birds of a feather

It’s been relatively easy to push his body’s own desires to the back of his mind. They are persistent but heavily muted by his much more prominent desire to give Dmitri everything and anything he wants. To hear him moan and whine and beg. To unravel in the same way he did so beautifully the other night and know that Noah was the cause of it. But when Dmitri’s hands start to wander and his erection is given the attention it’s been silently pleading for he falters and loses himself for a moment.

Noah moans into the kiss, broken and wanting. His stupid, traitorous body suddenly wants nothing but Dmitri’s hands and lips all over his body. He refuses to allow himself to cave despite the fact that his hips stutter in a way that begs for Dmitri’s hand to start moving.

He whines softly as Dmitri pulls away. “I’m sure,” he says quickly, only to immediately notice the smirk upon Dmitri’s face. He narrows his eyes slightly. He starts to talk about how they’d need to prepare more and he feels like—he feels like he should know this. “Yeah, I know.” He’s nodding his head, blinking softly as his brain attempts to search for answers. Something that would be a lot easier without Dmitri’s hand wrapped about him, but he’s not about to tell him to remove it. Noah blinks again in succession now looking at Dmitri innocently. “Okay, actually no, I-I don’t—didn’t know that,” he admits sheepishly. The obvious answer would be lube, which he’s definitely used before though it wasn’t necessarily a requirement every time and Dmitri made it seem like it wouldn’t be as simple as that.

Feeling suddenly very insecure and inadequate he starts to think about the things he’s refused to let himself think about. Like the fact that Dmitri’s entire prior relationship started based solely on sex and—no. Nope. No. He does not want to do this. God, he doesn’t want to think about this. About how Dmitri most likely never had to deal with this before and how they probably—

The sudden loss of Dmitri’s hand forces himself out of his own destructive thoughts and he’s momentarily worried that Dmitri can tell what he’s thinking. But he’s looking at his lips and down towards his erection and—what. His eyebrows are raised in surprise but there is a soft, astonished smile slowing forming at his lips. His words were so completely unexpected, but it struck Noah with the exhilarating realization that there are still parts of Dmitri Darcy that he has yet to discover. He bites his bottom lip to contain his smile because Dmitri is so obviously worked up over this and all Noah can think is that he is so unfairly lucky to be able to call Dmitri his.

And he is—he’s Noah’s. Dmitri chose him and he keeps choosing him and therefore nothing else matters. His past relationship doesn’t matter. Any and all spiraling thoughts that he may have about it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Dmitri is here with him and he’ll be with him in the future.

He promised.

Noah brings a free hand to push Dmitri’s hair back, fingers stroking through aimlessly as he lets his best friend talk. And he thinks he could stay like this for hours, days even. Just admiring Dmitri and listening to his voice. Just, y’know, doing that will have to be postponed to a time in which Dmitri isn’t talking about wanting his lips around his dick.

Absentmindedly, he lets out a small noise that’s a reaction to both Dmitri’s hand back around his erection and their designated pet name for each other. It’s such as stupidly small word that has entirely too much power over him—especially when it’s used in this context. “I am so fucking in love with you,” he admits as if it was a secret. His lips wrap around his thumb that’s still against his bottom lip and he sucks on it lightly, dragging his teeth against the skin before pulling away to look at him. And he’s just—he’s. He brings his hand up to rest against the side of his face, cheeks still slightly flushed. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this lately or at all, but you’re so goddamn enticing—every single thing about you.”

Noah pulls him in for a kiss that’s quick and heated before he finds his way back down Dmitri’s body. This time he doesn’t bother with the niceties of trailing his body with kisses; rather, he messily kisses a quick line down his torso. His hand quickly wraps around his erection and he gives a few teasing, languid strokes and his lips pepper kisses across his left thigh. He stars on the edge and works his way inside until his lips find the tip of his erection. He lets his tongue tease around it, paying attention to the way Dmitri’s body reacts. When his lips finally part it’s only to pull away and address Dmitri, a teasing smile on his lips. “By the way, that whole mouth fucking thing? Yeah, that’s—that was really hot.” He clears his throat and licks his lips. “Just thought you should know.”

Finally, he brings up lips back to the tip of his erection, but this time he doesn’t tease him with his tongue or the soft touch of open lips. Noah sinks his lips around him almost immediately, making sure not to take in too much to begin with. His hand is still steady around his base as he starts to find a rhythm and after almost a minute, he feels more comfortable to go deeper. He’s slow at first, testing out his limits while still paying attention to the way Dmitri’s body moves and the noises that accompany his movements. He chases his moans and even starts moaning himself every now and then.

Once his speed starts to pick up, there’s a certain point in which he takes in too much too quickly and chokes momentarily. He pulls back coughing and points an accusatory finger at Dmitri. “If I hear even a chuckle,” he manages to say, his last two coughs mixing with the muffled sound of his own laughter. After a few more moments, Noah wipes at his mouth quickly and gathers himself before his lips find Dmitri’s erection again. He starts where he left off, wanting to waste no time because before he pulled off he could feel Dmitri getting closer. When he takes the length of him in his mouth this time, he opens his throat a little more. He doesn’t know how much he’s managed to take in completely, but he only lasts for around fifteen seconds as he moves slowly up and down, but fuck it’s worth it. 

And as he pulls back up in order to swirl his tongue around the tip before going back down, he thinks this should cause him more pause. That he’s so effortlessly sucking another man’s dick, but it just—if he’s being honest there’s not too much of a difference in going down on a woman, except for body parts and technique and fingers—and is that a thing with men?—but the results are the same and Noah’s always loved being able to please his partners. To be the one in control of their pleasure and when they orgasm. And it was just—God, it was so fucking different with Dmitri and it isn’t because he’s a guy but because he’s his best friend (and even that feels too simplistic of an explanation). He moans deep in the back of his throat, his own erection ignored and begging. But he’s not going to stop until Dmitri either forces him to or gives in and lets him finish.

It takes a moment for Dmitri to come back down from the words — I’m so fucking in love with you — when they reach him, because it’s still so foreign to him, so new: and he wonders, not for the first time, when it happened, when the friendship they’d so carefully cultivated throughout the years turned into this insurmountable feeling of absolute devotion, wherein Dmitri would do just about anything and everything to keep drowning in it every single day of his life.

That, plus the combination of Noah taking his thumb and sucking on it lightly like that’s just something he can do without driving Dmitri crazy, is enough to render him speechless for a good moment. His eyes trail the movement before Noah pulls away, and suddenly his expression is soft and so are his movements, Dmitri still attempting to keep up with the emotions when he talks to him. He wants to say something, anything, but Noah doesn’t give him the chance to — he’s pulling him in for a fast, sloppy kiss that Dmitri can only half-reciprocate in his muddled state, and then he’s off and trailing his way downward, and Dmitri can do nothing but fist his hands around the sheets next to him, chest rising and falling in anticipation, heart racing in a similar manner.

He almost forgets he wants to look — the second Noah’s hand wraps around his erection and his lips make contact with his thigh, Dmitri’s eyes close instinctively in pleasure, mouth parting in delight. He exhales a small gasp, both loving and hating the build-up as Noah’s lips trail kisses up his length, and then he feels his tongue on the tip and—

Then it’s gone, and Dmitri’s eyes open to meet Noah’s gaze, which looks both nervous and excited. He reassures Dmitri that what he’d said earlier — and immediately regretted, by the way — was not unwelcome, and all Dmitri can do is bite his bottom lip at the implication of that. Dirty talk — something Noah can get behind, apparently, and Dmitri adds that to his mental checklist of all the things he knows Noah enjoys in bed. So far: caresses, kisses, biting, some light scratching seems to be on the table, and some dirty talk, maybe. Dmitri’s exhale is shaky and he can do nothing else but offer Noah a stupid half-smile the is immediately wiped off his face when he watches Noah’s mouth sink into him and holy shit.

Dmitri knew it was going to be hot, but he didn’t think the sight of Noah doing this would get him this worked up. It suddenly feels like he’s harder, somehow, even though he knows it’s impossible, and he brings his hands to wrap around Noah’s hair as he continues to dip slowly, and even though Dmitri wants nothing more than to lie back and let the sensation take over, he can’t stop looking.

It’s just so — foreign is the word he keeps thinking about, but even then, it’s not so much that as the impossibility of it all. He’d never allowed himself to think of his best friend in this position, or any similar kind of position, and now that he can, he doesn’t think the imagination would have ever done it justice. Noah’s lips are already swollen from their kissing, his face flushed from arousal and excitement, his hair a mess from Dmitri’s excessive touches, and he realizes this is something he gets to see, gets to keep seeing, gets to keep causing.

“Fuck,” he groans, realizing his heart is swelling with his dick, like a fucking sap. “I love you so much,” he mutters, biting the inside of his cheek to try and uselessly hold back a stuttered moan. “Oh, my God, fuck,” Dmitri moans again, hating that he’s so vocal sometimes, but he can’t fucking help it when Noah’s doing this to him. “You look so hot,” he admits, finally leaning his head back for a second, exposing his throat and closing his eyes, moaning for an extended period.

He keeps one hand wrapped in Noah’s hair, but his other one reaches up for his arm to drape over his gaze, unable to handle the sensations. Noah’s never done this before — presumably — but he’s taking to it like a fucking pro. Still, when he begins to speed up Dmitri’s about to warn him against it, but it’s too late by the time Noah pulls away and sputters a cough. Despite his best friend’s warning, Dmitri can’t help but snort a chuckle, peeking through his arm and meeting Noah’s gaze to offer him a crooked grin. “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would without choking,” he teases, but then the moment’s gone because Noah dives back in like he’s got something to prove and fuck.

Dmitri feels every single muscle in his body begin to tense and Noah manages to get faster and quicker, his hips begging to recoil. He manages to keep them in check, however, knowing just how close he is to coming, so he brings both hands to tug at Noah’s hair desperately. “Stop,” he moans, and it definitely doesn’t sound like he wants him to, but he needs this to last longer. “Stop, stop, stop,” he helps Noah off of him, and when Dmitri looks at him—

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, taking in Noah’s absolutely sinful appearance, and he’s quick to bring him back up for a long, dirty kiss, one where he bites at Noah’s lips and sucks on his tongue and he thinks he can taste himself for a second there, but that’s not what he wants, he just wants to drown in Noah. That’s all he ever wants to do, now.

