Chapter Text
Guy is so fucked.
He’s just moved into a new apartment - the one that is slightly better than the dump he’d been living in before landing the job at the law firm. It’s his first day here, and of course the delivery company chooses this exact moment to drop off his new wardrobe. He’s lugging boxes into his place when, in the hallway, he nearly collides with his neighbor - a man almost fifty years his senior.
And, because he is such a lucky little guy, it’s not just any older man but one so devastatingly handsome that Guy’s breath catches and something low in his stomach twists tight the moment he lays eyes on him.
Jasper is a hot man. In a plain white T-shirt, with his strong muscles visible, forearms exposed, silver threading through his hair, and a voice so attractive Guy’s knees actually tremble. He helps Guy carry the boxes to his apartment, then stays to help assemble the furniture - just because Guy mentioned offhand that he has zero experience with that sort of thing. And now, on his very first evening in his new place, there’s a ridiculously hot older man on his living room floor, putting together a wardrobe while Guy just stands there staring - having completely forgotten he promised to grab Jasper a beer from the fridge.
He’s never - not ever - been this drawn to someone so much older. It’s... new.
Jasper talks to him while tightening bolts. He’s brought over a toolbox from his own apartment, because of course Guy doesn’t own any tools, at least not yet. Jasper is focused yet effortlessly keeps the conversation going - unlike Guy, who still can’t quite believe he’s let a near-stranger into his apartment after only a few minutes of chatting in the hall. It takes him a shamefully long time to remember the beer he was supposed to bring, and when he finally hands it over, he offers it with an awkward smile.
He sits down on the floor nearby but doesn’t dare help - he’s never been good at this sort of thing and knows he’d only make a mess of it. He’s smart, yes - but legally smart. Mechanics, engineering, anything hands-on - it’s all an impenetrable forest to him.
Which somehow makes watching this man’s skilled hands work twice as hot and mesmerizing, as he finds out.
He’s never felt anything like this toward a man - hell, not even toward a woman. And certainly never toward someone so much older. He acts a little foolish, almost clumsy, but finds himself leaning in, wanting to stretch this moment out as long as possible. When Jasper finishes assembling the wardrobe, Guy tries to figure out how to thank him - later smacking himself mentally for attempting what felt suspiciously like a move straight out of porn - but Jasper just waves it off, saying it was his pleasure. Then he leaves, ruffling Guy’s hair on his way out, and leaves him alone in his brand-new apartment and with a pile of things he’d made him discover about himself.
Within an hour, standing under the shower, Guy is already imagining Jasper’s hands on his body. By bedtime, that image slips seamlessly into his dreams. It feels like madness.
Keves shows up at his place for a little housewarming by the weekend, ready to celebrate in the company of just the two of them. Guy - who’s spent every evening this week running into Jasper either in the elevator or on the stairwell, each encounter only making things worse for him - has had enough and is wound so tight he blurts everything out to her. After all, what are friends for if not to discuss your humiliating crashes, right?
Especially since she herself instantly picks up on it: she saw something’s been bothering him, something’s weighing on his mind, pulling his attention away and making him act just a little unlike himself. And, at her another probing question, Guy sighs and decides to come clean - mentioning that one of his neighbors helped him move in, and that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him this whole week.
“He’s just… well, you know. A bit older than me,” Guy adds at one point, biting his lip and nervously tapping his fingertips against his beer bottle.
Keves immediately leans in with a knowing smile, eyes bright with interest. “Oh really? So… like, this ruggedly masculine guy with talented hands? Not bad, Mr. Anatole. Not bad at all. So… he’s, what - forty?”
Guy feels a sense of impending doom creeping in and already feels the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks. “Uh… not really…” he mumbles awkwardly.
“Forty-five?”
“A little higher,” he says, feeling like he’s signing his own death warrant.
Keves’s eyes go wide. “Wait- fifty?”
Guy sighs and surrenders. “No, more like… sixty…” he pauses, swallows hard, drops his gaze, and licks his lips, “…eight”.
“Sixty eight?!” Keves exclaims, shocked. Blinks once, twice, her mascaraed lashes fluttering dramatically. “Oh my god”.
“I know,” Guy groans, burying his face in the crook of his elbow draped over the back of the couch. “I know, trust me. It’s insane. He’s just…” he lifts his head helplessly, biting his lip as if the answer might be written on the ceiling. “I mean- his hands. And his voice. And his hair. And his hands again - god, his hands...” he lets out a shaky sigh. “He called me ‘boy,’ and I just… melted like ice cream in the sun. My brain’s completely short-circuiting. I don’t even know what to do…”
Keves stares at him for several long seconds without saying a word - an almost supernatural feat for her.
