Work Text:
On the day he moves his stuff in the forecast calls for rain. His shirt sticks to his back as they haul boxes, fewer than you’d think, up to the flat. Loads got left behind: crates and chip board. Not worth the trouble of taking to the charity shop.
A second chest of drawers, brand-new, is set at an angle to Edward’s own. He’s thinking about unpacking a few boxes to clear them some space, but Edward cuts that thought short, says how about I order us delivery and then we can take a shower.
He washes Edward’s back, and Edward tries, kind of hilariously, to get at Sol’s sweaty hair to do the same, and they kiss beneath the spray, jerking one another off with the casual, leisurely pace of two people with nowhere particular to be but who are still expecting to be interrupted, at any moment, by the doorbell.
Overall? It’s good. They fuck a whole lot, all the ways in all the rooms on all the surfaces. Not like they hadn’t done that prior to now, but it's all been ratcheted up a notch. No more than usual but more more than usual. He sucks on Edward’s fingers; they make out on the sofa, the terrace, for ages; Edward bangs his knee more than once trying to get carried up those bloody stairs.
# # #
They have a big walled terrace when they go to Mallorca but stay in Sol’s old bedroom when they visit his family during the August bank holiday, because his mum won’t hear nowt about a hotel, and on their second night there Edward sidles up behind him, warm, affectionate, and says right in his ear hey you ever get fucked in this bed before?
Days consist of work, gym, dinner, in that order, though sometimes it’s gym, work, dinner alone on the sofa, with him meaning to wait up for Edward — round his parents’, out with his sisters, down the pub — but instead falls asleep with the television on.
He brings Edward with him to his mate’s wedding as his plus one, so the aunties can all cluster around him as if he were a species of exotic butterfly, and Yusuf claps him on the back and smiles, white teeth flashing, says it'll be your turn soon enough, eh, Solomon?
They fight less than before, maybe about the same, but like the fucking this, too, is now somehow more.
Like Edward doesn’t want him to cook bacon on the stove because the exhaust fan is broken, and when Sol says he’ll fix it, only he’ll do it later, only he’s busy, only he’s tired, and then the box of stuff to fix it sits there for more than a week, then more than a month, and Sol keeps on cooking his bacon as it gathers dust, and that sparks it.
Sol’s sister needs money and he gives it to her which apparently he shouldn’t have done. Really what he thinks is that he shouldn’t have told Edward anything having to do with family in the first place.
He does the grocery shopping, once a week on the off-hours, with a paper list and a biro. But Edward will text on his way home from work and say he’s stopping in at Waitrose, the only place he can find the Georgia pecans he likes, and he’ll get them sushi if that’s okay? Sol will say sure, then portion out what was meant to be their supper to bring to work with him, and eat one tupperware by himself, after Edward’s gone to have a bath, because for him to be full off sushi takes a whole lot of sushi, and even Edward isn’t prone to that kind of luxury on a random Thursday.
They argue in the lead-up to Christmas too, about who’s going where, when, and dither, bicker, for long enough that Sol has to buy a ticket on a fucking all-night coach because he’s left it too late to get anything in his price range on the train, and when he gets there he kisses his mum, kisses his nan, and goes straight for bed, though he can’t get to sleep but for the bleeding crick in his neck.
That fight is set aside on New Year's Day. The Littles are very fond of roast dinners, Sunday lunches. When he and Simon, plus Lou, when she can sit still for long enough, are watching the football in the front room, Sally gives him his presents. Two nice shirts, the exact same ones, Edward later tells him, that she got for him and for Archie. I think she gets a discount when she buys them in bulk he says, but it fits him across the shoulders and when he wears it out to dinner a few weeks later Edward remarks on it too, which is nice to hear.
When the big one comes? Christ. It comes. Edward wants to go to Asia, wants Sol to go with him, wants them to go on holiday for the better part of a fucking month.
I have work he says, appalled. Three weeks, maybe more? Hong Kong, Japan. Taiwan if they can swing it. He’s doing the math in his head, how much time off work and the corresponding lost wages, and he’s got money enough that he could go to Margate, Spain, okay, but three weeks is a long time for sushi, cocktails, trains, hotels, nice fucking hotels. Airfare alone is enough to make his temples throb.
Impossible he says when Edward has blurted all this out and he watches his face go stony.
Why? he asks, and the accusation in that single word is about enough to make him drive his fist into the exposed brick wall behind him.
I can’t be gone for that long he says. I’d lose my position.
Edward shrugs. You could just quit.
Quit? Now it's his turn to be accusatory. Quit my job?
You don’t pay rent Edward says, folding his arms in front of his chest. Christ, what does it matter? Get another one.