His length is throbbing and begging for the release it was so close to getting, but he ignores it, pulling away from Noah for a second before peppering three more kisses on his lips in quick succession. “I definitely want you to fuck me,” he mutters. “And I’ll have to teach you how to get me ready. But first,” he licks his lips, glancing at Noah’s erection. “I’m going to make good on my offer.”

With one last kiss, Dmitri pulls away completely from Noah and slinks himself slightly downward on the mattress, to where he’s on eye-level with Noah’s chest. He places his hands on either side of Noah’s hips and guides him upward. “Hold yourself up,” he warns. “Last thing I want is you falling dick-first on my face,” he snickers slightly, and when he feels himself lined up in front of Noah’s erection, he exhales warmly on it, nuzzles it with his nose the same way he did that first time at their place before licking a stripe up the length and finishing with a kiss to the tip. “Okay,” he says, reaching back with one hand for the first pillow he feels and bringing it to settle down on his neck. “Fuck you, my neck is gonna hurt otherwise,” he says before Noah can make a comment about it. Once he’s settled, he begins rubbing Noah’s outer thigh soothingly as he talks, almost automatically, like he’s become so used to doing during their friendship.

“I’m going to guide you inside,” he says. “I’ll give you kind of a feel of where I can handle it, and then after that — you’re doing all the work, alright?” He preens slightly, despite the fact that Noah probably can’t see his expression now. “Though I have to tell you, my gag reflex is virtually non-existent by now.” He wraps a hand around the base of Noah’s erection then, lining up the tip with his mouth. After swirling his tongue around there for a couple of seconds — a completely self-indulgent action, he’ll admit — he guides it slowly inside his mouth, sinking in as deep as he’s able to take him, near the back of his throat. He moans helpfully, trying to give Noah a feel of around where he is, then he licks his way off of Noah’s dick, breathing deeply as he does. “Go slow first,” he says. “But you can pick up speed, eventually,” he smiles slightly. “I trust you.”

Guided by Dmitri’s hand, his lips press softly to a spot right below his nipple, smiling against the skin at the sound it elicits. He wonders what would happen if he pulled the skin between his teeth but Dmitri continues guiding him. Once he’s prompted to kiss Dmitri’s wrist, he does so with such delicacy, his lips dragging across the width in three short kisses. He thinks, momentarily, that it’s his favorite spot yet, but the next one is the line that leads below his jeans. This kiss is the longest one thus far as Noah drags it out. As he does he remembers watching at Dmitri stretched his arms above his head. Noah’s gaze has dropped and his shirt slid up with the movement and it revealed the same spot that he was kissing now. Noah also remembers looking away quickly.

There’s a moment where things pause and Noah quickly goes through everything again and memorizes every spot he’s told. The exact spot, the reaction that followed. Files them away in the storage of his mind as if they are preciously guarded secrets. Realistically, they aren’t. They belonged to someone else before, but they are his now. And he isn’t going to make the mistake of relinquishing them to anyone else.

His nerves are suddenly on high alert as they continue further down. He swallows a knot in his throat as Dmitri gives him a very clear out and of course he does. Noah’s never felt pressured in these situations or boggled down by expectations. Even from the beginning, Dmitri never pushed. They always went at a speed that was more or less completely Noah’s. He hopes that Dmitri is aware of how much he’s always appreciated it, how much he still does.

It’s just that no matter what Dmitri says, Noah wants to be good enough for him. Deserving of not only his love but of his body as well. And his nerves, well. It’s not that Dmitri has a dick underneath his jeans. That’s, well, been very clear. He’s felt it on numerous occasions, his own grinding desperately against his, usually with layers between them and recently without. He’s had it grasped in his hand as he tried to help Dmitri to a climax. And yeah, at first it was nerve-wracking and new and different and he worried about whether or not he’d be repulsed or if it’d make him realize he was in far over his head but—it just never happened. It just was. It was natural and it—Noah wanted every part of it. Even now he wants nothing more than to give Dmitri what he wants. He just doesn’t want to mess anything up.

Noah leans briefly into the hand caressing his face before he leans back onto knees once again. His hands find the button of Dmitri’s jeans and he begins to take them off, underwear included, with the help of Dmitri. At one point he mutters something about how jeans are no longer allowed as long as they are in the hotel.

With Dmitri completely naked under him, he feels incredibly and unfairly overdressed and removes his own shirt and unbuttons his own jeans (mostly to release some of his own pressure). Noah then finds himself crawling back up to Dmitri and bringing him into a kiss. As if it had been too long since their lips were touching – and to be fair, it had. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mutters against Dmitri’s lips as if it needs reiterating, “but you’ve always made me feel safe and able and wanted and I love you.” He goes to move downward but suddenly stops, looking back up at him. “Unless you laugh at me in which case I’ll hate you forever,” he jokes with a smile.

Noah then works down Dmitri’s body in the same way he did earlier. Starting just below his nipple—and this time he does bite the skin—and ending with his tongue dragging down the line of his v. With his heart pounding in his chest, his hand wraps around his length and strokes it slowly as he looks up to gauge Dmitri’s reaction. Noah then lowers his lips to the top of his erection and presses a ghost of a kiss to the tip. He continues down the length of it, his kisses gaining pressure the further they go. Going off not only what he likes, but also what he remembers Dmitri doing for him, he drags his tongue back up, teases the tip with it. His nerves are still simmering beneath his skin, but he’s not—the want he feels rolling through him is more than enough to block it out. “I can do more than kiss if you’d like,” he says after he’s pulled away only to find his lips against Dmitri’s inner thigh. Dmitri was the first person to ever do that for him and he’d wanted to do it in return ever since. He crawls back up and presses a kiss against Dmitri’s chest and then his cheek and then the edge of his lips. “But just know that if I start, you’re going to have to be the one to stop me because I’m not going to want to stop until you come, but I also desperately want to fuck you again.”

Every time Dmitri thinks to expect something, his expectations are thrown out the window and replaced by — Noah, and how amazing he is, and how he doesn’t seem tithing twice about it when he leans back and undoes his jeans, seemingly bothered by the difficulty of it that garners of a breathy laugh from Dmitri, who shakes his head in disbelief. God, he loves this man. He loves him so much.

Dmitri’s about to complain about how naked Noah isn’t, but it seems he doesn’t have to — he’s taking the task into his own hands, ridding himself of his shirt and unbuttoning his own jeans, but not removing them completely. Noah makes his way back up to Dmitri and kisses him, which is something he will never tire of, never, he knows he won’t, and then he’s pulling away and telling Dmitri he loves him and teasing him and Dmitri can’t do anything but breathe out another laugh, helpless, useless, as he shakes his head. “Never,” he promises. “You’re perfect.”

Noah’s lips retrace the kisses from before, when Dmitri guided him — there’s teeth involved this time, and Dmitri’s moan is louder, less broken, his hand gripping tightly and desperately at Noah’s hair as his body reacts to his touch. Curves at the feeling of his lips, recoils in pleasure at the sensation of his teeth, quivering at the impression of his tongue. The anticipation builds in his stomach like he’s some sort of sex-starved douchebag, like he hasn’t been touched in a long time, and it’s stupid, that it almost feels that way. Like Noah’s touch is his first, even though it’s far from it.

He likes it.

He feels Noah’s breath against his erection and closes his eyes when he feels Noah’s fingers wrap around it — the breath he exhales noisy, sounding more like a groan. “Noah,” he breathes, hand shaking against his chest. His hips buck when, in addition to his fingers, Dmitri suddenly feels Noah’s lips on him, slowly peppering downwards, and then his tongue is trailing upwards to the tip and God, Dmitri’s eyes manage to open just in time to see this, and it’s unfairly sinful, the sight of Noah tasting him — Dmitri thinks he might come just from the sight alone, really.

His lips press against Dmitri’s thigh, and he’s talking as his kisses find their way back to the corner of his lips. Dmitri huffs, desire coursing through every vein in his body as Noah offers to fuck him again, and he instinctively arcs his hips against Noah’s at the words, body begging for the release Noah is offering.

Dmitri’s hands travel down Noah’s chest and then hook at the hem of jeans, boxer briefs in tow, and Dmitri tugs them down desperately until Noah’s no longer hidden behind fabric, his erection in full view. Dmitri licks his lips as his fingers brush the outline of Noah’s length, desperate to touch again (mine, he doesn’t say) and he kisses Noah slowly, deeply, measured.

He’s biting down on Noah’s bottom lip when he wraps a hand around Noah’s length, squeezing, thumb stroking the tip of him gently. He pulls back, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?” There’s a hint of a smirk on his lips, he can feel it. “I didn’t prepare myself this time. It’s a lot more work before you can just slide right on in there, you know that, right?”

But God, he wants. The feeling of Noah in his hand is driving him crazy, the memory of him inside Dmitri is — next level. He spares a thought for the lube and the condoms he snuck into his duffel bag before they left, noticing they hadn’t been something Noah packed for him.

He searches Noah’s expression, removes his hand from his erection and instead cups his face gently. His eyes meet Noah’s mouth, then flicker down to his erection, and fuck—“If my ass doesn’t work out, you’re more than welcome to fuck my mouth.” He pauses, definitely sure he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, then feels himself flush red all over — he forgets himself. He hates himself. He’s just so used to saying these things in bed, that he forgets — he forgets Noah’s not—

What is Noah?

This is all about exploring themselves, finding themselves in this environment, and it feels like — drifting in uncharted waters and hoping for the best, hoping they might like what they find, hoping the rejection of what they don’t won’t strand them.

There’s a hint of a smile on Noah’s lips, which had gradually worked their way up and began pressing soft kisses to the outline of Dmitri’s ear, as he hears the amused sound that comes from him. And he’s sure it’s because what’s been happening between them has been so entirely overpowering and all-consuming that it’s blurring his long-term memory, but he’s struggling to remember a time when he’s smiled this much. Not in general, of course, but rather in moments like these. Moments in which the last thing on either of their minds is the one thing that keeps surprising him.