Then, suddenly, she bursts out laughing: loud, bright, as if he’s just told the funniest joke of her life.
Guy groans again and hides his face once more - but a moment later, she’s scooting right next to him, squeezing his shoulder, still grinning, though her eyes have softened. “My Guy,” she says warmly. “Come on, you know me. I don’t judge. You want that old man? Cool! I mean, you can definitely top that. Or bottom that, in your case…”
Guy rolls his eyes, but she just laughs harder and rubs his shoulder.
“Relax! You’re young, you’re cute, and, yeah - it is totally insane that you’ve got a crush on your neighbor who’s literally half a century older than you. But hey - if you genuinely like him, I think you absolutely should go for it. I mean, how many hot sixty-year-old dudes have you met? He’s like a rare Pokémon or something. Doris would probably tell you to stop right now, not make any stupid moves, and just get him out of your head - but I’m not Doris. I’m saying: seduce that old man and tell me every single detail as soon as you do! Go get him, boy!”
Guy gives an awkward smile, but he’s genuinely grateful she’s supporting him instead of piling on more doubts.
He bites his lip, staring at the beer bottle in his hands, nervously peeling off the label bit by bit. “What if I mess it up? I’ve never done this before. I feel weird even trying to flirt. And around him? I can barely string two words together without sweating or saying something dumb. He probably already thinks I’m super weird and regrets helping me that day. I’m probably coming off as clingy. Annoying. And I have no idea how to even get his attention!” his voice grows more desperate with every word.
Keves tilts her head with a smile, watching him like a satisfied kitten - or maybe a clever, well-fed fox. “Don’t worry, my Guy,” she says, giving his shoulder a light pat. “I’ll give you a few lessons. You’ll have his full attention, I promise”.
Keves launches right into an “intensive,” breaking everything down while they crack open another round of beers.
The first thing she does is fling open his wardrobe and start rifling through his clothes, hunting for the perfect look. It feels absurd - and then she finds a pair of shorts and tells him to try them on.
Well - they did sleep together once, so he just goes ahead and changes right in front of her. No reason to be shy now, given that she pegged him in his old college bedroom.
The shorts are sporty, way too short for someone used to wearing only trousers and slacks, and white with red trim. Keves studies him, bites her lip, then grins. “Yes. Perfect”.
“I feel ridiculous,” he complains.
“You’ve got amazing thighs, Guy, don’t you dare hide them,” she says. “Seriously, relax! Old guys love it when boys look… fresh. Like you just stepped off the beach or rolled out of bed. And your build? It suits you. That’s all I’m saying”.
Guy sighs in resignation.
Still… why not wear shorts in his own apartment? He used to wear them at the gym. He’s even run outside in them. And it is sweltering summer out - why not use it to his advantage? It’s not like it’s that weird.
And if Jasper sees him like this…
Guy catches his reflection in the mirror, biting his lip again, trying to imagine how he might look through Jasper’s eyes. What’s so special about his thighs, anyway? He’s never thought of them as sexy - just regular… thighs.
And yet, he trusts Keves. Probably.
And he really does plan to put Keves’s lesson into practice…
But, of course, life has other plans.
A few days later, he’s supposed to meet her for the premiere of a new movie. He misjudges the time, and when the doorbell rings, he dashes out of the shower, flustered, and - without even double-checking - swings the door open, already launching into an apology: “I’m so sorry, work ran late, I’m behind, but I’ll get dressed in a sec and dry my hair and-”
He freezes.
Because it isn’t Keves standing there.
It’s Jasper.
Jasper, looking at him with an amused glint in his eyes.
And Guy? He’s standing there in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, dripping wet - and, within seconds, blushing so fiercely his ears and neck burn crimson.
“Bad timing, huh?” Jasper asks - but he doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest.
Guy can only gape at him.
Clearly, the older man finds the whole situation wildly entertaining. “I just came to ask you for a little favor,” Jasper continues, “and it’s kind of urgent, so…”
“Uh, yeah, sure - what is it?” Guy stammers, painfully aware that the draft from the hallway is making his nipples hard. He swallows and forces his gaze to stay locked on Jasper’s face.
“I’m leaving town for a couple of days, and I can’t take Checkers with me…”
Checkers. His dog. The big, gentle beast who looked like a guard dog but was actually super sweet. “Right”.
“Yeah, so I was wondering… maybe you could look after him? Just for three days. And I’ll pay you for the trouble, of course”.
“Oh! Oh no, no - you don’t have to pay me,” Guy blurts, laughing softly. “I’ll take care of him, no problem. Just… maybe buy me a donut or something sometime?”