Unbelievable Sol pushes up off the couch and heads for the kitchen to get a beer. He opens one, looks at the fridge with its wedding invitations, save the dates and RSVP cards held in place by souvenir magnets — Edward’s friends, Edward’s sister, Edward’s countless fucking cousins — stands there contemplating 'til he’s cooled off enough to sit back down.
What he looks at the bottle Sol’s holding. Don’t I get one?
Sol thrusts it in his direction. Take it he says.
Keep it Edward snaps.
Oh, fuck this Sol says, and puts it down on the refurbished wooden coffee table, deliberately next to but not on a coaster, and leaves by the front door with his gym bag banging against his hip.
With each set completed he thinks about texting an apology. Finding someone here, for sweat and grunts and no reason to talk: simple, so simple. He walks, he needs to walk, and in walking passes over a bridge. For a seized, dizzy second, the river calls out like a siren. What would happen if he leaned out too far? Why not find out?
Instead he goes to his old local, in his workout clothes, and orders three pints at once which he drinks one after the other in the corner, nodding occasionally at people he used to see more often.
# # #
The visual connection’s good but there’s a lag in the audio. He puts the laptop across from him on the dining table, rests his head on his arm, and listens to Edward talk until they're both yawning, too tired to do anything else.
Miss you Sol says in earnest.
Love you Edward replies before ending the call.
# # #
His three flatmates all happen to be absent when he drops by. Not spontaneously. He’d had enough presence of mind to ring first.
They went to the cinema Tommy tells him.
The air smells like overcooked pasta. Shit. Did I interrupt your tea?
Oh it can totally wait Tommy says, too quickly to mean it properly. Did- did you want a beer or something?
Whatever you’re having’s grand he says Really. Sorry to be trouble.
Tommy steps into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Lager all right?
Sol rubs a hand over his face, accepts the beer, accepts a seat on the worn-out sofa.
Tommy, in his turn, accepts a kiss, lets his tongue get sucked on, tentatively puts his hand on Sol’s shoulder, then moves it to his thigh, and, with a little strategic maneuvering on his part, settles it atop his fly. He’s hard-pressed to remember if Tommy had always been like this, pliable, sighing out quiet whimpers he might not even be aware of making. It makes him feel about ten feet tall.
Beneath his red flannel shirt his vertebrae are prominent. Sol’s fingers dance up them, bottom to top before he cups the back of Tommy’s neck, strokes it right at his hairline until he shivers. That offer from before still standing?
Oh fuck yes Tommy breathes out, anxious, shaky. I want to. So fucking bad.
Sol gets him on his knees, and says hey hey until he's looking up at him: pretty, patient, fucking worshipful. He shifts up against his own hand, nice and thick now through his pants, and says in a low murmur now look at what you did to me, sweetheart.
Tommy’s eyes flick down for one soft second.
Nice he says more to himself than anything. touching his thumb to Tommy’s lower lip, nodding encouragement when he opens his mouth enough for him to slide it inside, over his tongue and back out again. Don't he says when Tommy tightens his mouth like he wants to suck instead just stay like that, keep it nice and soft, yeah?
Sol leans down to give Tommy a deep kiss before giving himself another thorough squeeze. Get it out for us then he instructs as leans back, one arm atop the back of the sofa, the other stroking Tommy's hair.
He thrusts one time, nothing but a little one, but hell if even that isn’t anything short of miraculous. Shit he says, as he gets his hand round the base and watches himself feed it to him, gentle as you like: the tip, the head, the thick bit right below, more and more and deeper and deeper, without Tommy hesitating, without so much as fucking blinking, and he remembers now why he liked to have him suck him off in the first place fucking shit, kid.
He blows his load that way twice that first week, three the second — four times too many in total. He’s dating the son of a barrister, he’s learnt quite a lot about ambiguity, and this? Pretty damn definitively out of bounds. Five times turns into six, six to seven and Tommy’s on the bed, on all fours, jeans gaping open at the front from where they’d been undone, and Sol shifts, just to cop a feel over his underwear, get a nice solid handful of that sweet little ass, give him something in return. Tommy breathes out hot against the crease of his thigh and says in a small anxious voice can you put it in me? Fuck, please?
When he’s getting dressed, not after the first time, but the third, maybe fourth, depending on how you counted it, with Tommy watching, dopey and attentive he asks, hopeful as anything when can I see you again?
Sol laces up his trainers. Look he says, when that's done, after a big old silence. My boyfriend will be back really soon.
