#runntag

Joel scoffs. “You are!”

Lawrence looks over his glasses at Joel, “I’m glad someone other than my mother thinks so.”

Joel nods, self-assured, “I’m serious, I think you’re hot.”

“I would hope so?” Lawrence says. “Wouldn’t want you to go around thinking you’ve slept with someone you think isn’t hot.”

“Listen-- I’m.” Joel groans. “I’m trying to tell you that I like you.”

“Oh, me too.” Lawrence says, this time very sarcastically, “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore.”

Joel kicks him under the table. “Lawrence, you jerk. I’m trying to ask you out on a fucking date.”

“Oh.” Oh.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

Lawrence swallows hard, raises an eyebrow. “We’re doing this whole thing backwards, y’know. Sleeping together, then kissing, then dating.”

Joel smiles, “Since when have you cared about doing things in the right order?”

“Well, usually, I prep you before I stick my dick in you, and that counts as--”

“Oh my God, never mind.” 

“What? I was going to say yes.”

“Fuck off.”

“Yes. Yes, Joel, I will date you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Thanks, jackass.”

“Lawrence. I need to stretch,” Joel gestures wildly at the other man as they stand at the foot of the bed. “I don’t think you thoroughly understand my sleeping positions. I need one leg across the bed at all times.”

Joel wants the bed. No, Joel needs the bed. They’re on their way out of the country, going to London, but their flights have been unexpectedly delayed and rescheduled in a way that forces them into a hotel on the east coast for the night. Joel and Lawrence got slapped with the room that has one bed and one pull-out couch, and neither of them want the ugly, lumpy thing.

“Joel, my back hurts,” Lawrence returns, sounding equally as whiny. Joel wants to hit him on the arm, but they’re above that. Wait, no…No, they’re not. Joel slaps Lawrence playfully on the arm and rolls his eyes. “Why can’t we both have it? It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.”

It means that Joel can’t have all the leg room he wants, but it also means that neither of them will be cranky in the morning. Probably. Sometimes Lawrence finds a way no matter the situation. But Lawrence smiles when Joel agrees and Joel thinks that alone is worth the minor discomfort and the way his heart will surely beat just that much faster all through the night.

Yeah, he’s got a crush - what of it? Lawrence is handsome and single and oh- so is Joel! But they work together. And they’re friends, good friends. And Joel isn’t Lawrence’s type. The odds are stacked against him, really. It’s getting harder for Joel to date casually as he gets older. He just wants to settle down with a nice human being, dammit!

After showers are taken care of and electronics are plugged in for the night, Lawrence takes his shirt off and rushes to get under the covers as quickly as possible before Joel turns around from where he’s texting with his phone charging at the desk. 

Yeah, Lawrence feels self-conscious around Joel - so what? It doesn’t mean he has a crush or anything. That would be absurd. No, he just…feels nervous…because of what Joel might…think of his body. As if Joel’s opinion matters. Oh, but it does. Good god, it does. He’s been shirtless in front of Joel before, but never alone like this, and he feels vulnerable because if Joel sees him there’s nothing else for Joel to focus on, no one else there to tell a joke. God, why is he like this?

Lawrence has the scratchy blankets pulled up to his chin when Joel goes to get into bed. Glasses still on, just staring at the ceiling like it’ll give him some sort of answer to a question that he hasn’t yet formulated.

“We’re going shirts off?” Joel smiles, reaching for the hem of his own t-shirt. Lawrence shrugs and god it’s pathetic, the way he watches Joel take off his shirt. But when Joel lifts up his side of the blankets to clamber under them, Lawrence’s lifts up a little, too, and Joel catches a flash of tummy and chest and sides before Lawrence quickly pulls the covers back down onto himself. “You’re jumpy.” Lawrence doesn’t reply.

“You’re really gonna sleep facing me?” Lawrence asks once they get situated and ready to actually sleep. Joel’s about to turn out his bedside light, but Lawrence needs to give him some lip first. Joel doesn’t know why he expected any different.