Smiles and teasing and laughter. Kisses that make his head dizzy followed by kisses that make his heart dizzy. Touches that singe his skin interchanging with touches that calm him. They are the makings of a past and a present colliding together and creating a future with a surety that is almost unshakable.

Dmitri’s lips find his and add to the confusing data from his previous thoughts as he feels relief flood his system. And lips don’t belong anywhere. He doesn’t even think they were created for much outside of evolutionary reasonings like survival, but he thinks if they did—if they belonged anywhere. If his belonged anywhere. That Dmitri’s lips consistently made a strong case of belonging against his.

Noah’s sense of attention is suddenly very overwhelmed as Dmitri’s hands come to his own and start to lead them south. He struggles to focus on the kiss he is currently wrapped up in but by the time his hands are situated right above Dmitri’s waistband they both seem to have forgotten about the kiss. Their lips are still together, just barely, enough to feel the release of a breath. And enough to close the distance again with little effort once he feels the body underneath his hands push into them. Noah gets a fraction of a kiss off before he feels skin instead of fabric and it feels almost like permission being granted.

The tips of his fingers brush lightly over the skin beneath them, encouragingly and teasingly at the same time. They press closer into the waistband because it’s when he feels the greatest reaction both physically and audibly. His attention is suddenly snapped back to Dmitri’s hands on him as a shiver rolls throughout his body with enough force that his body rolls with it. His lips falter against their current kiss, a low, but sharp, intake of breath resulting as Dmitri’s fingernails scrape enticingly past his middle back.

There is little time to recover as Dmitri pulls away and mentions promises and feeling him everywhere. His tone is soft in a way that makes his words seem almost like a confession. It’s sweet and endearing and Noah thinks of their earlier conversation about promises. Promises about living together not as roommates but as—just the two of them. Promises about the future. Things they shouldn’t possibly be promising each other, but if Dmitri felt as sure as Noah did how could they not?

Answers to that question flood his mind without permission as he thinks of the surety he felt with Isabelle. About the fairytale romance he once thought of as his parent’s relationship. He drops his head down to Dmitri’s shoulder, turns until his lips meet skin. He kisses the edge of his neck softly, pleadingly. “Please be different,” he whispers to himself, voice muffled and low enough only for his own ears.

Dmitri speaks almost immediately after, repeating his own words from this morning back to him. It almost feels like an answer to his own internal worries and doubts that he barely admits to himself. Noah pulls away, removes his hands from where they had been aimlessly roaming and brings them to either side of Dmitri’s face. Uses his hold to pull their lips back together and he kisses him gently and slowly, savoring the moment, savoring his words. Just a single kiss that turns into another and then another. Each one is a little less tentative, last a little bit longer, gains a little bit more speed, a little more urgency.

Noah doesn’t pull away until he is thoroughly out of breath and desperate. He sits back and presses his hands against Dmitri’s chest again. This time his touch isn’t light, but pointed, pressing his into the bed in case Dmitri tries to follow his movements. They trail up his chest after a few moments. They pass over his shoulders and trail down his arms before he takes both of Dmitri’s hands in his own. Noah uses them then to guide him up and then places Dmitri’s arms around his neck. His own wrap around his best friend’s lower back. His lips find the edge of Dmitri’s jaw and trails light kisses up one side as his hands grasp the hem of his shirt and starts pulling it up Dmitri’s body.

He stops suddenly, a different idea intruding, and lets the shirt fall back down much to Dmitri’s dismay. “Shh,” Noah hushes with a small laugh, excitement and arousal continuing to build. He lowers Dmitri back down onto the bed and then adjust his own body lower. Noah pushes his shirt back up, revealing about two inches of his skin. Skin that used to be a stranger to him, that used to force his own eyes to advert if he looked for too long. He lowers his lips the right side of where the exposed skin begins, the line of his hip terribly inviting, and drags his bottom lip across it before pressing a purposeful kiss to his skin. He kisses across to the other side, taking his time and feeling the reactions that Dmitri’s body supplies him with. If he thinks he missed a spot, he goes back and begins again from said spot.

By the time Dmitri’s shirt is pushed over halfway up his body, Noah’s kissed, bitten, and marked his skin more times than he’s needed. Sometimes starting over from a specific spot multiple times simply because he liked the noises that accompanied them or the way his body visibly reacted. He’ll remember those spots specifically.

Noah finally takes Dmitri’s shirt off when it can no longer be pushed up, tossing it somewhere off to the side. He takes his time then, focusing on the skin he can now reach. He gently bites at his left collarbone, but uses a little more pressure on the right, testing it out. His hands, no longer occupied with holding a shirt up, roam the places his lips have spent minutes remembering. Against his neck, Noah finally speaks. “Where’s your favorite place to be kissed?” His kisses beneath his jaw. “To be touched?” He lightly drags his fingers up the side of his torso. The last time they had each other like this Dmitri was so attentive to Noah and his needs and now he wants to return the favor. Wants to make him feel as good and as loved and Dmitri managed to make him feel after being without those feelings for so long.

For a second, Dmitri wonders if Noah can read his mind — but it turns out, he thinks, that Noah simply knows what he needs, or might just want exactly what Dmitri wants; either way, it’s like they’re in sync in a way they’ve always been but simultaneously never been before, his emotions feeling too big, too monumental for such a small space between them, like they’ll set them on fire, like they’ll burn them away.

But they don’t. They settle, and cultivate, and then Noah’s lips are tasting every inch of Dmitri’s stomach they can conceivably reach in his position, and Dmitri can do little more but close his eyes, breath hitching every once in a while, small, breathy moans pushing past his lips like prayers, hands tangled in Noah’s hair desperately, clinging to a sense of familiarity, of reality. His body will arch desperately towards Noah’s lips when they kiss a particularly sensitive spot of skin, fingers clenching tightly around the hair he might have been stroking at the moment, and then he’ll let himself fall on the mattress again, caught between wanting to keep his eyes closed and his neck curved and terribly wanting to keep his eyes low, open, watch Noah’s every move, captivated.

He alternates, then, as he has no choice, the sight of his best friend kissing him in ways he, for so long, thought he wasn’t supposed to want, that he couldn’t, sinfully attaching his lips and his teeth to skin that months ago had been marked by another is doing things to him he cannot voice. It’s causing his length to swell uncomfortably in his pants, almost embarrassingly, because all Noah has to do is kiss him, taste him, be near him and Dmitri’s already a puddle of this, of uselessness, but he feels whole, he feels wanted, he feels loved, and he forgets. He forgets himself, he forgets their problems, their worries, the outer forces that might want to get in their way, that might whisper to him grimly at night, reminding him their attentions are split, their hearts shared.

It doesn’t matter in the moment. It doesn’t feel that way in this very moment. It just feels like he’s so desperately Noah’s, completely, and he surrenders himself to the feeling, because it’s all he wants to be right now. Just Noah’s.

Noah kisses up and then suddenly Dmitri’s shirt is gone — he’s half-paying attention to the things he says, knows they’re questions about his preferences, but he can’t remember himself right now, not when Noah’s so close, his lips slightly swollen and red and attaching themselves softly to his jaw, his fingers working up Dmitri’s sides. He takes a couple of deep breaths, a hand reaching downward to cup the back of Noah’s neck, eyes fluttering open, half-lidded to look at Noah through his lashes. “Anywhere you want to,” he admits, because it’s true. He thinks Noah’s lips can take him apart wherever they find shelter. For posterity, however, he holds Noah’s face between his hands and guides his lips lower, towards his chest, just below his nipple. “There,” he admits quietly, and Noah complies. Dmitri’s moan tries to be subtle, but it’s broken instead.

He guides Noah lips further down his chest, right between his pecs, and whispers, “There.” Noah complies once again, and Dmitri’s breath is loud when it trembles past his lips. Dmitri trails his right hand towards Noah’s lips, extends the inside of his wrist. “Here,” he admits, and Noah kisses him there, too. It’s the softness of it, this time, not the arousal, that makes Dmitri whimper quietly, throat swollen.

He guides Noah’s lips further down, at the edge of his v, the left indentation of it. Dmitri’s breaths are shallower now, chest slightly heaving. “There,” he breathes, and Noah kisses him there, too. It tickles, slightly, but the aftermath of the sensation has always traveled downward, always felt incredible.

He hesitates for a second, before stroking Noah’s hair one last time and then guiding his lips just above the very obvious swelling in his jeans, his length so ridiculously hard at this point it feels like it might burst at any second, and his hands shake when they stop him there, eyes watching Noah’s expression carefully.

There’s a part of Noah that lives in silence. An even smaller part that thrives in it. Between Noelle and himself, he’s always been the more muted of the two because she’d always been happy to take the lead roles and he’d always been more than willing to let her. More often than not it meant that he was left alone with his thoughts. Listening and watching and thinking. It created an imagination within himself that was perhaps far too vivid but not often shared. It meant that he was both prone to overthinking situations and not thinking about them enough. Times when, especially as a child, he’d say nothing at all and others when he’d talk and talk and talk because it felt like he forgot what his own voice sounded like outside of his own head. There’s a balance out there somewhere and he’s gotten close, but it’s always been just outside of his reach. Something he’s yet to master.

For the time being, he fully embraces the silence. He lets it fall over both him and Dmitri and doesn’t let his mind wander past anything surface level. More importantly, he doesn’t try to get inside of Dmitri’s mind or wonder what he’s thinking about. One of his arms wraps around Dmitri’s back and he nuzzles his face in closer. He focuses on his fingers which are tracing light patterns against his best friend’s back over and over, occupying his train of thought. Any wandering thoughts find themselves wrapped up in the way their chests lift together as if they are one, breathing synchronized. His touches get softer, more inconsistent. They stop for a few moments and then start again. Noah feels relaxed and loved and fulfilled. Soon enough his hand stills midway through the drawing of a heart and time passes without his knowledge. Until he hears Dmitri speak, breaking through the silence and the pull of sleep that had managed to take him under.

He makes a small noise of acknowledgment as Dmitri mentions something about mattresses, his eyes struggling to open. It’s instinct alone that, as he feels the body he was wrapped up in shift downwards, he tilts his face up and meets Dmitri’s lips with his own. It’s simple, but it sends a small jolt through his body, waking him up a little bit more.

