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He doesn’t think he’ll catch anything. It’s a shallow enough spot, but it’s been cold for days and the sun has just come up. He stands by the fishing rods and watches the slow ripples across the water. It’s nice out here. The air is crisp, carries a swampy smell. He leans his head back, still somewhat heavy with sleep, and takes a deep breath.
The sound of steps. He turns around, and there is Troy – off the path, but on his way to him, wading through the undergrowth in his wellies. Tom smiles. A bit of a surprise, this early. Out here, no less.
“Not your time of day, is it?” he says.
“Bloody alarm, forgot to turn it off.” Troy steps over to him. He looks around, then down at the rods. “How’s it going, any luck yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Troy looks tired, and Tom wonders if it’s really to do with the alarm that he’s out here. The caseload’s been heavy lately, even by Middlesbrough standards, and while Troy’s a good sleeper, it wouldn’t be surprising if it started getting to him. Troy yawns, stretching his back. There are bits of dried thistle sticking to the hem of his shirt.
“Never understood why it’s supposed to be a sport,” he says. “Fishing. Just waiting, innit?”
“It’s the thinking man’s sport,” Tom says.
“That’s cricket...”
“Same principle. It’s about strategy.”
He’s never had much ambition about fishing, not in a sporting sense. However, he’s always been serious about it. His gear is in good nick. The lines are new, he replaces them each winter. Because it’s cold, he’s using smaller baits, giving the fish every chance to bite. Troy is looking across the water, sinking his hands into his pockets.
“It’s just fish. Where does strategy come into it?”
Tom watches his grin, that slow grin – disbelief. He likes these mornings, the rare Saturday mornings. When it seems, for a bit, like they have plenty of time. He likes the way Troy feels, warm with sleep. His scent in the morning when he comes downstairs. It’s only a few hours, but these are good hours.
“You’d be surprised,” he says.
He glances around. Listens into the quiet around them. Troy is picking at the thistles on his shirt and Tom wants to reach over. Pull him close. As simple as anything. A little feel, while he still smells so like himself. Maybe not just a little. He could let his hand dip down between them. Feel him through his jeans. Nice and slow, like he did yesterday...
It’s private land, even the woods around them. But he knows there are plenty of high seats – the usual lot, hunters, birders. “Private” is a tenuous thing in the country. As tempting as it would be, he can’t just touch him... not here.
“Let’s go back,” he says.
“What, now?” Troy turns to him. “Thought this was going to get interesting. Thinking man’s sport and that.”
He is looking at Tom, squinting, his eyes bright in the sun. Tom likes the idea. To stay out here with him. Watch the water, enjoy the morning air. He leans closer, and it’s enough to get Troy’s full attention. He likes the idea, but it’s not what he wants. What he’s beginning to want.
“A lie-in’s not bad either,” Tom says.
There is a flicker of excitement across Troy’s features. Just for an instant, before he catches himself. He does that sometimes, tries to hide his reaction from Tom. Tries to brush it off. He doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t need to.
Tom steps past him and starts reeling in the lines. By the time he’s finished, Troy has picked up the tackle box, and they head back over the path. It’s only a few minutes back to the cottage, and they walk silently through the wet grass. He watches Troy from the corner of his eye, and he thinks of yesterday. There is a freshness, still, to that pleasure. It’s still there, like the burn in his legs. Like the tiredness he feels that’s pleasant even as it tells him he’s getting old.
The windows of the house glint in the low sun. Save for the solar panels, it might be something out of the Cotswolds of his youth. They take off their boots and leave the fishing gear in the hallway. They chose the place out of necessity. Months ago, when it started. They chose it because it’s quiet, remote. But now... in the days and weeks in-between, when they don’t see each other, in the moments when he thinks of Troy, he thinks of him here. The way he stands in the living room door. The way he comes over, like he does now.
Tom takes a long look at him. The same flicker of excitement, except this time Troy doesn’t look away. His gaze drifts to Tom’s mouth. Tom kisses his neck, where he’s still cool from the morning air. Moves closer and breathes him in. Troy lowers his head, and Tom kisses him, a first languid taste. The floor creaks as they shift closer, and Tom presses his lips to his throat, moving upward to the faint stubble of his jaw. He takes his time, until Troy nudges him lightly and Tom pulls him down into a deeper kiss. It stirs up a pleasure that comes easily. Troy’s hand fists into his shirt, while the other one goes up to the back of his head.
