“Come on. There’s no way you look like that and don’t get laid.” Shit. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.
Tommy’s blush deepens, and he coughs into his fist. “Um. Okay.”
“Gonna guess yes, then.”
“Lawson.”
Lawson grins, but it’s not funny. It is in fact unbearable to think about the love of his life having Grindr hookups. To think about him submitting to someone other than him, all soft, and pliant, and needy.
He feels the smile fall off his face and buries his nose in his wine glass.
Then he doesn’t really know what to do. They’re at an impasse, and maybe Lawson should get up and walk away, but he expects Tommy to do so.
It doesn’t happen. Tommy stares at him from under his lashes, stern, and pretty, and every one of Lawson’s wet dreams.
“Shit,” Lawson says, and looks away, and drinks more wine.
Tommy takes a deep, loud breath and says, “Obviously, none of this was planned.”
“Obviously.”
“But I won’t say I’m sorry about it.” Another breath. “I missed you, Lawson.”
“Jesus,” Lawson swears. “Don’t – Christ, please don’t…” He feels broken open. Exposed. He sets his glass down and drops his face into his hands. Then becomes aware of the sound of movement. Of body heat right beside him. “Tommy,” he says, brokenly, half-pleading.
Warm fingers tuck beneath his chin. He allows his head to be tipped back, and he blinks, registers Tommy’s faceright there, before he’s kissed.
“Hi,” Tommy says against his mouth. His lips are warm, and chapped, and it’s like no time has passed at all.
“Baby,” Lawson murmurs, overcome, and grips his face, the sturdy lines of his jaw fuller and more mature than the sharp, teenage angles he remembers. “Baby, come here.”
Tommy pushes him back so that he can fold down into his lap, straddling him, heavy, and hot, and insistent, the way he kisses back, angling his head so their lips slot together better.
For a moment, with his eyes closed, and his hands full of Tommy’s face, Lawson thinks he might be dreaming. He has dreamed of this moment, frequently, sadly, desperately. He’s imagined Tommy as a grownup more than is healthy, but his imagination was never as vivid as the real thing; the real Tommy is more beautiful than his dreams, because he’sreal.
Lawson breaks the seal of their lips to say, “Oh.”
Then it hits him: he’skissingTommy.
He panics a little.
A lot.
“Law.” Tommy touches his face, his neck, his shoulders. “Hey.Hey.”
Lawson shakes his head. “I can’t. I…no, I can’t.”
Tommy stands, but he grabs Lawson by the face. “What do you need?” he asks, very seriously.
Lawson closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Tommy’s chest. “For this to be real,” he admits.
“It is. It’s real.”
Lawson shakes his head again, and pulls back.
Tommy looks at him with a pained expression.
Lawson jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I should…” When he stands, Tommy grabs at his shirt. “No, I should…”