Noah opens his eyes, blinking against the soft light, before focusing on Dmitri’s face. It’s a fleeting thought, quickly dissipated by Dmitri’s own words, but he doesn’t think waking up to his best friend right beside him—embracing him, kissing him, talking to him—is something he’ll ever grow tired of. He’s had this thought before, he knows he has. In the same way he knows the first time he thought it wasn’t in the last few days or weeks or months.

His smile is small but genuine as Dmitri talks, the slightest color finding his cheeks. Noah brushes a thumb over the affronted skin and lets him ramble. He nods encouragingly, maybe a little mockingly, as his fingers move from his skin to his hair. They run softly through the sides as Dmitri sighs, smiling against his next kiss. “But I love when you speak to me so eloquently,” he mutters against the kiss. Sneaks in one more before he can pull away.

Pushing himself up on his elbow, he leans down and kisses the skin of Dmitri’s arm just below the sleeve of his shirt. “Take you where?” he murmurs against his skin. His lips trail down it softly. “I can take you to the pool.” His hand grabs the wrist of his same arm, turns it ever so slightly so that he can press a kiss against the inside of his elbow. “I can take you to the shower or the jacuzzi.” He brings his lips back to Dmitri’s and kisses him softly, slowly. Any traces of lingering tiredness that may have stuck with him are long gone. When he pulls away he kisses his jaw once. “I can keep you on the bed.” To emphasis his point he pushes Dmitri’s shoulder until he’s laying back against the bed and maneuvers on top of him. Noah straddles him gently, both of his hands pressed against his chest as if he’s going to break him, but in all honesty, it’s the nerves that are begging to take over. He leans down and presses a kiss just below his ear. “I can take you wherever you want.”

Once, when Dmitri and Noah first shared a room — back in freshman year, after being randomly assigned to a dorm — Dmitri had been afraid to talk, really talk, for about a week straight. It’s not that he was afraid of what he might say — though he supposes that played a small part — but it’s because he knows that once he gets going, in an environment that is new and nerve-wracking and so distinctly different than what he’s used to, he doesn’t stop. His words will take many different shapes and forms and sentences will take many twists and turns and commas — commas will become non-existent, as run-on sentences are the only kinds of sentences Dmitri’s head-to-mouth filter accepts during said nervous rants.

It took him those seven days exactly to forget himself and eventually rant nervously at Noah, telling him something about his classes and his professor that clearly had it out for him and how he sometimes felt like maybe balancing a pre-med degree with baseball was a stupid idea and he went on and on and on and—

Noah let him. Just let him. He never seemed annoyed, or upset, or bothered by Dmitri’s lack of a point, or even perplexed by how Dmitri could drop an entire trajectory in the middle of a sentence and start off elsewhere. He just — listened. And agreed.

Dmitri thinks this is when Noah started becoming his favorite friend.

He sees remnants of that innocence, that young, unbothered expression now, though it’s different, in this moment, accompanied by a soft, fond smile on Noah’s lips and he nods as Dmitri speaks, a teasing air around the motion, and something in his heart squeezes because — this has always been Noah. Accepting of whatever Dmitri feels ridiculous about — and reassuring, even in between half-sentences and terribly structured points, that he can want what he wants.

It’s almost unfair, pairing the swirling of his stomach — this mass of uncontrollable love that aches for Noah at every hour of the day — with the sensation of Noah’s lips finding different parts of Dmitri’s skin: on his arm, near his elbow, against his lips, below his ear. All Dmitri can do is helplessly tangle his hands in Noah’s hair, let him do what he wants to him, breath hitching through already small spurts, eyes fluttering every time Noah speaks, teases, assures him he’ll take him wherever he wants.

And he wants. And he’s allowed to want — isn’t he?

Dmitri huffs an amused breath, hoping Noah can’t see just how fucking gone he in at this very moment for him, turns his head to capture Noah’s lips in another kiss, tongue swiping experimentally at Noah’s bottom lip — almost as if in jest. Dmitri’s hands travel from Noah’s hair and down his arms, until they’re laying softly over Noah’s own on Dmitri’s chest. Dmitri kisses him for a moment longer before he takes Noah’s hands, leads them further down his torso, to his stomach, just above the waistband of his jeans. Dmitri releases a shaky breath against Noah’s lips as his back instinctively arcs towards the feeling of Noah’s hands so close to him, sensory memory working where it needs to, and Dmitri helps Noah’s hands under his shirt to press his palms against Dmitri’s now-exposed skin, his stomach recoiling sharply at the contact for a second, dick twitching in interest.

He brings his hands to either side of Noah’s waist, fingers sneaking under his shirt, too, and he brushes the skin there with the back of his fingers before his palms trail up his back, riding up Noah’s shirt as they travel to rest for a second just below Noah’s neck before Dmitri slowly drags his fingernails down his best friend’s spine, gently enough so that they don’t dig into the skin, but with enough pressure that Noah can feel it.

Dmitri pulls away from Noah’s lips when his hands rest on the small of his back again, eyes searching his expression. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he warns, his tone low, but not quiet. He kisses the corner of Noah’s mouth, hands traveling around his waist and up his chest now. “I want to feel you all over,” he admits, a little shyly, despite everything they’ve done already. He hides his expression, which he knows would only betray innate desire, in the crook of Noah’s neck, nips softly at the skin there as an excuse, as an instinct. There wasn’t enough of Noah’s hands on him the last time they did this, and that’s all he wants — wants to be consumed by his touch and lost in it, like they’re making up for lost time, for the places his hands could never be before.

He takes a deep breath, nose nuzzling the curve of Noah’s shoulder now, palms spreading against Noah’s chest softly, the contact of skin feeling like burning. His eyes close in quiet contemplation, the beating of Noah’s heart thrumming like a melody underneath Dmitri’s hand, like his own private concert.

Noah frowns softly at Dmitri, bottom lip jutting out, as he pulls away after a kiss to his cheek. As if he didn’t just kiss him prior to pushing him back onto the mattress. He watches Dmitri as he unties his shoes. And he can’t help himself from smiling and really there’s not exactly a reason to, but he can’t help himself. It’s such an effortless happiness that Dmitri’s granted him ever since he’s been back from Kansas. He smiles even wider as he watches him go to the closest and put them away whereas Noah would have just left them wherever they decided to fall. 

Watching Dmitri walk back towards him and crawling over him, he acknowledges the way his heart spins in anticipation, in excitement, in adoration. He wonders not only when everything changed so intensely, but how they managed to transition so easily into this version of themselves. As if their friendship was made to evolve into this, as if it was waiting for this. “Their own faults, really,” he mutters at the mention of the steaks. He understands, truly, he does. It isn’t—what he and Dmitri are doing isn’t something to take lightly, he knows that. It also happened seemingly out of nowhere so it was only fair that everyone has their own set of questions and concerns but at the end of the day their relationship was between the two of them and nobody else. Having this time together without everyone questioning or scrutinizing them is something he’s extremely looking forward to.

Noah turns on his side, following Dmitri’s own movements and relaxes under his caressing touch. He’s asking him what he wants to do and he felt like he had so many ideas but now that they were here he just—wants such simple things. He wordlessly takes Dmitri’s wrist and lifts his arms up so that he can scoot in closer to him, snuggling up against his chest. He breathes in his scent, familiar but still different than what he had been used to for so long. “Can we just lay here for a little while?” he asks, voice low. The moments that they’ve gotten to just be like this all came after something happening: a first kiss, sleeping together, Dmitri almost leaving. And if it wasn’t that, it was interrupted by having to go to class or to work or thinking that they’d get caught. Noah just wants a moment with Dmitri where it’s just them and there’s nothing to worry about and nothing to do. Cuddling because they can, because they want to, because that’s what’s normal for them now in a way it never was before.

Immediately, Dmitri wraps both his arms around Noah, holding him close, closing his eyes in contentment. His lips brush Noah’s forehead and he hums, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah,” he says, voice not quite a whisper, but quiet enough so that it’s private, theirs. “I’d like that.”

And he does. He doesn’t say much during this time — they hold each other like they’re each other’s lifelines, and the truth of the matter? They just might be. They’ve both been through so much — things they should really, really talk about at some point — but when they’re with each other, it just seems to…fall away. And maybe it’s not their fault they can’t seem to penetrate through the real issues they should be looking at — it’s simply that it’s easier, with each other. And he loves this, and he loves Noah, but eventually Dmitri knows their lack of talking and communicating will come back to bite them in the ass, the same way everyone seems to agree it will, and they’ll look back at these moments and wonder.

But it’s so, so easy to ignore those possibilities here, wrapped up in Noah, legs eventually tangled together. Dmitri will mutter something inconsequential at some point, they’ll talk stupidly, and they won’t kiss much — but God, how is he meant to bring anything other than the fact that he loves him, he loves him when they’re wrapped up in each other like this? How? How is he meant to face the reality around them when the reality they’ve built for each other is so much more comforting, so beautiful in and of itself?

Gabriel feels himself still as Zach reaches up for his mask. It’s the first step to removing his own and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for his identity to be revealed. He knows it’s not fair that he has a knowledge of Zach’s while he’s in the dark, but it’s not his fault he recognized him first. Granted, it makes more sense that way — Zach’s in the spotlight at all times and is therefore just more recognizable.

Zach’s mask comes off, dropping to the floor and Gabriel wishes he had the power to look away. Wishes even more that he could say something witty to defuse his own anxieties. Something about Zach being the wrong Zach and that he mistook him for someone else. He does none of those things because, well, he looks even better with the mask off and Gabriel is still trying to wrap his mind around the situation—around Zach.

He’s not ready. He’s definitely not ready. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, but Zach is and that has to be good enough because he thinks it’s now or never.

Everything is suddenly dark as he closes his eyes. It’s the adult equivalent to thinking that hiding under his covers keeps him safe and invisible. He feels it happen, he hears his mask hit Zach’s on the floor, but then it’s silent and he can’t take it anymore because the longer the silence lasts the more he thinks he made a mistake. Finally, his hands come up to cover his face—like it’s magically going to reverse everything—as he definitively declares his distaste for parties.