He’s grasping at anything that might give him another excuse to see Jasper again at this point, even over something this small.
“Seems like you’ve got yourself a deal, my dude,” Jasper says with a chuckle, handing him a set of spare keys, just like that. Such trust, for someone he’s known less than two weeks. Crazy.
Their fingers brush as Jasper places the keyring into Guy’s palm, and for a heartbeat, Guy’s heart stutters in his chest. From that tiny touch alone, he feels dizzy, like he’s already drunk.
Another lesson Keves drilled into him flashes through his mind: Make him feel needed.
“...If something’s broken or doesn’t work right - you go straight to him. Even if you could figure it out yourself. Say, ‘I don’t know how to do this, but I bet you do.’ Old guys love being asked for help. It makes them feel… significant. Like they still matter”.
“But what if he thinks I’m helpless?” Guy had asked her.
“Let him think that,” she replied. “You want him to feel in control, remember? Telling you what to do, guiding you - that kinky little fantasy of yours? So give him a reason to act like that!”
Standing there, half-naked and flustered, Guy suddenly realizes: this might be his chance.
He swallows. Takes a breath. And blurts out the first thing that comes to mind - something ridiculous.
“Actually-” his voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat. “While you’re here… could you maybe… help me with something? Just real quick?”
Jasper raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans in - just a fraction, like he’s curious. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Guy gestures vaguely toward the room. “My… uh, my shelf. The one in the bedroom. It’s wobbling. Like, a lot. I tried tightening it, but I think I made it worse,” he winces, as if recalling a tragic DIY disaster. “I don’t even know which screw goes where now. And I really don’t want it collapsing on me while I’m sleeping”.
It’s a lie. From what he knows, the shelf is perfectly fine. But Jasper doesn’t need to know that.
A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Jasper’s mouth - as if he can see right through Guy, but enjoys the act anyway. “You don’t say,” Jasper murmurs. He glances past Guy into the apartment, then back at him - still wrapped in nothing but a towel, damp hair curling at his temples, lips slightly parted. “Well. I suppose I could take a look before I leave. Wouldn’t want you getting crushed in your pretty sleep, boy”.
Boy. The word hits Guy like a warm hand on the small of his back. He shivers.
“Th-thank you,” he says, stepping aside to let Jasper in - trying not to notice how the older man’s eyes linger just a second too long on the water still beading on his collarbone. Maybe he’s just imagining it? Wishful thinking and all that. Might be it.
Jasper walks past him, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he goes, forearms flexing with quiet confidence.
Guy scrambles after him, heart hammering so loud he’s surprised Jasper can’t hear it. He grabs a clean T-shirt from the back of his bedroom chair - too late to put it on now, that would look weirdly flustered - and instead just trails behind, clutching it like a security blanket.
“You, uh… you want coffee? Or water? I just got back from the shower, so I haven’t even had a chance to-”
“Nah, I’m fine,” Jasper says, already at the foot of the bed, eyeing the shelf with the calm scrutiny of a man who’s built half the furniture in his own place.
It is perfectly level. Guy knows that. He really is an embarrassment.
But Jasper tilts his head, runs a hand along the edge, and hums. “Hmm. Yeah, this shit is loose. Could use a proper anchor”.
Oh my god, he’s playing along. Or is his shelf really could use some fix? God this is a nightmare.
Guy swallows again and pads over to his closet, pulling out the small toolbox. He offers it with both hands, like an offering. “I… I got these. I thought maybe I’d need them someday”.
Jasper chuckles, low and warm. “Good thinking, boy. Thanks”.
And then he’s kneeling beside the bed, opening the case with practiced ease, pulling out a screwdriver and a small drill. The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds, striping his silver hair and the taut lines of his shoulders. Guy just stands there, barefoot on the rug, towel still clinging precariously low on his hips, watching the way Jasper’s muscles shift under his skin as he works.
“You’re staring,” Jasper says without looking up, but there’s amusement in his voice.
“I-! No, I wasn’t-” Guy stammers, then gives up. “…Okay, maybe a little. It’s just - well, impressive. That you know how to do those kinds of stuff”.
Jasper snorts softly, still focused on the shelf - though his lips twitch. “Most men your age wouldn’t know a Phillips from a flathead,” he says, voice low and rough. “You’re lucky to have me here”.
Oh you bet I am, Guy thinks as he shifts on his feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how little he’s wearing, how damp his skin still is, how the towel keeps threatening to slip lower every time he breathes too deeply. He grips the T-shirt tighter.
Jasper finally glances back - just for a second - but long enough for Guy to feel pinned by that look: calm, steady, unreadable. Not cold, not warm… just there. Like he’s noticing something, but choosing not to name it.