There is a delight, sometimes, in the secrecy of it. In knowing no one ever will know of this, no one will ever have a piece of it, except for them. It belongs here. Between them. Only between them. Troy presses against him, and Tom runs a slow hand down his side. He strokes his thigh. Squeezes his ass through his jeans as he keeps kissing him. His fingers dig in, ever so slightly, over the crack. It’s one of those small things. Those small potent things Troy likes even though he’d rather not. He pushes back against Tom, and Tom can feel his cock, the first nudge of arousal.
“Upstairs?” Troy asks.
“Yeah. Upstairs.”
It’s always a little different, the Saturday – there is something more familiar between them. Tom watches him from across the bed. The room is warm, the air slightly stale. Troy drags his shirt over his head, ducking against the sloped ceiling. He looks at Tom as he opens his jeans. Tom knows that look, and he feels his cock stir. There is something else, too. A light, sharp tug of tenderness. He walks over, and Troy’s hands sink away to his sides. Tom takes him out of his boxers – a few light strokes, just to feel him, warm and half-hard. Troy blinks back at him. His eyes want to drift shut, but he reaches down, his hand cupping Tom through his trousers, giving him a light rub. His breathing is loud, just short of a moan, and Tom thinks, oh to be young again...
Tom throws his cardigan on the chair, undresses himself. Anticipation is threading through him, and he leans into Troy again, kissing the crook of his neck, his shoulder. Troy is naked against him, tempting, in so many ways. He presses against Tom, and Tom reaches down again and strokes his ass. Troy’s cock burrows against his stomach and Tom shifts his hand, grazing a finger along his crack. In time, he thinks, Troy will warm to them – to the small things he cannot let himself want. Not yet. Not on this Saturday morning. In time...
“Bed...?”
“Bed,” Tom says.
He leans over Troy, runs his hand across his chest, over the light mat of hair. He hasn’t made up his mind yet, hasn’t decided what he wants. Quite the sight, Troy, stretched out on the bed, his cock hard and flushed against his thigh. Tom moves down. Kisses his lower stomach, a trail, slow and open-mouthed, along the warm musk of his skin. It makes his pulse quicken. Even after yesterday, it makes his mouth water, and just like that, he knows what he wants.
He leans down, licks slowly along the length of his shaft. A long swipe that startles a moan out of Troy, then a swear. Tom shifts, stretching out into a more comfortable position. He can feel his own cock fill, pressing down into the bed, and he savours it, the steady build of arousal. Some days it bothers him. The slowness, the occasional fickleness of his desire... even though Troy doesn’t mind it. Tom licks around the head of his cock. Relishing the feel of him, his sleep-heavy taste. He can draw this out a little. He wants to – they have time. He sucks him into his mouth, a light, caressing motion. His hand runs over Troy’s thigh, and he continues, dipping lower, taking in his length. He can feel the ripple of arousal. Taste the watery tang of precome. He keeps going, keeps it slow, still, and Troy breathes into it, his hips stretching away from the bed. He won’t last long. Rarely does.
“Wait...” Troy says. “I want...”
It takes a moment until Tom comes up. Surprised, with a sliver of frustration. Troy doesn’t look uncomfortable, not in the slightest, and Tom wonders what it is he wants. Troy shift across the bed, motioning Tom to move up. Trade places.
“Really?”
“Mhm...” Troy nods, and there is the hint of a grin, small and heated.
He is flushed, all the way down to his chest, and he settles down by Tom’s legs. It’s a rare thing. Within their little routines, in these too-brief, too-quick hours – even with Troy’s growing ease, it’s rare for him to offer. To not just leave it up to Tom. Unexpected... His taste still lingers in Tom’s mouth, and Tom reaches down to run a hand through his hair. Troy’s fingers curl around his cock, and Tom feels it jump as he watches Troy lean down. His mouth wraps around him with dazed eagerness. As always, quick to get going. He sinks halfway down over Tom’s cock, warm and slick. It’s loose, almost tender, but he goes deeper as he continues, his head bobbing down over Tom with a muffled sound. Getting used to the feel him. Letting him press tight against his throat. Tom sinks back against the headboard. He closes his eyes, leans into the small, raw pleasure. It’s building, rising up in quiet shivers, and his breath quickens. Warm saliva is pooling at the base of his cock, dripping down, and there is the occasional gag. The occasional pause, as Troy tries to take him all the way. Tom's hand reaches down again – “Keep going... just like that...”
