Inspired by the fourth scene in this awesome fic by @suggsygirl69 because I'm insane. I hope you don't mind that I took your idea out for a little spin!
Alex straddles him before he can protest, trapping him on the bed. Then he looks down, and he’s got that shimmer in his eye that Tim by now is well familiar with: excitement, like a naughty school boy who knows he’s doing something wrong, coupled with that mild amusement that always makes him seem like he knows more than anyone else in the room.
Right now, however, there’s something he doesn’t know yet, because Tim is only just learning this about himself, too. The way things are going, though, Alex is bound to find out any second, if he doesn’t bloody move.
“Get off me, you twat,” Tim snaps, trying not to let the desperation seep into his voice.
Alex does not get off. Instead, he stays right where he is, still looking down at Tim in that faintly smug way, clearly pleased at having gotten the upper hand for the moment. Then his eyes widen, and it’s this moment, even before he opens his mouth, that Tim knows he’s fucked.
“Piss off,” Tim says. He hasn’t let Alex finish, but it’s in the room anyway: Tim knowing that Alex has just felt him get hard, Alex knowing that Tim knows that he knows, and so on and so on until one of them chokes on this knowledge.
Because it’s clear that he’s not getting out of this without losing some dignity, but figuring he might as well give it a go, Tim once again attempts to shove Alex off. But Alex is taller and stronger than him and he deflects this easily, instead taking Tim’s hand and just – holding on, kind of. Like he doesn’t know what to do with it now that he has it.
A beat passes. Then Alex slowly grinds his hips down, right against Tim’s crotch. Tim’s face is surely very red by now. He feels flushed all over.
“Al, don’t- this feels cruel even for you, alright? Give it a rest.”
At this, Alex’s eyes go wide the way they always do when something takes him by surprise. “You think I’m cruel?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re behaving like Mother Theresa right now, let’s put it that way.”
Alex pulls a face. “Is Mother Theresa your go-to person for non-cruelty?”
“Why? What’s wrong with Mother Theresa?” Tim asks. It feels normal, this: teasing each other about something inane. What’s not normal is that Alex is still straddling him, still holding on to his hand, and also, Tim’s still got a fucking hard-on.
As though he has just realised this, too, Alex really does let go off Tim’s hand now. “Is it the physical contact?” he asks quietly. “Or is it me?”
“What? What are you on about? Oh, you think my boy jumps to attention every time someone brushes against me on the street, do you?”
“Well,” Alex says, “it might do. Your boy, I mean.”
“It doesn’t, you absolute cunt,” Tim says crossly.
“Yes, it’s you. Fucking- Christ, Horne.” Alex has managed to wind him up so much now that Tim’s forgotten all about being embarrassed. “Do you want me to spell it out for you?”
“Yes, please. Maybe in a poem,” Alex says. “You’ve never written one about me.”
“I’ll write one right now. It goes: Alex Horne is a wanker.”
Alex frowns. “That’s not very nice.”
“It’s not meant to be nice. It’s meant to-“ Tim goes quiet, because Alex has just leant in and kissed him. He’s so genuinely surprised that it takes him a moment to respond, but once his brain is working properly again, he leans up, one hand on Alex’s neck, the other on his back, and all he can think is that he’s getting beard burn and that he doesn’t mind one bit.
Alex is grinding against him again, like he really means it this time, and Tim supposes that for once, he does. For once, they both do.
“That’s new,” Alex says when they finally break apart to catch their breath. “I’ve found a way to shut you up.”
“Fuck off,” Tim says. “Didn’t hear you doing much talking just now, Horne.”
“Fair enough,” Alex says, and then he leans back in and neither of them say much more of anything for a while, until Tim really does get beard burn. Perhaps he'll write a poem about that.
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