again, because he can see that he's working up to complain more. The noise Alex makes right into his mouth when he moves is completely singular; Greg wants to put the waveforms in a blender and drink them.
Underneath him, Alex is pale, flushed in blotches, stupidly hairy, sweating a bit, mouth open. Greg can hear each breath whistling as it catches between the gap in his teeth. He moans softly on each exhale. 'Greg,' Alex says, like he only knows one word. 'Greg,' It's one of the most erotic things Greg's ever seen, for reasons that are completely beyond his understanding.
ย
'Close,' Alex eventually manages, his toes curling and uncurling, one hand fisted in the sheets like an anchor.
Right. Greg slows down, pulls out almost entirely, and before Alex can even get his mouth around the first syllable of whatever he was going to say, pushes in again, and the feel of it is absolutely unfathomable. Wraps his hand around Alex's dick and flicks his thumb over the tip.
Alex just makes one long wailing sound and then he comes, desperately, body curling in around Greg like a woodlouse, one hand flung across his face.
Greg only needs a few more thrusts, and the noise the Alex makes, desperately oversensitive, muscles clamping, is divine. He buries his face into the crook of Alex's sweaty neck and moans.
Alex is still clinging to him, all gangly limbs. He's got both arms tight around Greg's neck. 'Greg,' he says, and it's almost like a prayer.
'Mmph,' Greg says, feeling Alex's dick twitching as he tries to pull out as gently as possible. Alex makes a little hiccoughing noise, and then sighs when Greg lets his full weight rest atop him, and Greg wedges his hands around Alex's torso, trapping them between him and the duvet, and holds him very tightly.
Alex seems to be collecting his thoughts, and Greg just lies there blissfully, occasionally pressing a kiss into the halocline where beard meets chest.
'Alright, my good boy?' Greg asks, eventually, and his voice is husky.
'God, yeah,' Alex says, crackly. 'Fu-uck,' and he cards his fingers through Greg's hair.
'Seen any good colours recently?' Greg asks, magnanimously. He's quite pleased with that whole interlude. He's already started thinking about pasta, in a lazy way.
'Puce,' Alex mumbles, and Greg's laugh rumbles through his skin.
'Twat,' he says, lovingly. Alex sighs lazily.
'Do you want me to get off you?' Greg asks, even though he really could lie here forever, he thinks.
'Um, maybe.' Alex says. 'Give it a minute.'
ย
He eventually wriggles a bit so Greg is half-laying on him, their legs braided, and he tries not to look at the mess of come and sweat he can feel sticky on his belly.
'Alright,' says Greg, because he's a bit short on romantic overtures at that particular second. He leans forward and kisses Alex, who sighs exactly like the Lady of Shallot.
'Wonderful,' he murmurs, and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe a stray tear from those long eyelashes. Alex laughs awkwardly at that, still a bit off-kilter, and Greg can feel that his heart's still hammering away beneath his skin. 'Let's get you cleaned up, eh?'
He gets up with as much dignity as he can muster, legs a bit shaky, ties off the condom and throws it into the bin next to the toilet. Runs a flannel under the hot tap. He feels simultaneously electric and analogue. God, he wants a fag right now, but he can wait five minutes.
'D'you want me to do it, or,' he says, returning to where Alex is still splayed across the bedspread. He really is a stupid shape. Greg wants to devour him.
'Here, I've got you,' he says, because Alex genuinely looks wobbly, like a bubble that's just about to pop. He wipes him down, realises how stupid it is to only have a single fucking flannel for a six foot two adult, and returns with a whole wet towel. Alex grins at him hugely, toothily.
'You can just have a shower, if you like,' Greg says. 'Whatever you want,' he says, and he's sat on the edge of the bed, and Alex flops over to him like a seal, and says, 'Kiss me again,' so he does.
'Nice,' Alex says, genuine and warm and absolutely everything. Greg feels like he's in a Van Gogh landscape.
'I'm going to have a quick wash,' Greg says, stroking Alex's damp chest like he's some kind of man-sized dog. 'Then you can sort yourself out, yeah?'
Alex nods. Greg pats his chest twice, thump thump, and heads into the bathroom, miles of pale skin like a Doric column, faint scar across his lower back, ducking under the lintel automatically. He's left the warm damp towel draped across Alex like a blanket. It smells like Greg, or at least like his washing powder, and he buries his face into it.
ย
-
ย
Alex can smell the sweet-spiky smell of pasta sauce when he comes out of the bathroom. His hair's a bit damp, and he's still a bit wobbly, redressed with his socks back on.
There's also cigarette smoke, just a bit, because Greg's smoked a fag short, stubbed it out on the windowsill, where it's still smoking a bit. He has deigned to open the window, though.
He's humming to himself vaguely, mostly in tune. The steam from the pan fogs up his glasses as he leans over to check the timer on his phone, and he swears.
'I won't say anything about the smoking,' Alex says, 'On account of it's your flat and you have just been very good to me.'
Greg turns to him, raises an eyebrow, and grins.
ย
The pasta, it turns out, is pretty good. He's certainly got the appetite for it, anyway.
ย