It’s not just the pleasure, he relishes the feel of his own hard cock, the strength of his arousal. He is getting close, and he almost doesn’t want it yet. Relief. Troy shifts, speeds up a little, and Tom can feel the tight, prodding feel at the base. He still wants more, but he can feel it, the undertow of orgasm, the deep, wound-up pleasure just before it hits. And perhaps Troy feels it, too, because he stays down, his throat tight, pressing in around him. A long, stretching moment, then Tom thrusts up into him. There is a dense hit of pleasure, the inevitable high, and he feels nothing else, nothing but his cock spilling into him. He hears him dimly, snorting and coughing, easing off, but not letting go. Sucking lightly on his cock as it spends itself, taking it, swallowing down the last bit of it. Tom settles into the pleasure, his heart hammering. He pulls out, his hand stroking Troy’s hair – “...so good... oh, so good...” – and he feels the slow drift, not of sleep, but of rest.
Troy rests his head on his thigh. He catches his breath, wipes his mouth. After a while he pushes himself up. Tom looks at him, and he does the same, sits up. Ignoring the heaviness in his limbs, he pulls Troy close. Troy is still hard, and the sheet sticks to him as he moves up to Tom. He slides halfway on top of him, nudging a leg between his. He tastes sharp, of pleasure, and his mouth clashes with the slow ease of Tom’s. He starts rubbing his cock against Tom’s thigh. Testing the feel of it, rocking against him. Tom reaches down, grabbing his ass and moving with his thrusts, caressing and kneading him in time with them. He likes this. When Troy doesn’t hold back. Likes the prodding friction of his cock, his heavy moans. Troy could probably get himself off, on this alone... all the more, Tom wants to make him come.
He lets his hand slide up to Troy’s hip, then slowly down to his cock. Troy’s motion stutters, just for a moment, then he pushes up into Tom’s hand. He’s slick, hard, and Tom relishes the feel of him, his quickening, seeking thrusts. He closes his fingers around him and kisses him again, teasing his mouth open as he rubs his shaft. He keeps it firm, steady. Sated as he is, there is a hint of arousal. Troy is gasping against his mouth as he is getting close. His head drops to Tom’s shoulder, and Tom reaches up to the back of his neck, holds him close as Troy starts fucking into his grip, quick, raw thrusts. He likes to come like this, to exert himself. He comes on Tom, splattering his hand and stomach in hot surges. A long, hard orgasm that has him bucking and shivering. Tom can feel it as he holds him. Can feel it carry him.
As it subsides, Troy slackens into his arms. His hair smells of sweat and sleep, and there is warm come, still, dripping from his cock. He nuzzles Tom’s chest, and a stillness settles over both of them, lighter than sleep, but no less tempting. A faint pleasure is still coursing through Tom’s body. He can hear Troy swear under his breath, contentedly, sleepily, and he smiles against his head.
He wonders what it would be like, to have more time. Have the rest of the day, here. They probably would have stayed out by the water, just a little longer. He would let Troy sleep. Let him get some rest. This right here... it could last a bit longer.
“Wanna shower?” Troy mutters.
“In a bit.” Tom pauses. “You should stay here. Later when I’m off, stay the afternoon. Get some sleep.”
There is a quiet sound, neither a yes nor a no.
“You should get some rest,” Tom says.
“I was going to...”
The alarm, Tom remembers. Troy forgot to turn it off yesterday, it’s why he was up early – he couldn’t go back to sleep. Too much on his mind. His cases. Station politics.
“I set the alarm...” Troy’s voice is muffled against his chest, drifting off. “...you... you’re always up early.”
There is a silence. Small, clear, and for a moment Tom’s arms pull tighter around him. He can hear the change in Troy’s breathing. Feels the slight jerks of his body as he begins to fall asleep. He doesn’t mind waiting for Troy to get up, on these mornings – he reads the paper, heads out to the pond. He is used to putting off things, to waiting, something that comes with age. A different kind of patience. Some of this is easier for him than it is for Troy.
He doesn’t see how he could manage more time. More than their Fridays and a rare Saturday morning now and then. He can’t... He lies still, and he lets Troy doze off on him, warm and heavy. There’s still some time.