Tommy flinches. Kind of, Sol realizes, the exact same way he does when he's just been backhanded across his tight little ass. This is a terrible thing to even be considering in this moment, but he loses himself, for a good long second, closes his eyes, tries not to recall the way it jiggles when he's getting nailed, how hot, how stupid fucking hot it is to watch it ripple out from the repeated impact.
But he can't keep on like this, no matter how dizzy the recollection makes him, how it makes him want to go again, throw down, make that sweet ass bounce like there's no fucking tomorrow. But.
He answers yeah okay sure I get it leaving Sol feeling a bit like he's kicked a puppy in the ribs just for the joy of it.
# # #
Before he goes into the weight room he showers, changes into his workout clothes. Fifteen minutes on the Stairmaster, couple sets of lunges, couple dozen squats, and he’s out.
His water bottle’s empty by the time he makes it back to the flat. He drops his bag, loudly, by the front door, and goes into the kitchen to refill it.
At a glance he can see that Edward is right where he left him, sprawled out on the sofa. Wearing jeans as if he intended to go out, barefoot like he hadn’t quite committed to that decision.
How was the gym?
He takes a pull from the bottle, swallows. Another. Good. Crowded, though.
Edward flops over onto his back, holds his phone face-down against his chest. You can always use the guest pass, you know. At the weekend especially.
I know he grumbles in return. But I’d rather go when you do.
God Edward rolls onto his side, then his back. I’ve been totally lazy. Should’ve come with.
You going to a class? he tops up the water bottle, tips it back again.
Edward stretches his arms overhead. His phone slips down onto the cushions. Maybe I’ll run later.
We haven’t got anything on?
He shakes his head, rummages beneath himself for the phone. You and I haven’t he says. Unless you want to come for drinks?
He grunts. Who with?
Sophia and her girlfriend and, I think, her girlfriend?
He makes his way over to the sofa, nudges Edward over with his socked foot before settling next to him.
Reckon I’d just as well not.
Edward’s fingers tap against his phone case. He looks down in the direction of his feet, blinks, slow, measured, up at Sol. I don’t have to work out he says.
That right? he asks, sneaking yet another drink from his bottle before Edward pushes himself up on his forearms, wriggles his toes. I mean — I can? But I can also skip it.
He screws the cap back onto the bottle and wedges it between the arm of the sofa and the seat cushion. Edward lets out a pleased huff as he pulls him into his lap, kisses him.
You wanna fuck me from behind? he asks, eventually, his hands on Sol’s shoulders beneath his tank.
Hey who says I’m gonna fuck you at all? He lifts the hem of Edward’s shirt, pulls it off, bites at his bare chest.
Dunno he says once Sol’s raised his head up. Edward grinds against him this feels kinda promising, though.
His shirt comes off, first, then he compresses his hands around Edward's waist, squeezing in, pushing down until he gasps. His hands scrape along Sol's neck up into his hair as he kisses the top of his head, his hard-on poking out of his jeans and pushing wet lines into the skin of his stomach.
Once they're completely naked, Edward laid out with his elbows almost as high up as his ass is, he moves his hand from the top of his spine to the bottom until he parts his legs on his own. He hums, licks the pad of his thumb and feels out one side of Edward's asshole, then the other, real gentle.
Hey he says This all for me?
Yeah yeah Edward breathes in like it hurts.
It goes in easy. He pulls him onto it, slow so he can feel it. His thighs spread apart even further, his hips sink lower. Only by virtue of Sol getting a hand underneath his stomach does he stay lifted up. Edward's eyes close right as his mouth opens and a series of sharp exhales comes out. Sol plants his outside foot on the floor and leans into him, up against him, Edward’s back sinking into a pretty little arch as his own bows the opposite way into a curve. In a low growl he says you think everyone knows? How bad you need it?
Edward twists his hips one way and his shoulders the other, grabs at the fabric, gasps again. Don’t he says, voice pitched higher than usual okay, like, don’t.
They must he says. His voice is calm even as his heart is racing with excitement. Watching Edward get wound up from almost nothing, work himself up with very little encouragement absolutely sends him. Jesus, just look at you. Can’t keep you off my dick for one damn second.
Edward chokes on a laugh, winces with an ow and then says oh fuck fuck that’s so fucking hot.
He kisses the top of Edward's spine, and once he's close in near his ear says Hate to think what’d happen if I hadn’t got to you when I did. If someone else had got there first.
Shut the fuck up Edward says, grinding up into the base of his dick like he can't get it in deep enough. God shut up.
Yeah? He bends Edward's leg double, back on itself, foot towards his hamstring, watches as he grapples with the cushion seam, sliding off each time he tries to get hold of it, and eventually settles for clawing at the whole side edge of the sofa instead.
