Page 100 of College Town

When the call hangs up, Lawson says, “Wow.”

Noah goes around the desk to ensure the connection’s truly cut. “Did you see Gino’s face at the end? He thinks he’s put us under his thumb.”

“Good,” Frank says. “That’s what we want him to think.”

Noah stands. “Can we go?”

“We’re done,” Tommy says, rising also.

Lawson’s knees are a little weak when he gets out of his chair.

“I’m getting dinner, first,” Frank says. “You boys in?”

“Sure,” Tommy says. “I want to wrap something up, first, and then I’ll join you downstairs.”

There’s guards waiting in the hall, four of them. Two break off to go with Frank and Noah, whom Lawson means to follow, and two hang back, a discreet distance from the door, ready to attend to Tommy when he departs.

At the threshold, a hand hooks into Lawson’s elbow from behind. “Wait,” Tommy says, and draws him back into the room.

Lawson could resist – he is hungry, and a little loopy from drink, and from watching Tommy spin his illegal magic, and this whole night, really – but he doesn’t. He shuffles backward, and allows Tommy to step around him and shut the door. His gaze zeroes in on Tommy’s thumb as he presses the lock on the knob.

There’s an energy humming between them. It began back at the house, in the driveway, when he pulled up and found Tommy lounging back against the car and waiting for him. It’s built slowly and steadily over the course of the evening, even when there was a whole room between them. Lawson feels it acutely now, a sharp crackle of static all down his front, sparking in his fingertips. Want dries out his tongue and throbs hummingbird fast in his throat.

A part of him knew exactly how this night would go before it even started. A part of him knows now exactly what he’ll find on Tommy’s face before he takes a ragged breath and then turns to face him, finally. But it’s still a shock: the naked, animal lust on Tommy’s face.

It was dark the night before, that bluish, ambient glow from the exterior security lights filtering through the curtains. Tommy was a handsome shadow, then, tantalizing, thrilling, the flash of teeth and the arch of a brow, the slick line of a panting mouth.

Now, the room is well-lit around them, lamps on the desk and can lights recessed in the ceiling; sconces bracketing the TV. Now, Lawson sees every inch of him, every single line of his face, and it’s devastating.

Any thought of resistance flies straight out of his head as Tommy lets his head thump back against the door and stares at him a moment, breathing hard. He tries and fails to conjure something clever to say. Something seductive, or powerful, or, dare he say, manipulative.

No, in this moment, he’s a cartoon personified, heart eyes and everything. He taps at his chin to make sure his tongue hasn’t rolled out like a red carpet; it hasn’t, but it’s a near thing.

They’re in public, technically, locked door or not. And there are men in the hall waiting for them. Tommy’srelativeswaiting for them downstairs, to toast a mafia victory over red wine and ribeye. But Lawson’s whole existence shrinks down to this room, and this man, and thisheatthat arcs between them like an electric current.

There’s a lot to worry about, but there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Lawson wets his suddenly-dry lips and says, “I did good, then?”

Tommy shoves off the door and closes the gap between them in a few rushed strides. “You did good,” he breathes, reaches up, grabs him by the lapels, and yanks him down.

He doesn’t need to yank, though. Lawson captures his face between his palms and meets him halfway. Their lips crash together, and there’s nothing of last night’s early hesitance here, now. Tommy breathes out harshly through his nose, and bites at Lawson’s lip right away.

He's vibrating with desperation, and misplaced aggression, and the feel of it in his hands and against his mouth makes something primal and proprietary rear up inside of Lawson. The urge to gentle, to tame, though he knows that isn’t possible. He wouldn’t want to strip Tommy of any of his firecracker volatility anyway – but he wants him to slow down a little.

He keeps one hand on his jaw, and presses into the tender skin under the bone with his thumb. Slides his other hand to cup the back of his skull and tilts him. Presses in slow and deep with his tongue, until Tommy yields, and gasps into his mouth.

“There you go,” Lawson murmurs between kisses. “We don’t have to rush.”

Tommy kisses him back for a few seconds, sweetly yielding, pressing tiny little overwhelmed noises when their lips meet and slide, then pulls back sharply with a huff. “Actually, we do have to,” he pants, wry smirk touching his kiss-plump mouth.

“We–” Lawson starts.

Something – the toe of Tommy’s shoe – hooks behind his heel the same moment Tommy shoves lightly at his chest, and he falls back against the edge of the desk. He lands in an awkward sprawl, and lets out an undignifiedoofon impact.

“Jesus,” he complains, twisting to look over his shoulder and ensure he hasn’t knocked something important to the floor. The desk is basically empty save the computer and keyboard Noah used a few minutes ago. A thrill of excitement judders up his spine when he turns back and sees Tommy’s broadening smirk. It’s playful. They’replaying, like they used to.

Lawson could get caught somewhere between what he wants and what he knows to be true – namely, that all of this is an impossible charade – but he chooses not to pass up on the chance to relive his,their, glory days.

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