“Well, yeah. I gotta wake up to that handsome face,” Joel smirks before turning off the light, leaving them in complete darkness. The silence makes Joel’s stomach uneasy. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, just- don’t say things you don’t mean,” Lawrence whispers and Joel feels him turn over to face the wall, also feels his own heart ache. “Goodnight, Joel.” And Lawrence doesn’t sound defeated. That’s what gets Joel. It’s like Lawrence is used to saying that, used to people lying to him. And the fact that Lawrence didn’t just laugh it off or make a mushy comment right back at him…it gets him thinking.

“I mean it,” Joel murmurs into the stillness. He reaches a tentative hand out until his fingertips meet Lawrence’s back. He drags his nails down to Lawrence’s lower back, then to his neck. Lawrence shivers and Joel feels the goosebumps forming. “Lawrence.”

“You don’t-”

“Lawrence,” Joel repeats, seemingly talking to himself. He scoots forward, inches closer to his friend and coworker in their queen bed, taking his two pillows with him. “Lawrence, there’s a reason I agreed to share the bed.”

“I’m not cuddling with you, Joel,” Lawrence sighs. There’s Lawrence. Finally. Joel chuckles and brings his hand back to curl into himself.

“Do you think I’m handsome?” Joel prods. He doesn’t  know exactly where the courage comes from, but he gives a quick, internal shoutout to the darkness. Lawrence turns over again, and Joel feels his exhaled breath hit his face, linger on his lips.

“Can we talk about this after the trip?”

“‘Course.”

Joel’s stomach does flips because Lawrence’s question suggests that there’s something there to talk about. Joel feels his skin clear up, feels himself regress five years in age. Oh my god, for once in his life there’s hope. It’s one in the morning in a shitty hotel in New Jersey and Joel Rubin has hope. Even if the conversation will be full of Lawrence telling Joel eight ways he can go fuck himself, it’s a conversation.

Things might have… changed, between him inheriting this underground company from his parents and when he joined up with Adam Kovic and his thrown together little group of criminals, sure. Namely, his patience might have waned a bit, because between the seven people he was now working with (coworkers had felt too formal, and these people were not formal, then or now), he couldn’t afford the patience he was granted since a young age. He still wasn’t sure what happened, when they all started worming their ways into his heart, and became less of those “idiots he dealt with for work” and more of those “idiots he’d tear up the city for”, but it happened, and Joel couldn’t rightfully say he hated it, because he didn’t. He, honestly, didn’t. His patience suffered for it, but he would say some of his saintly patience for seven amazing people that showered him in love was a fair trade.

Joel, despite it all, was a patient person.

Joel, at the moment, couldn’t have given a fucking damn about being patient.

His arms are pulled back behind him, tied with a few zip ties, and then down against the chair with rope. He’s got a nasty bruise blooming on his cheek, and his ribs are aching, but this wasn’t that bad, it could be worse. Lawrence is tied behind him, in a similar way, but he saw him take a pretty nasty punch to the mouth, and was sure he’d be nursing a busted lip for a while. And Joel was worried about him, about both of them, he honestly was, but goddamn if he wasn’t fucking pissed off. He shouldn’t even be in this situation right now. “This is all your fault, Sonntag.”

Their attackers-slash-kidnappers are standing off to the side, talking to themselves, and Joel could see them glancing back at them, irritation written on their faces. “You’ve said that six times in the past thirty minutes, Joel.”

“Because it’s still fucking true!” Joel said, voice raising. His arms hurt, his shoulders hurt, he just wanted to go home. “If you had just-”

“God, Joel, I know,” Lawrence cut him off, shifting in his seat. He sounded exhausted, and frustrated, but not angry. Joel didn't know how he wasn't angry. “I fucking know, alright?”

“Do you really? Because we wouldn't even be-”

“Will you two shut up?” One of the kidnappers snapped, throwing his hands in the air. He was holding a gun in one, but even the sight of that couldn’t bring Joel out of his anger. “You've been arguing like this for a fucking hour now! You're supposed to be kidnapped, not using this as couple’s therapy!”

Lawrence snorted. “We're not arguing,” he countered. Joel was a little less mad at Lawrence, he decided.