You really like that dick huh he asks in a kind of singsong.
Love it Edward says, knuckles stretched taut and white. Love that big fucking dick.
Like it in your ass?
Edward shakes his head while looking forward and Sol says hey hey Edward until he turns back to him again, over his shoulder with his forehead furrowed, concentrating beautifully hard on exactly how he's getting fucked, which he'll have to remember for later, because Edward will definitely think that's hot, too, though maybe not right at this very instant.
He strokes and pets, with his hands eventually coming to rest lightly, barely a grip at all, above his hips as he waits it out. It'll come, if he's patient. It'll be worth it.
Yeah Edward says shivering all around him, damp beneath his fingertips, excited yeah I like it.
You’re so good at getting nailed. He hauls him back, thrusts at the same time, and when that's going good, deep enough to make it count, Sol gives his backside a gentle sideways slap. Barely any movement, a minuscule jiggle, but that doesn't matter too terribly much. Edward's got him gripped him tight enough already. Christ, what are you like, Edward, what?
You make me feel so good Edward pants, his eyes screwed shut, mouth slack and wet and open ugh you dick me so fucking good.
Sol’s readjusts his grip, positioning himself for more power, making sure his base is nice and stable before he moves. Goddamn right I do. You're lucky I found you. No one else would take care of your greedy ass like I do.
Oh no Edward says no no no but rubbing off against the cushions, working himself back and forth in a delirious way that makes him wish his own phone wasn’t way the fuck out of reach. He puts his hands behind his head to watch a while.
You'd sit on cock after cock if it were up to you he growls and Edward replies with would not shut up don't say that oh shit shit shit.
Weren’t for me you’d be all used up by now, wouldn’t you? Stretched out and useless, getting put away wet.
Edward rolls the top of his head against the cushion beneath him but it doesn't muffle him completely.
Ask nice he says, laying his whole body over Edward's own, circling him with his arms and holding him down by his wrists, forearms pressed together underneath his chest, fucking steady and hard from the hip now. Be a good little slut and ask me nice. Maybe I'll give it to you.
Edward repeats it loud enough to make himself blush. Want your load he says, almost with a sob. Want to feel you come in my slutty little ass.
Whose ass he asks and bites down hard on Edward's freckled shoulder huh? Whose?
Yours Edward answers it’s yours it's all yours.
# # #
There are brunches to attend, which, even when they go with straight friends, strike Sol as unbelievably gay. He’s not sure what he dislikes more, the waiting in line for the better part of an hour, sometimes in the sodding rain, and then going into a crowded room where it's impossible to hear what people are saying, all to drink champagne first thing in the day and eat overpriced eggs. Give him a fry-up without ceremony on a formica table, none of this nonsense. Sometimes he begs off when it gets to be too much, but he can't very well skip the engagement brunch, and he likes Mags, and George, and their kids.
The wedding is in Oxfordshire. There’s a rented block of rooms at a converted country house, nice but far from flashy, one of which they take, and though they have it all to themselves people are constantly knocking at the door, and dropping by, asking for tweezers, did they have any more dry towels, and asking who was coming for a glass of wine before they all went to the restaurant tonight.
Jesus Sol says, once he’s shut the door on Simon, who'd just popped round to have a cup of tea and, as he said, to give the girls their space. Like living in the village post office. Can’t they just text?
Edward looks up from his phone and holds it so Sol can see the ongoing threads — the whole family, all the kids, middle siblings only, and one with just him and Archie, incredibly wholesome, that. They do he says, answering yet another notification. This is them texting.
Dinner is boisterous enough to allow him to relax. Posh people in groups make him tense, more so when they're sat at long tables with quietly clinking forks and polite, stilted conversation, but they're in a big back room where he can have his lager, and listen to Edward’s little nephews run in circles round the table, shouting at one another.
The next day at the ceremony he’s sat with the family, who aren't in the wedding party, right up in front. Edward's smile makes him seem a little dazed as he stands there in his tux. Sol finds it adorable.
Simon looks proud, a bit baffled, like he's walked into a church and found his second-oldest daughter getting married by happenstance.
Pictures before, pictures after. With her parents, his parents, with all the parents, the bridal party, groomsmen, and then family, kids and siblings, and everyone within range, it seems like, including him.
He slips off for a bit back to the room, where there’s no line for the toilets and he can have a minute to himself, finally. A full-on weekend with the Littles and Hayters and Soans is a bit like an ambush; a pleasant ambush, booze-soaked, joyful, but they could tire a bloke out something wicked. After a lie-down he heads to the reception in search of Edward. The bar has just opened for the evening, and when Sol doesn’t find him in the line for gin, he steps out from the warm glow of the marquee into the cooler autumn air outside.