Gabriel hears Zach laugh and it doesn’t seem unfriendly and he wishes he could take comfort in it, but his anxiety-riddled thoughts are louder and more persistent. It isn’t just that he’s the same person who has been very curt and rude with him, but that he is also his (apparently fake) girlfriend’s best friend who now knew very personal things and secrets about him. His hands are being taken away from his face and he starts to make a low, pained noise in the back of his throat, eyes squeezing together even more.

The sudden physical contact after painstaking silence sends a jolt down his spine. He doesn’t know if it’s shock or— “What?” he whispers in disbelief as Zach mentions his eyes. It isn’t what he’s expecting and it’s paired with him saying his name like it’s—he’s saying it in a way nobody ever has. Like it’s the answer to the world’s most complex question.

Just as he’s about to finally open his eyes, a response to his name, but also to make sure this is all real, he feels lips touch press a kiss into his eyelid. It’s possibly the sweetest thing he’s ever felt. Every touch, every kiss Zach continues to give him confuses his heart in ways he can’t quite understand. They speak to him in a language he’s never learned, soft and sure, and he’s struggling to translate it.

Somehow, they make more sense than his actual words.

“That doesn’t—why were you—” Gabriel doesn’t get the chance to finish speaking, which is probably for the best because he’s honestly not even sure what he was going to say. Zach’s kissing him and there are no masks and no questions of identity and everything is out in this open and his entire world feels off-kilter. The noise that releases, without his permission, is somewhere between a sigh of relief and moan and he—God he absolutely melts into the kiss. His hands press against his torso, fingers gripping the fabric beneath them and pulling him in at the same time Zach’s pressing them together. They are so effortlessly finding their way back to where they were before Gabe realized who Zach was and somehow everything’s okay? Somehow none of it matters. They are Zach and Gabriel and that’s—it just is. And it’s more somehow and the building connection between them—their fucking stupid unpredictable connection—feels stronger.

When Zach pulls away, Gabriel chases his lips quickly, kisses him once while he talks. “Then don’t,” he mutters immediately against his lips, kissing him two more times in rapid succession before he can completely pull away.

Zach asks him to stay again and this time it isn’t the same as before. He’s asking him for more, asking him to stay with him through the night. He knows he’s going to stay the moment he asks. There’s no question, there’s no internal debate—it’s just something he accepts. He lets Zach speak regardless, try to win him over despite having already done so earlier in the night. Gabriel responds to every kiss, thinks about every option being laid out to him on how they could spend their night together. He smiles shyly when Zach tells him he’d tell everyone in their house to leave without hesitation – he’s so easy to get wrapped up in.

His heart tells him to run, but also to stay.

“I want this to make sense,” he replies and it’s one of the most honest answers he has. He reaches up and rubs the back of his fingers softly against his cheek, feeling a combination of rough and soft. “It doesn’t make any sense.” There’s a sudden commotion on the other side of the door, reminding him that they’re still very much in the middle of a frat party. Gabriel reaches to the side of them without breaking eye contact and tries to lock the door. He fails miserably because he can’t actually see what he’s doing and he’s basically just feeling around for a few moments before he gives up. “Could you lock your door please?” He rolls his eyes, smiling after he asks, a laugh threatening. “You wouldn’t want some random stranger walking in and going through your stuff.” He hopes Zach understands what it means—that he’s choosing to stay.

Once the door is locked, Zach still looks at him in a way that makes him realize that he hasn’t actually given him an actual answer to his earlier question. He gave him options, even. Gabriel still feels the hand against his back, thinks about when it was around his thigh. Both of his arms wrap around Zach and he’s going to use his positioning to pull him into a kiss—because that seems like an incredibly amazing place to start—when he realizes something. “Where’s your phone?”

Gabriel watches Zach pull his phone out of his back pocket and bitterly he thinks he could have done that for him, but. He takes his phone from his hands, raising his eyebrows at the lock screen. “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t have his girlfriend as his background?” he asks sarcastically, regretting the moment he brings Isabelle up because it’s still—he knows they aren’t technically doing anything wrong, but there’s still a part of him that feels guilty. He wordlessly turns the phone towards Zach so that he can put the passcode in, but he simply gives him the code and Gabriel’s blinks up at him for a moment. It’s such a little thing, but his heart flips regardless.

After unlocking his phone, which reveals a different background picture of him and someone he assumes is the Grandmother is had mentioned throughout the night, he finds the first music app and opens it up. He wiggles out of Zach’s grasp, pushing past him as he scrolls through official playlists and clicks on the fifth one simply because he likes the artwork. “So, um,” he laughs softly, turning towards Zach and he feels his face heating up. It was more nerve-wracking being vulnerable with an unmasked Zach than it was when he was still a stranger. “Will you dance with me?” He pauses, feels himself panic slightly. “It’s just that—that’s also something I’ve never really done—with someone and—I know that sounds pathetic but—” He runs a hand messily through his hair and takes a deep breath. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Gabriel walks over towards Zach and, with his free hand, he reaches out and takes Zach’s own, pulling him towards the middle of his room. “Will you please dance with me?” he asks again, voice low and soft, but surer of itself as he pulls him in closer to him.

It’s easy to lose himself in this, Zach thinks. In the disbelief in Gabriel’s tone, but the relief that peeks through, too — it’s easy to lose himself in this moment, where things seem okay, and easy, like they might not end in tragedy, this time around. Like Zach is asking Gabriel to stay, and Gabriel wants to stay. He sounds so unsure about what Zach is saying — which, Zach doesn’t blame him for, of course he does, Gabriel knows nothing about his feelings towards him, and as far as Zach knows, all Gabriel knows about him is, well, that he dislikes him — but still hopeful, and that — that’s the easiest thing to get lost in. In the thought that maybe Gabriel is hopeful for this, for them.

The same way Zach is.

Gabriel asks Zach to lock the door, and his heart does something stupid — it either flips or it skips a beat or all those other things people tell him hearts usually do when they’re excited — but he manages to lean back and do what Gabriel asks of him, looking back at him, a little shyly, a little questioningly. This, Zach supposes, is a step in the right direction — Gabriel wouldn’t be asking for him to lock the door if he just planned to unlock it in a minute to leave, right?

He’s right, it turns out, because then Gabriel’s asking where his phone is, and though Zach has half a mind to ask what this is about, he says nothing — instead, he reaches into his back pocket and fishes his phone out, showing it too Gabriel. Gabriel takes his phone without preamble, startling Zach for only a second, and he flushes a bit at the mention of Isabelle. That’s — a subject they should probably breach soon. They can’t ignore it, not when she’s so obviously a big part of both of their lives, but Gabriel seems content to not say anything further than his first comment, so Zach doesn’t push it. Perhaps now is not the time.

If Zach’s lucky, there will be plenty of time later.

Gabriel manages to release himself from Zach’s grasp, and Zach raises an eyebrow as his gaze follows Gabriel. He’s walking towards the middle of his room, face a pretty, tempting pink, playing a song from one of his curated playlists (Zach should probably be just a little bit embarrassed Spotify curated Taylor Swift for him in a playlist, but he supposes that is also a conversation for another time), and then he’s asking Zach to dance with him, which — God, he has so much to learn about Gabriel, doesn’t he? He doesn’t think Isabelle’s stories about him have even come close to capturing exactly who Gabriel is as a person, this mystery of good looks and soft blushes, wrapped in someone who is both so sure of himself and yet at the same time anxious about his place in a world that might insist he doesn’t fit in, doesn’t fit the mold of what a person his age should be.

So he’s asking Zach to dance, because it’s something he says he’s never done before, and he calls it pathetic; at this, Zach frowns slightly, shaking his head once. “It’s not pathetic,” he says, but it’s not like Gabriel is paying much attention to him as he’s walking closer and taking Zach’s hand and walking him over to the place he stood before, pulling him closer to him and asking him — no, pleading him — to dance with him.

And Zach is helpless, and that should be worrying, shouldn’t it? That they’ve truly known each other not for long, barely at all, but there’s something so palpable between them that Zach would do just about anything Gabriel asked of him at this very moment. If Gabriel asked him to his knees, Zachary would waste no time in falling to them, and giving Gabriel anything — anything — he wanted.

But that’s not what Gabriel’s asking of him now — all he wants is a simple dance, to this song he’s playing off of Zach’s phone (that Zach takes from him and places in his pocket again), and all Zach can do is press their foreheads together, bringing one of Gabriel’s hand up around his neck and lacing the fingers of his other hand around Zach’s own. Zach wraps an arm around Gabriel’s waist, pulls him closer than before, and begins swaying slowly to the beat of the song, smiling softly at the other man as they steadily fall into a rhythm that mimics a slow dance.

It’s a soft, tender moment, where suddenly all he hears is the music from his phone and Gabriel’s light breathing, the sound of the yelling and the music from outside his room disappearing — he sees only Gabriel’s eyes, the eyes he’s been so desperately trying to forget, the ones that were for so long unwelcome in his dreams and that are now looking at him, at him, not with the dread and despair they once might have, but instead with wonder, as if Zach’s something unreal, something he’s made up in his head, and all Zach can do in the face of a gaze so innocent, so beautiful, is lean in and kiss the corner of Gabriel’s lips softly, swaying slower as the song comes to an end. Zach’s eyes flutter closed for a second as he nuzzles Gabriel’s nose, breathing him in, his hand squeezing the other’s.

“I had a hundred different ways I thought I could approach you, one day,” he admits quietly, muting his phone quickly through his pocket before another song began. He wraps his arm around Gabriel once more, stroking the back of the hand that’s still wrapped around his with his thumb. “None of them started or ended like this.” He bites his lip, but catches himself — a nervous tick his father has tried to get him to unlearn, as politicians see everything — and he quickly remedies the action, letting his bottom lip go. “A lot of the scenarios in my head actually ended with you yelling at me and stalking off, if I’m being honest,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to Gabriel’s jaw, then keeping his head there, closing his eyes for a second.

“I know you’re — confused,” he says slowly. “But you should know that Isabelle loves you very much, and she talks about you so much, and I just—” he pulls back slightly, then, to meet Gabriel’s gaze once more. “I found you so — refreshing. This man she’d go on and on about, so intelligent, so creative, so unapologetically himself and I was both enraptured and envious,” he admits. “Because the more myself I try to be, the further I might stray from what my parents want for me. But you — you just are,” he breathes. “And that is — beautiful to me,” he admits, bringing the back of his fingers to brush against Gabriel’s cheek. “You are beautiful to me.”