“We’re bickering, there’s a fucking difference,” Joel followed up.

“Yeah. Bickering is over petty shit. This is as petty as it gets.” Nevermind, he was still fucking pissed.

“What the fuck ever,” the man said. “Point is, you two won’t shut the fuck up, and you’re supposed to be the scared hostages, not bickering-” Joel found himself strangely satisfied at that. “-like an old married couple.”

Joel felt Lawrence’s hand on his wrist and- oh. He had wiggled himself free. Joel’s mad again, for an entirely different reason now, that Lawrence was the one who managed to pull himself free before he did, but then he’s brought back to how he’s spent the past hour, and he can’t really be angry at Lawrence for that, at least. Lawrence needed a distraction, though, and distractions are what Joel did best, right after drinking all the wine in Adam’s apartment, and right before being able to make Spoole blush the most. “We’re not an old married couple, thank you very much.”

The man groaned. “Oh God-”

“Just fucking give up,” another one of the men called out. “We’re never going to get them to talk about Kovic.”

“I’ll get them to talk about Kovic!” he fired back, facing his friends. Lawrence subtly worked on Joel’s ropes and zip ties in the meantime. God, he couldn’t wait to be done with this shit. “Just- Fucking watch me alright!” the man yelled, turning back to them and stomping over to Joel, and Joel felt his heart bottom as he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and pulled up out of the chair. The ropes fell off his arms, but his kidnapper didn’t even notice, raising a gun and putting the barrel to his temple. Fuck, Joel was not anticipating this. “I’ll give you to the count of fucking ten until you tell me where the hell Kovic’s been hiding you and your friends, before I blow your goddamn brai-”

A gunshot stalled his statement. Well, more correctly, a gunshot to the forehead stalled his sentence. Joel’s ears rang as he fell back and away from the now dead body of the kidnapper. There’s a few more gunshots, well placed, before Lawrence’s hands are pulling at the zip ties still snug around his wrists. Joel laid there, before he felt the plastic fall away, and he sat up, rubbing at the reddened, sore skin, and huffing. “Warn me next time you want to blow someone’s brains out when they’re right in front of me.”

“You’re welcome, you know, for saving your life,” he mumbled, standing up and offering his hand to Joel, and even though Joel’s irritation at him was slowly mounting, he took it.

“I could have saved my own life,” Joel snapped, standing on his feet and brushing off his suit pants, staring at the blood on his shirt. He’d need to get them dry cleaned, again. Great. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Lawrence. I can handle myself.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes, and Joel glared up at him, getting a better look at the damage done; definitely a busted lip, and his cheekbone looked a little bruised. He could see a future in which Adam was showering kisses over his wounds, but that would have to be later. “Sure. You would have saved yourself while tied up.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Joel said. “And you’re fucking derailing, because you know I’m still mad at you.”

“God, Joel can we plea-”

“No! We would have never even gotten into this situation, if you had just remembered our anniversary!” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lawrence groaned, running a hand down his face and grabbing their phones off a table nearby, popping the batteries back in. “You just had a gun to your head and you’re still hung up over that?”

“Of course I am! It was our first anniversary as a group, all eight of us, but you completely forgot, and since I came out looking for your dumb kidnapped ass, I got myself kidnapped, too!” “At least we were kidnapped together.” Always the fucking optimistic in the worst times. His phone jingled as it turned on, and immediately begins buzzing with texts he’s missed. Joel could only imagine how bad the others could be at the moment. He wondered how bad the city was going to suffer for it.

“Wow, how romantic. Really setting the bar high.”