He locates him down at the foot of the lawn, ducked behind a tall boxwood and, from what he can smell, a few fresh puffs into a cigarette. When he catches sight of Sol he gasps in more smoke than he must have intended to inhale, says oh shit and coughs off to the side, over his far shoulder.
Give it here Sol beckons with a wave, plucks it from him, takes several deep drags for his own.
Mags is a mess he says. The slight slur indicates he’s pretty well lubricated himself by now. If only four of the five siblings are drinking, they won't drink less in total, just that the other ones will overcompensate instead. He's sure he saw a flask exchange hands during the photographs.
Has she cried yet? He shakes his head no when Edward offers him the butt end again.Ta, I’m good.
Once on the hour since the ceremony. His hair is mussed, reddish in the faint light from the reception. Edward drops the smoke, grinds it down with his dress shoe. He sticks his hands in his pockets, rocks back onto his heels. You wanna head back? He looks in Sol's direction and blinks. Sweetly.
Dunno Sol scratches the back of his neck, glances over at Edward. Don’t you have to give that speech soon?
Oh that won’t be until after dinner’s almost over Edward lifts his chin to peer over Sol’s shoulder, takes a sideways step towards him so he’s cast totally in darkness. Sol knocks his shoulder against Edward’s own.
You look really hot in that suit Edward says.
Do I? Sol asks, letting himself be turned, his lapels be tugged on. He sticks his chin out, puffs up his chest.
The left side of Edward’s mouth moves up in a smile, enough to show his teeth. Oh, extremely.
Clean up pretty nice yourself.
Ten minutes and some change later he’s standing up, brushing wayward dirt off his knees, only to take Edward by surprise, grab at his jacket, yank him close enough to kiss. His shocked noise turns into a wordless, happy groan as Sol slides his tongue in between Edward’s lips, past his teeth, catching him with a hand to his lower back when he wobbles backwards into the boxwood and saying, after he’s righted Edward and looked his fill of Edward, rumpled, black-tie, ruined little Edward, says in a hoarse voice alright pup, you can swallow now.
Mags cries at Beth’s speech, Sally’s speech, George’s speech, George’s father’s speech, and is gearing up for another round of waterworks come Edward’s turn. Between the hormones and the weeping Sol reckons she’ll have a terrible headache come tomorrow.
Edward keeps things short, like they’d talked about. He misses a couple words, nothing major, and he gets pretty choked up himself when he says aloud how much he loves them, how becoming an uncle has changed his life in ways he hadn't thought possible.
There’s dancing, and yet more passed champagne once dinner’s over. The kids are bustled off for bed, and the grandparents and older generation trickle off accordingly, once the little ones are gone, leaving the young people to their antics. He's sat at a random table, talking to an older man who he thinks might be an uncle on George's side, when a different man, one in a nice suit, no tie, open at the collar, says Edward's name.
After they’ve hugged and patted one another on the back Edward turns. I wanted to introduce you to my boyfriend.
Sol stands up, shakes this man’s hand which he then runs through his hair, a blueish-grey but copiously abundant, before speaking again to Edward only.
Beautiful ceremony he says pleasantly. I’m surprised you were able to get the church.
You can thank George for that. Edward sets his empty glass down on the table, where it is picked up by a passing waiter only to be replaced with a full one mere moments later. They discuss this and that, Oxfordshire, the honeymoon, where each of them is calling home these days.
We've been talking about moving Edward says with a significant look in Sol's direction.
Well the man smirks Borough Market never was the height of trendiness, to be fair.
About time we had a proper guest bedroom Sol says. You're welcome to it, you know, if you're ever passing through town.
Ah he gestures with his champagne very generous of you. If you'll excuse me?
Who’s that then he asks, once he's gone.
We were in Durham around the same time Edward says, and sips at his new flute of champagne. Old friend of the family.
Sol locates the man amongst the bustle. Yeah he looks old.
Edward scoffs. You know what I mean.
Oh Sol takes this in. Okay, got it.
More champagne, a few cigarettes. Random people, introductions he forgets almost immediately. Some dancing with Lou, then Beth, who's surprisingly happy for a change. Edward's upright, meandering across the dance floor with one of the bridesmaids, so Sol sits down once again, at a spot with leg room so he can stretch out, and this is where Sally joins him.
Family’s still going strong he remarks, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth.