He presses his lips to Gabriel’s once more, kissing him softly, slowly. Against his lips, he mutters, “I’m not letting you go.” A small, belated acknowledgment to Gabriel’s reply of Zach’s previous comment minutes ago — then don’t. He pulls Gabriel closer, brushes his lips against his cheekbones. “I want to spend tonight getting to know all of you,” he whispers, his lips pressing against Gabriel’s jaw. “Every”—below his ear—“inch”—against his neck—“of you.” His lips finish at the curve of Gabriel’s shoulder, gaze looking up. “Metaphorically or literally. Or both.” He smirks slightly against Gabriel’s exposed skin. “It’s up to you, of course.” He trails his lips back up to Gabriel’s lips and presses a kiss there, tongue reaching out to taste Gabriel’s bottom lip before pulling away. Their hands remain interlocked. “I just want you here.”

Noah understands why Dmitri keeps his distance. The party was barely over a day ago and he had panicked from a simple kiss. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want it, but he knows now that Dmitri must know that. That, no matter how much he wanted it, it wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be and even though a lot of his worries vanished once the people closest to him (sans two) knew about what was going on with him he just needs to take things slowly. Even though all he wanted to do when the women at the counter blatantly hit on Dmitri was pull him in for a kiss and show her that he was off limits – that was the pg-13 version at the least.

Once inside the room, Noah doesn’t have a lot of time after he’s shut and locked the door—and yes, he immediately put the do not disturb sign up—before Dmitri is rushing towards him. He barely has a moment to drop his duffel bag before he’s wrapping his arms around his best friend’s waist, spinning him gently as they kiss. “You’re too young to be a sugar daddy,” he murmurs against his lips, smiling at his laughter. Dmitri is kissing him jaw then, telling him he loves him and Noah is already sure that he never wants to leave this hotel room.

He walks them backward after a few moments, doing his utmost best not to break their kiss. There was something about the way Dmitri kissed him when it was slowed down that makes his heart beg to be his forever. Once he feels Dmitri’s legs hit the back of the bed and uses his grip on his waist and lifts him up enough that he can toss him backwards onto it. Then, he grabs his ankle and steadies his foot against his thigh and he begins to untie his shoe. “I hope you’re okay living off of takeout and room service and failing all of your classes because we’re never leaving this room.” He smiles at him, switches to his other shoe. “Oh, except for the pool. We’re definitely going to that pool.” They have the jacuzzi tub, sure, but the pool has a view. He thinks he feels his phone vibrate, but he ignores it. The only person he cares about right now is already with him which meant that everything else could wait.

Dmitri chuckles as Noah throws him onto the bed, allows him to do what he needs to do with his shoes. Dmitri hums thoughtfully at Noah’s words — “So long as you don’t leave me broke by the end of this,” he teases, knowing full well he’d end up with no money for as much time away with Noah as possible, if that was the trade-off — then waggles his eyebrows. “The pool does sound nice. Not as nice as seeing you in the pool but. I suppose they go hand-in-hand.”

Once Noah is finished with his shoes, Dmitri sits up and grabs him by the shirt, pulling him down with him onto the bed and on top of him, kissing him softly before pausing, looking as much as he’s able to over him. “This is a very comfortable mattress,” he says, pushing Noah off of him gently to roll him onto his back, grinning. “See?” He kisses Noah’s cheek and then stands from the bed, walking over to the end of it to help remove Noah’s shoes the same way Noah did for him, before grabbing both of their pairs and walking them to the closet, feeling they might not have use for them for the foreseeable future, anyway.

After he closes the closet door, he turns and walks back towards the bed, crawling on the mattress and hovering over Noah, leaning down to press their lips together softly. Dmitri’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he sighs loudly, pulling it out and tossing it on the end table, not bothering to look at the notification. “They’ve probably found the steaks,” he mutters, rolling over to lie on his back beside Noah, before adjusting himself on his side, a hand reaching over to caress Noah’s cheek. They suddenly have all the time in the world. “What do you want to do first?”

Gabriel realizes, dread cascading over him, that he’s made a mistake the moment Zach stands up and starts walking towards him. He should have left, he just should have fucking left without saying anything without asking that stupid question that did absolutely nothing in remedying his situation. All it did was confirm the thoughts he was so desperately hiding from. That the two of them somehow developed something in this short amount of time—there was a potential between them that refused to be ignored. Gabe wants so badly to ignore it, he’s doing everything in his power to ignore it, but Zach laced their fingers together and he let it happen, his costume dropping back to the ground, and it feels like he’s failing.

Zach is asking him not to leave, asking him to stay with him and how is any of this supposed to be okay? How is it supposed to make sense? Zachary Easton, of all people, asking him to—he wants to say no, tell him that he can’t, but he doesn’t get a chance. He’s kissed instead and it’s nothing, it’s barely a touch at all, but it feels like so much more than just a kiss. It feels like a question and a plea wrapped in hope and honesty.

He needs him to stop talking because he’s saying all of the right things. And of course he is, of course he is. He comes from a political family—they both do—knowing how to talk to people, knowing how to charm and sway them, that’s something that’s practically ingrained into his very soul. It’s just that it doesn’t feel disingenuous or structured or with underlying intentions the way it should. The only thing to gain from all of this is Gabe himself and is that—is that such a bad thing? He can feel himself falling for it regardless and it’s such an extremely distressing realization that he’s suddenly no better than the people who throw themselves at him daily.

Their holdings hands again and it’s—it’s not fair. Nothing in his life has prepared him for something like this. This was supposed to be nothing but a first kiss and even then, it wasn’t even supposed to be that. It all just spiraled so rapidly and at one point Gabriel was sure they were well on their way to sleeping together and—he’d considered it. Not the act itself (though, yeah, that too), but the possibility that it was all Zach had wanted from him and that he had fallen so perfectly for it. Then Zach was asking him to stay for reasons that were so far from sexual in nature that he didn’t know what was real or what was fake or what was a game.

There was only one way to find out and he knew that, but how could he do that when it required giving up his own identity. It would have been different, easier maybe if Zach didn’t already know him. If Gabriel hadn’t already shown blatant disinterest in him as a person, denying even the start of a friendship – which is all he had wanted with Gabe, wasn’t it?

“I can’t,” he finally whispers, voice pained. Gabriel pulls his hands away, unlacing them and holding them against his chest and something strange and unfamiliar tugs violently at his heart. “I want to, Zach, at least I think—” He doesn’t have time to process the mistake he just made, the other’s name slipping out naturally, but it doesn’t matter. His words are being cut off by a kiss, his back hitting the wall once again and there’s no better way to describe it than overwhelming. He feels it in crashing waves, only getting stronger by the second. It sends a shiver throughout his entire body as if cold fingers were slowly and relentlessly dragging up his skin. There’s so much he doesn’t understand, there’re so many questions wrapped up into this kiss and the only thing keeping him from sinking into the floor is being pinned between Zach’s body and the wall.

And he can’t pinpoint the moment it happens, but it doesn’t take long before Gabriel’s kissing him back. His hands wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer and his mind is pleading with him, begging him to stop, but his body is a traitor and it’s begging for different things. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, kissing each other desperately, but soon Gabriel has to put his hands against Zach’s chest and push him away. The lack of oxygen being supplied to his brain is making him feel faint. “Fuck,” he mutters, trying to catch his breath. “Why are you doing this to me?” He slowly feels himself laughing incredulously at the situation—he hates that he’s laughing. He hates that he feels—this with him. It’s consuming and intoxicating and frustrating. “You told me you wouldn’t turn into my prince, you fucking liar.” He thinks about the picture of him and Isabelle that he sketched. About the crown on top of his head and how well it had suited him—it suits him even better now. 

His heart tightens by an invisible string the second Greek pulls his hands away, Zach already feeling the loss of him. And he can’t, he can’t go, because this is what Zach wants, and it’s been so long since Zach has wanted something so desperately he’s left every single qualm behind. He’s going to say something similar to this, beg Greek to understand, when Greek is suddenly saying he wants to stay, and that’s not even what catches Zach off guard, it’s his name, he says his name and—

There’s nothing but a sharp inhale of breath before Zach is kissing Greek again, this time far more desperately, an underlying relief in his every movement. He walks him back to the wall — accidentally, through the intensity of the kiss itself — and when Greek’s arms wrap around his neck, Zach brings him closer by the small of his back, both of his arms wrapped around his waist, one palm fisting around the stupid tunic he’s wearing and trailing upward, desperate for the contact, for the reality of it all. It feels like they just can’t be close enough, like the feeling building between them can’t be cultivated enough, like if they just — keep their closeness, keep this up, it’ll start making some semblance of sense.

They kiss for what feels like hours, but eventually he feels Greek’s palms against his chest — and he doesn’t need to push too hard, because Zach knows when someone’s trying to get him to stop — and he pulls back, breathless, eyeing him as he speaks, smiling softly when Greek laughs. His hand releases the grip he has on Greek’s tunic to come up and stroke the edge of Greek’s jaw with his thumb.

“I love your laugh,” he admits quietly. He could listen to him laugh for the rest of his life, and he’d be content. It’s a wonderful laugh. “I didn’t mean to,” he teases, lips now against Greek’s jaw, trailing not far behind his own thumb. “But you do realize that only another prince can turn the frog into a prince and break the curse, right?”

He thinks it over for only a moment before convincing himself it’s okay now — Greek knows who he is. He’s aware of it. He brings his hand up to his mask and removes it carefully, letting it fall onto the floor, meets what he can of Greek’s gaze. This is it, then — this is him. He’s no longer hiding, and it might be one-sided for now, but he thinks it’s what Zach needed. He’s brave when it suits him, though throughout this entire experience he’d feared he might not find his bravery. He does, though. He does now.

Carefully, he reached up to grab at the edge of Greek’s mask, a silent question in his eyes. He can see the panic grip at the other man almost instantly, see the wheels turning in his head, eyes flickering towards the door and back at Zach, as if wondering if leaving might be the best option, now. Zach waits, and waits, and waits, until finally, Greek’s hands retreat into themselves and his eyes close, a small but decisive nod giving Zach his answer.