But then he’s back to the shelf, tightening a screw with smooth, practiced motions.
Silence settles between them, comfortable but charged. Jasper finishes his work, gives the shelf a firm shake to test it, then lowers to the floor, brushing his hands off. “Solid now. Should hold even if you start doing pull-ups off it. Though I still wouldn’t recommend trying it”.
Guy swallows a laugh that’s half nerves, half something else entirely. “Noted. No pull-ups off my bookshelf".
He still hasn’t put on the shirt. Jasper doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t look away either, not entirely - his gaze flickers once, briefly, down Guy’s bare torso before returning to his face. But if he notices the flush creeping back up Guy’s neck, he says nothing.
Instead, he closes the toolbox with a soft click and hands it back.
Guy takes the toolbox, fingers brushing Jasper’s again - brief, electric - and immediately looks down to hide the way his breath hitches. The air between them still hums, thick with something unspoken, but Jasper just stands, smooths his shirt, and gives a small, satisfied nod.
“Alright then. Checkers’ food is in the pantry, leash is by the door. He eats twice a day - morning and evening - and walks like clockwork, seven AM and seven-thirty PM - and yes, he’ll whine like a little bitch if you’re late,” Jasper says, already stepping toward the bedroom doorway, voice dropping back into that easy, practical rhythm. Like nothing happened. Like Guy isn’t standing there half-naked, heart pounding like a drum solo.
“Got it,” Guy manages, voice slightly hoarse. He clears his throat. “I’ll… I’ll take good care of him, don’t even worry about that”.
Jasper pauses in the hall, turns back just enough to catch Guy’s eye again. That slow, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips once more. “I know you will, boy,” and just like that, he’s gone - out the door, keys jingling faintly as he walks away, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his manly cologne and the echo of that word: boy.
Guy stands frozen for a long moment, then exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath the entire time. He finally pulls the T-shirt over his head, the cotton rough against his overheated skin.
Allright. What else Keves said?
“And one more thing. Don’t be afraid to look… interested. Not like a schoolboy on a date, of course, but more like a grown man who knows what he wants. If he says something funny, you laugh. If he brushes against you by accident, don’t pull away. Just… stay close a second longer than necessary. And look at him like you’re a wild coyote in heat”.
“Oh my god, Keves…”
“What? It works. Trust me, I know this type”.
He actually tries the shorts. He puts them on before his Saturday run when it’s scorching hot outside, and runs into his neighbor on the way back, in the elevator.
Jasper’s just returning from walking the dog. Guy is sweaty, exhausted, but happy, high on endorphins, and he smiles when he sees him.
“Good morning,” he says, breathing heavily. His curls cling to his forehead. He licks his lips.
Jasper’s eyes sweep over him, and Guy’s insides flutter. He loves being the center of someone else’s - Jasper’s - attention. His skin tingles wherever Jasper’s gaze lingers, slow and deliberate. His smile grows bolder, and he tilts his head back to take a drink from his water bottle, eyes never leaving Jasper’s.
“Morning,” Jasper finally says - and right then, his dog suddenly nudges Guy’s legs with its wet nose, curious and affectionate. Guy flinches, not from fear, just surprise.
But all Jasper has to do is click his tongue once, and the dog immediately sits at his feet, obedient as ever.
The realization of Jasper’s effortless authority sends a thrill through Guy - warm, dizzying, almost painful in its intensity. His stomach twists with the desire to be the one who surrenders him completely, who drops to his knees without question at the faintest command. He could be his-
“Good boy,” Jasper murmurs, praising Checkers.
Guy bites his lip and looks away. Fuck. Fuck! He’s mortified. Jasper isn’t even trying to be sexy, he just is, naturally. It’s simply how life shaped him: with those skilled, sexy hands that fix anything, and a quiet gift for command. Guy can’t even imagine what would happen if Jasper actually tried to seduce him. He’d probably already be on his knees right there in the elevator, like about five seconds ago. God, he’s such an idiot!
The second Guy closes his apartment door behind him, he slides a hand under his shorts and starts jerking off, eyes shut, imagining Jasper calling him his good boy. His heart races faster than it ever did during his run. He pictures Jasper clicking his tongue in disapproval as Guy reaches for himself, then ordering him to rub against his thigh instead, to find his pleasure there. It drives him crazy. He moans, slapping a hand over his own mouth at the last second as he comes all over those damn shorts - ruining them completely.
In the hazy, post-orgasmic fog, he imagines Jasper looking him over like this and saying, “What a mess,” in that perfect, slightly condescending tone of his.
A fresh wave of shivers rolls through Guy’s body. He exhales, melting against the wall.
Yeah. He really is a mess.