They will carry on. She looks over at her children: Mags slow dancing with a younger Hayter cousin; Archie eating a piece of wedding cake from a napkin, no fork, just barehanded; Lou tripping on a cord on her way to bother the DJ and nearly spilling champagne down her front; Edward abandoning his partner to help her, too late; Beth getting there first; all of them dissolving into giggles.
Sally smiles. Something to be said for having a big family.
Sure Sol replies, his eyes finally catching Edward’s sleepy ones from across the way. He grins in a way that strikes him as private. His mum must sense it too.
I’ll say goodnight she says, touches his forearm before she stands. He stands with her and she leans in to gently hug him. That finished she keeps her hands on his shoulders and looks up at him, direct in the eye. Then over her shoulder at her children, all adults but acting right now, like silly kids, and back to Sol. He straightens up a bit. She pats his cheek. Her hand with its wedding band is cool against his face.
If it were down to me she says I wouldn’t want to leave it too late. You’ll only wish you’d started sooner.
After he's sat there a while with his thoughts he goes to tell Edward he's ready for bed, see if he wants to go down too.
Hey he says. It's getting to be pretty late.
Edward barrels straight into him like he wants a hug, then sags in his arms though he claims, loudly, that he wants to dance.
Lord, but you’re drunk Sol says tugging him upright and bracing him there. Also? Surprisingly heavy.
Been lifting. Edward rests the side of his head on Sol’s collarbone, sniffles. And my boyfriend’s a really good cook.
That right he holds Edward close, feels his warmth against his body. Bout ready to pack it in?
One more minute he looks around him. Bleary, ever so slightly manic but settling down. But yeah, okay if other people are.
He bites his lip, bats his eyelashes, pulls on Sol's tie. Fucking adorable, yes, though no way are they doing anything else tonight. Sol says instead Edward I have to tell you something, but when that something is said out loud he appears confused at best.
Edward stiffens in his arms but stays pressed up against him.
When he asks.
When you were abroad he answers.
Just the once? His tone makes him think it'd be okay to stretch the truth far enough to provide his ass with cover.
More than Sol says. Being honest. That's good, right?
He pulls away, retrieves his jacket from the back of a chair, and when Lou shouts after him hey wait don’t go yet he tosses back over his shoulder without breaking stride might be a little too drunk sorry Lou sorry everyone. See you guys at breakfast.
Sol makes apologies on his behalf and eventually hastens after him. Back in their room Edward is emptying the little gin bottles from the minibar into the champagne flute he's brought back from the reception, hands shaking as he does it.
Aren’t you maybe —
The glare Edward throws him is icy. Drunk? Course. My sister just got married. Why can't I be bloody drunk?
I wasn’t— he begins. Edward, look, I didn’t mean to —
Edward tosses back a swig, winces over his shoulder, finishes off the rest in a big angry gulp. He wipes his mouth with his shirtsleeve, misses most of it. Seriously? You decided now was the time to tell me this?
Shit he says to Edward’s retreating back as he goes into the bathroom. I didn’t think.
Oh I’m sure you thought about it plenty Edward snaps, and bangs the door shut, which would be dramatic if it didn't immediately bounce back out of the frame, requiring him to close it again, gingerly, before locking it from the other side.
# # #
Sol’s still in bed, wondering if he should skip the wedding breakfast entirely. Probably no one would notice if he did. They’re meant to be getting a ride with Beth, but he can find a carshare if need be.
Why aren’t you dressed Edward asks when he emerges from the bathroom. He sounds tired but he looks all right. Surprisingly fresh, maybe puffy. Hey, are you wearing a tie?
Wasn’t sure you’d want me there he says, as level as he can manage. Considering how little he had to drink by comparison, it seems unfair that he’s the one who feels like utter shit. His head feels like wet sand.
Don’t be ridiculous Edward says, and gives him a once-over before tossing him a water bottle from the tray on the dresser. Sol catches it but drops it straight off onto the covers. If you’re not going to shower then you should definitely wear the tie.
There’s a knock at the door and Edward goes to open it. Archie’s voice floats in, asking if they're nearly ready to go and what Edward had decided to do about the whole tie situation.
# # #
They talk. Kind of. They fight, some. They fuck — enough.
Christmas is easier to sort. Edward rents them a hotel room for one night before they have to go back for a repeat with his family, which they both find less demanding, less talking to do, a new baby to pass around, fewer opportunities for his nan to meet Edward and immediately forget who he is all over again; less chance for that hurt to settle heavy on his heart along with all the other hurts that reside there.
As he's falling asleep Edward suggests that they branch out, after the holidays. Maybe see if he's game?
What the hell do you want that for Sol asks, his slowed pulse now speeding right back up, a tiny ache festering behind his left eye socket. He scrubs his knuckle into it to relieve the pressure.