Joel got a half-hearted glare in return, as Lawrence dialed Adam’s cell phone. He crossed his arms, watching and listening to him to talk to a nearly frantic sounding Adam. It took nearly no time at all for Adam and Bruce to show up to get them, pulling them into hugs and showering them with worried kisses, fretting over the bruises and cuts as they ushered them into the car. Between the four of them, no one mentioned their missed anniversary, the reservations at some fancy restaurant Elyse had made that went to waste. Bruce had put his arm around him in the backseat, running his fingers through his hair and lulling him into some kind of relaxed state, while Adam and Lawrence talked quietly in the front. Joel couldn’t call himself mad anymore by the time they pulled into Adam’s spacious garage, and by the time he walked into the apartment, greeted by the other four and their worried kisses and hugs, Joel was just tired, and feeling the effects of being kidnapped and tied up and angry for so long. His shoulders were sore, his wrists hurt, there was a dull ache in his chest that wanted him to still be mad, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Lawrence let him shower first, and after he flopped down on the bed, face in Adam’s too-fluffy pillows and letting himself melt into the mattress, Lawrence slipped into the bathroom. He could still hear the others talking in the living room, especially Spoole’s squeaky worried voice, and the entire apartment still smelled like the coffee Peake had brewed for everyone. He sighed, closing his eyes and shifting around in bed to get more comfortable, before the bed dipped next to him, and he groaned. “I swear to God, just let me sleep.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Lawrence asked, wrapping his arms around his middle, pulling him back against his chest carefully.

Joel made a soft sound. “No,” he mumbled, resting his hands on top of Lawrence’s. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I didn’t mean to mess up our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t forget either.”

Joel frowned, rolling over in Lawrence’s arms and looking up at him. His hands go to his back. “What do you mean you didn’t forget?”

Lawrence sighed. “Exactly what I said. I didn’t forget about our anniversary,” he told him. “When I left the apartment before, I was going out to get flowers, or something. Look, I didn’t have an idea in mind of what to get, so I was winging it. As while I was trying to make it up on the spot, I got kidnapped.”

Joel watched his face; he wasn’t lying. He looked sincere and maybe even a little upset at himself? He hummed. “Well… I guess that’s a fair enough excuse,” he said, picking at a stray string on Lawrence’s Superman shirt. “Sorry for… getting so mad at you, then. Kidnappings aren’t stress free environments.”

He got a chuckle at that. “Yeah… They’re really not, huh?” he asked, looking at him. “Also, you know how mouthy I can get when I’m stressed. Trust me, none of what you said bothered me.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Joel said with a smile. They fell into silence, after that, nice, comfortable silence, listening to the conversation their partners were currently having float into the bedroom, as Lawrence rubbed circles into Joel’s back, soothing him into sleeping. Joel sighed, curling up closer to him, before pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, Lawrence.”

Lawrence smiled and returned the kiss, moving his hand to Joel’s still-wet hair. “I love you, too Joel. Get some sleep, alright?”

Joel hummed and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep, with Lawrence’s fingers working out tangles in his curls.

Joel’s not happy. He got absolutely boned with his classroom assignment for the semester. He’s only teaching one session of art history, five days a week, and doing professional research on the side, but his classroom is impossibly far from his office and the lot in which he parks his Prius. 

But things could be worse. He could be the professor that bikes into a tree on the first day of school. No, Joel walks. Joel knows better than to ride his bike around campus, because riding a bike means he can’t drink coffee and answer emails on his way to class.

His tiny classroom doesn’t have air conditioning, and the Texas summer-end heat is unbearable. So he opens the windows as much as he can and props the door open to get a nice breeze flowing as forty-five students manage to pile themselves into the room. Joel rolls up the sleeves of his button-up and takes a seat on top of the desk in front of the whiteboard.

Oh, yeah, the whiteboard. Joel doesn’t have to deal with chalk anymore now that he’s in the computer science building instead of the arts building like last year. He has whiteboards covering the front wall, and a fancy projector hanging from the ceiling, but no damn air conditioning. He wonders who’s in charge of the money for this department.

Joel checks his watch, and takes his roll sheet out of the folder in his messenger bag when it’s time for class to begin. He opens his mouth to introduce himself, but one more person comes through the door. And it’s not like there’s a late policy or anything, but this man is in a rush.

“Oh,” he states, and Joel turns his head to look at the doorway. “I take it this isn’t my Software Design class. Isn’t this room B203?”

“…Yeah,” Joel replies, head tilted in amusement. “What, you mean to tell me that you don’t want to sit through an hour of Art History 101?” This guy looks pretty old for a student, probably somewhere around Joel’s age. But Joel’s not here to judge.