Licking his lips, Zach carefully pulls his mask up and over Greek’s curls, and it takes him a second — longer than a second, maybe — to truly understand who he’s looking at once the mask is completely off, in Zach’s grasp.

His eyes are closed, still, but that doesn’t mean Zach can’t immediately tell who this man is as the mask drops unceremoniously onto his bedroom floor, next to Zach’s.

His heart reacts before his mouth does, which is a mistake, because it seems it’s taking too long for him to say anything in the other’s eyes, since he’s holding up his hands to his face and groaning about hating parties.

Zach releases a shaky breath, which somehow turns into a disbelieving laugh. He wraps his fingers around Greek’s — Gabriel’s — wrists and gently removes them from his face, laughing a little more when he notes his eyes are still closed. He presses his forehead against Greek’s — Gabriel’s, God — and brings his hands to stroke the sides of his face softly with his thumbs. “I should have recognized your eyes,” he mutters, though mostly to himself, considering they’re closed, at the moment. His heart is in his throat and he thinks his hands are shaking. “Gabriel,” he exhales his name like a prayer, kisses his left eyelid, then his right. The man who hates fine dining, that wants to go to Greece, that hates the Mona Lisa — the man Zach’s heard countless of stories about and has slowly become infatuated with the idea of, admiring the way he’s so unapologetically himself, and here he is, here he is, after disliking Zach so passionately, after refuting all this advances to get along — kissing him, saying these things to him, knowing him.

Zach is trying to understand. Touches every inch he can reach of Gabe’s face with his lips and his hands — lips tracing his cheekbones, that were previously out of reach due to Gabriel’s mask, thumbs tracing his eyebrows — and then he kisses every part of his face that he’d previously left untouched. The tip of his nose. The corner of his eyes. The dip of his eyebrows.

His heart is five sizes too big right now, but it manages to fit inside him, desperately reaching out.

His hands wander downward, reaching every part of the rest of Gabe’s body he can — the touch under his palms is different, now, somehow, because it’s Gabriel, not Greek, but Gabriel, not a stranger, but the man whose eyes have made unwelcome cameos in his dreams, whose words have pierced through his heart and hurt in the most unpleasant way. His palms drag gently down his chest, towards his abdomen. Trail softly to his waist, upward to his elbows, down his arms. Every inch of him, every inch he can touch, he can reach, Zach does, because he could before, and he can now, and it feels like a welcome dream.

“I tried so hard to not think about you tonight,” he whispers. “And it was working, when I was with you. You. How ironic.” He pauses — hands halfway up Gabe’s back, noses grazing. “A part of me wanted it to be you, I think,” he admits quietly, as quietly as he can, as if it’s a secret only allowed to Gabriel, the truth burdened to him and him alone.

He leans in and kisses him, for the first time as Zach and Gabriel, not strangers who met in a fleeting moment, for one night. And it doesn’t feel the same as before, somehow.

No. Somehow, it feels better.

Knowing he’s Gabriel’s first kiss is now exhilarating, rather than intimidating.

He kisses him as deeply and gently as he’s able to, trying to get him to relax, trying to communicate that it’s okay, that he’s happy that it’s him, that he couldn’t have hoped for a better reveal. His leg slides in between Gabriel’s as he pushes him a little harder against the wall, one hand cupping the side of his neck, the other gripping the back of his thigh.

And he pulls him as close as he possibly can, afraid that he might disappear, afraid that Gabriel might regret this.

“I can’t let you go now,” Zach breathes unevenly as he pulls away, looking into Gabriel’s eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes. “Gabe,” he says softly, kisses his bottom lip, kisses his top lip, kisses his cheekbone, his eyebrow. “God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, hand running through his curls. “Stay,” he pleads again. “Stay the night with me. Talk to me. Tell me everything, everything. I’m dying to know.” His smile is crooked, yet soft. “Or we can just kiss. And kiss,” he kisses Gabriel. “And kiss,” another kiss. “And kiss,” and another.

“Or we could do absolutely nothing,” he whispers. “Say absolutely nothing. But I want you here. God, I want you here. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more and that’s—” his laugh, once again, is bewildered. “That’s new to me, you know that? That’s a first for me.” A pause. “I want nothing more than for you to stay with me tonight. I will literally—” he points out the door. “Tell everyone to leave right now. I don’t care about them. I don’t. I just want you. I just want you right now.” He looks at Gabriel. “What do you want?” he asks, and brings Gabriel into a tender embrace, one hand gripping the back of his head, stroking the hair there softly. His other hand comes back up to the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles there, too. “What do you want?”

Gabriel thinks that, under any other circumstances, he’d pull away from him. That he’d pull away from Zach, but. That was before he’d spent the last however many minutes under his touch feeling soft, tentative ones blend with touches that seared into his skin. And the truth was that he’s so completely helpless against it—against him. It’s a terrible, tragic realization.

He lets Zach cradle his face and he wants to look away, but the room spins less when he’s focused on his eyes. Eyes that, before tonight, he’s only seen from afar or in pictures on social media. That he’s come to study and know and take comfort in and that doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense, but he breathes regardless, because he needs to, because being this intimately close to someone he thought he hated, that he wants to hate, is blurring his thoughts. They are full of static and hard to decipher and all of the many techniques he has for helping him in these situations are so far from his reach that all he can rely on is Zach.

Outside of his family, he was only the second person to ever see him like this.

They breathe together, Zach counting and guiding him the entire time. At one point, Gabriel drops his head, shaking it slightly as he falls from rhythm, muttering about how he couldn’t do it and his voice was pleading and desperate. Zach was strikingly unwavering, his grip strong, but soft and refusing to let him crumble as he steadied him. He never stopped counting, he never stopped helping him and for a brief moment during that slip up, Gabriel’s hands came to cover Zach’s before dropping to his wrists and holding them as if they were his lifeline.

Everything starts to blur together after that, they fall into a rhythm that becomes second nature and Gabriel starts to feel his body relax, starts to feel the tension and the anxiety release with every exhale. He focuses on the way Zach’s thumb drags across his skin, ignoring the way it makes him feel because it’s only a distraction so he doesn’t have to focus on his own vulnerable state. Doesn’t have to focus on the fact that he’s listening to Zach’s every word as he speaks to him about the weather and about his grandmother and he wants to tell him to stop, that he doesn’t want to learn anything else about him, but he doesn’t. It’s because he has to focus on his breathing—at least that’s what he tells himself.

“I’m okay,” he says in response, reassuring the both of them. His hands, which had gradually released from around the other’s wrists, play with the hem of his tunic. There’s a silence as they both seem to gather themselves and Gabriel thinks he’s going to say something, probably apologize and then he feels lips pressing against his forehead and he releases a soft, pained breath. It’s masochistic, but he thinks it was easier when he was having an attack because now there was nothing to distract him from the reality of his situation.

Gabriel agrees to the water because he needs—he needs a moment to recollect himself, to think without Zach so close to him, paying such close attention to him. He thinks he’s going to do what just about all college boys would do and walk to the bathroom sink or something, but instead, he gets off the bed and reaches underneath it and offers him a bottled water which he takes silently. If there were any doubts in his mind before about who he was they vanish. Not even the luckiest person in the world could go into someone else’s room and know exactly where they keep things.

He whispers a quiet thanks but makes no move to actually drink the water. He twists the cap on and off and back on again before looking back at Zach. He’s kneeling in front of him and it’s not long before he says something, voice soft and full of concern. It could have been anything: a simple hey, reassurance that everything was okay, a bible verse recitation. Gabriel didn’t hear it because at the same time he spoke, he reached out and placed his hands on his bare thighs and it was all he could focus on. It seemed so far away now when Zach was kneeling in front of him, still anonymous, and everything he had wanted in that moment, he had gotten. Well, not—Gabriel reaches out and lightly drags his thumb across his bottom lip and he has to know.

Using the positioning of his hand he tilts Zach’s chin up and it goes against everything, but he leans down and he kisses him. It feels a lot like their first kiss—like his first kiss—in the sense that it’s tentative and questioning. He begs, he prays that as their lips move together something, anything has changed. That before it was because of the mystery and the endorphins and the weed and excitement because none of those things were present during this kiss.  

Gabriel pulls away after a few moments only to instinctually kiss him once more, just the smallest of pecks. “I have to go,” he whispers and he pulls away completely, resigned.

Nothing changed.

Pushing himself off the bed and past Zach, he doesn’t bother trying to put his costume back on, especially considering it was broken; rather, he just scoops it up messily into his arms and makes his way to the door. He opens it and then he stops and why, why won’t he just leave? What is so fucking enamoring about this man that makes it so hard? Softly, he shuts the door again and with clouded judgment, he turns and asks a simple question, a reference to their previous conversations and something he doesn’t actually want to know the answer to. “Be honest with me,” because he needs honesty from Zach in this moment when he’s not allowing it for himself, “have you kissed someone now that you’ve truly liked?”

He wants to say something — anything — but Greek looks so, so pensive now. He keeps playing with the top of the water bottle Zach’s offered him, looking at him curiously, nervously, like he’s trying to figure something out. And Zach wants to help him figure this out, anything he wants, but — he doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t know what Greek needs, and he wishes he knew, wishes he could help.

Zach’s about to say something — innocuous, probably — when he feels Greek’s thumb drag across his bottom lip. His eyes flutter close at the sensation for a second, before the open again, looking at Greek up with curiosity, with hope. Greek tilts his head up by his chin and leans down and then their lips are pressing together again, a soft kiss, slow and beautiful and Zach’s heart squeezes impossibly tight — oh, oh he’s so, so very fucked. He doesn’t know when it happened, he doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know why, but God. There’s something here, he knows there is, and he doesn’t want to lose this.

He’s never had this. How is he supposed to let this go?

As if on cue, Greek is pulling away resignedly and he’s standing up, saying he has to go. He’s walking to the door and it’s pure shock that doesn’t allow Zach to move from his position, kneeling in front of the bed, hands pressed uselessly against the mattress. He wants to say something — anything — beg for him not to go, but how can he, when he seems so adamant on leaving? How can he make someone who clearly doesn’t want to stay?

He’s never been able to before.