Edward fluffs up his pillow and gives him a look. You know, it's been a long time since I had two —
Do not he interrupts finish that sentence. No. No fucking way.
Suit yourself Edward says, and rolls over onto his stomach while Sol contemplates arson, hypocrisy, the porn Edward likes.
He texts eventually because Edward keeps on hounding him about it. When he’s toweling off in front of his locker, there’s a beep, and a message from him.
Hi! it reads. Good to hear from you. I’ve actually moved to Glasgow with my boyfriend. He's in art school. But look us up if you’re ever in town!
A relief. He relays this information to Edward but that is not, as he'd kind of hoped it would be, the end of the conversation.
# # #
This isn’t his — their — scene. Edward rarely does club nights nowadays though he’ll usually ask if he wants to come with when he goes. Sol will think about how he’ll have to do himself up, probably dance, spend money he'd rather not, and he’ll cross his ankles on the coffee table, fold his arms, and say no thanks have fun though.
Those nights he gets in late, and smells of smoke when he falls into bed, jeans off but otherwise fully dressed, and snuggles himself up against his back, settling the crown of his head against Sol’s neck, and he'll take that opportunity to find Edward’s hand, in the dark, grip it tight in his own and bring it to his mouth so he can kiss his wrist, feel his pulse, a constant, reassuring waver, and fall back, eventually, to sleep.
Edward’s the one to pick him out, a fluffy blonde thing with a ridiculous pout and a squarish, sharp jaw. Sol does the messaging himself, even if having Edward look over his shoulder at his hidden photo roll is throwing him off his stride, and he scoots over to the side of the bed in order to give himself a little privacy.
Anyone would think I had never seen your dick before. He wedges his toes in behind Sol’s kneecap.
Yeah all right he grouses stop riding my ass. Besides, there’s more on here than that.
What? Edward cranes his head as if to get a look. Is it my dick? That I've definitely seen.
Fuck right off Sol says.
Like Edward he finds the middle siblings easier to talk to. About Edward, sure, but really about whatever. But Mags has the new baby, and according to Sally, Lou’s having a time of it, which in middle-class Radio 4 speak could mean therapy, outpatient, anything up to and probably including a full-fledged breakdown. Beth, on the other hand, is always in heels even at Sunday lunch, and one week she'll only eat cauliflower, no cheese, and another only protein, as if she isn't perilously skinny already. He's never warmed to her, but then, he reasons, her marriage fell apart because her own husband hadn't warmed to her either.
At least she can be counted on to be honest. Beth will shoot down his suggestions with a single curt No that's capitalised and punctuated as if it were a complete sentence. With her, it usually is.
Absolutely you cannot ask him in public! Especially not with strange people around reads one text he’s got saved, along with various location ideas and images she's sent him.
As if he understood Edward that poorly, after all this time.
The more he thinks on it he might just plan them a really nice day. Let Edward sleep in, have a blowjob and a bath first thing. Borrow Simon's car and take him out to the botanic gardens, drop a ridiculous outlay of money at Sushi Samba when that's finished. Maybe do the asking proper back at the flat, or while they're walking up the stairs and Edward isn't preoccupied with his phone.
You think I should I tell him? he asks Edward, after they’ve confirmed for Saturday.
Scratching his head, Edward rolls onto his hand, elbow against the mattress. Up to you. I’ll be there but I won’t like, be there.
Edward fiddles with his own phone, the blue from the screen lighting up his face for a second as he replies to a text.
See how it feels when he shows up Edward adds after a long lag. But probably he’d be into it.
He presses his lips together. Yeah you’re probably right.
# # #
They don't go there together on Saturday. Sol finds him already waiting at the bar, figures it’s only polite to spring for their round, all things considered. In the other room, with its hanging plastic dividers, filmy and cloudy from fuck knows what, the music is muffled but the bass reverberates right into his bones.
Sol backs up against the grotty-black painted wall and scopes out the situation. If Edward’s in there it isn’t anywhere that he can see. He kisses him, palms his ass mostly for his own pleasure because i just wanna worship your cock public okay group okay pnp prep nsa demands literally nothing in return.
He looks younger than his age and that makes him feel dirty, and not in a particularly nice way. A show-off, too, every bit as good as he'd claimed to be. It makes Sol grateful that he’d jerked it earlier, with Edward kind of nearby but not doing all that much except hanging out and watching, though he hopes he’s well-hydrated enough to deliver another decent round when the time comes. That would be fucking embarrassing.