“That sounds lovely, but I have a class to teach and I don’t know where the hell it is,” the man grumbles. Joel’s pretty sure there’s a computer lab somewhere on the floor, and that’s what this guy’s searching for, but he couldn’t be fucked to know the room number.

“Well, I wish you luck,” Joel shrugs. “You might be able to make it back in time to go over the syllabus if you can’t find your lost, confused, and afraid students.” The guy just rolls his eyes, but Joel swears there’s a smile on that face before he’s gone.

-

He comes back again that Wednesday. Joel’s class number sits at a comfy thirty-eight, due to people dropping after the first session. Whatever. Less people breathing at him. Joel’s setting up for class, pulling the screen down and straightening his tie, when the professor steps inside again.

“Still Art History 101,” Joel remarks, raising a brow at the guy. “And I hope to god you found your poor students.”

“I’m offended,” he deadpans. “I care deeply about the wellbeing of my students, and would never leave them to fend for themselves, no matter how hungover I am.”

“You teach class at two in the afternoon.” They both just stare at each other, a few students smirking at the exchange. “You sound like my kind of alcoholic.” Joel takes a few steps toward the door and holds out a hand. “Dr. Rubin.”

“Damn. My students just call me Lawrence,” his colleague smiles as they shake hands. “Or Professor Sonntag.” 

“Well, if I were to allow my students to approach me as a buddy rather than a professor, they’d know me as Joel. By the way, you look familiar. You’re the guy who crashed into the tree near the gym on Monday, right?”

“I came in here to apologize for interrupting you the other day, and this is how you treat me?” Lawrence asks dramatically. “Have a nice life, Joel. I’ll be in the next room over if you want to harass me some more.”

-

Joel waits in the courtyard outside the building on the third Wednesday of school. Lawrence’s class gets out at four, so Joel’s waiting near the bike racks, but doesn’t head over until Lawrence is there, working on his bike lock.

“Jesus, Joel, are you stalking me?” Lawrence asks, genuinely startled but not genuinely creeped out. “What’s up?”

“You’re a computer nerd. So-”

“And you like looking at statues of dudes with their dicks out,” Lawrence interrupts him. “We’ve been over this.”

Lawrence is the only person Joel has ever met who can shut him up that quickly. Lawrence is funny in a way that some people might not get. But Joel gets it. And he can keep up with his humor. Most of the time. It’s only a problem when he gets caught up in how attractive Lawrence is.

“Wow. Okay. I was just going to ask, very politely, if you could help me fix something on my personal computer,” Joel explains as Lawrence finishes unlocking his bike. “I’ll bring it into my office - or yours - and everything.”

“What is something?”

Joel hesitates.

“One of my games isn’t running properly,” he says under his breath. Lawrence cups his ear and raises his eyebrows. “One of my games isn’t running properly and I need you to fix it.” Lawrence chuckles loud and hearty at the request. He heard it the first time, but wanted to make Joel repeat the sentence.

“You know, for a liberal arts hipster, you’re not so bad,” Lawrence sighs. 

“I’m a yuppie, not a hipster, you dunce.”

-

They consider each other friends by the beginning of the sixth week. Joel brings lunch for Lawrence on the day he has early afternoon office hours, and Lawrence treats Joel to coffee twice a week.

Lawrence’s smile is Joel’s favorite thing to see. Joel knows art, and Lawrence’s smile is art. Lawrence doesn’t really know art, but he knows that Joel’s entire being is a masterpiece. God’s magnum opus. He likes looking at Joel over his coffee mug, watching Joel’s curls fly about as he tilts his head while he talks.

Joel learns that Lawrence nearly went to school for history. He makes a face at Lawrence’s “dodged a bullet” jab, then lectures him on how he’s doing just fine with his own degree, thank you very much. In turn, Lawrence makes fun of his Prius and his skinny jeans and his bow ties. Even though he…loves all of it.

“Do you realize this friendship exists solely because you fucked up? Really bad? Twice? In one day?” Joel teases him as they sit in Lawrence’s office after the sun has gone down.