He turns around when he hears the door open — the music, where it was muffled before, vibrates loudly inside once again. He can feel a knot in his throat, formed of unparalleled and unknowable emotions, and he’s going to say goodbye, or something of the sort, when he watches Greek shut the door once more, music muffling again, and hope tears through the knot in his throat, his heart jumping upwards to replace it.

He asks a question referencing what he’d said earlier, which felt like — hours, days, by now, and Zach lets out a small laugh as he stands and walks over to Greek. Tentatively, he reaches out to lace their fingers together, presses their foreheads together again. “Yes,” he whispers, and he hopes Greek hears everything he’s trying to convey with the simple word. “That I truly like,” he corrects his tense, because it’s true. He doesn’t think he’ll get over this. He doesn’t know where to go from here, but God, he hopes it’s not out that door. Not yet.

He brings his hands to cradle Greek’s head in between them once more, and he shakes his head, a little desperately. “Don’t go,” he whispers. “Stay. Stay with me.”

He licks his lips, a little nervously, leans in and presses a soft, hesitant kiss to Greek’s lips. He pulls away enough so that he can speak, but their lips continue to brush as he does so. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We can just — talk. We can sit and talk about nothing. I can hold you. I want to hold you,” he laughs. “I don’t know what it is about you. You’re driving me crazy. I don’t want you to walk out that door and walk out of my life,” he admits. “This? I don’t know what it is, but it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt,” he kisses the corner of his mouth. “You are the realest thing I’ve ever touched,” he breathes, one hand trailing down to his chest, palm pressed over his heart.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says again, the most honest thing he’ll say all night, and this time his eyes close, forehead still pressed against Greek’s. He takes a moment, breathes deeply, counts silently to four. His eyes open again, slowly. Adjust to the sight of Greek again, and God, how beautiful he is, despite Zach barely being able to see what his face looks like. But he knows. His soul, his essence — it’s so bright, it’s beautiful. That’s the only thing that matters to him. “I want to know you. Everything about you.”

Both of his hands find Greek’s again, and this time the tips of his fingers carefully touch the tips of Greek’s, guiding his hands open. He circles their hands upwards, to where their elbows are folded and their hands are hovering beside them, and he laces their fingers together slowly, the feeling of it electrifying. He nuzzles Greek’s nose, presses a soft kiss to his jaw, squeezes his hands. “Stay with me,” he asks again, and this time his voice is soft and pleading. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”

Gabriel can’t help the laugh that falls from his lips as he watches the other man struggle with his costume. He thinks, momentarily, that he could help him, but watching him try to unbuckle decorative buckles is far more entertaining. “It’s a costume,” he says happily, knowing the question is rhetorical. He hums softly, his hands lightly tracing the other man’s skin encouragingly as he waists. If he was a sculptor, he’d memorize and carve the lines of his body into a piece of clay, but he guesses he’ll just have to settle for sketching them.

“You’re getting warmer,” he teases, biting back a smile as a struggle between man and latch ensues. The hilarity, the pure joy of the situation is enough to distract him from the endgame that he’s encouraging. Then there’s a soft, sharp noise and Gabe is significantly less covered than he was just moments before. His heart rate is unfathomably high. There’s a realization then, as he’s being promised a new costume, that he has literally just been ripped out of his clothing. “You really just—” Gabriel doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because he’s suddenly being kissed again and it’s stupid, utterly ridiculous how much he has missed it.

Suddenly, with help from his position against the wall, he’s being lifted and his legs are wrapping around the other’s waist and then he’s being led to what he can only assume is the bed and—what. He’s laughing into the kiss because, once again, he can’t help himself. “What are you doing?” he mutters, his words blurring and mixing with kisses and laughter. It feels too natural, too effortless.

It doesn’t take long before he feels a mattress underneath him, feels himself sink slightly into it. He can’t help but notice the way he’s been perfectly positioned, pillow under his head. It’s nothing, he knows, everyone has an obvious innate knowledge of how beds work, the way they are positioned. It’s just that the other man maneuvered around the room so effortlessly and not just now, but from the moment he walked in. There was never a moment where it felt like he didn’t belong.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by a kiss pressed against his lips which causes them to pull into a soft smile. It’s followed shortly by a roll of his eyes which have just been complimented. They’re just blue, he wants to say, but he thinks it instead.

His fingers brush against the elusive familiarity they still seem to be trying to reach.

Gabriel’s arms find themselves around the other man’s neck as a hand drag up his thigh, pushing his tunic with it. The hand stops and suddenly they’re both laughing as Gabriel explains that his best friend bought them. He’s about to use his positioning to pull him back down into a kiss afterward, but he’s beaten to it. It’s suddenly very heated and Gabriel’s very, very aware of the hand on his thigh and the closeness of their bodies. His own is reacting in so many different ways and he thinks he moans at some point, his hands tangling messily in the other man’s hair.

This is the opposite of how he thought his night was going to go, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

They are approaching something and it feels like they both know it. Confirmed when the other man speaks and it feels stupid and reckless and he doesn’t know the details, but he doesn’t want to stop. Gabriel bites his lip, thinks it feels better when it’s the other man’s teeth instead of his own. He can feel his heart beating loudly against his chest, knowing that he’s going to tell him not to stop. His hand pushes a portion of his hair that’s fallen in front of his face—mission accomplished—when suddenly the movement is halted.

Gabriel knows—fuck, he knows this hair and the way it falls messily out of place and it’s a sudden harsh realization.

He’s drawn this hair and this beard and this face.

“This isn’t happening,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. Everything starts to falling rapidly into place and of course, of course the most likely person to stumble into this room aside from him is Zachary Easton himself. It was his room and that was Gabe’s art on his wall and this was his bed and they were on it together about to do God knows what and—

“I can’t—I have to—” he’s panicking, he’s fucking panicking and he doesn’t know what to do and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. He’s about to ask him—fuck fuck fuck fuck—about to ask Zach to get off of him, but he doesn’t even need to, because he’s already starting to pull away, obviously sensing something’s wrong and God he hates that. He hates that he’s been so—so kind and caring and understanding the entire night.

Everything had felt too good to be true and now it was.

This was his best friend’s boyfriend and he had spent the better part of his night making out with him and—he’s closeted. That’s what he told him. That his relationships were all fake and that the women knew.

Isabelle knew.

His breath is coming in short bursts and his vision is getting blurry as he presses his hand against Zach’s shoulder and he doesn’t know if he’s pushing him away or pulling him closer. His body feels hot and not in the pleasurable way it had felt all night. And his mask suddenly feels too tight and too constricting and he wants to rip it off of his face, but there’s not a chance in hell he’s doing that. He’d sworn up and down that he wanted nothing to do with Zachary Easton, that there was nothing about him that he liked, that he didn’t get the appeal, that he had no interest in getting to know him.

Everything about this night turned him into a liar.

He finally manages to push himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. It’s a terrible, horrible mistake because he definitely moves too fast and that’s only one of the reasons the room starts spinning. The feeling in the pit of his stomach is awful, makes him feel sick and terrified and he honestly feels like he’s about to pass out. He drops his head in his hands, closes his eyes, and softly starts to count backward from sixty. Tries to distract his thoughts, tries not to think about how this entire, fragile night just shattered into pieces.

He wants to leave so badly. 

A small part of him wants to stay.

It might be one of the worst realizations to come from this entire night.

It happens so quickly, it almost doesn’t register.

One moment Greek is moaning, seemingly very into what they’re doing, and the next his eyes seem to fill with some sort of realization — perhaps of what they’re actually about to do? — and then he’s panicking, short of breath and worrying Zach. He immediately pulls back, giving him room to take a breath, crawling off of him and helping the other man up, though he doesn’t seem to notice. It looks like he’s having a crisis of some sort, one Zach can’t pinpoint, and he immediately feels terrible for letting this go on longer than it should have. Greek had been very clear about his anxieties over kissing and the rest of it — Zach should have known this probably was not going to end well.

Greek swings his leg over the bed and cradles his head in his hands, quietly counting back from sixty. Zach wants to suggest maybe he takes the mask off — it cannot be of any help, after all — but he doesn’t think that would go over well right now, considering. Instead, he does what he’s been taught to do during panic attack situations — he reaches out and presses a palm against Greek’s back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of the tunic, his other hand reaching over to wrap around Greek’s wrist, pulling it towards him and shaking his head.

He brings both his hands to cradle the sides of Greek’s face, then, once he’s managed to remove Greek from that surely destructive position. Without breaking eye contact, Zach says, “Breathe with me, okay?” He breathes in, encouraging Greek to do the same. “Four, three, two, one,” he mutters. “Now breathe out,” he says, breathing out with him. “Four, three, two, one.” He instructs Greek to breathe in for four seconds again, then breathe out for another four. Rinse, and repeat — rinse and repeat.

Breathing is one of the most difficult things to do, during a panic attack. It’s also one of the most important, lest someone forgets to do it. It’s easy to pass out, that way.

Zach strokes what he can of Greek’s face with his thumbs as he continues to help him through the breathing, breathing with him the whole time. When he notices Greek’s breathing becoming a bit more regular, he says, “I used to have these all the time when I was little,” he admits, breathing in for four seconds again, breathing out for another four. “My grandmother taught me the secret to panic attacks is not only breathing, but coming out of it by focusing on someone else talking. So here I am,” he breathes in, out. “Talking to you about nothing. I wonder when it’ll get cold?” He breathes in, and out. “It’s California, so it rarely ever does, but I do enjoy the cold weather. Makes me feel nostalgic.” In, out. “Used to spend the holidays playing piano at my grandmother’s house. My parents were usually too busy around that time to spend Christmas with me, but that was okay, because my grandmother made sure I always had a good holiday.” In, out. “You’re okay,” he whispers quietly, noticing that their breathing is finally in tandem. “You’re okay.” He presses his forehead to Greek’s, taking one final breath in, one final breath out.

He pauses for a second, lets Greek do what he needs to do. He doesn’t ask what happened — he can guess, but he doesn’t want to pressure him into talking about something that only served to trigger a fucking panic attack; it probably won’t help. Not with a stranger, anyway. He pulls back slightly and presses a soft kiss to Greek’s forehead, his thumbs stroking his cheeks one last time before pulling back entirely and eyeing him carefully. “Do you need some water?”