Their scene gets approached more than once in the meantime and he’s shaking his head no, he's not interested, he's got all he needs here with his hands buried deep in soft blonde hair. Move along nothing to see nothing here I'm liable to want to share. Dudes back off pretty quick when he gives them a glare.
They're getting attention because Sol keeps looking around himself, wondering where he is, if he's bailed out, in which case the whole venture is gonna sit even worse with him, but Edward picked him out a good one because he's lost in it, pushing, down, fucking nasty hard, and his eyes slide over to where he'd not been only moments ago, and now is.
Edward.
He's in long-sleeved t-shirt of Sol's that he's taken to wearing even though it's a shade large on him, leant against the wall opposite, one foot pressed back against it. He could almost touch him, he thinks, if they both reached out far enough.
Real as anything. Right there. Right over there.
People are walking up on his boyfriend. All kinds. Tall, short, stacked, lean. They'd left this part open to chance and how Edward was feeling on the day. He wants to shove this fucking cocksucker off, scuttle across the room, pick Edward up and kiss him until it all fades away, until they're back at the flat, home, jerking one another off in the languid early morning, Edward pulling him to the edge of the bed and eating him out until he comes against the sheets, and then, when he’s soft, eased up, for him to climb on top so they can face one another.
Only now someone is there. With Edward. Taller than him, brown hair, nice beard, good build, cute butt. Edward tilts his head in that feigned, dumb way he has, and though his vision's pretty blurred and the light's pretty dim he's sure he can see him close his eyes and open them up again, the way his hair falls across his forehead when he looks down and then just as quick, away, away. That makes his dick jump like it always does, well-trained by now to recognize the signals.
From below him there's a pleased groan, a hum, a filthy wet sound because that's still happening as well.
Fucking hell he says under his breath when he pops the head in and out of his distended cheek. The physical reaction is so strong that for a hot second Sol does in fact forget the presence of his boyfriend as he lifts it up and slaps it down against the flattened-out cushion of his tongue.
He intends to see then, once he's gone back to a more standard back-and-forth approach, how Edward is reacting to what's happening right in front of him: not a spun-out fantasy for a rainy afternoon, not professional porn made to look sleazy and cheap.
Although Edward is watching, in a way, he's being kissed while he looks over this dude's shoulder, his arms slung loose around his upper back, then fisted in his shirtfront, his mouth open so he can see his crooked teeth, even though from this distance he can't, not really. Sol has come to miss Edward’s shyness, when it’s real rather than feigned, and fuck, it’s very real, right now, this.
His hands disappear from view but Sol holds off. At least, he tries, tapping on his shoulder to get himself some space, doing his fucking best to back up, back off from it, but unable to get away, unable to move any further back with the wall right behind him, and he’s swallowing, from way down in his esophagus from the feel of it. Sol groans though he doesn't mean to, gripping his hair in a tight fist. Tight as shit, tight enough that he fucking squeals, high up in his throat, like a stuck fucking pig, and it’s gross, blinding hot, to be here, to have him over there, to wallow like this in the wretched seediness of it all.
Seems silly to get separate cars Edward texts a few minutes later, when they've extricated themselves, also separately. Meet me down the street in ten?
Edward’s exhales are cloudy white against the orange glow of the streetlights. They walk together to the taxi rank and get themselves a proper black cab with a big back seat. Sol leans forward to give the address, the driver switches on the meter. The car lurches forward. Edward moves over until he's curled around Sol, resting his chin on his hands against his shoulder, looking sleepy and content out the window.
He rubs absently at his beard, watches shopfronts pass them by. For once, Edward is not all up in his phone. He puts his hand over Sol's solar plexus, rubs a line down to his belly, pats that too.
When they're back upstairs in their flat Edward takes a shower while Sol lies clothed on the bed and deletes all traces of the evening's activities. Gone is the app, trashed are the messages. He rereads Beth's response to his email from earlier in the week and the one Simon has sent as well. Of course he's welcome to borrow the car any time he likes, except he will need it to get to work, but a weekday is probably all right too since he can always cycle there instead.
Hey he says when Edward comes upstairs in his underwear.
What's up he asks, rummaging in his dresser for a clean shirt.
Can you take some time off week after next?
Edward thinks on it a bit.
It'll have to be later in the week he says there's a slide deck we have to get done by Wednesday at the latest. Why?
Thought we could spend a day together he says as Edward climbs up into bed and drapes himself over him. Maybe go out to the botanical gardens?
That's a good idea Edward says, rubbing his forehead against Sol's chest the weather's been awful. It'd be nice to go somewhere warm for a change.
Thought so he replies, kissing Edward's hair until he seems content and stretches out, some invisible threshold of contact having been reached. Won't be as crowded on a weekday.