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re using me for my computer skills?”

“No, it’s obviously because of your handsome lil’ face,” Joel smirks, kicking his feet up on Lawrence’s desk. Lawrence grimaces at that and avoids the compliment altogether because it’s all in jest. “And what about my art history skills? I’m positive you’re just using me for those.”

“What skills? I’m not impressed unless you can tell me how big Napoleon’s dick was,” Lawrence jokes. Joel tilts his chin down and does his best to look offended.

“Bigger than yours,” he snorts, and now it’s Lawrence’s turn to give him a look.

“Doubt it,” he mutters, then goes to give an actual reply. “What a high school answer. How childish. How naive. You’re better than that.” Joel just…pretends to not hear Lawrence’s first comment, and rolls his eyes at the following ones.

“At least I don’t ride a bike and bring a backpack to my teaching job.”

“I don’t have to pay for gas, and I get a good workout biking here every day. Plus, biking with a messenger bag is just impractical. I’m sorry that you’re so insecure with your own life choices,” Lawrence quips. Joel loves his smart mouth and the lips that frame it.

-

Joel refuses to let Lawrence continue riding his bike to school once the late autumn chill really sets in. So they start carpooling in the morning, and instead of going to get coffee, they take turns brewing it and bringing it in to-go mugs. In an ironic change of events, Lawrence actually starts having to pay for gas. Well, he doesn’t have to. But he wants to, because Joel is an amazing human being that he doesn’t deserve to have in his life.

“Can we hang out Friday night?” Lawrence asks as Joel drives him home one Wednesday night. Someone had to say it. They’d been dancing around meeting up outside of school (and their occasional coffee runs) for weeks now, and the semester is nearing its end. They always mention things that they think would be fun to do together, but never set a day to actually do them. 

“What did you have in mind?” Joel questions as he fiddles with the radio knob. They’re at a red light, so he could look over at Lawrence, but he doesn’t. He’s irrationally nervous.

“I thought I’d let you decide. Anything would be fun,” Lawrence shrugs, holding back on the ‘as long as it’s with you.’ He can’t be that cliche. Joel chews on the inside of his cheek, then the light turns green so he can stop feeling bad about avoiding Lawrence’s gaze. “It can be a date? Maybe?” Lawrence winces like he’s preparing for a brutal blow to his shins.

“You’re so confident,” Joel deadpans. “Do you want it to be a date? I want it to be a date.” He’s smug now, and Lawrence hates it, hates that Joel makes him feel the way he does.

“Of course I want it to be a fucking date, Joel!” he responds, feigning exasperation. 

“We’re going to a museum, then I’m making you dinner at my place,” Joel decides firmly, and grins at Lawrence’s look of contempt. “I’ve been planning this for months, now, bub. Sorry. That’s what you get for telling me I could pick.”

“Do you already have the start and end times planned, too? A recipe? A bottle of wine pre-bought? An exact amount of times I’m allowed to try and hold your hand?” Lawrence rambles when he’s nervous. It’s charming.

“Yes,” Joel says evenly, and it makes Lawrence bark out a laugh. “No, but what do you mean by trying to hold my hand? Just grab my lil’ claw, dammit!” Lawrence makes a noise of disgust.

“My hand might get sweaty and you’ll think I’m gross.”

“Lawrence,” Joel says fondly. “I already think you’re gross, it’s fine.” He looks at his companion now, gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m excited. Are you excited?”

“Scared out of my mind, but excited, yeah,” Lawrence tells him honestly. “God, this is just like Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it?”

“Aw, computer guy knows Shakespeare.”

“I went to high school, Joel.”

-

“Alright, I know you all got the email, but I just wanted to remind you guys-” Lawrence starts as his students pack up to leave. “My office hours tonight between five and six have been cancelled. I may or may not have a date tonight. But that stays between us.” He looks out the hall-side window and sees Joel leaning against the balcony railing, messenger bag slung across his torso and eyes glued to his cell phone. “And that guy.” His students’ eyes follow their professor’s gaze, and a few of them smile.